11: Chapter 11 Sour Grapes Across the Pacific

It was a beautiful afternoon at the University of Southern California, with perfect sunlight.

Chen Mo had just slipped out of his microeconomics class when his phone began to vibrate frantically; "James" was making his presence felt.

He walked to the sycamore tree behind the teaching building, answered the phone, and said in a flat tone, "This is Chen Mo."

Whoever finishes an economics class is bound to be calm and collected.

James's voice pierced through the receiver, carrying a fervor that sounded almost oxygen-deprived.

"Chen! Guess what? The Billboard website just updated this week's projections! 'Believer' is very likely to take the number one spot! You are currently leading the third-place spot by a wide margin! Do you know what this means? You've defeated all the A-list superstars currently active!"

Chen Mo leaned against the rough tree trunk, kicking a small pebble at his feet, his tone devoid of ripples: "Oh, and who is the champion right now?"

"Katy Perry! Her new song was supposed to be the champion, but you snatched it away!"

James was pacing back and forth excitedly on the other end; Chen Mo could even hear the thumping echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor.

"Radio stations all over the U.S. are playing your song! The car radio on the Los Angeles Express plays it every fifteen minutes! And your social media, my god, have you seen it?"

"Haven't had a chance to look yet," Chen Mo answered honestly. "If you look at that stuff too much, it's easy to get carried away. I need to stay calm."

"You really are... It's a pity you didn't become a mafia member with that kind of mental fortitude!" James took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and began listing the reports.

"'Rolling Stone' magazine just put your photo on their homepage with the headline 'Chen Mo: The New Tyrant of Pop Music'! 'Billboard' says Bieber should make way for you!"

"And Twitter, your follower count grew by over three million overnight! Everyone is imitating that scene of you hitting the sandbag in your MV!"

Chen Mo listened to the roar on the other end of the line and simply gave a soft "Mm."

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, sparkling in his amber pupils.

Of course, he was incredibly happy, but the more jubilant the moment, the more one must remain calm—this was the hard-earned wisdom from his past life.

"James," Chen Mo interrupted his endless chatter, "You can keep these empty titles for your own enjoyment. Follow the plan for the MV's follow-up promotion. Also, clear my schedule for next week; I'm going camping in Yosemite with Mr. Cooper."

"Cam... camping?!" James's voice went out of pitch. "Chen! You are the hottest singer in the U.S. right now! Do you have any idea how many eyes are on you? You're going camping in the wild at a time like this? What if you get sunburned or injured..."

"What if what?" Chen Mo smiled, his tone gentle. "I'm a musician, not a piece of porcelain in a museum. Don't worry, I'll use sunscreen."

Less than ten minutes after hanging up on James, Chen Mo's social media apps began pinging incessantly.

He raised an eyebrow and opened Twitter, and sure enough, he saw his name at the top of the trending list, followed by a burning flame icon.

Clicking into it, the pinned tweet was from the official Billboard account:

[From 'Stressed Out' to 'Believer', Chen Mo has completed a dimensionality-reducing strike on the pop music scene with just two songs. This 19-year-old young man is redefining contemporary pop music with his highly recognizable voice and unfathomable creative talent.]

The comment section below had become a massive party.

@XiXi: His gaze is incredible; that effortless, arrogant coolness is just killing me!

@HaHa: After listening to 'Believer', I went straight to the gym and lifted dumbbells for half an hour. My arms are still shaking, but I feel like I could tear my house down with my bare hands!

@HeiHei: I used to think his Chinese name was hard to pronounce, but now I just want to shout: Chen Mo is awesome!

Looking at these straightforward praises, Chen Mo's lips curled up uncontrollably. He scrolled to the next notification: it was a Weibo trending topic.

Because of the time difference, it was late at night over there, but the buzz was still intense.

#Chen Mo A Flash in the Pan# This topic was hanging ominously in the fifteenth spot on the trending list.

Clicking on it, the top post bore the verification of the big V account "Entertainment Industry Microscope." The attached photos were candid shots of Chen Mo chatting and laughing with Universal Music executives in the recording studio, and the caption was written in a snide, sarcastic tone.

[Some people, you know, will be back to fleece the fans using a foreigner's shell before long. According to reliable internal sources, this 'genius songwriter's' sudden popularity in the U.S. is entirely the result of Hollywood capital throwing money at a forced promotion. He looks decent, so he probably got the investment based on his looks. Once this wave of novelty passes, let's see what's left. That's not how the music industry works.]

The comments below were full of agreement:

"I said it sounded soulless; turns out it's just an industrialized product packaged for mass consumption."

"Can't make it domestically, so he runs abroad to get gilded; I'm familiar with this routine."

"What's the use of looking like Alain Delon? There are plenty of handsome guys in the entertainment industry; without real talent, he'll be finished sooner or later."

"Foreign charts—who knows if it's some bush-league list? Billboard, sounds unofficial."

Just then, a gust of wind blew by, and the sycamore leaves rustled. Chen Mo looked up and saw a familiar black van parked at the school gate.

The window rolled down, and Aunt Martha poked half her body out, waving at him and shouting: "Chen! Over here! I bought your favorite honey-glazed chicken wings; if you don't come now, they'll get cold!"

The coldness on Chen Mo's face vanished instantly. He walked quickly over, opened the car door, and sat in the passenger seat, smiling: "Mrs. Cooper, actually, I could have just eaten at the school cafeteria."

"That won't do; today is a big day of celebration." Martha smilingly handed him a box of warm roasted wings. "George insisted I come pick you up, saying he wanted to celebrate your success. Although I don't understand those rankings much, in our family, as long as you do well, it's worth a good meal."

Back home, there was the sound of clanging and banging coming from the garage again.

Chen Mo tossed his backpack onto the sofa, walked over, and leaned against the doorframe, saying: "Mr. Cooper, if you keep taking it apart like this, this car is really going to fall apart in the living room."

"Hey, buddy, you don't understand." George raised his head from under the hood, a smudge of black grease on his face, holding a wrench. "A man tinkering with things in the garage—this is the most sacred moment. By the way, I heard you're going to take first place? I knew that 'Believer' song would make it."

"'Believer'?" Chen Mo was amused and walked over to take the wrench from his hand. "It's 'Believer', but it's just a music chart; there's no need to make such a big deal out of it."

"What's wrong with a chart? Back when I was courting Martha, I used my beat-up guitar to win first place at a community concert." George chuckled and nudged him with his elbow. "How about it, don't you feel especially proud? Now the whole U.S. is playing your song; I bet no one doesn't recognize you when you walk down the street, right?"

"That's not important," Chen Mo said, looking down to check the car's spark plugs, his tone calm. "As long as you and Mrs. Cooper still recognize me as Chen Mo, that's enough."

George paused, stared at Chen Mo for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter and slapped him hard on the back.

"Good lad! That's the spirit! I like this unpretentious, down-to-earth side of you! You're worthy of being the young man I've got my eye on! Martha made roasted lamb chops tonight, and I bought some Cabernet Sauvignon; let's have a few drinks!"

The atmosphere at dinner was exceptionally warm.

The roasted lamb chops were sizzling with savory aroma, and the decanted Cabernet Sauvignon smelled extraordinary.

Chen Mo poured a glass of wine for George and half a glass for himself.

"To music." George raised his glass.

"To family." Chen Mo clinked his glass against his.

Martha smiled and wiped away tears on the side, teasing: "Alright you two, it's not like it's the last time you'll see each other; you're acting like it's a tragic farewell. Chen, eat more meat; look at how thin you are."

"Come on, try Martha's special sauce. Tomorrow I'm going fishing by the lake with some old friends; do you want to come along?" George said.

"I'll go." Chen Mo agreed readily. "But I have to sleep in first; I stayed up until four in the morning last night to fix that drum beat."

Looking at Chen Mo's face, which was free of any gloom, George and Martha exchanged a smile and said: "You better be careful, or you'll end up with permanent dark circles under your eyes."

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away in Manhattan, New York, James was watching the data scrolling frantically on his computer screen, unable to contain his excitement.

Money, it was all money.

It was late at night.

After showering, Chen Mo lay on his soft bed, opened his phone, and took one last look at the trending topics back home.

That #A Flash in the Pan# topic had been pushed into some unknown corner by the surge of his overseas popularity.

He gently turned off his phone and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a new day.