ADTCP Ch68

“Dark Undercurrents” was one of the musicals Lin Manyao had once performed in. It wasn’t the work that made her most famous or most widely known, but it was Tao Zhen’s favorite.

It was adapted from an obscure foreign novel, set in a semi-fictional era, and told a story about maternal love and music.

The male lead, Lain, was born into what everyone envied as a “musical family.” Although his pianist father passed away early, he had a mother who was a nationally renowned soprano—the female lead, Madam Caroline.

Perhaps due to inheriting his parents’ talent, Lain displayed astonishing gifts in music from childhood. By the age of four, he was already climbing onto stools to play the piano, hailed as the “music demon reborn with memory.”

Everyone who had heard his compositions praised him without end, and of course, Madam Caroline was the most ecstatic of them all.

She pinned her hopes on Lain, treating him as the heir of the family’s future, encouraging him daily with every means possible, supporting him, urging him to compose.

Having lost his father at a young age and growing up under his mother’s guidance, Lain naturally obeyed her. While others his age were still playing and attending school, he had already produced piece after piece of well-known music, composing songs for his soprano mother. For a time, Madam Caroline was at the peak of her fame; everyone knew her son was a genius.

But things didn’t continue smoothly. As Lain grew older, he became conscious of himself, realizing he was different. Day after day, he sat at the piano, gazing out the window at children playing outside, as if imprisoned. His mentality shifted, and his music too changed—no longer lively and bright, but tinged with painful despair.
Madam Caroline could not allow this. Her expectations of Lain only grew heavier, her requirements stricter. But such pressure had the opposite effect, leading them into a vicious cycle. Sure enough, one day, Lain could no longer compose anything.

Trapped in agony, unable to face his mother’s disappointed gaze, Lain chose to escape—shutting himself in his room, speaking to no one. Until, one afternoon, he heard music drifting in through the window.

What a moving melody!
Unable to resist, he opened the window and saw Carlo and several street performers joyfully playing for a group of children. The street performers noticed him too, cheerfully waving. After some conversation, they naturally became friends.

Lain realized that in talking with Carlo and the others, his pain seemed to ease, and gradually he rediscovered his love for music.
But in that environment, street performers were considered among the lowest, most vulgar professions. Madam Caroline could not tolerate her musical prodigy mixing with them, and she repeatedly tried to stop Lain, leading to fierce quarrels.

What Lain didn’t know was that Caroline’s insistence came from bitter necessity. After her husband’s death, the family had fallen into chaos, eaten away from within like ants. Everyone was coveting their identity, status, and inheritance.

They lived in peril, their lives constantly at risk. Their only salvation was to gain national fame through music, to win royal favor, and to make their existence undeniable. Yet now, with Lain unable to compose, Caroline’s position grew more precarious, and soon Lain himself would be endangered.

The newly enthroned royal family was violent and mad, demanding the highest standards of art. If they disliked a performance, they would drag the performer to the gallows. Some of Lain’s street performer friends were executed for “desecrating high art.”
Magda, Vivian, Carlo… one by one, they were taken. Finally, the royal gaze fell upon the talent-spent Lain.

Only then did Lain realize Caroline’s painstaking intentions. But it was too late. He was to be sent to the gallows. On the eve of execution, he wanted to tell Caroline he was sorry, but he couldn’t find her anywhere.
It wasn’t until he was released from prison the next day that he learned Caroline had taken his place.

—To die, the mother was willing to substitute herself for the son.

Lain collapsed completely, went mad, and the music suppressed in his heart erupted like magma, dissolving all barriers between mother and son.
At the execution ground, he created his greatest composition, singing a duet with Caroline, drawing the entire city’s attention and condemning the murderous royal family.

“Dark Undercurrents”: hidden perils, hidden music, hidden motherly love.

Tao Zhen loved this musical not only because Lin Manyao’s performance was especially brilliant, her portrayal of the sharp-tongued yet deeply loving Madam Caroline was vivid and alive—but more because of the story itself.

Every time he watched, he saw himself in Lain. At their core, they were the same: both loved music, both wanted to make their mothers proud. The only difference was that Lain was more capable. Before breaking under the weight of expectations, at least he had been a dazzling genius who once satisfied Caroline.

Tao Zhen, however, had doubted himself from the very start, shaming Lin Manyao again and again. He even wished he could become Lain, wished he could do something for Lin Manyao, instead of only living under her aura and wings.

“Welcome—you’ve finally made it here.” Lin Manyao gazed at him gently, eyes brimming with tears.

“I’ve seen everything. Your effort, your perseverance, your pain. All your late nights as a blogger, your sleepless studying to switch majors, everything you’ve given out of love for me. You don’t need to become the tormented Lain—because no matter what, I am the Caroline who will always love you.”

Tao Zhen nearly broke down in tears, his voice choked:
“…I’m sorry, I came too late.”

“No,” Lin Manyao held his hand, “not late at all.”

The band entered from backstage, music striking up suddenly. Bathed in the top-light, the two exchanged a glance, stepping into rhythm as though in the musical, mother and son after their quarrel. They moved closer in tacit understanding, only to part the next second, each delivering their monologues, determined to finish the play as it was written.

This scene Lin Manyao had rehearsed countless times; her voice carried grief, anger, heartache, deep love… and she drew everyone in with her emotions.

The spotlight froze on her face—then abruptly dimmed, illuminating Tao Zhen beside her.

He took a deep breath, parted his lips.

Everyone grew tense.
Tong Xia and Gu Xingzhou, who had crammed a few days of musical practice, were most nervous. They knew how much rehearsal even a “simple” song demanded, and feared Tao Zhen wouldn’t be able to sing on stage. Even the actors of the “In the World” troupe fixed their eyes on him anxiously. Tao Dajun clenched his fists, rose on tiptoe, staring at Tao Zhen with Lin Manyao, their gazes burning.

Only Zhu Wensheng remained calm, silently counting.

Three, two, one—

“Can you see me—”

The boy’s voice rang out like an oriole leaving the valley, yet with strength that could pierce the skies. Even with Lin Manyao’s brilliance before him, his voice was in no way inferior. That clear, bright tone shattered the silence like a slap across the face of all who had doubted him.

An entire solo, difficult for anyone, flowed from his mouth like a gentle stream. The audience—though there was none beyond the cast—were stunned as if struck. Zhu Wensheng, however, smiled faintly.

Tong Xia and Gu Xingzhou came to their senses, whispering in awe:
“We knew Zhenbao liked music before, but how… how is he this good?”

Zhu Wensheng’s gaze stayed fixed on the stage. After a moment, he murmured:
“He practices every night. No audience, no company, he practices by watching videos alone.”

In unseen corners, Tao Zhen had practiced like this, year after year.

The troupe was shaken. Only after his soaring solo ended did they return to themselves, joining in as rehearsed: the scheming relatives, the tyrannical royals…

Tong Xia and Gu Xingzhou were replaced by the real Magda and Vivian. As for Carlo, originally played by a professional actor, Zhu Wensheng stepped forward instead, mounting the “gallows” first.

Stage blood dyed the rose on his chest red.

The rose was meant to fall, but Tao Zhen as Lain gently picked it up, kissed it, and pinned it to his collar.

The play swiftly reached its climax: on the execution ground, Lain finally opened his heart to Madam Caroline, freeing himself from inner torment, the two singing their duet.

When the final note faded, silence engulfed the world.
There was no audience, yet everyone on stage applauded. The curtain fell on time. Tao Zhen, still bowing toward the empty seats, remained frozen for a long time.

At last, Lin Manyao straightened, walked to his side, and embraced him tightly.
“Xiao Zhen, Mama will be waiting for you on a bigger stage.”

Her unique fragrance was unmistakably a mother’s scent. Tao Zhen’s emotions, barely calmed, surged once more. His nose stung, and he hugged her back with all his strength:
“I’ll work hard, Mama.”

Lin Manyao smiled, patting his back, just as she had when he was a child.
Tao Dajun and the others came up too, wrapping him in a boisterous embrace, speaking all at once.

Tao Zhen answered one by one, and somewhere along the way something someone said made him laugh — his tears broke into a smile.
But everything before his eyes was still hazy; he blinked hard and finally made out the dark-haired young man standing apart from the crowd, watching him gently.

Tao Zhen paused slightly, smiled, then turned his head and said something to the people beside him.

Everyone wore surprised expressions, filed off the stage in single file, leaving the space behind the curtain to the two of them.

Tao Zhen waved gratefully to everyone. When he saw that everyone had left, he stepped forward, then began to run, and finally leapt, flinging himself into Zhu Wensheng’s arms.

Tong Xia, Gu Xingzhou, Tao Dajun, Lin Manyao… friends and family who loved him and had worked hard for him, Tao Zhen held all of them in his heart. But there was no denying that everything today had been organized by Zhu Wensheng; he was the true hero of the day.

Tao Zhen had thought that Zhu Wensheng dressing as Carlo and performing as Lain together with him would already be the greatest surprise; but soon after, without a word, Zhu Wensheng led him deeper into the theater.
Having the theater environment surround him in person was satisfying enough, but Zhu Wensheng still wasn’t content, he even dragged Tong Xia and Gu Xingzhou to perform for him as well. Knowing Tao Zhen’s dream was to stand on stage and perform with Lin Manyao, Zhu Wensheng had hired the entire “In the World” troupe for him.

This was far more than the “cosplay commission” Tao Zhen had originally imagined.
This was plainly Zhu Wensheng pulling the whole world together to craft a dream for him alone.

Realizing that, Tao Zhen felt his eyes sting. He blurted out instinctively, “Ah-Sheng, thank—”

Zhu Wensheng placed one hand on the back of his head and hugged him tighter, stopping the thank-you that was about to come out: “Baby, happy birthday.”

The young man lowered his eyes; a gentle smile softened his deep-set gaze. “Are you happy today?”

Tao Zhen felt like crying even more. He buried his face into Zhu Wensheng’s shoulder and made a muffled, nasal sound: “Happy!”

“Good,” Zhu Wensheng curved his lips slightly, took a step back, and reached out to tidy Tao Zhen’s disheveled hair. “I have one more gift to give you—”

Tao Zhen looked up, bewildered, his dark apricot-shaped eyes wide: “What is it?”

Zhu Wensheng raised an eyebrow, clearly not displeased by the question. “What we just did wasn’t everything; that was just to let you experience it first. For the next while, this theater and this troupe all belong to you. I’ve already bought the musical rights to Dark Undercurrents, how you want to perform it, where you want to perform it, that’s all up to you.”

Those words hit like thunder in Tao Zhen’s ears. He froze in place, stunned, while Zhu Wensheng, as if unaware of his shock, continued without pause: “Remember that online fan lottery we did before?”

Tao Zhen’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down; a foreboding feeling crawled up his spine, and his heart thudded wildly. “I remember. I didn’t know what reward to give everyone. Xiao Yu told me the company prepared—”

“Right,” Zhu Wensheng said calmly. “The company prepared free tickets to the musical for your fans, travel expense reimbursement, and accompanying souvenir gifts.”

Tao Zhen was utterly stunned.
Who would perform the free musical for his fans needed no explanation. He felt dizzy; his lips parted and closed several times, unable to make a sound.

His expression made it impossible to tell whether he was thrilled or terrified. Zhu Wensheng blinked, then added, “Of course, if you don’t want them to see it, that’s fine too. The souvenir gifts are ready; we can just send them—”

“N-no, it’s not that!”

Tao Zhen’s breathing quickened. He gripped Zhu Wensheng hard, his chest overflowing with a strange, sweet, and sour emotion; for a moment he could not form words, so he climbed up and wrapped his arms around Zhu Wensheng’s neck and kissed him hard. “…Why are you so good to me?”

How much time, how much money, how much effort must this have taken?

Booking the whole theater for his performance, inviting thousands of applauding spectators — all to make his dream come true.

Zhu Wensheng paused, slowly curling the corner of his mouth into a smile, and mimicked Tao Zhen’s previous tone: “If I don’t treat you well, who will?”

Tao Zhen, thinking of his earlier smug look, suddenly felt inexplicably embarrassed; his face flushed, and he grabbed Zhu Wensheng’s collar and kissed him again.
Zhu Wensheng lowered his eyes and parted his lips to return the kiss. Yet just as they were kissing passionately and could hardly bear to part, a series of coughs rose up from a distance.

“Eh, these two are holding each other so… wait, these tiles are really tight…”
“About time… ready to eat yet…”
“The elders are here, you know…”

“…”

Even the thickest skin would find it hard to continue kissing with so many people watching.
Tao Zhen hurriedly wiped his mouth, trying to salvage the tiny bit of dignity he had left, and led Zhu Wensheng off the stage.

It was already midday. Tao Dajun and the others had just reserved a restaurant and were planning to go for lunch. Coincidentally, the troupe had arranged several minibuses to take everyone there at once.

Tao Zhen and Zhu Wensheng had no intention of any special treatment either. But while queuing to board, Tao Zhen suddenly remembered something and changed his mind; he stammered and told everyone to go ahead, saying he and Zhu Wensheng would find their own car.

Although they said that, everyone assumed the two wanted a quiet spot to continue what they had left unfinished, and gave them an understanding “oh.”

Zhu Wensheng raised an eyebrow, handed the dining arrangements over to Zhao Zhao and Li Min, and then followed Tao Zhen obediently.

Tao Zhen felt like he’d lost his face for life today.

Once back in the car, Zhu Wensheng leaned over, eyes smiling, clearly wanting to continue kissing.

Tao Zhen’s cheeks flushed scarlet; he pushed Zhu Wensheng back, reached for the bag on the backseat, and muttered, “Why are you like this! I’m not a big perv—”

The car’s interior was less spacious than outside; hot breaths mingled between them.
Before Zhu Wensheng could say anything, he suddenly noticed a deep-blue jewelry box sitting in front of him.

He was stunned. “This is…?”

Tao Zhen exhaled, eyes curved into a grin, tone full of pride: “This is a gift I prepared for you.”

Zhu Wensheng opened his mouth, eyes fixed on Tao Zhen, and involuntarily repeated, “…For me?”

Indeed, since that morning he had felt that Tao Zhen had been hiding something from him. He had never guessed it was a gift from Tao Zhen to him.

After all, it was Zhu Wensheng’s birthday; by rights, the two words shouldn’t concern him at all.

“Why, only officials may light fires but commoners may not light lamps?” Tao Zhen teased with a smile. “Open it and see.”

Zhu Wensheng pressed his lips together, took the box from Tao Zhen’s hand cautiously, and opened it slowly.

Inside lay the collar and rings he had seen in a design sketch.

“…”

Because of various reasons, this was the first time Tao Zhen had seen the actual items in person; he couldn’t help but hold his breath and lean forward slightly.

The real things perfectly replicated the design — no, they were even more stunning than the sketch. The collar was made of high-quality leather with a brilliant sheen. In the dim light of the parking lot, the rings shimmered with a mysterious luster; a delicate chain tassel hung down, and the central ruby glowed with shifting colors.

They were beautiful, but…

Tao Zhen asked a bit anxiously, “Do you like them?”

Zhu Wensheng came back to himself and replied solemnly, “I do.”

He really liked them.

Just like the moment he first saw Tao Zhen, at first glance he especially liked them.

“Can I put them on you?” Tao Zhen asked again.

After a long moment, Zhu Wensheng bowed his head and bared his neck. Tao Zhen licked his lips, a little nervous, and fastened the clasps at both sides of the collar. He took off two rings intending to put them on next, but the young man gripped his wrist.

Zhu Wensheng’s voice was huskier than usual: “Let me.”

Two rings, one for each of them, slipped onto their ring fingers.

On closer inspection, a delicate row of tiny engravings circled each band — their two names.

“Next time, didn’t you say,” Tao Zhen noted, following his gaze and explaining, “that when we’re free we’ll get a custom collar and put my name on it?”

“I thought engraving on a collar looked tacky, so I chose rings instead. Put both our names on the bands.” Zhu Wensheng said. “You wear mine, I’ll wear yours. When we’re not together, they’ll be on our hands — so others will know we belong to each other.”

The world fell silent at that moment; only the boy’s voice whispered in his ear.
Zhu Wensheng slowly lifted his head, watched Tao Zhen’s lips move a few seconds, then closed his eyes, leaned in, and kissed him with near reverence.

After a long while, when the kiss ended, Zhu Wensheng whispered, “…Tao Zhen, thank you.”
Thank you for coming into my life.

“…”
Tao Zhen blinked, recovered, cupped his face, and smiled sweetly. “Zhu Wensheng, I love you too.”

They were, after all, the closest people in the world, willing to give everything for one another — no need for formalities or thanks. Saying “I love you” was more than enough.