Of course, Gu Duo Fu wasn't his real name. It was a stage name he chose when he entered the entertainment industry, carrying the weight of his ambitions. In the end, he hadn't written many memorable songs. Instead, he'd ended up as a music critic and a capital investor. Truly, what a joke.
"Finally, a song that doesn't need to be spread around to become a classic. I never thought I'd see the day." After wrapping up the preliminary plans for the next episode of Music Roundtable, Gu Duo Fu headed home and cleared his evening to watch I'm a Singer-Songwriter.
Hair messy like a bird's nest, short sleeves on top, underwear on the bottom—he dropped onto the couch, set his tablet on the coffee table, cracked open a can of cold beer, and brought out snacks like edamame and spicy peanuts. Nothing beat drinking at home in total comfort. Sloppy? Sure. But blissfully so.
I'm a Singer-Songwriter was easily the most anticipated show in the industry. Thanks to the buzz from a certain ghostwriter, expectations from both fans and haters were sky-high—like a flock of crows hitching a ride on a plane.
Just as the show was about to start, his phone buzzed. The vibration was weak, easy to miss.
Caller ID: Angela.
"Gu-ge, I made some chicken soup. I'm just getting to your neighborhood now, bringing some for you," said the sweet voice on the other end. Angela was her English name—her real name was Xin Rong.
"Coming all the way here? That's too much. You should've told me, I could've gone to you instead."
"It's nothing! You're always so busy with work."
After a few more pleasantries, the call ended. Gu Duo Fu frowned slightly. He didn't like being called "Gu-ge." It reminded him too much of a certain search engine that had already pulled out of China. Not exactly a good omen.
He sprang into action, shoving the beer, peanuts, and edamame back into the fridge. He swapped the can for a bottle of red wine and poured it into a crystal goblet. He shut off the tablet, turned on the projector, took a lightning-fast shower, changed into a neat outfit, and set a classical piano vinyl spinning on his record player. In ten minutes flat, his apartment looked pristine.
The performance was critical. After all, he and Xin Rong—a sweet underclassman from university—were still in that delicate push-and-pull stage.
Fifteen minutes later, Xin Rong arrived. What she saw was a scene straight out of a bourgeois lifestyle magazine: classical music drifting through the air, caviar and wine on the coffee table, and Gu Duo Fu himself in a robe and slippers, looking polished and composed.
"Gu-ge, are you watching something live?" she asked, placing the thermos of chicken soup next to the caviar.
"Well, I'm considered a respected music critic, so people in the industry often ask for my opinions." Gu Duo Fu sighed as if it were all too much.
"You're more than just respected. You're one of the most famous critics online," Xin Rong replied with a smile.
Truth be told, she could've dropped the "one of." Gu Duo Fu acted modest, but he soaked up the praise like sunlight.
"This chicken soup is from you?" Gu Duo Fu raised an eyebrow. The soup looked bright red—like hot pot broth, not chicken soup.
"Just call me Xin Rong," she said for what must've been the tenth time. "I know you're from Jiangxi, so I added a few things you like. I know you like spicy food."
This girl… was she just clueless, or pulling something? Gu Duo Fu eyed her suspiciously.
"I followed a lot of recipes. This is my first time cooking, so I hope you like it," she said earnestly.
Ah, a first-time cook. That changed things. He remembered horror stories of kitchen explosions and flying pot lids. All things considered, a bit of chili in the soup was acceptable.
He fetched a small bowl from the kitchen and ladled some out. "Then I'll definitely drink a lot."
The moment the soup hit his tongue, the spice blasted his throat. This wasn't chicken soup with chili. This was chili soup with traces of chicken. His soul practically left his body.
"Mmm… yeah… I'll definitely have more," Gu Duo Fu choked out.
"Mm-hmm! Drink lots," Xin Rong beamed.
Cough, cough! He struggled to redirect the conversation. "Do you know I'm a Singer-Songwriter?"
"Not really. I practice piano every day, so I don't have time for variety shows," she said. "I finished early today so I could bring you soup."
Which meant, clearly, that he couldn't reject it now. Before he could think of a polite excuse, she had already ladled out another bowl.
"…Great."
What a disaster. Gu Duo Fu had carefully built a persona as a refined gentleman—one who never refused a woman's request.
"You into idol culture? Singer-Songwriter just started. They say Chu Zhi's new song is incredible. Let's watch it together." He tried desperately to change the topic again.
Actually, he'd realized something. No one who could make soup this well was a real kitchen novice. She was playing dumb. Still, Xin Rong truly wasn't into celebrity culture. She'd only vaguely heard of Chu Zhi.
She hadn't cared before, but now that Gu Duo Fu praised Chu Zhi, she felt a twinge of skepticism. Call it guilt by association.
The projector began to play. Gu Duo Fu rose to stop the record player and returned with a sip of red wine.
"Damn it. Red wine did nothing against the spice. Useless."
Thankfully, Xin Rong didn't insist on more soup. She preferred silence while listening to music anyway.
The show had reached the segment where Koguchi Yoshihiro defeated the Ghostwriter in a head-to-head. Since the Ghostwriter had been a guest on his show, Gu Duo Fu commented, "To be fair, the Ghostwriter's song was decent. But Koguchi has the foreigner advantage. These days, nationality seems to matter more than the music in competitions."
As a regular viewer, Xin Rong found herself enjoying Koguchi's new work more. Sure, favoring foreign artists was silly, but saying someone only won because of their nationality wasn't right either.
Then came the main event: Jo Kwon vs. Chu Zhi, round two. The show even cheekily added captions like, "Will Zhao get his revenge?"
Though Gu Duo Fu wasn't fond of Korean artists, he had to admit—Jo Kwon had skills. Singing and dancing with strong vocals, and still no loss of breath.
"Still, nothing too impressive." He recalled Chu Zhi's performance at the music festival two days ago, which had clearly outclassed Korean standards.
Then came Chu Zhi's new song, "The Seventh Chapter of the Night." The opening featured classical melodies that struck a chord in Xin Rong's heart. Was this Schubert's Swan Song? It felt like a tribute to the seventh track, "The Unfortunate One."
That must be it. The Seventh Chapter of the Night—how poetic.
"Everyone wears masks for different reasons, telling lies born of only one thing: desire."
"Far, farther, farther, far, far. Across the swamp of human nature, who can stay clean?"
The lyrics dripped with vivid imagery. The eerie gothic arrangement was a rollercoaster, and just as it crested, Chu Zhi's ethereal countertenor soared like a falsetto ghost, sending Gu Duo Fu's soul flying.
===
"赵权" (Zhào quán) is the "Chinese name of "Jo Kwon"
"郑民安"(Zhèngmín'ān) for "Jung Min-an"
etc.
I'm not sure if the translation for their name was correct. Sorry T_T