[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo":3,"chapter-becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-chapter-972":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Becoming a Goddess in Tokyo",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2339956,4573,"Chapter 972: The Art Craze","becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-chapter-972",972,"\u003Cp>Very few pop concerts venture into traditional art, but Luo Quan made an attempt—and achieved tremendous success.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps this won’t change the current awkward reality of art lacking top-tier popularity, but if Luo Quan continues producing, the future of art will undoubtedly see major improvement!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is a response on Zhihu regarding what “The Greatest Work” could bring about.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before this, Luo Quan had composed many classical pieces, their quality unquestionably high, yet the awkward truth was that despite producing so many world-class works, they had brought no qualitative change to China’s classical music environment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The real excitement remained confined to a small minority online, which was rather disappointing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Similar examples exist in many fields—for instance, Son Qiuwang, whose success in the UEFA Champions League made the entire nation proud and ignited a football craze across South Korea.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As a regular World Cup participant, South Korean football had long ranked among Asia’s elite, and since Son Qiuwang’s rise, it has gained even greater momentum.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is the impact one industry leader can have.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>China has similar examples too—Yao Ming, the NBA Hall of Fame center.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Without him, Chinese basketball would never have reached its current prosperity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Although the national team’s global strength is average, its achievements in Asia remain quite impressive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most crucially, Yao Ming’s success made basketball one of China’s most popular sports among the public—there’s a direct link.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Imagine if, back then, China had produced a player who spent time in one of Europe’s top five leagues as the best in his position, attracting countless foreign fans—how much would that have propelled domestic football?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe China’s national team wouldn’t be in such a limp, lifeless state today.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, as the only art industry leader in recent years, people’s expectation is that she can leverage her success and influence to drive the development of domestic art.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet during her peak two years ago, no visible effect emerged; now that she’s fully immersed in film and television creation, even with official support for the art sector, her role seems even less apparent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But as the world’s brightest star today, how could she remain dim for long?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Today’s “The Greatest Work” is a perfect attempt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to true classical music, this pop song merely borrows classical elements—it’s hardly worthy of its grand name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet with its catchy melody and Luo Quan’s own fame, it became the hottest song of late 2020.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Within just twelve hours of release, its streaming counts across all platforms surpassed thirty million; barring unforeseen circumstances, it would break one hundred million within two days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Through this opportunity, Luo Quan finally brought art into the public eye.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even when she was painting, public attention toward art had already begun—“The Greatest Work” was like a summary of that entire journey.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wove the names and masterpieces of renowned Western and Chinese painters into its lyrics, like a revolving lantern; commenters and countless professional UOs immediately answered netizens’ questions about the stories behind the lyrics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing those familiar masterpieces, people suddenly realized art wasn’t so distant after all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>During their school years, they’d all seen a few of these paintings during occasional art classes that felt like holidays.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And these painters’ names? They appeared everywhere—they were simply too famous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Luo Quan’s song was telling everyone: art isn’t distant, nor is it unattainable—even without refined taste, one can still feel its beauty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And this time, Luo Quan finally got off to a good start.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the explosive popularity of “The Greatest Work,” art-related topics began flooding hot search lists; anytime you checked, you’d see at least three art-related news stories.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Artists who were once rarely seen now gained exposure, especially through art-related variety shows, which had previously been lukewarm but suddenly saw a surge in popularity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Naturally, skepticism followed: could “The Greatest Work” truly live up to its name?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Critics felt the song was excellent in every aspect, but overall production quality didn’t match her earlier works like “In the Name of the Father” or “The Seventh Chapter of the Night.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, the word “greatest” felt misleading.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Opponents argued that a song’s evaluation must consider its historical significance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like the top hundred films in cinema history, many were old relics from the early 20th century.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Did those films truly surpass today’s in technical or narrative quality? Not necessarily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But those old relics led an era—they played an extremely important historical role, even helping propel the film industry forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Greatest Work” is now trying to do exactly that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If it fails, then yes, the name is misleading.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if it succeeds, it will absolutely qualify as “the greatest.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So it’s still too early to judge this song—give it time; perhaps then its value will be seen to extend far beyond what’s visible now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, Luo Quan herself hadn’t considered any of these analyses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She chose this song simply because she thought it was good—she never took on the burden of being a leader or improving the environment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But because her past performances were so godlike, fans overinterpreted and projected all this onto her—overestimating her, overcomplicating the issue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet the online art atmosphere is gradually thickening; if this genuinely sparks interest in art among a few talented young people, that’s still a good thing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She saw many say that as soon as art became popular, capital rushed in like dogs smelling meat, their greed a disgrace to art—she wished these merchants would never touch art.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Luo Quan didn’t fully agree with this view.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because pursuing art while poor makes success extremely difficult.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When a person struggles to meet basic needs, most of their energy goes toward survival, leaving only a sliver for art.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That tiny amount is simply insufficient to cultivate a true master.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if capital enters and funds promising talents, relieving their financial burdens, many families would gladly let their children try art.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Economic base determines superstructure—if your foundation isn’t solid, expecting art to flourish is clearly unrealistic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>China’s current economic situation is actually quite strong; the entertainment industry has massive capital—if art can get a share, it’s enough to cultivate countless talents.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Previously, there was no popularity, so capital couldn’t profit—and no one cared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, with policy support from above and public attention from below, plus the Art Olympics already underway, future popularity will only grow—entering now means guaranteed profits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Luo Quan herself had even considered entering the scene, since she knew more insider details than most.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reason authorities are so invested is likely due to the revival of spiritual energy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not just art, but culture, sports, technology—anything with potential for massive popularity, the authorities are willing to push and deify.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the people’s collective willpower, these deified figures gain the chance to wield immense power.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So far, only one and a half have succeeded: one is Dingzhen, the other half is Guai Ling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dingzhen has now fully taken off—from a smoking, foul-mouthed troubled teen, he instantly became the “Light of Youth” giving speeches at the United Nations, with countless fans online.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But some of his fans have bizarre mindsets: admiring Dingzhen is one thing, but sending him a cannon from a thousand miles away? Truly incomprehensible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet none of these negative stories affect Dingzhen’s status across media; on Weibo and Douyin, he’s practically a saint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is why Luo Quan likes Tieba, Bilibili, and Zhihu—on these platforms, Dingzhen is popular, but only for his derivative memes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like the famous “One Glance at Dingzhen,” “World’s Highest Hall,” and “Cheese Snow Leopard”—all wildly popular online memes that netizens love to play with.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet the popularity Dingzhen gained differs from what was originally intended to build him up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides him, there’s another half-deified figure: Guai Ling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Honestly, she just got lucky—back when China’s Summer Olympics performance wasn’t so strong, who had the energy to deify a Winter Olympics gold medal contender?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to that, China’s dominant Summer Olympic events—diving, table tennis, weightlifting—were already at ruling levels; any athlete from these could be easily deified, and all were purely Chinese.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for Guai Ling, she truly seized the opportunity: on one hand, she kept breaking international records, exuding momentum; on the other, she constantly affirmed her Chinese identity in front of media, giving domestic outlets plenty of material.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The marketing strategy quickly emerged: emphasize how much she loves China, her deep roots since childhood, how down-to-earth she is with Chinese food and clothing, how indistinguishable she is from ordinary Chinese.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though these may all be true, the sheer volume of nearly identical copy quickly became tiresome.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Add to that the frantic displays of loyalty, leaving people both pleased and uneasy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pleased because this mixed-race girl, raised abroad for so long, still holds such sincere devotion to her homeland—rare and worthy of praise and emulation by other overseas Chinese.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Uneasy because: is she truly sincere?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to Luo Quan, another mixed-race girl, she rarely speaks of this in foreign media.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Initially, no one noticed—after all, though she spoke little, she had clearly stated her nationality was Chinese; her stance was unambiguous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But once Guai Ling became famous, Luo Quan’s lack of public displays suddenly became a problem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is an era where not clapping loudly enough is considered a crime; Luo Quan’s silence made some suddenly feel Guai Ling was superior, so they posted online:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Entertainment stars may be popular, but they use others’ things; sports stars use others’ things to turn into their own medals.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Strong sports nation, entertainers ruin the country!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though she didn’t name anyone, she attached a photo of Guai Ling and Luo Quan side by side—effectively the same as naming her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The message was clear: she looked down on Luo Quan’s achievements as a star, believing sports figures were superior, yet completely ignored Luo Quan’s gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This double standard immediately triggered fan backlash, but Weibo quickly deleted these critical comments—strangely, the original post remained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps because the Tokyo Olympics had just ended, China’s sports achievements were outstanding, with countless athletes breaking records and winning great honor for the nation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under these circumstances, entertainment couldn’t possibly challenge sports.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People say the internet has memory—and they’re right.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The internet certainly has memory, but people don’t necessarily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though human memory doesn’t vanish as fast as a fish’s, it’s also far from lasting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Besides poor memory, humans are naturally fickle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looks alone can’t feed you—and even if you’re gorgeous, if you can’t touch it, what’s the point?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to Luo Quan, Guai Ling’s looks may not match hers, but she brings face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A mixed-race girl raised in America, enjoying its prosperity and freedom, still reveres her homeland, even expressing patriotic sentiment in foreign media.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How proud we are! In contrast, a native-born mixed-race girl seems to have no competitiveness—and she rarely interacts with media, rarely ever making public displays of loyalty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clearly, who the public prefers becomes obvious—especially under massive media promotion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In truth, Luo Quan could easily reverse this—she needn’t even contact media; just release one or two classic patriotic songs from her past life, and the effect would be immediate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But she’s a stubborn person who finds such actions too opportunistic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And she’s never been insecure enough to need others’ approval to satisfy herself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She’s lived in China for over twenty years—she doesn’t suffer from convert zealotry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[101] Those attacking her? They’re the real zealots—just not zealots for China.\u003C\u002Fp>",1887,"2026-06-20T22:54:06.151Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","879537c91ea00fa186d99cb8e00c060ada0b9db22776f0fa72a9a8d569004768","becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-chapter-973","becoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-chapter-971",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fbecoming-a-goddess-in-tokyo-cover.jpg"]