Chapter 595: The Thrilled Sparrow, Sleeping Naked on a Telephone Pole

The crowd was in an uproar.

Yes, in Wang Lihong's view, this wave of frenzy could absolutely be called a crowd in an uproar.

Like they had popped blue pills, the original-generation CP fans went completely berserk without a shred of logic, drowning the song in a flood of nostalgia until it was smoking.

Early November in Taipei brought a light rain, and the weather was a bit cold — much like his mood at that very moment.

In just three short hours, Zhou Yi's Taipei FM radio request numbers had already surpassed the four-day total of his debut single "You and Me."

Three hours versus four days.

This disparity — a data gap so vast it bordered on despair — left Wang Lihong, who not long ago had been pumped full of confidence by his manager, slouched in the office chair in the break room, laughing out loud as though mocking his own overreach.

It wasn't a bitter laugh, nor a laugh of despair.

It was a self-mockery that welled up from deep within after facing reality — unstoppable — with bitterness creeping into the corners of his eyes.

Zhou Yi had left him utterly bewildered.

According to Sony's marketing analysis, although his popularity gap with Zhou Yi overseas was huge, within China he shouldn't have been left behind by such a margin.

His Chinese-American identity had also received official recognition, and he was given a leg up on various occasions — the goal being to set him up as a model, so he wasn't lacking in exposure through official channels.

Yet Zhou Yi had somehow pulled off numbers he couldn't catch up to even on horseback — and that was with Zhou Yi not even back in the country to promote.

If Zhou Yi had come back to join the promotion right away, he didn't dare imagine how far those numbers might have been stretched to a degree he couldn't fathom at all…

At this moment, Wang Lihong felt the scene was achingly familiar — so familiar that the moment he looked up, he saw the enormous Coca-Cola billboard of Zhou Yi on the huge mall signboard across several streets from the Sony building — Zhou Yi holding a Coke, smiling.

Different time, different place, yet still the same familiar people, the same familiar two sides.

A wave of genuine powerlessness swept through him once more.

In an instant, Wang Lihong was so beaten down that he felt a sudden listlessness.

Sitting in the chair, lost in a daze, he stared blankly at the motionless poster in the distance outside the window, earphones hanging around his neck, still playing his own music.

He couldn't figure it out.

Based solely on the song "Qi Li Xiang," there was no way he should have lost this badly.

He wasn't the only one who couldn't figure it out — but the hard, real data wouldn't bend to anyone's will—

As of 6 p. m., the internal data charts of every mid-to-large radio station in Taiwan had been completely swept by the terrifying explosion of "Qi Li Xiang" — only the smaller stations had any gaps left. This was something even "Fairy Tale" and "Marry Me Today" had never managed to do.

The initial hit of nostalgia, combined with what was being called the most beautiful intro and lyrics of Zhou Yi's entire career, layered on top of his surging popularity after this year's battle in the European and American music scene, had directly created a radio record with no precedent and probably no successor either.

On the rainy night of November 10, 2003, the heads of every radio station across the entire Taiwanese music industry collectively fell into an eerie silence.

The restrictions on Zhou Yi setting foot on the island — nearly three years now — had they really worked?

A Chinese pioneer fighting racial discrimination on the world music stage was actually denied freedom on their own soil, which claims to uphold freedom of speech and freedom of action—that was almost comical.

Hadn't this, on the contrary, further refined the fighting power of his fans?

Sun Yanzi, who was also watching the direction of public opinion, didn't quite know what to say herself.

She had imagined the first region to explode would be the mainland, Hong Kong, or even Macau — but it had never crossed her mind that the first to blow up would be the Taiwanese internet.

Amid a forum dressed in gloomy colors, she saw line after line of text brimming with nostalgia and warmth — as if a series of lively faces were carrying her onto a time machine, back to those nights when neither she nor he yet had the status and popularity they had now.

Back then, they still dared to just throw on a bit of makeup, pull on a cap, and sneak off to the night market for a late-night snack; they still had plenty of time to "be with each other," not yet separated by ever-busier work.

Three years ago, she was 22, fresh out of college.

Because she temporarily had no scenes in her drama crew, she had left the Shanghai "Kung Fu" crew for a short trip to Taiwan to appear on a show — in a sense, also coming to drum up some buzz for "Kung Fu" — Sun Yanzi stepped out of the Warner building, umbrella in hand—

After declining the security escort, Sun Yanzi drove home alone but didn't head straight back; instead, she deliberately took a detour, listening to "Qi Li Xiang" on the car radio, and stopped not far from the night market stall in her memory.

She tugged the scarf around her neck up to cover the lower half of her face, adjusted her cap, turned to look at the empty stall — deserted because of the rain — opened the door, and stepped out of the car.

The hem of her warm khaki trench coat was splashed with rain by her boots as she walked; umbrella in hand, she arrived at the stall from her memories: "Boss, Qi Li Xiang and sanma."

"Sure — huh?! You! You-you!" Zhang Hongyi, who had come to help out at her family's stall, cried out in shock, the sudden idol impact leaving her unable to finish a single sentence.

"Shh."

Recognized at a glance, Sun Yanzi pulled down her red scarf with one hand, raised her right index finger to her lips, gave a playful wink, and said: "I snuck out of the company — don't tell anyone, or I'll get scolded by my manager again when I get back."

"Okay! Okay okay okay!"

Zhang Hongyi nodded like a pestle pounding, and then her still slightly baby-fat round face immediately flushed with a touch of shyness: "Um, Yanzi, can I take a photo with you? I'm your fan."

"Of course."

Having achieved her goal, Sun Yanzi beamed, her eyes curving into crescents like a cat that had stolen a fish, brimming with delight. The dim yellow light fell on her face, giving the strange illusion of warm sunshine.

Over ten minutes later, Sun Yanzi walked away carrying a takeout box, humming the melody of "Qi Li Xiang," hopped cheerfully to her parking spot, opened the car door, and drove back to her home in Taiwan.

Even though she had been famous for years, her residence in Taiwan had never changed — it was still the apartment the company had arranged for her when she debuted—

One bedroom, one living room.

She hadn't bought property in Taiwan; aside from buying a place in Singapore, all the money she earned was handed to her dad to manage.

This was also another reason why, back in 2000, she liked hanging around Zhou Yi's place — it was big, spacious.

After getting home and casually digging into her late-night snack, Sun Yanzi glanced at the time, thought for a moment, then pulled out her phone and gave Zhou Yi a call—

"Guess what I'm doing right now?"

"Eating a late-night snack."

"How did you know?"

"Because I'm brushing my teeth and washing my face, getting ready to eat breakfast."

In New York, Zhou Yi, who had just woken up in a big bed, mumbled through his toothbrush.

"That's rare — you're actually up this early? Aren't you on a day off?"

"I'd love to be, but Qian Jiang insisted on waking me up with a phone call, saying he wanted to wait for the numbers together with me." Zhou Yi, radiating morning grumpiness, complained a little: "I should've rewritten the lyrics, just to let him give up completely."

"What kind of lyrics were you planning to change them to? Do you have any idea how the reviews are exploding back home, especially in Taiwan?" Sun Yanzi's curiosity was piqued; the sound of her chewing grew more and more appetizing.

So there's a second version of this song?

Or the original version?

"A carefree sparrow, sleeping naked on the antenna pole." Across ten thousand miles of ocean, Zhou Yi held his toothbrush and sang a line to her.

The latter was stunned.

Huh?

"What are you eating? It sounds so fragrant?"

"Eating sparrow." Sun Yanzi's eyes rolled, and she smiled silently.

"Is that thing edible?"

"Is that thing of yours singable?"

"Why can't it be?"

"Then why can't I?"

On the balcony furnished with the same cheap tables and chairs as the stall, Sun Yanzi, holding a wooden skewer and savoring the moonlight in detail, shook her head and swayed her feet, laughing with extra joy.