Chapter Twenty-Two: If Love Is Forgotten

As they entered the venue, staff members guided the two of them to their seats. The arrangement was quite favorable—close to the front, as befitted guests who had traveled from afar and were up for four nominations. Their spots could hardly be anything less.

Chen Ling’s seat was right by the aisle, likely to allow him easy access to the stage for his performance during the ceremony. Whether it would also make it easier to collect an award, he dared not hope.

The red carpet was still in full swing outside, so the main event had yet to begin inside. Those who knew each other were gathered in small groups, chatting and mingling.

Chen Ling had few acquaintances here and no intention of networking. After all, he didn’t plan to make a career in the music industry; film was where his true ambitions lay. Moreover, his songs were all “borrowed,” so his musical foundation was not particularly solid. If someone were to test his skills and he slipped up, it would be awkward indeed.

To his surprise, Fan Zheng was sitting quietly beside him instead of flitting from group to group like a social butterfly, as he had done in the red carpet waiting area. Chen Ling hadn’t expected this at all.

“Why aren’t you going around greeting people?” Chen Ling couldn’t help but ask, seeing Fan Zheng sitting so upright.

“I’m a bit nervous,” Fan Zheng admitted, swallowing hard before extending his right hand, which was already sweaty with anxiety. Just moments ago, he’d been so lively on the red carpet that Chen Ling thought he was perfectly at ease in such settings. Who could have guessed he was even more nervous now?

“Relax,” Chen Ling said, patting his shoulder. “Nominations come from talent, but winning is all about luck. I paid for the flight, but the Golden Melody Awards are covering our accommodation and meals. Just treat it as a business trip.”

“Still, we’re up for four awards. There’s no way we’re going home empty-handed!” Fan Zheng wiped his sweaty palm on his thigh, trying to comfort himself.

Soon, as the final stars made their entrance on the red carpet, the 21st Golden Melody Awards ceremony officially began.

The opening act was a song and dance performance. It wasn’t particularly novel, but since this was Chen Ling’s first time attending such a grand awards ceremony, he watched with genuine curiosity, finding it far from boring.

After the opening act, the hosts, Harlem Yu and Little S, made their dazzling entrance. Given the extensive live broadcast coverage—not just in Taiwan, but also on mainland channels and Southeast Asian platforms—the hosts kept their remarks measured, far different from the playful banter on “Kangxi Coming.”

Both were seasoned professionals, skilled at managing the pace of such events. Even the usual platitudes about looking back, assessing the present, and looking ahead were delivered with enough wit to keep things engaging.

At least Chen Ling wasn’t bored; occasional laughter bubbled up from the audience, and, most importantly, the hosts spoke very clear Mandarin—well within his grasp.

Soon, the ceremony moved on to the smaller awards, a warm-up before the major prizes, which, like the red carpet, were saved for the finale.

Just as these initial awards were being announced, a staff member hurried over, bending low to whisper to Chen Ling that it was time to head backstage and prepare for his performance.

“Break a leg!” Fan Zheng clenched his fist in encouragement as Chen Ling got up. After all the vocal training and technique work they’d done, Fan Zheng was confident in Chen Ling’s live performance.

“Make sure you clap loud when I start singing!” Chen Ling grinned, returning the gesture.

Though there were no cameras on him as he headed backstage, many sharp-eyed viewers noticed his empty seat when the broadcast returned to the hall. They quickly remembered that the award show’s official schedule, released the previous night, included Chen Ling’s live performance.

The livestream chat grew lively.

“Can’t wait—wonder which song he’ll choose.”
“Is it going to be live or lip-synched? Don’t mess it up!”
“It’s live, for sure.”
“Never heard his live performance before—please don’t let him fall flat, or we’ll be embarrassed across the strait.”
“No way, he already did a live rehearsal yesterday. They wouldn’t let him perform if he wasn’t up to it.”
“He’s singing that song? And they say those two never dated? That’s proof enough!”

Chen Ling, oblivious to the online chatter, was standing backstage with his in-ear monitors, nervously awaiting his cue. Moments ago, he’d been telling Fan Zheng not to be nervous; now, it was his own palms sweating.

When the director’s cue came through his earpiece, Chen Ling took a deep breath to steady himself and strode toward the stage.

In this life and the last, this was the first time he’d ever performed on such a grand stage—and live, no less. To say he wasn’t nervous or excited would be a lie.

The stage was almost entirely dark now, save for a faint backlight streaming from backstage onto the stage.

Against that backdrop, Chen Ling’s figure appeared strikingly tall and poised—a presence that would make any model envious.

From the audience, all they could see was a tall, solitary silhouette. But from Chen Ling’s vantage point, he could clearly see the faces below.

In that moment, he finally understood why so many stars loved holding concerts. That feeling of being at the center of thousands of gazes was truly intoxicating.

The entire world seemed to fall silent. He could even hear the pounding of his heart—thump, thump, thump.

As the familiar melody began to play, Chen Ling closed his eyes, listening intently to the rhythm in his monitors and building the emotion within him. When skill falls short, emotion must make up the difference.

“There are always some words,
Left unsaid in time,

There is always someone,
A mark on your heart—”

His opening was steady and full of feeling, not disappointing the audience, who were curious about this mainland singer. A smattering of applause broke out.

Buoyed by their response, Chen Ling poured even more heart into his performance.

In the livestream, viewers flooded the chat with encouragement, their messages almost overwhelming the screen.

“Didn’t expect him to sing this one.”
“So steady—just incredible.”
“He’s singing the movie’s ending song—must be promoting the film.”
“Why does it sound like there are still unresolved feelings? Are they hyping a breakup, or is it real? Someone tell me, I’m dying to know!”

Many recognized the song as the ending theme from the film “Love Is a Losing Game.” Some even remembered it was a gift from Chen Ling to Jing Tian.

He’d chosen this song not only to promote the film, as the livestream chat guessed, but more so to sing it for that young woman.

Though it wasn’t the first song he’d written for Jing Tian, none of the other tracks on his album felt right for this occasion.

This is the song I wrote for you. Now I’m singing it on this grand stage—are you watching from afar?

No matter what the future holds, I hope you live well.

At that very moment, in a hotel room a thousand miles away in Hengdian, the girl who had always seemed like the girl next door was watching the livestream alone, her eyes red with tears.