ADTCP Ch58

Zhu Wensheng’s gaze was far too intense and sincere, the rough pads of his fingers burning hot. Tao Zhen was stared at for two seconds, and it felt like his whole face was on fire. He hurriedly looked away.

He scrambled out of Zhu Wensheng’s arms, sniffed hard, and pretended nothing had happened:
“F-fine… let’s go, it’s getting late… we should head home.”

The boy walked briskly ahead, as if in high spirits. Zhu Wensheng, however, didn’t move, his heart unsteady as he stared deeply at Tao Zhen. After a moment, he called out softly:
“Zhenbao.”

“Hm?”

Zhu Wensheng stood where he was, voice low:
“You… you’re not mad at me?”

Tao Zhen paused, turned back, and let out a puzzled “Huh?”
“Mad about what?”

Zhu Wensheng lowered his eyes. After two seconds, he said:
“…For lying to you.”

He hung his head like a defeated dog, even his ears drooping.

Even though he’d gotten a fleeting kiss, he didn’t dare believe it meant Tao Zhen had forgiven everything in the past. After all, just like Jiang Shan, he could’ve explained things long ago but chose to keep pretending nothing had happened, deceiving Tao Zhen all this time.

Tao Zhen’s lips parted. He took two steps toward Zhu Wensheng, not expecting him to care this much.

Originally, he wanted to tell Zhu everything he had seen and thought about that afternoon in that other time, exactly as it was. But when the words reached his lips, they suddenly felt too light.

After a moment’s thought, he simply closed his mouth, reached out, and pulled Zhu Wensheng’s wrist:
“Come with me.”

Zhu Wensheng stiffened slightly, but obediently followed. The two didn’t hail a cab; they walked out of the club and down the street, just like an ordinary young couple, wandering aimlessly through the lively, bustling shopping district.

Soon, they stopped at a crowded outdoor plaza. When Tao Zhen had come by taxi earlier, he’d seen workers swiftly assembling a giant backdrop and tiled flooring. Now the curtain had been pulled down, revealing a striking banner in ornate script.

Several staff members in black with work badges on their chests were handing out flyers and shouting:
“Come take a look, everyone! This is a street challenge competition hosted by Jianghe Construction. Defeat the arena’s champion and win 3,000 yuan! Sign up as a judge and get paid 100 yuan each, limited to 100 spots!”

“Spots are limited, first come, first served!”

Earn 100 yuan just for listening to a few songs, without hard labor! The job was too tempting. The sign-up booth was packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, not just young folks but even gray-haired elders rushing over to join in, like a supermarket egg sale frenzy.

Zhu Wensheng scanned the scene, puzzled why Tao Zhen had brought him here. But soon Tao Zhen was leading him through the crowd to the lead staff member.

“Hello…”

The staffer, a little impatient, didn’t even lift his head:
“Judges sign up over there. Becoming a judge has requirements, music app listening hours, signing our terms, you can’t just be anyone…”

Tao Zhen listened carefully, then nodded:
“Okay, thank you. But I’m not here to be a judge. I’m here to challenge the champion. Where do I sign up?”

—Challenge the champion?

Hearing the clear, youthful voice, the staffer froze briefly, then his attitude flipped instantly, now full of enthusiasm: “You can register with me right here!”

“Just fill in your name, age, and some basic info, and I’ll explain the rules,” he said, leading Tao Zhen aside. “Have you competed in offline performance contests before?”

Tao Zhen took the form, clicked a ballpoint pen open, and paused:
“Sorry, I don’t have much offline performance experience.”

“Do you have a music background then? Which music academy do you attend, Nanyin? Nanchuan?”

“Sorry, I’m not a music major, for now.”

The staffer let out an understanding “oh” and, surprisingly, grew even more enthusiastic:
“…That’s fine. Let me explain…”

After giving a quick rundown of the rules, he handed Tao Zhen a paper number tag to stick on his shirt and went back to helping another contestant from a music school.

Tao Zhen pressed his lips together, not realizing why the man’s attitude had changed, and carefully read through the rules.

Zhu Wensheng, quiet at his side all this time, finally spoke:
“Zhenbao, are you really going to compete in this contest?”

It was clear the construction company organized this music street challenge to promote their real estate project. They must have signed with some entertainment company to push the reigning champion. They boasted of fairness, randomly picking 100 public judges, but in truth, things could never be as they seemed. For a grassroots challenger, winning was nearly impossible.

What’s more… Zhu said in a low voice: “You’ll have to sing in front of all those people.”

It wasn’t that he doubted Tao Zhen’s ability, it was just that in the past, even with a single person watching, Tao Zhen would stumble and falter.

But Tao Zhen didn’t seem scared. He lifted his head, smiling with clear, shining almond eyes:
“I know.”

“Ah-Sheng, do you believe in me?”

Zhu Wensheng’s throat bobbed. This wasn’t about belief or not. Tao Zhen could face black-box tricks, setups, immense pressure. If something went wrong…

His thoughts churned chaotically, until he looked down into those clear eyes and stopped. Almost against his will, he said:
“…Yes, I believe.”

Tao Zhen lit up like a child given candy, smiling happily.

The street challenge would last for a while, and today was only the first day. Not many challengers showed up, just eight in total, all waiting backstage.

The hundred judges were filled, though no one knew how many were really random picks and how many were prearranged. Soon the open-air plaza was packed, lights came on, and the stage glittered with festivity.

The host came up with cue cards, gave some polite opening words, explained the rules, and introduced the reigning champion, showering him with titles.

Zhu Wensheng looked him up online, sure enough, he was a real person, résumé dazzling. But he had only burst onto the scene recently, obviously backed by some big contract.

Since Tao Zhen was a challenger, Zhu Wensheng couldn’t qualify as a judge and could only wait by the side.

The first challenger, a female student, went up.

Against the champion, dressed in brands, smiling, with in-ear monitors and the poise of a pro singer—she looked under-equipped, clutching just a mic, shrinking on stage. She sang well enough, but nerves crippled her performance. The champion won easily.

Audience scoring was no surprise. The host beamed, handed her the 100 yuan participation prize, then heaped more praise on the champion before calling up the next contestant.

The second, third, and fourth… all similar, none performing well enough, all easily beaten.

But by the fifth, Zhu Wensheng noticed something off.

This challenger was more composed and sang beautifully, not surpassing the champion by much, but at least evenly matched. Yet the champion somehow pulled 70 votes.

Seven to three. The contestant’s face darkened.

When the host awarded her participation money and praised the champion again, she muttered:
“No way… those votes aren’t right.”

Her voice nearly came through the mic. The host’s smile stiffened, and she was swiftly ushered offstage. She protested angrily but was dragged away by staff.

The sixth and seventh contestants, both capable conservatory students, met similar fates, their votes always ten or twenty shy of the champion’s.

Finally, it was the eighth and last challenger, Tao Zhen.

Zhu Wensheng couldn’t stay seated, worry written all over his face.

He wanted to shout for Tao Zhen to stop.

With half the judges clearly prearranged, the champion had a guaranteed fifty votes. For a challenger, winning was nearly impossible. Tao Zhen’s first step into public performance, if it went badly, could leave a lasting psychological scar.

But before Zhu Wensheng could say anything, Tao Zhen looked up from the stage and gave him a sweet smile.

Zhu Wensheng was struck silent, then after a beat, nodded lightly.

“The final challenger, number eight, will be singing ‘I Only Care About You.’ Let’s give a warm round of applause!”

Sporadic applause rippled from the crowd; many people, already expecting the result, didn’t bother to look up. Only a few raised their heads out of politeness, then their expressions changed. Those who had been indifferent suddenly grew excited, whispering to each other. As the host stepped off the stage they hurriedly pulled out their phones and trained their cameras on Tao Zhen.

Tao Zhen had no time to care about those chilly or curious glances. He took a deep breath and searched the crowd for Zhu Wensheng.

Time seemed to slow for an instant. The street thrummed with people, the plaza noisy and makeshift. Tao Zhen stood holding only a plain microphone and began to sing in a low, intimate voice.

“If I had never met you, where would I be?
How would my days pass—are those days worth cherishing?”

Zhu Wensheng froze. The plaza fell utterly silent. The boy’s clear voice flowed like a thin, steady stream—no hesitation, no stumbles—gentle and dreamlike.

Whether ordinary spectators or the planted judges, everyone seemed spellbound, holding their breath to listen.

“Let time rush past if it will—I only care about you.
Willingly I breathe in your presence.
How many people can truly find themselves?
To lose life’s strength for you would not be a regret.”

As the music swelled, even the normally confident champion on stage grew pale and fixated on Tao Zhen. But Zhu Wensheng no longer thought about the hostile looks or whether Tao Zhen might win or overcome his stage fright—he only looked up, a little dazed, and listened quietly. He thought: this song—Tao Zhen was singing it for him alone.

“So I beg you,
Don’t make me leave you.
Besides you, I cannot feel even
The slightest warmth of love.”

When the song ended, the crowd blinked as if waking from a dream. For a moment there was stunned silence—then thunderous applause.

But while the audience cheered and the host prepared to tally the votes, his face grew dark. He rushed offstage and, glaring at Tao Zhen, snapped at the organizer beside him: “Who let him on?! Weren’t you supposed to check if they have a music school background first? If they do, don’t let them register!”

The organizer, caught, looked ashen and stammered, “I—I asked him… he said he didn’t—”

The host ground his teeth. “Then how do you explain this? If anything goes wrong, I’m holding you accountable!”

A flyer assistant standing nearby muttered under his breath, “What else can we say—just accept it. Fixing the votes was wrong to begin with.” The host heard him, eyes blazing. “What did you just say? Who pays your salary? If you can’t even do small tasks properly, get out!”

The assistant, who had seen shady things all afternoon, snapped back angrily, “I don’t want your salary anyway! You push someone up by force and you call it ‘fame’—what a joke. Don’t you see the so-called star you brought in is just a pumped-up internet celebrity? They’ve got followers; they’re the ones who can actually get famous. Who the hell are you?”

Tempers flared; people moved to pull them apart. “Okay, okay—counting the votes is done—deal with this afterward!” someone urged.

The assistant stalked off, cursing. The host forced himself to calm down and took the results paper. Inside he was frantic: after all, they’d arranged fifty planted judges to vote for the champion. Even if the other fifty all voted for Tao Zhen, the worst-case would be a tie, not a loss.

But when he opened the paper his blood drained. His hand trembled. He could barely whisper, “This… how is this possible?”

Other organizers peered over, curious. They all stared.

Thirty-nine votes to sixty-one. The champion had thirty-nine; Tao Zhen had sixty-one.

“How could this be?!” the host screamed. “We arranged everything! Why didn’t those people vote for us?”

The organizers exchanged glances and fell silent. The assistant scoffed, “Maybe their conscience caught up with them, what else?”

No one dared say otherwise, but everyone thought the same thing.

The host, near fainting with fury, was dragged back onstage as if forced. Sweating, he cleared his throat and tried to announce the result. The crowd prepared to cheer—only Zhu Wensheng seemed to realize what was happening; his face tightened and he stood up, moving toward the stage.

The host, forcing a bright smile, blurted, “Alright, the results are in—the eighth contestant has thirty-nine votes, and champion Xiao Hou has sixty-one!” He shouted mechanically, “Let’s congratulate champion Xiao Hou!”

But the audience didn’t erupt the way they had before. Instead, a murmur of dissent rose. A girl filming with her phone was the first to shout, “That’s wrong, we clearly thought contestant eight sang better!”

Her voice sparked agreement. An uproar of protest swelled; some people even yelled “fix!” or “shady business!”

Tao Zhen was stunned. He had known this street contest was likely a sham, a setup for someone else—but he’d wanted only a place to sing to Zhu Wensheng, so he had not cared about the prize. Still, an inexplicable hope rose in him, a warm surge in his chest—and he looked down at Zhu Wensheng.

Their eyes met; time slowed; the world quieted.

The crowd’s resistance grew louder and louder, denouncing the plot. Zhu Wensheng stood not far away watching. The host’s face was pale; he had no way to fix this. He hurriedly left the stage, clutching the tally sheets.

Moments later, the flyer assistant burst back onstage, the crumpled tally sheet in his fist. “Look, everyone, let me see! The real count shows contestant eight actually got sixty-one votes!” he announced bluntly.

“Of course, he could have had even more votes, but—” the assistant began, but was grabbed and pulled aside by the organizer, who forced an awkward smile. “Sorry, everyone—we misread the statistics… contestant eight is indeed the winner!”

What “misread”? They simply didn’t want him to win! The crowd shouted insults and, after a while, the indignation cooled and applause rolled out again, even some cheers of approval.

Tao Zhen stood frozen. He thought he must be dreaming; only seconds later did he realize it had all really happened.

Despite the rigging, he had won. Everyone was cheering for him. Even with so many people watching, he had not choked, he had not failed.

He had won.

The champion stormed off in a fury, slamming down his mic. The organizers had no choice but to stabilize the scene; worried about the construction company’s reputation, they agreed to hand the three thousand-yuan prize to Tao Zhen.

They’d tried to trick him, so he accepted the cash without hesitation. He and Zhu Wensheng threaded through the crowd; someone shoved the money into his hand and flashed him a smile. “Let’s go eat—what do you want? My treat.”

The street alongside the plaza and mall was lined with stalls selling simple but fragrant snacks. Zhu Wensheng closed his eyes, slowly taking the stack of bills into his hands. “Okay.”

“But—”

“Ah-Sheng, I thought you already understood what I meant when I chose to be with you,” Tao Zhen said, smiling with curved eyes. “I won’t be with you for money, and I won’t break up with you again.”

Zhu Wensheng’s throat felt dry before he answered, “Yes.”

“Then I’m the same,” Tao Zhen beamed. “I won’t only ‘support’ you when I have money. I’m not with you for pleasure, if I’m poor, I’ll still do the same. I’ll work hard to make money to take care of you, to support you for my whole life—okay?”