HDRDTH -Chapter 41 Who Said Only Those in the Light Are Heroes?

On the dining table, half a bottle of Erguotou had already been emptied.

Feng Dagang’s face was flushed from the aroma of braised pork as he kept muttering, “Brother Yu, this dish is insane. Seriously. If you ever quit fishing, open a restaurant—I’ll come be your doorman every day.”

Yu Xian sipped his liquor and glanced sideways at him.

“Director Feng, you’ve eaten, you’ve drunk. Let’s talk business. You want an inspirational song. Fine. But tell me—what does ‘inspirational’ mean to you?”

Feng Dagang paused, put down his chopsticks, and straightened slightly.

“Inspirational? Isn’t it about sunshine, positivity, struggle? Something grand and uplifting—makes people want to go move bricks or start a business.”

Yu Xian let out a faint sneer and shook his head.

“Director Feng, it’s almost 2003. Everyone says this is a golden era, gold everywhere on the ground. But have you ever thought about the people crawling through dark alleys? The ones with wounds on their foreheads, covered in mud, still forcing themselves to stand? Don’t they need inspiration too?”

His words landed like a needle piercing Feng Dagang’s mind.

In his past life, Yu Xian had lived to fifty-five and seen through the emptiness behind so-called “success.”

True inspiration was never about standing on a podium holding a trophy.

It was about the backbone of those who refused to kneel in the lowest corners of the world.

“I’m not writing this song for those standing in the light,” Yu Xian said, setting down his glass, his gaze turning deep and sharp.

“I’m writing it for those crying in the dark—those who struggle in the mud but still refuse to surrender.”

Feng Dagang’s whole body trembled.

“Loners… in the dark?” he repeated. The name alone carried a brutal weight.

“Brother Yu… you’ve got something already?”

Yu Xian said nothing.

He stood up, walked into the study, and casually pulled a crumpled draft paper from a drawer.

Picking up a pen, he began writing.

The melody of a future song—one that would shake the entire nation and become a secret code among students—slowly unfolded in his mind.

A few minutes later, he walked back out and slapped the paper onto the table.

Feng Dagang leaned in—and his pupils shrank violently.

“Every scar on your forehead, every mistake you’ve made…”

“Love you walking alone through dark alleys, love your unwillingness to kneel, love you confronting despair without shedding a tear…”

As he read, his breathing grew rapid.

He was a director—he was extremely sensitive to emotional tension in words.

And these lines immediately conjured images in his mind:

A laid-off worker smoking at a street corner, eyes still steady;

A young entrepreneur in a basement chewing on a steamed bun, surrounded by dense drafts;

And countless others—on borders, in operating rooms, at silent posts—bearing the weight of an entire nation.

“Who said only those standing in the light are heroes…”

When he reached that line, Feng Dagang slammed the table so hard the wine cups toppled over, spilling Erguotou everywhere—but he didn’t even notice. His eyes were red.

“Good! Brilliant line!” he shouted, voice trembling. “Brother Yu, this isn’t a song—you’re carving a monument for all those struggling souls! These words… they stab straight into the heart!”

Yu Xian looked at him calmly.

“I already have the arrangement in mind. Su Xi’s voice is clean, but resilient. She can sing the feeling of flowers blooming in ruins.”

Then he looked at Feng Dagang.

“Dare you turn off all the lights on the Spring Festival Gala stage and leave only a single spotlight—for those in the dark?”

Feng Dagang clenched his teeth.

He had always loved taking risks in filmmaking. This proposal was exactly to his taste.

“I dare!” he said fiercely. “If I get this song done, I’ll fight those stubborn old fools at the station even if I have to risk my entire reputation!”

Yu Xian smiled faintly.

“Alright. I’ll take the song.”

Then he added casually:

“Don’t forget your quiet fishing lake. If I don’t catch a fish on New Year’s Day, I’ll really pour your two bottles of liquor into your nose.”

Feng Dagang burst out laughing.

“Relax! The fish in that lake are bigger than your entire lifetime’s number of empty catches!”

Yu Xian: “……”

“Get lost.”

Three Days Later — CCTV Building, Beijing

More than half a month remained until New Year’s Eve, but the entire building was already in “wartime mode.”

Staff moved quickly through the corridors.

Yu Xian arrived with Su Wanyi and Su Xi, led personally by Feng Dagang into the main rehearsal hall.

“Oh? Director Feng, this is the ‘genius’ you mentioned?” a man in a sequined suit approached.

It was Zhang Jack, one of the most popular pop stars in China and originally scheduled to close this year’s Spring Festival Gala.

Su Xi’s sudden rise had pushed his performance order back, naturally leaving him unhappy.

“Watch your tone,” Feng Dagang said coldly. “This is Mr. Yu Xian, Su Xi’s father—and the composer of Loners in the Dark.”

Zhang Jack sneered.

“Mr. Yu? Never heard of him. Director Feng, let’s be honest—the Spring Festival Gala is about celebration and grandeur. This kind of ‘walking alone in dark alleys’ stuff is too heavy. People want fun during New Year, not emotional funerals.”

Some surrounding performers and staff quietly nodded in agreement.

Indeed, Yu Xian’s concept was too unconventional.

Yu Xian didn’t even bother lifting his eyelids. Dressed in a washed-out hoodie and his signature flip-flops, he looked completely out of place in the polished hall—but carried a strange, effortless arrogance.

“Zhang Jack, right?” Yu Xian said lazily.

“You think inspiration is just shouting loudly? You think Spring Festival Gala is just red and gold?”

He pointed at Zhang’s glittering outfit.

“You’re wearing a costume that does nothing except blind the audience. True power never comes from flashy decorations.”

“You—” Zhang Jack’s face turned pale.

“Enough,” Yu Xian said, turning to Feng Dagang. “Let Su Xi try it once.”

Su Xi obediently walked onto the stage, dressed simply in a white shirt and jeans.

A low, heavy intro began.

It carried a restrained, industrial rhythm—like a heartbeat in the ruins.

Su Xi closed her eyes and sang:

“Every scar on your forehead, every mistake you’ve made…”

The moment her voice emerged, the entire rehearsal hall fell into dead silence.

Her voice had a piercing clarity—like a flame refusing to go out in the dark.

When she reached the chorus:

“Love you walking alone through dark alleys, love your unwillingness to kneel…”

The emotional surge was overwhelming. Even dancers rehearsing nearby stopped and stared.

“Who said only those standing in the light are heroes!”

The final line was almost a scream—like tearing open the sky.

When she finished, silence filled the hall.

Even a veteran composer, Elder Lin, removed his glasses with trembling hands.

“A genius… truly a genius,” he muttered. “This song contains the backbone of an entire generation.”

Zhang Jack stood frozen. His face shifted from white to green to ash gray.

He had thought Yu Xian was just a backdoor nobody.

But this song was nuclear-level destruction.

Yu Xian looked at him calmly.

“Still think Spring Festival Gala only needs red lanterns?”

Zhang Jack said nothing and quietly slipped away into the crowd.

Yu Xian turned to Feng Dagang.

“Stage design stays as I said. No flashy effects. Only black-and-white silhouettes. I want the whole country to see those nameless people holding up the spine of this nation.”

Feng Dagang slapped his thigh.

“Done! Anyone who disagrees can come find me!”