Chapter 971: The Greatest Work (Part Two)

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Main text:

“You’re really a wicked woman!”

Wen Xia said loudly after listening to Luo Quan’s explanation.

Just now, after Luo Quan went offline, she came to the living room; Wen Xia, who had watched the livestream, originally wanted to urge her to rest, since she’d been drawing nonstop for so long—even an iron person would be exhausted—and releasing the song a day or two later wouldn’t matter much.

But Luo Quan told her she’d already anticipated fans asking for a new song and had begun preparing long ago.

The complaints she just made to her fans were merely a tactic to lure them in.

If she didn’t look tired enough, how could she make her fans feel guilty?

After hearing Luo Quan’s reply, Wen Xia exclaimed that this woman was truly wicked, manipulating her poor fans with ease.

“How can I be called a wicked woman?” Luo Quan disagreed with Wen Xia’s view. “I’ve been working this long—can’t I enjoy myself a little? I’ve compressed my rest time to the bare minimum to bring you good music. Isn’t it allowed for me to play the victim?”

“I can’t argue with you.” Wen Xia gave up debating Luo Quan. “If any man ever marries you, he’ll never dare play any tricks on you.”

“Obviously. If such a man existed, his physical strength alone wouldn’t give him the guts.” Luo Quan raised her arm and flexed her muscles.

But her clothes were too thick to show any real definition.

After chatting casually with Wen Xia for a while, Luo Quan went into the recording studio.

This new song is more complex than a typical love ballad and requires heavier work—achieving depth means investing more time.

Actually, this song would sound even better with an MV, but she currently has no time to fly to Paris for on-location filming.

Yet if she doesn’t film in Paris, she can’t capture that unique artistic atmosphere; randomly setting up a scene would be worse than not filming at all.

So the MV has to be put on hold for now—first, deliver the song to her fans.

While Luo Quan was rushing to finish the song, online discussions grew heated.

Mainly because this new song is titled “The Greatest Work”—the name sounds utterly arrogant, as if she has no respect for anyone else.

But when people thought carefully, they found no real grounds to refute it.

If this song had been released when Luo Quan first debuted, netizens would’ve immediately accused her of stoking controversy.

But now—does she even need to stoke controversy?

Wherever her name appears, heat follows. Media and marketing accounts are desperate to dig up any news related to her, because any content tied to Luo Quan inevitably sees explosive data growth.

Forget new songs—even if Luo Quan sneezes during a livestream, dozens of people rush to watch the spectacle.

As for whether she has the right to call her work “The Greatest Work,” the Vienna Music Association has already given the answer.

At under thirty, she is currently the only member, and the music creator with the most works archived in the new century.

Other singers compare themselves with domestic and international peers; Luo Quan compares herself with ancient deities who’ve been enshrined in music textbooks—that’s the difference between her and every current pop singer.

The reason is that she’s too complete: she dominates the pop field, yet also consistently produces stunning works in classical music, many of which are destined to endure for millennia.

Probably because her livestreams feel so down-to-earth, many netizens haven’t realized just how astonishingly extraordinary Luo Quan’s achievements have become.

In fact, countless foreign music magazines have praised her to the heavens, showering her with honors and titles as if they were free, and countless universities—especially art schools—have extended olive branches, welcoming her as either student or professor with open arms.

But domestic media haven’t reported much on this phenomenon; many netizens only know Luo Quan is popular and highly respected abroad, but have no clear sense of just how high her status truly is.

Like another brilliant Chinese pianist—he may be one of the best alive today, and among the top ten in all of history.

Yet this towering figure in the piano world is still compared by some in China to second-rate domestic musicians, even mocked for his low looks and being “unworthy” of his beautiful wife.

This situation indirectly reveals how barren China’s artistic soil remains.

The good news is, the authorities are now pouring massive funding into nurturing talent from childhood and grassroots levels—if sustained, the situation will improve significantly within a decade.

For now, though, misunderstandings will still persist.

But Luo Quan is luckier than that pianist—her popularity is higher, and more fans are willing to educate clueless netizens.

As the saying goes: “Not being angered when others don’t understand you—isn’t that the mark of a gentleman?” Luo Quan isn’t a gentleman, but she won’t get angry over such misunderstandings.

As for “The Greatest Work,” though exaggerated, if the final product is truly excellent, then naming it so isn’t excessive.

After all, this is pop music, not classical.

A bit of marketing in pop music is understandable.

Overall, people’s anticipation for this song remains very high.

After all, Luo Quan hasn’t properly produced a song in a long time; though she’s released new tracks before, their arrangements were crude—this one clearly aims for single-album quality, so the standard won’t be low.

Meanwhile, Luo Quan’s livestream had a completely different vibe:

“While everyone else is focused on whether your new song sounds good, I care only if you’re tired.”

“Luo Bao, maybe we should take a break.”

“Stop working—I’m genuinely worried.”

“No rush—even if you release it three or five days later, we won’t mind.”

………………

To keep her fans from feeling lonely, Luo Quan took a short break, then turned on her phone camera again, livestreaming herself recording.

Coincidentally, during that break, Weibo trended a topic about young people dying suddenly—late nights, irregular diets, and prolonged sitting without exercise were all major causes.

After seeing it, fans didn’t just worry about themselves—they also worried about Luo Quan.

She’d just sat for five hours, then sat right back down in her chair less than half an hour later, clearly planning to sit for several more.

This work intensity was insane—even a team’s donkey wouldn’t be worked this hard.

So the fans who had just been demanding the new song immediately switched tactics, urging Luo Quan to rest immediately.

But Luo Quan had just entered her work zone—how could she stop just because they asked? She frowned and complained:

“You’re really funny. A moment ago you were begging for the new song, now you’re telling me to rest. Don’t change your mind just because I’ve been obedient lately. I’ve finally gotten into the groove, and now you slam on the brakes—it’s going to be painful.”

“Besides, people’s physiques aren’t all the same. How do you know I don’t exercise when I’m not livestreaming?”

“Just look at my Olympic-champion-level physical condition—I hardly seem like the type who’d collapse after sitting for a few hours, do I?”

Luo Quan’s reply was logical and well-reasoned; fans couldn’t find anything to counter at the moment.

Then she added: “Relax—I know my body best. This level of intensity won’t harm my health. Don’t distract me while I’m recording—let me finish this song quietly and quickly.”

“Then you’ll be happy, and I can truly rest, won’t I?”

With her words said so clearly, fans naturally stopped urging her.

As Luo Quan said, her physical condition wasn’t comparable to ordinary people’s.

Thus, chatting casually with live comments, Luo Quan finished producing the instrumental under her fans’ watchful eyes.

Too bad the camera only showed her upper body, not the computer screen—if it had, the livestream’s hidden experts could’ve instantly decoded the melody from the musical notes.

The meticulous Luo Quan wouldn’t give them any early spoilers—not even during the recording phase after the instrumental was done; she simply shut down the livestream and worked in silence.

Due to her extreme diligence, the piece originally scheduled for completion tomorrow was finished ahead of time. Following the principle of releasing early if possible, Luo Quan moved the release date to tonight.

Without any warning, “The Greatest Work” launched a surprise attack on everyone.

“The song is out early—no need to praise my diligence. Just enjoy the music. I hope you like it.”

After releasing the song, Luo Quan posted another update—her message to all fans.

In the comments, many fans who hadn’t even listened yet were saying how hard she worked and urging her to rest, begging her not to push herself so hard again.

Seeing this, Luo Quan felt touched—and slightly embarrassed.

She hadn’t expected that just one time of playing the victim would have such a strong effect—suddenly, she went from an iron-willed woman to a treasured treasure everyone wanted to protect.

This shift in treatment surprised her; in the past, fans would’ve been the first to demand updates.

Now she understood why so many “green tea” types loved being green tea—just pretending to be pitiful and winning sympathy granted them such high-end treatment. Once you’ve tasted it, it’s hard to quit.

But although Luo Quan found it delightful, she had no intention of maintaining this state long-term.

After all, her true personality isn’t soft or fragile—she only tried this “green tea” tactic once to test whether her mom’s advice worked.

So far, it worked well—but it leveraged the advantage of her previous image being too deeply ingrained; most fans probably didn’t realize she was pretending.

But repeating the same trick too often loses its effect, so Luo Quan decided it was better to return to her true self.

While Luo Quan was pondering this, “The Greatest Work” had already topped major music apps’ trending charts.

Countless eager fans, thrilled by the surprise early release, clicked into the single album.

There was no MV—the cover used Luo Quan’s latest self-portrait, making full use of her own art.

The song opened with a burst of dynamic percussion, followed by a soaring violin.

Merely the intro already distinguished it from ordinary pop ballads.

A sense of artistic sophistication began to ferment as the song progressed:

“I wear a vintage suit, [89] Tap my cane, play a magical score, [90] Stroll through Samaritaine, [91] Time renewed by years, [92] An empire without borders, [93] A throne built of notes, [94] I traverse the immortal moments I missed in 1920 with my keys...”

Playing a magical melody with her cane

Strolling through Samaritaine

Time renewed by the years

An empire without horizon

A throne built of musical notes

I traverse with my keys the immortality missed in 1920

………………

The song’s rhythm is lively, featuring Luo Quan’s signature fast-paced rap verses paired with slow, lyrical choruses—a format she’s used in many past songs, all of which became classics within classics.

For longtime fans, it’s the same recipe, the same flavor.

This song, like “Night’s Seventh Chapter,” is packed with information—every two lines demand a footnote.

For fans who understand the lyrics, the song thrilled them and ignited an urge to express themselves—as if all the knowledge they’d gathered had finally found its purpose.

For those who didn’t fully grasp the lyrics, the superb melody still gave them pure enjoyment.

Perhaps this song isn’t as instantly ear-pleasing as “Nocturne” or “Seven,” but its lingering impact is powerful—the more you listen, the more depth it reveals.

Especially the arrangement, lavish as classical music, even extravagantly inserts an entire piano piece in the interlude—a single detail that already surpasses countless others.

For fans eagerly awaiting a new release, “The Greatest Work” fulfilled its mission perfectly, while also handing down a homework assignment to countless music UP masters: what exactly does the lyric mean?

For listeners unfamiliar with art, the names, places, and titles in the lyrics were utterly incomprehensible—they only vaguely sensed these references must be impressive, since they’d heard fragments of them before.

But asking them to explain any of it in detail was impossible, since they couldn’t even recall where they’d heard those things.

Naturally, these questions were left to music UP masters to unravel—they loved nothing more than digging deep into a song’s hidden meaning.

And a song like “The Greatest Work,” packed with so much content, was absolutely worth the time to study.

Not just because of professional habit or personal passion, the song’s massive traffic also became an irresistible incentive—satisfying their love while earning money, why not?

As more and more song analyses emerged, netizens finally realized: this song was truly incredible.