Chapter 10: “To A Kindred Spirit”

The time soon reached 4 p.m. The welcome ceremony was fully prepared, awaiting only the arrival of its stars.

The ceremony’s schedule had already been explained to all seven contestants, and to prevent any mishaps, each contestant’s terminal was equipped with a program guiding them step by step through the process. All they needed to do was follow the prompts on their virtual screens.

Of the seven, Qing Wu was the most nervous. She was the first to appear, and since it was her first time participating in such a large event, she kept adjusting herself on the sidelines, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down.

Seeker noticed Qing Wu’s unease, walked over to her side, and said gently, “Qing Wu, I visited the Wither-Prosper Star System many years ago. It was a beautiful and vibrant place. I’ve always wanted to return, but for various reasons, I never managed to. Could you tell me what it’s like now?”

Qing Wu hadn’t expected Seeker to approach her for a chat. She broke into a smile, delighted. “Of course, Ms. Seeker.”

With that, she began to speak softly about her homeland. Seeker listened intently, occasionally asking questions during Qing Wu’s pauses. The two chatted happily.

When the staff came to notify Qing Wu that it was time to go on, she realized that most of her negative emotions had dissipated. Only then did she understand why Seeker had struck up a conversation. Grateful, she gave Seeker a look of thanks and left the lounge.

Because Cangwu Spaceport was spacious and designed with a distinctly Huaxia style, the welcome ceremony was held right there.

According to the schedule, Qing Wu needed to walk down a corridor formed by virtual screens, arrive at a special signature wall, leave the mark of her star system, and finally join the host to answer a few questions—then she’d be done.

·

As Qing Wu entered the corridor, all the virtual screens lit up, shifting images as she walked. First came an introduction to her home, the Wither-Prosper Star System, then her highest ranking on the Interstellar Music Chart, and heartwarming messages left in the comments under her songs. The final segment was a huge surprise: a video of encouragement recorded by her family back home. Her eyes instantly reddened, but she managed to hold back her tears. She left her star system’s unique mark on the signature wall, then joined the host and answered a few questions about her first impressions of Earth before returning to the lounge.

The other contestants followed a similar process, though the video content varied slightly, and the questions were the same. Only S-77 was asked questions related to Yu Huaiyin, which he answered directly.

Finally, when Yu Huaiyin, as host, stepped onto the corridor, the entire presentation focused on Huaxia culture—a condensed thirty-second video showcasing the depth of culture from ancient times to the present, dazzling alien viewers.

The most popular content on StarNet was everything presented during this welcome ceremony.

Seeing the ever-climbing traffic and data, the Publicity Department staff, even those who had already witnessed the phenomenon during “Cycle”’s chart-topping run, were once again quietly astonished by Feng Jingyu’s methods. Over the years, they’d tried similar things, but the results had never been satisfactory—they could never pinpoint the problem. Now, seeing Feng Jingyu effortlessly achieve what they’d always wanted, they couldn’t help but re-examine themselves. At the same time, they admired Cen Lan’s foresight anew.

They truly were the most perfect partners.

·

After the welcome ceremony, the prologue livestream that had captivated the entire interstellar community drew to a close. From the pre-competition hype to the public vote and now this welcome ceremony, everyone’s anticipation had reached its peak. People could hardly wait for the first round of competition to begin.

However, when the interstellar audience used the time conversion tool, they realized there was still nearly a month and a half of Earth time before the competition would officially air. This left those eager to watch feeling a bit desperate.

A month and a half—how were they supposed to get through so many days?

Soon, the official “Interstellar Singer” homepage posted another update, announcing that in the lead-up to the competition, there would be weekly broadcasts of the contestants’ preparations. Viewers could get an in-depth look at how the contestants were living on Earth, learn about Earth’s culture, and see how they adapted their songs to fit the time limits.

This news delighted the interstellar public. For them, it was the first time they could observe their favorite singers’ daily lives up close. Due to the “Interstellar Human Rights Act,” everyone took privacy—both their own and others’—very seriously. Yet, unexpectedly, this Earth-produced show offered a way to get to know them, officially and without violating privacy.

Interstellar viewers marveled at Earthlings’ creativity as they tuned in every week, eagerly watching the show. For the second time since the public vote, the attention of the entire interstellar community was focused on Earth.

Earth’s culture swept through everything with unstoppable force. This week, S-77’s chosen favorite snack sold out instantly on the interstellar express shopping site; next week, Morning Dew’s ancient Huaxia-style attire became the object of universal imitation. Earth’s trends became interstellar fashion—those who hadn’t watched the show weren’t even worthy of joining the conversation.

Vast streams of data flowed ceaselessly through StarNet, all quietly converging in the databanks of the central intelligence, awaiting the day they would be unlocked.

·

Originally, everyone thought they’d have to count the days on their fingers to endure the pre-competition period, but the contestants’ preparations turned out to be so entertaining that, when the competition finally began, viewers flocked to the official “Interstellar Singer” homepage to beg that the daily updates not be discontinued.

With so many messages, the show’s production team quickly issued a notice, making it clear that daily life updates would continue throughout the competition. Only then were the interstellar viewers satisfied, turning their attention to the upcoming first round. For now, discussion of Earth culture was set aside; everyone was speculating about how the competition would be structured. After all, with only seven singers, if one was eliminated each round, the first to lose would have it especially rough.

In fact, the contestants had received the rules and the theme for the first round as early as the day after their arrival on Earth.

Upon seeing the first line, boldly marked “This competition is non-elimination,” nearly everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Le Huan, in particular, was delighted—no need to slink home after losing, what a fantastic arrangement.

But as they read on, the contestants all frowned. No eliminations—so it would be a points-based system? Each round’s points decreasing by rank? Anyone who finished last twice in a row would have to sit out a round? Only the top three on the overall leaderboard would make it to the finals?

The footage of the contestants learning the rules was never released, but was saved for the opening segment of the first episode.

So when the points-based system was finally announced, the interstellar public was stunned.

On the surface, with no eliminations, the pressure shouldn’t be too great, but in reality, the winner’s right to set the next round’s theme meant the competition would be even more intense than an elimination format. Everyone would fight for the power to define the theme and gain an advantage, ensuring they had enough points to reach the finals.

This format left the contestants with no time to relax.

·

The comment feed was filled with debate over the rules, and Feng Jingyu couldn’t help but show a sly, shadowy smile.

She hadn’t come up with this system herself—she’d only told the planning team that contestants couldn’t be eliminated, and let them do as they pleased. She hadn’t expected them to go all out.

“Whoever designed this must be from the competitive gaming world,” Feng Jingyu muttered around her milk tea straw. “This familiar points-squeeze method, even the ‘theme-setting right’—it’s just like the ‘first pick’ in esports. You can’t say they’re unrelated; they’re exactly the same. Tsk, what a grudge they must hold…”

Cen Lan heard Feng Jingyu’s words loud and clear and, for once, teased her. “Muttering to yourself again?”

“Just expressing a little sympathy.” Feng Jingyu grinned.

·

The “Interstellar Singer” set was in a special district planned by the Earth government, and all the equipment in the studio was top-of-the-line, provided by the Third Star System, perfectly showcasing every singer’s exquisite voice.

The theme for the first episode was set by Feng Jingyu herself: the singers were to perform songs on the topic of [Joy, Anger, Sorrow, and Happiness].

Considering that the alien contestants would need time to acclimate, this first round would be a showcase, with voting but no points counted toward the overall score—a warm-up performance, so to speak.

Yu Huaiyin, as host, was the first to take the stage.

Although “Cycle” had made Yu Huaiyin somewhat known in the interstellar community, the audience knew almost nothing about him. So, before his appearance, the host gave him a detailed introduction: heir to a musical family, the most gifted musician in history.

“He could sing scales at one, compose complete pieces at three—melodies of stunning beauty and classic quality. At ten, he held his own solo concert, a sold-out event ranked among the ‘Top Ten Unmissable Concerts.’” Cen Lan, more familiar with Yu Huaiyin’s achievements than the host, recited them fluently.

Feng Jingyu stared at Cen Lan in shock. “You… how do you know so much?”

Cen Lan smiled faintly. “I love music.”

“I see…” Feng Jingyu nodded, not pressing further.

·

Yu Huaiyin appeared on stage, a grand piano behind him. Accompanying him was his father, An Huai, a world-renowned pianist.

As An Huai’s fingers touched the keys, a sorrowful melody flowed out. On the screen, the song’s title, composer, and lyricist appeared.

“To a Kindred Spirit”—lyrics and music by Yu Huaiyin.

Seeing this subtitle, Cen Lan glanced at Feng Jingyu.

Feng Jingyu understood. “He said, this piece can only be performed by him personally.”

Cen Lan nodded and looked back at the virtual screen.

Feng Jingyu watched Yu Huaiyin on the screen, recalling the first time she’d heard his music—her first encounter with familiar music after crossing into this interstellar world. At the time, she hadn’t known why Yu Huaiyin would compose in such a style, but for someone just beginning to awaken memories of a past life, lost in confusion, his music had been the greatest comfort to her wild, growing homesickness.

That was why she had chosen Yu Huaiyin.

But why had Yu Huaiyin agreed so readily? At first, Feng Jingyu had thought he was a struggling musician, hoping to help him, only to find he had never needed her help at all.

Now, Feng Jingyu finally understood why Yu Huaiyin had agreed.

She smiled and shook her head, wanting to sigh, but found words suddenly so pale, unable to capture her feelings in that moment.

Yu Huaiyin, you really are…

·

Yu Huaiyin’s piece used no elaborate arrangement—just a piano for accompaniment. His clear voice carried infinite sorrow and yearning, the simple yet moving lyrics perfectly expressing the song’s mood. The audience listened in complete silence; those watching the show held their breath. Only when the last note faded into the air did time, frozen and stretched by music, begin to move forward again. A few scattered claps started, then the hall erupted in a long, thunderous applause.

When cold tears fell onto her hands, Feng Jingyu realized she’d been crying for some time without even knowing it.