Chapter Seventy-Nine: Celestial Melody

Su Tong wore a Western-style coat with a European aristocratic flair. His legs appeared especially long and slender in his fitted trousers. Suddenly, he spread his legs apart, gripped the microphone in his right hand, and pointed his left arm straight to the sky.

A wailing cry, both mournful and piercing, erupted from him like a thunderclap out of nowhere, stunning the entire auditorium. Yang Feifei's hand shook so violently that her phone nearly tumbled to the floor.

Everyone in the hall—teachers and students alike—was left dumbfounded, mouths agape in shock. The audience watching the live stream was equally stupefied, hardly able to believe their ears.

What was this sound?

It carried an infinite sense of anguish and sorrow. The astonishing thing was not only the emotional intensity but also that this wail surpassed the very limits of human high notes. Not only did he sustain the extremity, but he did so with a musicality so exquisite that it resembled a celestial melody descending from the heavens themselves.

The song he performed was, in his previous life, one of Vitas’s most iconic pieces, renowned for its dolphin notes that once shook the world. Vitas had been celebrated among Chinese fans as the Prince of Dolphin Notes, and this particular song was considered his magnum opus—not because it contained his highest notes, but because of the way he blended soaring highs with captivating musicality, producing a sound as ethereal as the music of paradise.

After this first cry, Su Tong shifted, turning sideways to face the audience. With legs apart and knees slightly bent, he let out another wail. His left arm stretched forward, palm up, rising with each phrase, matching the intensity of his voice.

Few could understand or interpret Su Tong’s performance; they were simply stunned by his range, left speechless by the force of his high notes. Yet among the students majoring in Russian, a handful partially understood—and that partial understanding made the experience all the more poignant.

The lyrics in the opening of the song told a sorrowful tale:

“The house is built, but I am alone within its walls.
Behind me, the door slams shut.
The autumn wind rattles the windows, and once again, I weep.
Night thunder rumbles, morning mists swirl.
The sunlight is no longer warm.
Endless suffering, unbroken, end to end…”

Those students, grasping even fragments of the meaning, were utterly enraptured by Su Tong’s performance, feeling the pain and loneliness in his heart. There had to be a tragic story behind such a song.

After two soul-shaking cries of misery and anguish, Su Tong lowered his arm, drew his legs together, and walked a solitary, elegant circle across the stage. Then, once more assuming the air of a gentleman, he stood quietly and sang.

Vitas was famously handsome, and when he performed at the Kremlin in Russia, the staging, the supporting cast, the set design—everything was flawless. Sometimes he’d flash a mesmerizing smile or cast electrifying glances, dazzling countless young women and even charming many men.

But Su Tong did not emulate Vitas in this regard. His performance was shaped by the lyrics and the story. As he began the second verse, the audience was drawn into subtle and complex emotions.

Yet as the second verse neared its end, Su Tong once again spread his legs, and the crowd could barely contain themselves. The dolphin notes were coming again—the audience hadn’t even had time to recover from the first round.

Sure enough, those heavenly dolphin notes soared out once more.

This time, the crowd could no longer hold back. That voice, shaking the soul, kindled a wild urge to compete with the sky. The screams of the girls rose in waves, while even the boys joined in, unable to restrain themselves.

After his cry, Su Tong saw the entire hall in a frenzy. He smiled, danced a few operatic steps with gentlemanly grace, provoking another round of screams from the girls—he was simply dazzling.

After these few dance moves, the opera entered its climax. Su Tong again spread his legs and raised his left arm. The crowd erupted. This was what they wanted—the cries were so beautiful, once was never enough.

He wailed again, moving his body in graceful arcs, and the entire hall swayed along with him. Why was he so captivating? Every gesture seemed perfectly honed, exuding an effortless cool.

Yang Feifei was more stunned than anyone. She was an actress by training, having won Best Actress at just nineteen. Her ability to perform was exceptional, and only an expert could truly appreciate the nuances on display—while the uninitiated could only marvel at the spectacle.

Su Tong’s stagecraft was flawless, down to the smallest glance, perfectly synchronized with the music, brimming with expression.

After the climax, his style shifted; it was as if he cast aside the performance and engaged directly with the audience, every move designed to stoke the atmosphere, guiding the crowd in the direction he desired.

Many students and staff from various departments—arts, publicity, discipline—filled the auditorium. The members of the arts department, in particular, wanted to bang their heads against the wall. This was the very person they had unanimously vetoed, refusing him a spot on stage.

Judging by the feverish response, even the famous alumna who’d become a celebrated singer over the past twenty years couldn’t have achieved such effect. Technically, she was more of a classical vocalist than a pop star, and while her singing was superb, she lacked a commanding stage presence.

As the opera ended, the applause was thunderous, the screams relentless, echoing for over a minute.

Viewers watching the stream were red-eyed with envy. Damn, why wasn’t I there in person? How could I miss out on this?

“I wish all new students a fresh start here at Min University. May your dreams take flight in this place. Thank you, everyone.” Su Tong offered a slight bow, unwilling to say more.

Because of his performance, the evening’s program was thrown off schedule, running seven or eight minutes late. Of course, the student originally scheduled to sing “I Believe” was replaced by Su Tong, and most of the overtime was taken up by his opera and unscripted remarks.

After all, this was a freshman welcome gala, not his personal livestream, nor a solo concert.

With his bow, the host—signaled by Su Tong—hurried onstage, while Su Tong himself made his way backstage.

“Nian Nu Jiao! Nian Nu Jiao!” the freshmen began to lose control.

“Encore! Encore!”

“Sing another! One more song!”

The shouts grew louder; some people even stood up, trying to clamber onto the stage. If they dared, why shouldn’t I? Suddenly, a wave of people surged forward, all eager to get onstage.

This was chaos. A single spark could ignite a wildfire. More and more people left their seats, reason giving way as they rushed the stage.

“Hey, everyone, stop—please—” the host stammered in panic, utterly overwhelmed. They’d never faced such a scene before.

The student staff below the stage, seeing the surge, stood frozen with fear.

Su Tong was startled too. He quickly gestured for everyone to halt and strode to the edge of the stage.

“Everyone, please return to your seats. The evening is limited in time, and I still have classes at the university. There will be plenty more chances to hear me sing in the future; after all, I livestream every week,” Su Tong addressed the students who had lost their composure and were trying to climb onstage.

The staff’s souls nearly fled their bodies. With so many students already on the move or poised to rush the stage, they could barely block one apiece. If the crowd pressed forward, a stampede could easily occur.

Su Tong’s words were like an imperial decree; the restless students immediately halted.

“Everyone standing, please sit down. Those in the aisles, return to your seats. And you lot in front—have you seen enough? I know I’m handsome, but if you keep staring, I’ll get shy. If you don’t go back, I’ll leave now! Go on, sit down!” Su Tong commanded, restoring order.

Laughter rippled through the hall. This “Nian Nu Jiao” was so charmingly narcissistic.

Such is the power of a true idol. The school leaders and teachers in the front row wiped their brows—inviting Su Tong onstage was, it seemed, a bit risky.

If he hadn’t regained control, disaster would have struck: “Stampede at Min University’s Freshman Gala—Casualties Reported.”

“Who would have thought he’d be so outstanding and popular? Looks like Min University has found itself a new promotional figure,” thought the school leaders, secretly delighted.