Chapter 82: The Final Battle atop the Forbidden Peak

At eight o’clock in the evening, the live broadcast began in earnest. In an instant, countless viewers flooded in, and the sheer volume of traffic made the platform lag noticeably. Fortunately, the platform had anticipated this: additional servers and bandwidth were deployed at once, ensuring the video feed remained clear and stable.

The glamorous host, Qian Jin, stepped gracefully onto the stage in a black evening gown with a daring slit. The long, bare leg revealed by the slit was almost dazzlingly pale, prompting the live comments to veer off into mischief.

“I’m done for.”

“This show is so white—no, I mean, this show is so long.”

“Alright, that’s enough, stop drooling over my wife.”

Qian Jin took her place center stage. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the brand-new music competition show ‘Duel at the Forbidden Summit,’ proudly sponsored by Old Godfather. I’m your host, Qian Jin.”

“I’m so thrilled the show is finally meeting its audience. Honestly, I feel just like you all—I’m both excited and anxious at the thought of watching eight superstar singers compete on the same stage. My whole body is trembling with anticipation.”

In his private dressing room, Zhou Miao watched Qian Jin on the wall-mounted television, feeling as though her words sounded a bit odd.

Yang Xiaoya brought over a cup of grapefruit tea. “Miao, here, soothe your throat.”

Zhou Miao took the cup, sipped twice, and exhaled a long breath. He was more nervous than he cared to admit. Earlier, they had drawn lots for performance order, and Zhou Miao had picked the last slot. Being the finale act sounded grand, but in truth, the pressure only mounted the later one performed.

Moreover, the show used a real-time scoring system: each contestant’s score appeared immediately after their performance, rather than being tallied at the end. Thus, performing last offered no advantage in the scoring.

This episode featured eight contestants—seven men and one woman. The sole female singer, An Qi, had risen from the world of talent competitions. For years, her career had been lukewarm, so she kept returning to talent shows as a “comeback star.” Finally, she broke through in “Produce 101” two years ago and her career had taken off ever since.

Each of the eight contestants possessed distinct talents. Lin Zekai was known for his superb vocals and strong stage presence. Huang Chengxi boasted an impressive vocal range and dazzling high notes. An Qi excelled at both singing and dancing and had solid fundamentals. Even Hui Yuan, whom Zhou Miao often criticized harshly, was adept at song arrangements even if his original work was lacking.

Zhou Miao knew his own singing was good, but not extraordinary. His stage presence, given how rarely he appeared on shows, couldn’t match these regular performers. His sole advantage lay in the show’s open song selection: original pieces or covers were both permitted.

So, if he wanted to win, Zhou Miao knew he had to deliver something truly remarkable.

The first to take the stage was Hui Yuan. He was well-prepared tonight; his face, caked with makeup, looked even paler than Qian Jin’s gleaming legs—he must have used pounds of powder.

Zhou Miao shot a glance at the nearby camera. Every move he made was being recorded, so he choked back the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t that he was afraid to make fun of Hui Yuan, but the guy had been unusually well-behaved this time—quiet and unprovocative—so Zhou Miao decided to let him save face.

For his first round, Hui Yuan had made a clever song choice: he performed a dance hit from ten years ago but gave it a fresh arrangement, breathing new life into an old classic. As soon as the audience heard the familiar melody, nostalgia swept over them, and many found themselves softly singing along.

One had to admit, Hui Yuan played the nostalgia card beautifully, winning over the crowd. After his performance, the three voting groups—judges, media, and audience—scored him out of a maximum 350 points. Hui Yuan’s final tally: 305.

Of the 20 professional musician judges, only five voted for Hui Yuan. His song wasn’t technically demanding, nor did he demonstrate much stage presence.

Zhou Miao nodded slightly. So far, the scoring system and the judges’ votes seemed fair, especially since the judges’ critiques were delivered after scoring, preventing their opinions from influencing the others.

As Zhou Miao waited for the next performer, the director’s voice suddenly came through his earpiece. “Miao, we’re switching to your camera now. Could you give a brief comment on Hui Yuan’s performance?”

The director’s tone was so courteous it bordered on deferential. After all, these eight contestants were all stars; even the director couldn’t afford to offend them.

Still lounging in a boss-like pose with his legs crossed, Zhou Miao nodded approvingly and clapped his hands lightly. “Not bad.”

The director was speechless—was that all?

Watching Zhou Miao’s dignified, almost bureaucratic demeanor, the online audience burst into laughter.

“Judging by that applause, he’s definitely an old-school leader.”

“My youth is over—Zhou Miao actually praised Hui Yuan!”

“Miao, if you’re being threatened, blink twice!”

In contrast to Hui Yuan’s nostalgia act, Lin Zekai took a more direct approach, performing a Chinese version of a Korean dance track.

He, too, came prepared, leading over a dozen backup dancers in a perfectly synchronized knife dance. The moves were crisp, clean, and stylish. It had to be said, such choreography and staging were almost unheard of in the country seven or eight years ago. It wasn’t until the Korean wave hit that ensemble dances like this became popular domestically.

Yet few could reach Lin Zekai’s level. Even more impressively, amid the demanding choreography, his breath control remained steady and he never went off-key.

The young women in the audience went wild, shrieking nonstop.

Lin Zekai’s performance scored 330 points. Hui Yuan’s face fell—it didn’t look good for him; he might end up among the bottom four.

As much as Zhou Miao disliked him, even he had to admit Lin Zekai was formidable.

But could anyone here be considered simple? When An Qi—fourth to perform—took the stage, her innovative water-sleeve dance stunned the crowd and netted her an impressive 329 points.

Second-to-last, Huang Chengxi wowed everyone with his dolphin-like high notes, scoring a staggering 338 points to overtake Lin Zekai for first place.

Though it was just a variety show, everyone brought their best. These were all top-tier stars—no one wanted to be outshone.

This was more than a battle for rankings; it was a battle for honor!

One brilliant performance after another left the audience in awe, making it clear why, out of tens of thousands of entertainers, only these few were called superstars.

No one succeeds effortlessly—most people simply refuse to acknowledge their excellence.

And now, the one everyone was most eagerly awaiting was about to take the stage: Zhou Miao. Although he had debuted the most recently, his momentum was unmatched.

In just over a year, he had produced hit after hit, sparred with fans, lambasted Hui Yuan, and even publicly criticized the Golden Melody Awards!

Fans hailed him as a musical genius with a temper to match his talent.

Zhou Miao, take the stage!