Chapter Fifty-One: Faking an Accident

A week later, the latest episode of "Custom Made" aired. On the very night the recording wrapped, word had already spread from guests at the bar that Zhou Miao had performed a brand new song for the show. Though no videos leaked, everyone present that evening agreed Zhou Miao’s new song was heartbreakingly beautiful—so moving it made you want to cry.

This only made internet users even more restless with anticipation. After all, every song Zhou Miao had written so far had been a resounding success, each one receiving widespread acclaim. Many fans saw him as the last hope of the Chinese music scene, the leading figure of a new generation of singers.

As soon as the show began, ratings soared. Zhao Weiming, watching behind the scenes, felt a mix of joy and helplessness—once Zhou Miao was gone from the next episode, everything would revert to the old ways.

After a full year, the audience finally saw Zhou Miao on television again. Now, having just turned eighteen, he looked taller and leaner than before—his posture straight, his appearance more mature. The traces of boyishness had faded from his face, leaving behind sharp features and bright, expressive eyes; he looked every bit an adult now.

Those who had followed him since "Youth Transformation" couldn’t help but sigh with nostalgia—the little monkey once chased by dogs had truly grown up.

Besides Zhou Miao, many viewers tuned in for Sun Hao as well. As a highly sought-after young actor, his past was the subject of much curiosity. To his credit, Sun Hao’s skills as an actor shone through—his command of language quickly drew the audience into his memories.

However, as the show revealed details of his past relationships, the audience erupted in outrage. From a woman’s perspective, they scolded: “I don’t care if you have no money or house—I just want to marry you and build a life together. But you ran away without a shred of responsibility. How could you?”

Male viewers, on the other hand, empathized with Sun Hao’s pain: as a man with a strong sense of pride, the better she was, the more he felt he was failing her. That kind of guilt can suffocate a person. When the pressure reaches its breaking point, there are only two options—marriage or breakup.

When Sun Hao brought them to the shabby little apartment he once rented, everyone fell silent. Who could have imagined that this now-glamorous young actor had lived, ten years ago, in such a dark, damp, cockroach-infested place?

And that woman, willing to marry him without complaint despite those conditions—such love made countless people believe in romance again.

In a bright, tidy living room, a family of three sat on the couch watching the show. The husband, seeing the rundown apartment on screen, sighed, “Sun Hao really didn’t know how lucky he was. He’ll never find a woman who loves him that much again.”

The wife stared blankly at the TV, lost in thought, not responding to her husband’s lament. He, in turn, failed to recognize that the man on screen had once toasted him at his own wedding, many years ago.

The scene shifted back to the bar, where Zhou Miao took his seat at the piano. The audience perked up—this was the climax of tonight’s episode.

The low, resonant singing began, spreading a gentle melancholy into thousands of homes. The lyrics cut straight to the bone, evoking memories of a sorrow called youth. Zhou Miao’s deeply moving voice brought tears to listeners’ eyes.

Compared to his previous songs, this one’s lyrics weren’t as conceptually dazzling as “Chinese Language,” nor as technically impressive as “Huo Yuanjia,” but it resonated far more emotionally. Each line expressed people’s deepest helplessness: meeting the person you most want to spend your life with during the years you’re least able to do anything about it.

Most of us, in our youth, have little besides our truest affection. Especially the line, “If only I had achieved something in my youth”—just seven characters, but they captured countless regrets and heartaches.

Standing beneath the stage, Sun Hao wept uncontrollably, painfully aware of this truth: if only. But it was just “if only.”

In front of the television, the wife cried as bitterly as Sun Hao. If only you’d been willing to take a single step forward, she would have gladly walked the other ninety-nine. Unfortunately, we always realize our mistakes after it’s too late.

The husband comforted his wife, agreeing that the song was so moving, even a grown man like him wanted to cry.

When the performance ended, the episode drew to a close. From beginning to end, Sun Hao never revealed her name. Her name, like the song itself, would remain buried forever in his memories.

Once the episode aired, social media exploded with discussions of Sun Hao’s love story and “If Only I Had Achieved Something in My Youth.”

“Custom Made is a garbage variety show, but the one good thing they did was invite Sun Hao and Zhou Miao.”
“I haven’t cried since elementary school, but this song turned me into a blubbering idiot.”
“I’m satisfied—my favorite singer wrote an amazing, custom song for my favorite actor!”
“Zhou Miao’s songwriting is incredible. I can’t wait for his first album.”

Just as the online debate heated up, an unexpected figure suddenly weighed in on Weibo.

Hui Yuan, a popular singer under Colossus Records, posted: “It’s a pretty good song, and the lyrics are well-written. But the melody and arrangement are a bit weak—still room to improve~”

The internet immediately erupted in laughter. If a true music industry heavyweight had said this, maybe it would be one thing—but who was Hui Yuan to criticize Zhou Miao?

Like Zhou Miao, Hui Yuan was a new-generation singer-songwriter, with a few years of musical training and a handful of self-written songs—though “written” was a generous term. All his hits were composed by other producers; his own songs were self-indulgent and often left listeners bewildered.

Yet he fancied himself quite talented, often showing off his meager musical knowledge on variety shows. Still, with his carefully crafted image and marketing as a “musical genius,” he’d attracted a legion of devoted fans.

They say rivals in the same industry are natural enemies. Zhou Miao’s rise made many idol singers of his cohort feel threatened. Comparison is the thief of joy—even in the entertainment world, competition is fierce. So whenever possible, they’d try to trip Zhou Miao up, whether openly or behind the scenes.

But Hui Yuan underestimated Zhou Miao’s standing among the general public. Within ten minutes of his post, the comments had already surpassed thirty thousand, nearly all sarcastic and mocking, propelling Hui Yuan straight onto the trending topics for all the wrong reasons.

When Zhou Miao learned of this, he was baffled—they didn’t even know each other. What was this guy’s problem?

But Zhou Miao was not the type to let himself be pushed around. Aside from music, his favorite pastime was verbally sparring with these simpletons.

Within half an hour, Zhou Miao posted his very first Weibo reply. After reading it, netizens collectively gasped in shock.

That comeback was savage!