Chapter 90: The Birth of the King of Songs

Zhou Miao and Huang Chengxi stood side by side, with two ballot boxes placed behind them. The scoring mechanism for the final was different from the previous four rounds: the 350 judges, media representatives, and audience members present each had one vote, but could only vote for one contestant. The one with the most votes would be crowned the winner.

The audience was torn. Either contestant would make a worthy champion.

Huang Chengxi’s “Deep Night” was dazzlingly ornate, while Zhou Miao’s “Boy” was profoundly moving; choosing between them felt like trying to pick between one’s own hands—an impossible decision.

Should the victor be a powerhouse vocalist or a genius songwriter? Wrestling with this dilemma, the audience queued up to cast their votes.

The first to vote were twenty professional musician judges, who would decide based on the technical merits of the two songs.

On the surface, Huang Chengxi’s “Deep Night” appeared much more challenging than “Boy.” In truth, though “Boy” seemed simple, its continuous weak eighth notes and subtle syncopation made it exceedingly difficult—a feat only a master would dare attempt. The piano solo in the intro and outro breathed soul into the song, unleashing the deliberately suppressed emotions in the lyrics and leaving listeners exhilarated.

Another intriguing touch: every line in “Boy” ended with the “ai” sound—evidence, if any were needed, of Zhou Miao’s obsession with rhyme.

Laypeople only knew it sounded beautiful; only these professionals truly grasped the song’s brilliance.

The musicians’ votes: Zhou Miao, 11; Huang Chengxi, 9.

Next, thirty media outlets cast their votes, focusing on the songs’ popular appeal.

Huang Chengxi’s high notes were gorgeous—there was no denying that—but the song itself, apart from those stunning moments, was somewhat lackluster and unlikely to spread widely.

As for Zhou Miao’s “Boy,” its blend of pop sensibility and technical prowess gave it a refined quality. While not as musically trained, the media could sense a song’s potential to become a hit.

At the end of the media vote: Zhou Miao 31, Huang Chengxi 19—a modest lead for Zhou Miao.

But this was by no means decisive. The real weight lay with the 300 audience members; the public’s tastes were notoriously unpredictable, and a 12-vote lead was hardly insurmountable.

Huang Chengxi nervously clenched his fists. Both men stood with their backs to the ballot boxes and screens, unaware of the current tally—left only with their hopes and prayers.

Three hundred audience members formed a long line passing between them. Many reached out, hoping to touch them for luck.

The audience voted capriciously, guided solely by their personal preferences.

Twenty minutes passed. At last, the final audience member cast their vote, and the results were in.

Qian Jin took the stage. “All right, the results are ready. Before we announce the winner, I’d like to ask both of you: if you lose, how will you feel?”

Huang Chengxi thought for a moment. “I’d be disappointed, of course. We both made it all the way to the finals—missing out on the championship would be a real regret.”

He was candid; he wanted to win, to take the crown. There was no shame in that.

When it was Zhou Miao’s turn, he smiled slightly. “It’d be a lie to say I don’t want to win. I’m very competitive—if I lose, I’ll probably feel bad for quite a while.”

The audience laughed; they all knew Zhou Miao’s competitive streak well.

Especially his quick tongue—he’d never lost a verbal spar, gaining a reputation as the unrivaled sharp-tongued wit of the entertainment industry.

Qian Jin nodded. “Thank you both for your answers and for your stellar performances all this time. Now, please turn around. Tonight’s champion is...”

Huang Chengxi slowly turned. Seeing the two numbers on the big screen, he managed a bittersweet smile.

“Congratulations, Zhou Miao!”

The final score of “Showdown at the Forbidden Summit” was 132 to 118—Zhou Miao ahead, Huang Chengxi behind.

The moment they turned, golden confetti rained down on the stage, while jets of fire shot up around them.

Relief washed over Zhou Miao at the sight of the final result; he exhaled deeply, then walked over to embrace Huang Chengxi tightly.

Huang Chengxi had half expected Zhou Miao’s victory. In the third round, Zhou Miao’s song “Actor” had caused an enormous stir. Everyone had marveled at his talent, and his popularity had soared—he’d seemed destined for the crown ever since.

That’s how these music competition shows always went: once a contestant made a stunning impression in a single round, the championship was almost always theirs. All attention would focus on them, and votes would naturally follow.

Huang Chengxi’s 118 votes were largely thanks to his creative duet with the virtual Old Cat in the second round.

Zhou Miao took the golden microphone, symbol of victory, from Qian Jin’s hands, lifted it high at center stage, and basked in the deafening cheers and applause from the audience.

Zhou Miao had debuted less than two years ago. In that short time, his rise had been meteoric, and now he was crowned as the new king of his generation.

The viewers watching the live broadcast were equally gratified. In their eyes, Zhou Miao’s victory was the best possible outcome.

There were many accomplished vocalists, but among the new generation, true creative geniuses like Zhou Miao were unmatched.

The audience hoped Zhou Miao’s success would show young singers that listeners’ taste remained keen. As long as you produced good work, you would be celebrated.

For too long, the Mandarin pop scene had been plagued by mediocrity and impatience; perhaps Zhou Miao’s emergence would bring about change.

Qian Jin joined Zhou Miao onstage. “Once again, congratulations to Zhou Miao, the champion of the first season of ‘Showdown at the Forbidden Summit.’ Do you have anything you’d like to say to our audience here and watching at home?”

It was time for the champion’s speech—a first for Zhou Miao, who felt he had little to add. He simply clasped his hands together and said, “Thank you!”

That’s it? The audience laughed, but Qian Jin wasn’t about to let him off so easily.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say to your fellow contestants this season?”

Zhou Miao thought for a moment. “Uh... I rarely compliment others, but after joining this show, I’ve realized how talented everyone is—just in different ways.”

“The results here don’t mean everything. I look forward to more exchanges and challenges with all of you in the future. No matter when, I’m always ready for a match!”

His words drew thunderous applause, bringing this phenomenal variety show to a perfect close.

After so many lackluster talent shows, witnessing such a high-caliber musical duel was a true joy.

It was a pity that such a brilliant show had to end. In the past month and a half, “Showdown at the Summit” had delivered so many unforgettable moments. If only it could go on forever.