HDRDTH -Chapter 43 The Faint Light on the Spring Festival Gala Stage

On New Year’s Eve, Beijing was blanketed in heavy snow.

Flakes as large as goose feathers struck the glass curtain wall of the CCTV building, yet they could not mask the heat surging inside Studio Hall No. 1.

With less than two hours left before midnight, the Spring Festival Gala live broadcast had already entered its most intense phase.

Backstage corridors were crowded with dancers running back and forth, drenched in sweat, wearing bright red and green costumes.

The air was filled with a strange mix of hairspray, makeup powder, and boxed meals.

It was a massive arena of fame and fortune—everyone fighting for just a few minutes of exposure.

On stage, Zhang Jieke wore a glittering suit encrusted with Swarovski crystals, surrounded by dozens of backup dancers, wildly twisting his body to a deafening electronic dance track.

Behind him, the giant LED screen showed spinning red lanterns, gold ingots, and exploding fireworks effects.

The entire scene was overwhelmingly red, almost blinding, chaotic to the point of headache.

“Come on everyone, get hyped! Happy New Year!” Zhang Jieke shouted into the microphone at the top of his lungs.

But the response from the audience was lukewarm.

The front rows—leaders and special guests in formal suits—clapped politely, their smiles stiff as if measured with a ruler.

In the back rows, many people were looking down at their phones or covering their mouths to yawn.

They had long grown tired of such artificially festive performances.

Yu Xian sat in the corner of the VIP family section, still wearing a faded hoodie and flip-flops.

He slumped into the red velvet seat like a pile of boneless mud.

In his hand, he idly rolled a pair of old walnuts, the faint “click-clack” sound oddly distinct amid the noise.

“Xiao Yu, stop fiddling with those. I’m so nervous my heart’s about to jump out,” Su Wanyi said beside him, gripping his sleeve tightly, her palms drenched in sweat.

The next act would be Su Xi’s stage.

This was the Spring Festival Gala—watched live by over a billion people!

“Why be nervous? If the sky falls, taller people will hold it up,” Yu Xian said lazily, yawning as he glanced at his worn Casio digital watch.

“I’m only concerned about when this damn gala will end. Da Fu said Xiao Qin sent over that globally limited titanium alloy lure. My mind’s been stuck on the rod’s feel—who has time to watch this circus on stage?”

Su Wanyi was so annoyed she had no words. She glared at him hard, then turned back to stare nervously at the stage.

Finally, Zhang Jieke’s performance ended with a piercing electronic final note.

He struck a pose he thought was cool, drenched in sweat, basking in scattered applause, before reluctantly leaving the stage.

The host’s voice followed immediately, calmer and more solemn than usual:

“In this night of bidding farewell to the old and welcoming the new, we not only give thanks for life’s beauty, but also pay tribute to those who quietly dedicate themselves in ordinary positions. Next, please enjoy the original song ‘The Lone Brave’ performed by Su Xi.”

The moment the words fell, all the lights in Studio Hall No. 1 went out at once!

Whoosh—

The once brightly lit hall plunged into total darkness.

A faint commotion rose from the audience; some even thought the power had gone out.

In the control room, several assistant directors swallowed nervously. Only Feng Dagang stared fixedly at the monitors, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He had staked his entire career on this performance.

Five full seconds of dead silence passed.

Suddenly, a single white spotlight, like a blade, fell from the dome of the hall straight onto the center of the stage.

Within the beam stood Su Xi.

No elaborate princess dress. No exaggerated makeup.

She wore only a plain white shirt, faded blue jeans, and white canvas shoes.

Holding the microphone stand with both hands, she lowered her head—like a small girl lost in a snowstorm, yet stubbornly refusing to fall.

A deep, oppressive percussion intro with a metallic industrial texture suddenly exploded through the speakers.

Su Xi slowly raised her head. Her clear eyes showed no fear—only resilience forged through online harassment.

She opened her mouth, her voice piercing through the darkness:

“All of you are brave—the wounds on your forehead, your differences, your mistakes…”

At the exact moment she sang the first line, the massive LED screen behind her suddenly lit up!

No red lanterns. No Chinese knots. No backup dancers.

Instead, a raw, unfiltered black-and-white photograph filled the screen.

It showed a miner just emerging from underground.

His face was covered in coal dust, his features barely visible. Only his eyes, under the faint glow of a mining lamp, carried a stubborn will to survive.

His fingernails were packed with black dirt. In his hand, he tightly held a dried, hardened steamed bun.

The audience collectively held their breath.

Su Xi continued singing, her voice carrying a force that tore through darkness:

“No need to hide—your worn-out doll, your mask, your self…”

The images on the screen began to change.

An elderly sanitation worker pushing a garbage cart through a street at minus twenty degrees, eyebrows and beard frozen with ice.

A doctor in a blood-stained white coat sleeping against a corridor wall outside the emergency room, still clutching half a cold boxed meal.

A delivery rider in a rainstorm, pushing a broken electric bike at a crossroads, rainwater streaming down his helmet, his eyes filled with helpless endurance against life’s weight.

“They said you must carry the light and tame every monster! They said you must stitch up your wounds—no one loves the clown!”

Su Xi’s voice grew higher and more powerful, erupting with the force of a landslide.

People in the audience began covering their mouths.

The previously expressionless leaders in the front rows sat upright, their eyes filled with undeniable shock.

They were used to polished performances, yet were now struck hard by raw reality.

“Why must loneliness be unglorious!”

“Imperfection is what makes humans worthy of praise!”

“Who says those covered in mud cannot be heroes!”

At the chorus peak, all stage lights suddenly flared on—but not in festive colors.

Instead, they were pure, blinding white.

Behind her, countless black-and-white photos surged like a tide, forming a vast ocean of ordinary lives.

“I love you walking alone in dark alleys! I love your unbowed figure! I love you facing despair without shedding a tear!”

Su Xi’s voice nearly broke into a shout, an ultimate explosion after extreme suppression.

Su Wanyi in the family section had tears streaming down her face.

She thought of the years raising her daughter alone, and the fear when she had once been pushed to the edge by Xingmang Entertainment.

This song was about them.

And Yu Xian still slouched in his seat.

He looked at his daughter shining on stage, a faint smile forming at the corner of his lips.

He had seen too much hypocrisy in his past life in the business world. He knew very well that what ordinary people lacked was never empty slogans—but to be seen.

Bringing this song to the Spring Festival Gala was his way of forcing those high-and-mighty capitalists and old scholars to be slammed face-first into reality.

“Who says only those in the light are heroes!”

When the final lyric fell, accompanied by the last heavy drumbeat, the screen froze on a wind-swept borderland, showing the back of a young soldier gripping his rifle.

The performance ended.

The entire studio fell into a ten-second silence.

No one spoke. No one even dared breathe loudly.

The emotional impact was so overwhelming that everyone was trapped in it.

Then—

Boom!

A wave of applause erupted.

No host led it. No cue was given.

An elderly white-haired leader in the front row suddenly stood up and clapped hard.

Like dominoes falling, thousands of people stood at once.

Thunderous applause mixed with suppressed sobs and cheers nearly lifted the roof of the hall.

“Good! That was amazing!”

“This is the Spring Festival Gala we want! This is the backbone of Chinese people!”

In the control room backstage, Feng Dagang stared at the soaring ratings curve on the monitor—now almost breaking through the graph limit.

He collapsed into his chair, eyes red, laughing and crying at the same time.

“It worked… damn it, I won the gamble! That Yu Xian kid… he’s a monster!”