100: Chapter 100 Golden Rooster Awards Performance

The prelude to "Stay" flowed slowly from the nylon strings, but when the first line was sung, the audience fell silent for a moment—it was a rewritten Chinese version.

"The roads we walked together in those years, now I walk alone. I drive my weary soul all the way, only wishing for you to stay."

He slowed down the tempo, enunciating every word clearly.

When it reached the chorus, people in the audience began to sing along, scattered voices at first—

First, someone in the back row sang a line softly, then others in the middle joined in, and the sound slowly gathered.

Chen Mo listened on stage, his lips twitching slightly. He rarely smiled during performances, but this time, he did.

After singing the last line, he lowered the microphone and said to the audience: "This song is dedicated to everyone who has left, and to everyone who is still holding on."

The applause was thunderous.

After the performance, Chen Mo ran into Jay Chou in the backstage corridor.

Jay Chou was one of the presenters tonight, wearing a dark Chinese-style mandarin collar jacket, holding a cup of pearl milk tea—no idea where he got it from.

Their dressing rooms were separated by only one wall. When Chen Mo went over and knocked on the door, Jay Chou opened it, the milk tea cup still in his hand.

"Want some?"

"No thanks, I'm afraid of getting the hiccups."

Jay Chou laughed loudly, his laughter echoing several times in the corridor.

Chen Mo leaned against the doorframe and asked, "What award are you presenting tonight?"

"Best Director. I've been waiting at the side stage for a long time. The schedule on stage was delayed; I'd been standing there for nearly a quarter of an hour, thinking through my work plans for next year. What about you? What have you been busy with lately?"

"I just finished an unplugged show in London, at the Royal Albert Hall."

Jay Chou's eyebrows lifted, the milk tea cup pausing at his lips. He said, "Unplugged? A 1,500-seat venue, unplugged? Aren't you afraid?"

"I am." Chen Mo put his hands in his suit pockets. "That's why I did it. The more fearful I am of something, the more I have to do it. If I don't, I'll be even more afraid next time."

Jay Chou took a sip of milk tea, the pearls popping up through the straw, and he chewed them twice.

"You're that kind of person—the more fearful you are, the more you have to do it. I was like that when I was young, too. When I directed my first movie, I was scared to death. Scared I wouldn't act well, scared the box office would be bad, scared people would say, 'Just sing your songs, why are you making movies?' Later, I figured it out—even if you're scared, you have to do it. Once it's done, you're not scared anymore."

Chen Mo looked at the cup of milk tea in Jay Chou's hand and asked, "Are you still afraid now?"

"I am, but the things I fear are different now. I used to fear failure. Now I fear not having enough time, fear my daughter growing up too fast, fear not being able to write better songs, fear my body won't hold up for tours."

He placed the milk tea cup on the vanity and raised an eyebrow, saying, "Fear aside, you still have to do it."

Someone at the end of the corridor was calling Jay Chou's name, likely urging him to go on stage.

Jay Chou picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, walked to the door, turned back, and said, "Next time you're back in Taipei, come eat at my place. My wife cooks pretty well."

"Sure. We can play games too."

"You have to win even at games?"

"Habit."

Jay Chou laughed, shook his head, and turned to walk down the corridor.

Chen Mo leaned against the doorframe for a moment longer, then returned to his own dressing room.

The commemorative trophy was on the vanity. He picked it up and read the inscription on the base: "24th China Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Film Festival Guest Commemoration." Then, he took his phone out of his pocket and snapped a photo.

That night, he posted three times on Weibo.

The first was a photo with Jay Chou, a selfie in the dressing room.

Jay Chou was holding his pearl milk tea, and Chen Mo had a slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth next to him. The caption read: "Didn't drink the milk tea, but had a great chat."

The second was a photo of the commemorative trophy. The caption read: "This isn't an award I won, but I hope that one day, I can win one."

The third was posted late at night, after returning to the hotel.

He stood in front of the hotel room window. Outside was the night view of Changchun—not as bright as Los Angeles, not as classical as Milan, but there was a grounded quietness to it.

He took a photo of his reflection against the window. He was standing in front of the window in a white shirt, with the warm light of the room behind him. The caption was just a few words: "Jilin is very cold, but people's hearts are warm."

When you are popular, everyone around you is a good person.

After the awards ceremony ended, the backstage corridor was packed with people.

Staff members ran back and forth with walkie-talkies, artist assistants lined up at the dressing room doors holding down jackets, and reporters were blocked outside the media area.

Chen Mo came down from the side stage, the hem of his dark blue suit fluttering slightly in the air conditioning. Huang Bo walked beside him and whispered, "Little Chen, you're going to be busy tonight."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the first person to approach was Yang Mi.

She was wearing a silver sequined gown, the train dragging on the red carpet, followed by two assistants.

One of the hottest actresses in the domestic entertainment industry right now.

She walked up to him and stopped, smiling. There was no superfluous small talk; she must have done her research beforehand.

"Chen Mo, finally seeing you in person. My manager said you're very well-connected in Hollywood, and that you wrote the theme songs for 'Zootopia' and 'Thor: Ragnarok'."

"I'm in touch with a US-China co-production project, and the director is a friend of James Mangold's. Could you help put in a good word?"

Chen Mo replied, "Sister Mi, I can put in a word, but whether the director uses someone depends on the audition. They are most afraid of people trying to pull strings."

Yang Mi was stunned for a moment, then laughed even more openly, saying, "You speak more directly than I thought. I'll fight for the audition myself; you just put in the word, and I'll handle the rest. Can we add each other on WeChat?"

Chen Mo took out his phone and let her scan the QR code. Yang Mi was still very career-driven at this time.

Yang Mi bowed her head to confirm the friend request, handed her phone to her assistant, and turned to leave. Her silver sequined skirt dragged across the red carpet. After walking a few steps, she turned back and added, "Next time you come to Beijing, I'll treat you to mutton hotpot. I mean it."

Just as Yang Mi left, Tang Yan came out of the dressing room diagonally opposite. She was wearing a wine-red velvet gown, her short hair tucked behind her ears, with a pair of small diamond studs in her ears.

Her smile was gentler than Yang Mi's, but the intent was much the same.

"Chen Mo, I heard you sing the Chinese version of 'Stay' at the side stage just now. It made me cry. When you sang 'Wishing for you to stay,' I thought of my roommate from when I was running around for auditions in college."

"Later, she stopped working in this industry and went back to her hometown to get married and have kids. She doesn't understand English, but when you sang in Chinese, she would have understood."

Chen Mo said, "I wrote those lyrics myself. When I wrote them, I wanted people who don't understand English to be able to understand too."

A corner of Tang Yan's phone poked out from her clutch. She didn't ask for WeChat directly, but changed her approach.

"I'm good friends with Mimi. She must have added you just now. I'll have her push your contact to me later, so you don't have to scan codes until your hands go numb."

She smiled after saying this and turned back to her dressing room.

The wine-red skirt disappeared behind the door, and Chen Mo vaguely heard the sound of women laughing behind the door and a whispered conversation about how "he's even more handsome in person than on TV."

Next to approach was a middle-aged man in black-rimmed glasses who introduced himself as the manager of a top-tier male star, surnamed Wang.

He took two business cards out of his suit's inner pocket and handed them over with both hands.

"Teacher Chen Mo, our artist has a film being released in North America next year, and the scoring team hasn't been decided yet. If you're interested, you don't have to write it yourself; just recommend someone, and we'll trust your judgment."

Chen Mo took the business cards and glanced at them. The name on them was an actor ranked in the top ten at the domestic box office.

"I have many awards ceremonies at the end of the year, so whether I can do the score depends on my schedule. Send the script outline to my assistant; I'll read the material before deciding."

Manager Wang nodded vigorously, said a few more polite words, and turned to walk away quickly.

Huang Bo leaned against the wall, holding a cup of tea that had gone cold.

"Manager Wang never actively sought out musicians before. He thought scoring was just post-production work that the director could handle. For him to take the initiative to hand you two business cards today shows that the trend in the circle has changed—you're not just a singer; you're a passport to Hollywood."

Before he finished speaking, another young manager in a gray suit came over, holding an unopened bottle of mineral water.

"Thank you for your hard work, Teacher Chen Mo. Have some water. Our artist is the one who just won Best Supporting Actress at the Golden Rooster this year, surnamed Liu. She said she especially liked your acceptance speech on the B-board and copied those three paragraphs into her phone's notepad."

Chen Mo took the water, unscrewed the cap, and said flatly, "Thank her for me."

The young manager stood there, his lips twitching, wanting to say something else, but nothing came out.

Chen Mo took a sip of water and said, "If there's a collaboration, you can send it to Jessica."

The manager's eyes lit up, he bowed, and turned to trot away.

Huang Bo laughed beside him, nearly spilling his tea.

"You said you wanted to act in a movie on the red carpet today. You didn't see the expressions on those directors' faces; they'll definitely be going back to flip through scripts all night."

In the corridor leading to the parking lot, a female artist in a black dress walked over quickly. She was in her early thirties, with a quiet temperament. Chen Mo recognized her name—she had won Best Actress at the Golden Rooster last year, surnamed Li.

She didn't bring an assistant and walked straight up to him.

"Chen Mo, I've listened to your whole 'Epiphany' album. The bridge in A-flat major for 'Perfect'—Diego told me you delayed the string bed by less than a second."

Chen Mo paused and asked, "He told you that?"

Best Actress Li tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and said, "Diego is a friend of mine. He said you weren't 'acting.' I've been acting for over a decade, and I know what 'not acting' means."

"I'm an actor, and I understand what it means to 'really need to pause.' Next time you come to the country to record songs, if you have time, come sit at the Beijing Film Academy. Our acting students can use your songs to practice their lines."

"I'll come for a lecture, but I won't teach lines; I can only play the piano."

"The piano is enough. Music is harder than lines."

Huang Bo put down his cold tea and patted Chen Mo on the shoulder, saying, "The further you go, the bigger you get. When that manager was waiting for you to take his business card just now, his palms were sweating."

Chen Mo tightened the cap on the mineral water bottle and said, "Got it, Brother Bo."

Chen Mo caught up with Best Actress Li, who had already walked away, and told her that he would be coming to Beijing to record next month. If it was convenient, he could meet with the students first; it didn't have to be a formal lecture, just sitting in a circle.

She walked a few steps, then turned back and smiled: "Then I'll tell the department head. You can't go back on your word."

Back at the hotel, Chen Mo stood at the door and suddenly remembered something. He said to Jessica, "There were over a dozen managers who handed over business cards today. Make a backup of all of them and start replying one by one tomorrow."

Jessica replied instantly: "Same lines? 'Read the material before deciding'?"

Chen Mo typed a line: "Add this—I can't help with auditions, but I can introduce a casting director. The rest is up to them. For Hollywood, send a unified email saying it's a recommendation from Chen Mo, and that everything should be prioritized based on the film."

Jessica sent an OK gesture.

Outside the window, the night sky of Changchun was reflected in deep blue by the city lights. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. His phone vibrated again.

Jay Chou sent a WeChat message saying he had boarded the plane back to Taipei, and that the milk tea wasn't good, so he'd make up for it with a freshly brewed one when he got to Taipei tomorrow.

Just as Chen Mo was about to reply, Tang Yan's WeChat friend request popped up. The verification message read, "Mimi pushed it. Next time you come to Beijing, Mimi and I will treat you to mutton hotpot together. She'll pay, and we'll eat."

He accepted the friend request.

He leaned against the headboard and lined up the dozens of business cards he'd received today on the nightstand—agents, actors, directors, producers.

Each one was an "opportunity" as the industry insiders called it.

A message from Yang Mi's manager just came in, sending the English script outline for that US-China co-production project, with a sentence added at the end.

"Thank you, Teacher Chen Mo. We'll fight for the audition ourselves; we are already grateful enough that you put in a word."