Chapter Twelve: Crimson Fluttering

“A moment of time is worth a moment of gold, but a moment of gold cannot buy a moment of time,” the teacher once said—day after day, year after year, blurry and muddled childhood.

As the song reached this line, everyone felt a vague sense of loss. Indeed, a moment of time is worth a moment of gold, but a moment of gold cannot buy a moment of time. If only we could return to the past and start over, who among us, even with untold riches, would not be willing to give it all up? The wheel of time rumbles forward, unstoppable—the most terrifying machine in the world. The days that have slipped away become pictures, forever frozen in the past, untouchable, unrecoverable, left only for us to remember and mourn.

Suddenly, a whistle sounded. Those who had only been listening quietly, not watching the video, couldn’t help but look up. There was Su Tong, lips pursed, whistling—a seemingly carefree and nonchalant expression, but if you looked closely, you could glimpse a hint of melancholy and sorrow in his eyes. Sensitive souls might want to laugh at his expression, but their eyes grew moist; it was a laughter laced with tears.

“No one knows why the sun always sets behind the mountains. No one can tell me if there are immortals living in the mountains. So many days passed, always alone, staring at the sky in a daze. So curious, so full of wonder, so lonely—such was childhood.”

When Xiao Yu sang this verse, someone clenched their fist. Back then, they too had been so innocent—wondering if immortals lived in the hills. Even now, some part of their heart still clung to that myth.

“Under the sunlight, dragonflies flit by, over green fields of rice. Watercolors, crayons, and kaleidoscopes can’t paint the rainbow at the edge of the sky. When will I, like the older kids, have a face that shows I’ve grown up? Longing for holidays, longing for tomorrow, longing for the grown-up days of childhood. Day after day, year after year, longing for the grown-up days of childhood.”

The catchy melody and guileless lyrics left everyone silent. Even after the song ended, they lingered in the past, unable to let go.

For a long time, no one spoke.

“I want to cry my heart out, but I can’t shed a tear,” someone finally typed, unable to hold back their emotions.

“Yeah, I thought I was the only one who felt this way—wanting to cry, but the tears won’t come.”

“You’re right, brother. ‘Childhood’ resonates with so many—speaks the hearts of so many people.”

“From now on, whenever I think of childhood, Da Qiao’s voice will echo in my mind. It’s just too classic. Brother, did you really write this song?”

“……”

After the silence, the scrolling comments filled with emotion; from that moment, their memories of childhood became synonymous with Su Tong’s “Childhood.”

“Thank you, brother, thank you, Da Qiao. A moment of gold can’t buy a moment of time, nor can it buy such a classic song. Enough talk, I don’t have much money, but here’s some dragon meat for you.” Instantly, a line of red text appeared in the comment section.

Someone had sent a ‘red float’!

A tip of 5 Cool Coins would turn the message red. “Fruit Dragonfly” sent a dragon—a whopping 50,000 Cool Coins.

“Nothing buys my happiness, so I’ll show my appreciation too.” Another fan’s message floated red.

“If I don’t float red, I’d feel sorry for myself. I’m in!”

“Me too!”

Four people in a row sent red messages—an unusual sight, and it fired up the rest of the fans.

“I’m just a student, don’t have much money, but I can skip a few trips to the internet café to play games.”

“Just graduated, still living off my family’s support. My salary comes next month, so I’ll tip a bit in advance—a classic song like this shouldn’t be enjoyed for free.”

“……”

After the four red tips, reward messages flooded in—ranging from a hundred to tens of thousands of Cool Coins. Even Su Tong was a little stunned.

Tonight and the previous night’s tips added up to more than what he had received in the past year.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough…” Recovering from his shock, Su Tong hurried to stop them. “We’ve got a long future ahead of us, everyone’s getting a bit carried away. I’d feel guilty taking so much.”

“Brother, say no more. We know what’s right. We’ve been listening and watching for free for so long. This is only fair. Honestly, we should be embarrassed for being so stingy before.”

“Yeah, it’s not easy for you either, brother. I saw your Weibo last night—you stayed up so late, putting so much effort into the show.”

“That’s right. Nothing buys my happiness. Even if I cry, it’s happy tears. We’re glad to do it.”

“……”

The comments were nothing but words of comfort and affirmation.

“Haha, brother, that whistle solo in the middle of the song—don’t tell me that counts as singing? Still, it was pretty good. I guess you wouldn’t be a bad singer either,” someone laughed.

“Of course not, haha.” Su Tong clarified, just as he was about to start his next segment—storytelling.

Suddenly, fireworks blossomed across the screen.

At the same time, a volley of celebratory cannon sounds rang out.

“I’m God Guard, and I want to request ‘Childhood’ again. Brother, don’t let Da Qiao go!” The newly promoted fan was anxious; he’d joined halfway through Xiao Yu’s performance.

This viewer had only become a fan of Xiao Yu the night before. He thought there’d be a second rendition, but there wasn’t—it seemed everyone agreed to let the beauty of the moment linger, to be revisited another time. Besides, none of the big tippers had asked for a repeat, and he’d only tipped a few hundred Cool Coins. He didn’t feel right making a request—so he’d waited for a promotion to God Guard before asking.

“All right, let’s fulfill the request of our friend ‘I Love Beauty’,” Su Tong said with a bitter smile. Whether in this life or the one before, he’d seen a lot of money, but to have beloved fans spend so much for him—he felt undeserving.

“By the pond, under the banyan tree, the cicadas are calling out for summer…”

Xiao Yu sang “Childhood” a second time. Once again, the room was silent—everyone lost in thought, the feelings deeper than before.

After the second performance, there were even more red tips.

“This song is bound to become a hit.”

“Definitely. If it’s properly recorded and released online, then promoted—it will be famous everywhere.”

“Da Qiao’s going to be a star. But she’s too young—if brother sings it, I bet entertainment companies would be fighting to sign him as a superstar, haha.”

“……”

In these two days, the praise “Nian Nu Jiao” received already exceeded that of the past year.

Because the fanbase had exploded.

Now, the number of people in the Nian Nu Jiao chatroom had surpassed thirty thousand—and that was without any publicity, advertising, or recommendations.

The performance the previous night had drawn in a huge number of fans. Now, fans were likely introducing Nian Nu Jiao to their friends privately, and new viewers were still streaming in.

At this moment, Zhang Xin—her office scented with the maturity of a successful woman—sat at her computer, eyes fixed on the screen. She was a career-driven, strong-willed woman, always working, whether on or off the clock.

Although their platform was the biggest in the streaming industry, unlike others, they didn’t have a powerful backer. Yet it was because of people like Zhang Xin that their platform remained at the top, unshakable.

Several stars had emerged from their ranks—an extremely rare feat in the streaming world.

At other platforms, not a single star had ever emerged.

The path to stardom was treacherous—a single log bridge over a sea of competitors.

“A creative genius. Two songs and his talent is clear. If he can sing, he has the foundation to become a star,” Zhang Xin murmured to herself. For most people, that foundation included many things: looks, skills, experience.

For an ordinary person to become an overnight sensation was impossible—it took steady accumulation, and a bit of luck.

Like many reality shows, the platform was also a route for ordinary people to become idols.

“Luoluo,” Zhang Xin dialed her subordinate. “Did you get in touch with the Nian Nu Jiao group I asked about last night?”

“Ah? Xin, I haven’t been able to get his phone number yet. You know how hard it is to get in touch with someone before they’re famous. But I did DM Nian Nu Jiao, left my name and contact info, but he hasn’t called me back yet. Xin, I’m watching his stream—he’s a real performer, and he can definitely sing, and he writes songs too. A true all-rounder. I don’t know if he’s renewed his contract with Cool Cool yet, and I’m getting a little anxious…” Luoluo rattled on, her words full of affection for Nian Nu Jiao; that song “Childhood” had really touched her heart.

“All right, got it. I’m watching too. Hanging up now.” Zhang Xin ended the call, because Su Tong had started telling stories.

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