Chapter 84: The Second Duel

In the second round of “Battle at the Forbidden Peak,” every singer was required to find a guest performer. Zhou Miao estimated that the others, like himself, would opt for partners of the opposite sex. It would undoubtedly be a parade of love duets, and without something special prepared, it would be hard to win high scores from an audience suffering from aesthetic fatigue.

So Zhou Miao pondered for a long time before finally settling on an old song from 2007 in his previous life. The song wasn’t originally a love duet, but during a later Spring Festival Gala, the original artist had adapted it into a male-female duet with great effect.

The only issue was that the arrangement felt dated and didn’t align with the current audience’s tastes. Fortunately, Zhou Miao now had the ability to arrange music independently. He didn’t need to start from scratch—just modernize and refine the original.

For Zhou Miao, this adaptation wasn’t difficult; he hadn’t been wasting his time since entering university. Once the arrangement was done, he picked up his phone. He’d previously sneaked into the orchestral department’s group chat to complete an assignment, and now it was coming in handy.

He didn’t plan to pre-record the song. Instead, he wanted a live orchestra performance at the venue—an audiovisual experience that a backing track could never match.

“Urgently need a live orchestra this weekend. Paid, with transportation and dinner provided. Seniors who are available, please contact me.”

It was past midnight, but as soon as the message appeared under Zhou Miao’s name, a flood of responses erupted. Good grief, did any of these people sleep?

“Second round of ‘Peak Battle’? Count me in! Violin King reporting!”

“Let’s go! Central Conservatory on the move! Nothing will survive!”

“Me, me, me! Flute Demon King at your service!”

“Save me a spot, guys—I want to be on TV!”

“I don’t need the money, junior. Will you take payment in kind?”

Within less than five minutes of sending the message, Zhou Miao had already gathered all the musicians he needed. Others kept pestering him, wanting to come just to be part of the atmosphere. Zhou Miao had to send out several red packets to calm everyone down, and arranged to meet the selected orchestra members at the campus for rehearsals.

While Zhou Miao was taking action, the other singers weren’t idle either—especially those who ranked in the bottom four after the first round. If they didn’t win in this round, they were sure to be eliminated when the points were tallied for the final eight-to-four showdown in the third round.

A battle among the top stars wasn’t scary; the real embarrassment came from being eliminated.

Time flew by, and before he knew it, the weekend had arrived. Zhou Miao chartered a bus to bring Zhao Li and the seniors from the conservatory to the recording site.

When Hui Yuan saw Zhou Miao arriving with a crowd, his eyes widened in surprise. What was this—a choir? But when he noticed the musical instruments, he understood: Zhou Miao had brought an orchestra. Clearly, he’d made thorough preparations.

But Hui Yuan wasn’t worried. With a confident smile, he headed back to his own dressing room, holding two cups of tea. He was fully confident about tonight’s competition.

After settling the orchestra, Zhou Miao took Zhao Li to their dressing room, but they ran into Lin Zekai and Li Qin in the hallway.

Seeing Zhou Miao and Zhao Li, Li Qin hesitated, her expression tinged with embarrassment and unease, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Miao… brother…” she finally greeted him. After all, if not for Zhou Miao, she might still be a trainee.

Zhou Miao’s pace never faltered, his face expressionless as if he hadn’t heard her, passing her by without a glance.

Zhao Li, seeing this, didn’t dare greet Li Qin either. She looked at her intently, then quickly caught up with Zhou Miao.

Li Qin’s expression grew bitter. Lin Zekai patted her shoulder. “Let’s go. There’s not much time left—the livestream’s about to start.”

On the way, Zhao Li looked like she wanted to speak but was holding back. Zhou Miao knew what she was thinking.

“She’s with Wave now. You know the relationship between Rainbow and Wave. If she keeps hanging around with us, it won’t be good for her career over there.”

After Zhou Miao put it that way, Zhao Li understood. That was true; even she’d have to keep her distance from Li Qin from now on.

In the dressing room, the TV on the wall showed Qian Jin on stage, getting familiar with the process. The livestream was about to begin.

“What’s our order tonight?” Zhao Li asked.

“We’re in the second group, facing Ningxia. Individually, we go fourth.”

Zhou Miao was actually looking forward to tonight’s contest. Competing with strong opponents was always interesting.

At 8 p.m., the livestream began right on time. Qian Jin, in a purple, sequin-covered miniskirt that showed off her flawless figure, even drew a few extra glances from Zhou Miao.

But when he looked back, he found Zhao Li eyeing him disdainfully, her expression seeming to say, “Men, honestly.”

“Heh, her dress is pretty interesting. Sparkles a lot under the lights,” Zhou Miao explained weakly.

Ah, there went his cool image.

Compared to the tentative first round, everyone was ready to go all out in the second. Hui Yuan was the first to take the stage, supporting an elderly man, who looked to be over sixty, as they walked on together.

Zhou Miao gasped. Who was this? Some living legend of the music world?

He didn’t recognize the man, but he couldn’t admit it—otherwise, there would be a barrage of criticism: “How can you call yourself a musician if you don’t know him?”

Zhou Miao leaned over and whispered to Zhao Li, “Do you know who that is?”

She shook her head—she didn’t know either. An awkward silence filled the dressing room.

At that moment, the director’s voice came through their earpieces: “Uh, that’s Hui Yuan’s father.”

Damn! Zhou Miao immediately regained his composure. “Was this gentleman a singer in the past? To be able to perform at his age is really impressive!”

He wasn’t exaggerating. At a certain age, physical decline, especially reduced lung capacity, makes performing live extremely taxing for the elderly.

But Zhou Miao needn’t have worried, because the old man didn’t sing a single line.

From the beginning, Hui Yuan held his father’s hand and, with deep emotion, sang a famous tribute to fathers, tears streaming down his face as he sang.

The moving scene, coupled with Hui Yuan’s tearful voice, had many sentimental audience members wiping their eyes.

But Zhou Miao kept waiting for Hui Yuan’s father to sing. After all, he was the guest—shouldn’t he sing?

He waited and waited, and finally, at the very end, the father picked up the microphone.

In the plainest voice, he said, “As long as you’re well, that’s enough for me.”

Zhou Miao was speechless. He turned to ask, “Does… does this count as a duet?”