40: Chapter 40 A Tribute to the Frontline Heroes

Pengcheng Satellite TV Studio Building.

The set for "deep dialogue" was very simple.

Two chairs, a glass coffee table, and a huge LED screen in the background.

The host, Fang Zhiqing, sat on the left, looking down at the cue cards in her hand.

She was in her early forties, with neat, ear-length hair, and her gaze behind her black-rimmed glasses was piercing.

As the lead anchor of Pengcheng Satellite TV, her interview style was known for being sharp and hitting the mark; industry insiders dubbed her the "human lie detector".

Ten minutes before the broadcast, she received the final version of the interview outline prepared by the production team.

After glancing at it, she tossed the paper cards back to the producer behind her.

"Too soft. The audience doesn't want to hear PR talk."

She pulled out her fountain pen and scribbled a few questions on blank cards.

Each one pointed directly at Jiang Fan's current weak spot.

At exactly 8:00 PM, the livestream signal went live across the entire network.

Jiang Fan walked from the side curtain into the spotlight.

He had no elaborate makeup or styling, just a plain white T-shirt paired with black cargo pants.

He took a seat on the chair to the right.

Fang Zhiqing flashed a professional smile at the main camera.

"Good evening, viewers. Welcome to this special episode of "deep dialogue". Today, our guest is the most controversial figure on the internet these past two days."

She turned to look at Jiang Fan, her gaze instantly turning sharp.

"Jiang Fan, welcome."

"Hello, Sister Fang." Jiang Fan nodded.

"Let's establish the rules first." Fang Zhiqing crossed her legs. "This is a livestream; there is no editing, no post-production. You answer whatever I ask. You may refuse to answer, but you absolutely cannot lie."

"No problem."

"Then let's begin."

Fang Zhiqing looked down at her cue card.

"Jiang Fan, twenty years old. Former security guard at Tianyu Media. Contestant on the "Tomorrows Star" Solo Track. Founder of Fanyin Culture Studio."

Fang Zhiqing put down the cue card.

"This resume seems too surreal for any newcomer in the entertainment industry."

Jiang Fan leaned back in his chair, adjusting to a comfortable position.

"It's alright. It looks better than the resume I used to apply for a restaurant server job half a year ago."

The lighting crew on set couldn't help but chuckle.

The previously tense atmosphere softened slightly.

But Fang Zhiqing did not smile.

She pulled a photo from the very bottom of her folder, pressed it onto the glass coffee table, and slid it toward Jiang Fan.

It was the photo of him in his security uniform that Shenghai Capital had spread across the entire internet.

"First question. Is the person in this photo you?"

The comments in the Livestream Room instantly became dense.

Everyone assumed Jiang Fan would say it was a still from a movie, or find some other excuse to brush it off.

"It is me."

Without hesitation, Jiang Fan didn't even make up an excuse.

Fang Zhiqing's eyelid twitched.

She had been in the industry for over a decade and had interviewed hundreds of celebrities.

When faced with their dark history, their first reaction was either to avoid it or explain it away.

Jiang Fan was the first to admit it directly.

"Night shift security guard at Tianyu Media. Monthly salary of 3,200." Jiang Fan's tone was flat, as if he were talking about someone else.

"In this photo, you are hunched over, your eyes are hollow, and your mental state looks terrible." Fang Zhiqing pressed on.

"I had just finished a twelve-hour night shift that day. No one's eyes would look bright after that."

Fang Zhiqing nodded and took back the photo.

"Second question. You have no musical education background, never attended a music conservatory, and never studied under a famous master. Shenghai Entertainment clearly stated in their declaration that the source of your songs is questionable. How do you explain this?"

At this moment, the number of viewers on all major livestreaming platforms across the network exceeded twenty million.

Countless eyes stared at the screen, waiting for this answer that would determine his fate.

In the backstage lounge, Li Cheng gripped his cigarette butt tightly, his palms full of sweat.

On the top floor of Shenghai Entertainment in Shanghai, Cao Qiming held a glass of red wine, a cold sneer hanging on his lips.

Jiang Fan was silent for three seconds.

"I grew up in a Orphanage."

He looked at the red light of the camera in front of him.

"On the Orphanage director's desk, there was an old-fashioned radio."

"I started listening when I was six. I listened to everything. Pop, classical, opera, folk. If I didn't understand it, I listened to it repeatedly until I could hum along."

Jiang Fan's gaze did not waver in the slightest.

"I have no teacher, no degree, and no background. Everything written in the Shenghai statement is correct."

He paused, his voice deepening.

"But they missed one thing."

Fang Zhiqing instinctively asked, "What thing?"

"Poor people have ears, too."

Jiang Fan looked straight into Fang Zhiqing's eyes.

"Can't a security guard listen to music after work? Can't I hum a tune? Can't I think of a melody in my head while patrolling the garage?"

The Studio fell into a dead silence.

Two seconds later, the comments in the Livestream Room exploded, and a dense wall of text instantly flooded the screen.

"I'm broken! Damn!"

"Poor people have ears, too. I can remember this sentence for the rest of my life!"

"How would high-and-mighty capital like Shenghai understand the life of people at the bottom?"

"A security guard who grew up in a Orphanage wrote "blue and white porcelain"... If it were someone else, I wouldn't believe it, but looking into his eyes, I do."

Shanghai. The red wine glass in Cao Qiming's hand shook violently, and the bright red liquid spilled onto the expensive carpet.

Fang Zhiqing took a deep breath, steadying her breathing.

She realized the pace of the program was now completely controlled by the twenty-year-old young man in front of her.

"Last question."

Fang Zhiqing leaned forward, throwing out her final trump card.

"And it's the question all the viewers care about most. Are the songs you sang on "Tomorrows Star" really all written by you?"

"All of them."

"Did no one help you polish a single line of lyrics or change a single note?"

"No."

Fang Zhiqing stared at him for a full five seconds.

"Jiang Fan, you know that 99% of people won't believe this. Even geniuses need a trajectory of growth, and your sudden emergence defies logic."

"I know." Jiang Fan nodded. "That's why I'm sitting here today."

Fang Zhiqing was stunned. "What do you mean?"

"I can write one on the spot."

"On the spot?" Fang Zhiqing's voice shot up.

"Yes. You choose the theme."

The Studio fell instantly silent.

All the staff gasped.

Writing a song during a livestream?

Fang Zhiqing turned back to look at the one-way glass of the control room.

The director's urgent roar came through her earpiece: "Let him do it! The grand piano on the right side of the stage is ready! Hurry! The ratings are breaking records!"

Fang Zhiqing turned around and held up her cue card to the camera.

"Viewers, the following segment is something I was completely unaware of before the broadcast. Jiang Fan himself proposed to improvise a song on the spot. I will decide the theme."

She put down the cue card and turned to look at Jiang Fan.

Her brain was racing.

She couldn't pick a cliché love theme, nor a too vague dream theme.

It had to test his real talent and resonate with society.

Fang Zhiqing was silent for ten seconds.

"Yesterday afternoon," Fang Zhiqing said slowly. "A chemical plant in Nanshan District, Pengcheng, caught fire. A twenty-three-year-old firefighter rushed into the fire to save the last two trapped workers."

"He left his breathing mask for the workers."

"He himself never came out."

Fang Zhiqing looked at Jiang Fan.

"Let's use him as the theme. Write a song. Can you do it?"

Once this theme was announced, the comments in the Livestream Room paused briefly.

It was too hard.

This kind of patriotic melody intertwined with tragic themes was something many veteran songwriters couldn't necessarily produce good work on even after a month of trying.

Not to mention improvising on the spot?

Backstage, Li Cheng crushed the cigarette box in his hand, veins bulging on his forehead.

"Is this woman crazy!" Li Cheng gritted his teeth.

Jiang Fan didn't speak.

He stood up and walked straight to the black grand piano in the shadows on the right side of the stage.

The spotlight followed his steps.

Jiang Fan sat down on the piano bench.

He closed his eyes and focused his mind.

A translucent virtual panel appeared on his retina.

"[system store has been opened]"

"[Search keywords: hero, nameless]"

"[Match successful: "lonely warrior"]"

"[Redemption price: 200 Lifespan Value]"

Immediately after, Jiang Fan set his sights on the master-level piano skill, hardened his heart, and exchanged for it directly.

"[Total Lifespan Value deducted: 5,200 points.]"

"[Remaining Lifespan Value: 4,800 points.]"

A massive amount of muscle memory and music theory knowledge instantly flooded his brain.

The whole process was very quiet; no one in the Studio spoke, and no one dared to make a sound.

Ten minutes later, Jiang Fan opened his eyes, his ten fingers naturally curved, resting on the black and white keys, and pressed the first note.

The low, deep sound of the piano spread through the Studio.

The rhythm was extremely slow, carrying a heavy sense of walking alone in the dark.

Jiang Fan leaned toward the microphone on the piano stand.

"All are brave."

"The wound on your forehead, your differences, the mistakes you've made."

His voice was raspy, with no showing off of technique, no high notes.

Fang Zhiqing sat on the sofa, her back instantly straightening.

The moment these lyrics came out, the face of that twenty-three-year-old firefighter, covered in soot and blood, rushed directly into her mind.

"None need to be hidden."

"Your tattered doll, your mask, your true self."

The scrolling speed of the comments in the Livestream Room slowed down.

Large areas of blank space appeared on the screens of the twenty million online viewers.

"They say, you must carry light to tame every monster."

"They say, you must stitch up your wounds, no one loves a clown."

Jiang Fan's fingers danced over the keys, and the force of his keystrokes began to increase.

The rhythm gradually accelerated, and the repressed emotions piled up within the piano's resonance.

"Why can't loneliness be glorious?"

"Only the imperfect are worth singing about."

Jiang Fan lifted his head, looking straight into the camera lens.

"Who says those covered in mud aren't heroes?"

As the last line was spoken, Fang Zhiqing took off her black-rimmed glasses, her eyes completely red.

The piano sound suddenly soared.

Chords were slammed down heavily, the dull piano sound completely tearing through the air.

"I love you for walking the dark alley alone!"

"I love your unyielding stature!"

"I love that you've confronted despair!"

"And refused to cry!"

The high notes exploded.

The LED screen in the Studio cut to yesterday's fire report—

The silhouette of the firefighter taking off his breathing mask to hand to the workers.

The back view of him walking into the depths against the firelight.

Never coming out again.

Shanghai, top floor of Shenghai Entertainment.

The half-full wine glass in Cao Qiming's hand fell to the floor, shattering with a "pop".

Jiang Fan's singing continued.

"I love your tattered clothes!"

"Yet you dared to block the gun of fate!"

"I love that you are so like me, with the same flaws!"

The comments in the Livestream Room stopped for a full fifteen seconds.

Then, the entire screen was covered in "Salute".

Jiang Fan's hands alternated, and the piano music entered its final sprint.

"Will you go? Are you worthy? This tattered cape!"

"Will you fight? Fight! With the humblest of dreams!"

"To the whimpers and roars in that dark night!"

Jiang Fan stood up and slammed both hands down on the final chord.

"Who says only those standing in the light are heroes!"

The lingering note swirled under the dome of the Studio.

The piano sound stopped abruptly.

The scene was dead silent.

The lighting engineer forgot to switch the follow-spot, and several cameramen stood behind their machines, raising their hands to wipe their eyes.

Jiang Fan left the piano and walked back to the coffee table.

He looked at Fang Zhiqing.

"Sister Fang, does this "lonely warrior" count as passing?"

Fang Zhiqing sniffled and bowed deeply to Jiang Fan.

"Thank you."

In the Studio, Fang Zhiqing sat back down, preparing for the final wrap-up.

The door to the control room was pushed open violently, and the director rushed into the Studio.

He held a tablet in his hand, his voice completely changed.

"Teacher Fang! Don't end the broadcast! Switch to the big screen! Switch to the big screen immediately!"

Fang Zhiqing turned her head.

The huge LED screen behind her flickered, and the image switched to the Weibo interface.

The profile page of an account with a blue V verification appeared before everyone's eyes.

The official Weibo of the National Fire and Rescue Administration.

One minute ago, this official account with tens of millions of followers had reposted the livestream link for "deep dialogue".

There was no long-winded praise; the accompanying text had only one sentence.

"Who says only those standing in the light are heroes. Salute, reverse travelers."

Cao Qiming looked at the blue V verification on the screen, his legs went weak, and he collapsed into his office chair.