On the first day of the New Year, Acemon’s popularity remained high, with everything from the group to individual members and even the fans becoming the focus of public discussion.
Summing up the key opinions, they boiled down to two viewpoints: “Acemon truly deserves it!” and “Do idol groups even deserve a Golden Hall trophy?”
Last night, on New Year’s Eve, the Golden Hall Awards ceremony arrived as scheduled. As the most authoritative music award in the Chinese-speaking music scene today, it had attracted much attention since its establishment. Every year, it gathered a star-studded lineup, featured fierce competition, and steered the trends for the upcoming year.
As early as a month ago, Pei Qiao had received the official invitation from the Golden Hall. After weighing the pros and cons, she still regretfully responded that Acemon would not be able to attend that day.
First, it was because their tour concert had long been scheduled to include a New Year’s Eve performance. Securing the venue had not been easy, and fans had coordinated their holiday time well in advance, so the team truly couldn’t spare anyone.
Second, the Golden Hall had never favored idol groups.
Back in the day, even a group like C.A.N, which broke into international markets and became a generational icon across Asia, had only been given the “Most Popular of the Year” award. Despite several works receiving unanimous praise for their artistic value from industry veterans and professionals, they were still not deemed eligible for major award nominations at the Golden Hall.
Over time, the public’s impression that “idols are inherently inferior” gradually deepened. People had once protested the unfairness, but with the evolution of the times, more and more idols who had only looks and no substance emerged and monopolized resources, inadvertently confirming such judgments.
“It’s right that we’re not going. Who doesn’t know their attitude? They want your traffic to draw attention to their awards, but then turn around and use you as a stepping stone to raise the prestige of their own event, acting like inviting you is already a favor,” Pei Qiao complained to the members on the way to the venue, letting out a snort. “Luckily, you’ve never been good at playing nice, so this time we won’t play along.”
“Why are you scolding us too,” Ji Yunting muttered in frustration.
“Perform well in tonight’s live broadcast. We must capture the New Year’s spotlight,” Pei Qiao said confidently. Ten days ago, Acemon’s first tour concert had made a huge splash, and judging by the views on videos from the event, it had definitely broken through fan circles and attracted many casual internet users.
As a result, the company had quickly secured exclusive live broadcast rights on a major mainstream platform for the New Year’s Eve show. The online ticket price was also very low, and the number of reservations skyrocketed into the millions.
Facts proved the strategy was a great success. Compared with other TV stations’ variety-style New Year’s concerts, Acemon’s performance captivated audiences with stage design alone. Entertainment influencers scrambled to write posts and memes, and even people who didn’t watch the performance could enjoy the online buzz.
The concert had reached its latter half, the stage atmosphere was blazing hot, sound waves rose and fell in waves, and the audience’s enthusiasm soared.
After the song ended, the five members bowed as usual, then returned backstage to change clothes. During the few seconds it took to exit the stage, they all noticed that the fans in the audience were still cheering loudly, and the enthusiastic response to the song seemed to be lasting unusually long.
They didn’t think much of it; just as they stepped off the lift platform and had not yet found their footing, staff members swarmed toward them, handing them water and outfits while speaking over one another so much that the content was inaudible. Only one word kept being mentioned: Golden Hall.
Pei Qiao barely had time to take her phone away from her mouth; she was sending voice messages as she quickly approached the five, her joy impossible to hide as she informed them, “You won Best Group!”
The members looked at each other in disbelief. Having just finished performing a fast-paced song with complex choreography, their brains had yet to calm down from the excitement, and their thinking was noticeably sluggish. Zhu Lianzhen was holding a water bottle that hadn’t even touched his lips before his hand froze mid-air, then he instinctively looked toward Tan Qing.
Tan Qing silently stepped to his side, leaned down to his ear, and said, “You can be happy now, Xiao Zhu.”
Zhu Lianzhen wasn’t failing to react, but he was simply overwhelmed by the sudden joy, which felt almost unreal. The corners of his mouth lifted uncontrollably, his sharp canine teeth peeking out, and he turned to meet Tan Qing’s eyes. “We—”
He hadn’t figured out what to say and managed only a beginning before breaking into a smile. Tan Qing responded with a firm “Mm,” then reached out and lifted the water bottle in Zhu Lianzhen’s hand, reminding him to drink.
Pei Qiao quickly showed them the news on her phone. Acemon’s name had just been called twice at the Golden Hall awards: once for Best Group and again for Most Popular of the Year. Her mood changed incredibly fast; she had already completely forgotten how she had just been sharing gossip and dirt about several judges in the car earlier. Now she was all smiles as she made phone calls to arrange for congratulatory posts to be written.
Because of this unexpected good news, the members stayed backstage a little longer than planned, but the audience had no complaints. The atmosphere on site was fully charged, and the moment the prelude of the next song began to play, tens of thousands of people shouted in unison toward the five figures on stage: “Congratulations—!”
Short and powerful, perfectly clear. Coincidentally, the next song they were about to perform was written for the fans. This brief moment of mutual echo struck some deep place in Zhu Lianzhen’s heart from a strange angle, even triggering his tear ducts with pinpoint accuracy.
It was strange. The mood and atmosphere at that moment shouldn’t have allowed any space for tears, and Zhu Lianzhen wasn’t crying from overwhelming joy. He simply suddenly wanted an outlet for his emotions.
For a moment, he thought without a trace of humility that it should have happened long ago. Why had they only now received this honor?
Pei Qiao had told them early on to get used to the industry’s emphasis on seniority, to get used to how stingy the world was when it came to rewarding young people. For Acemon, a group known for rebellion and unconventionality, getting used to unreasonable rules felt like performing in an absurd farce; rather than serving as a foil to others, they might as well find another stage and be the protagonists themselves. And yet, just as they had begun to entertain themselves in their own world, the so-called mainstream belatedly came forward with recognition.
As soon as the concert ended, the members didn’t even change clothes before hurriedly recording an acceptance speech video backstage, following Pei Qiao’s instructions.
According to custom, each of them also had to post on Weibo. Zhu Lianzhen was drafting a mental outline but hadn’t had time to type anything when a trending topic was suddenly pushed to the top of his homepage.
The entry read: Zhu Lianzhen cried.
“Who?” Zhu Lianzhen was puzzled. Who cried?!
Koty immediately poked his head over to join in the fun. “Let me see. Were you really that emotional just now?”
Zhu Lianzhen pushed him away, found a chair, and sat down to scroll through the trending post. It turned out that a fansite had uploaded an unedited candid photo. In the picture, Zhu Lianzhen’s brows were slightly furrowed, his lips slightly parted, his right hand holding a microphone, his left hand adjusting his in-ear monitor. A spotlight from above cast a glow on his shoulder, outlining him with a halo of light, while the rest of his tall figure was hidden in shadow.
His eyes looked slightly moist, and under the stage lighting, their stark black-and-white contrast made them gleam as if tears were about to fall the next second.
The photo had been posted half an hour earlier and had already been reposted tens of thousands of times, a rare level of heat for a fan support account. The comment section was full of praise, calling it the birth of an iconic shot.
[Unreal. The girl who took this photo told me that she hadn’t held her camera steady, and the framing was tilted, so she thought it was a ruined shot. But when I looked at it… this low-angle composition turned out perfect!]
[Just a passerby—accidentally clicked on the wrong trending topic but ended up captivated. What a vivid photo. It’s a still image, yet every detail feels alive from top to bottom. Nowadays, celebrities and influencers layer on 800 filters, blur their skin into oblivion, and call it aesthetic. I don’t know much about Zhu Lianzhen, but this split-second of him will probably stay in my mind for years.]
[Thank you to the photographer for posting it without any edits. This raw, youthful, and passionate energy doesn’t need any retouching at all. Xiao Lian, you really are something. You’re clearly on the verge of tears, but your expression still makes people feel your stubbornness at first glance. What were you thinking at that moment?]
What was he thinking at that moment?
Zhu Lianzhen couldn’t remember whether he had any thoughts aside from the lyrics at that moment, but that song had indeed stirred complicated emotions in him.
“Why haven’t you posted on Weibo yet? You’re the only one left,” Pei Qiao reminded him. Zhu Lianzhen pulled his thoughts back; he had been reading the trending comments and had forgotten what he was supposed to do.
After finishing a draft expressing his feelings about the award and thanking everyone for the concert, he hesitated whether to explain to the fans that he hadn’t actually cried on stage tonight, or rather, it didn’t really count as crying, so that everyone wouldn’t worry. But seeing that the fans were all immersed in appreciating that photo, Zhu Lianzhen felt a little reluctant to ruin the mood.
He turned off his phone screen, stood up, and wrapped himself in the down jacket Tan Qing handed him. “Let’s go, have the others already gotten in the car?”
Tan Qing said, “There are several cars. Tomorrow is New Year’s Day, so they’re all planning to go home instead of returning to the dorm. What about you?”
“I’ll go home too. Haven’t played with Naisi in a few days,” Zhu Lianzhen answered distractedly. After walking a few steps, he finally couldn’t help but call out to Tan Qing’s back. “…Wait a second, I have something for you.”
As he spoke, he rummaged through his backpack and grabbed hold of an object. Zhu Lianzhen then asked Tan Qing to close his eyes and quickly stuffed the item into his coat pocket. Sensing his flurry of small movements, Tan Qing deliberately kept his eyes closed a few seconds longer in case Zhu Lianzhen missed anything.
“Okay, open your eyes,” Zhu Lianzhen said. “Don’t touch your pocket yet! I didn’t have time to wrap it, so it doesn’t look like a gift. Check it out once you’re outside.” He pushed Tan Qing’s back, urging him to get moving.
Tan Qing couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not a car key, is it?”
That casual remark stunned Zhu Lianzhen. “How did you guess?! Wait, did I mention before that I wanted to give you a car for New Year’s?”
Zhu Lianzhen had a faint memory of it, probably from a few months ago when he had blurted something out. But at the time, he hadn’t expected Tan Qing to actually remember. He’d thought this New Year’s gift might be a surprise.
Terrifying. Zhu Lianzhen didn’t consider himself gifted at creating romantic gestures, and sometimes he couldn’t resist spilling the secret early. When faced with someone like Tan Qing, who had such an excellent memory, keeping surprises secret was almost impossibly hard.
Thankfully, he had a backup plan today!
“Go on now. Once the audience clears out, there’ll be traffic again.” Zhu Lianzhen gave Tan Qing another push. “I’m not getting in the car with you. Open it carefully once you’re home.”
Tan Qing nodded, watched him leave with his assistant, then turned and walked toward the parking lot. He took out the car key and, while walking, glanced at the logos of the cars on either side. He finally stopped in front of a pure black Bentley. Pressing the key, the headlights lit up just as expected.
This was the latest generation Continental GT, with body lines that were understated and elegant, and both the interior space and chassis suited Tan Qing’s preferences very well. He opened the car door and found his own paper driver’s license placed on the passenger seat. He had no idea when Zhu Lianzhen had managed to steal it.
The car started, and the folded digital screen in front rotated and lit up. Tan Qing tapped on the navigation and saw that Zhu Lianzhen had entered a destination—it was the villa where they used to live together.
He thought for a moment, tapped that address, and set it as the destination again.
–
Zhu Lianzhen returned home, fed Naisi first, and then played with the cat for twenty minutes before going to shower. Close to midnight, he sat on the sofa, blow-drying his hair while scrolling through his phone.
The comments under the Weibo post he had made tonight were overwhelmingly enthusiastic, with confessions and praise flooding in. As expected, many people, having seen the trending topic, were worried about whether he had felt sad today. Zhu Lianzhen carefully chose his words and added a follow-up in the comment section:
“I was already really happy when I heard about the award backstage (ask Tan Qing if you don’t believe me), and then seeing all your enthusiastic support on stage really moved me 😎. I have to admit, my other emotions always arrive half a beat later than happiness. Maybe that’s why people tend to think I’m carefree 😂~ Wishing everyone an early Happy New Year, let’s wait for the countdown together!”
A few minutes after posting the comment, Zhu Lianzhen’s phone vibrated. A message from someone he had marked as a special contact lit up the screen.
[@Acemon Tan Qing commented on your post: It’s not that you’re carefree. If you could always feel happiness first, that would be something very comforting for the people who love you.]
The heat on Zhu Lianzhen’s body had yet to dissipate, and now these two lines made his head spin again.
[OMG, are you two dating or what]
[Kissy-gege, you’re literally speaking my thoughts!]
[Same here. Life may inevitably bring sorrow, but I still hope you both will always remember happiness first.]
…
Zhu Lianzhen pressed a glass cup against one cheek to cool down, while replying to Tan Qing’s comment with his other hand: “Are you home yet?”
At that moment, Tan Qing had just parked the car.
The drive earlier had been smooth, and upon entering the neighborhood, he noticed that a familiar spot had at some point been outfitted with a small digital screen. It was about two meters tall, displaying no advertisements, just a pixelated smiley face changing colors repeatedly, as if trying to catch the attention of passersby.
However, the only place accessible past that intersection was his own home, so it seemed that aside from him… there wouldn’t be anyone else it could attract.
Tan Qing got out of the car, walked up, and stood in front of the digital signboard, then gently touched the screen with his hand.
The pixel smiley disappeared, replaced by a QR code. Tan Qing took out his phone and scanned it, which brought up a webpage with just one question: What day is the white fluffy one’s birthday?
Tan Qing stared at the sentence for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a laugh.
This kind of clumsy riddle might as well have had the quizmaster’s name written right on it.
Tan Qing recalled the date they had picked up Naisi, then entered the answer.
The electronic signboard in front of him suddenly emitted a “ding-ling-ling” sound, as if congratulating him for answering correctly.
Tan Qing looked up and saw the screen once again hide the QR code, then two new lines of text appeared.
—I don’t like that car, and I guess you don’t like this road either.
—So, let’s just replace it with a different memory.
It felt as though Zhu Lianzhen was speaking to him from afar. Just as Tan Qing’s thoughts began to drift slightly, a faint electric humming swept above his head.
A streetlamp behind the electronic signboard suddenly flickered on and awakened.
Following it, the second, third, and fourth streetlamps along the roadside lit up in turn… Lights on both sides lit up one after another like dominoes, surging forward along the road, as if an invisible hand were tapping piano keys in the night, turning an unseen rhythm into a stream of warm light.
On both sides of the road, tens of thousands of beautiful flowers finally emerged from the shadows, clustering in vibrant colors, coming together like a river. At the far end stood the villa Tan Qing knew so well. Together, they formed a soft yet vibrant oil painting in the dark, waiting to welcome him home.
Tan Qing stood in a daze, gazing at this floral avenue, the rich fragrance of flowers drifting into his chest on the evening breeze, shaking his heart.
The tacit understanding formed between him and Zhu Lianzhen over the years made it so that Tan Qing didn’t even need to think to instantly realize that this was a belated commemorative gift from Zhu Lianzhen for the 300th episode of “Truly Beautiful Weather.”
The phone in his palm vibrated. Tan Qing saw that Zhu Lianzhen had replied to his earlier comment: “Are you home yet?”
In the far distance, fireworks rose into the sky—it was people welcoming the arrival of the new year.
Tan Qing didn’t notice that the corners of his lips had already curled up. He looked down at the phone screen again, ignored the countless chaotic messages between their two accounts, and replied to Zhu Lianzhen:
“The weather’s so beautiful, I don’t want to go home yet.”
Translator’s note:
This is the last extra I’m posting for now~~
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