132: Chapter 137 Mickey Mouse Chen Mo

Chen Mo put the Mickey Mouse into a paper bag and walked into a nearby post office.

The post office was already empty just past four o'clock. He stood at the self-service counter, carefully wrapped the doll, and wrote "Toy: Mickey Mouse" in the "Description of Goods" column on the customs declaration form.

After sealing the box and pushing it into the mailbox, a soft thud came from the mailbox a few seconds later—

The next day was the weekend. Xiuying had probably just finished dinner. When the voice call came through, the background was filled with the rustling sound of Chen Jianguo flipping through a newspaper in the living room and the pitter-patter of her slippers as she walked between the kitchen and the living room.

"I sent something back. Don't laugh when you receive it."

"What is it?"

"A Mickey Mouse. You didn't buy me an authentic one when I was little."

Xiuying laughed for a long time on the other end of the line, laughing until she was a bit breathless, then asked with a slight nasal tone: "How do you still remember that?"

"I remember more things than you do." He straightened his legs, resting his ankles on the edge of another sofa, and feigned deep thought. "Sigh—childhood deficiencies take a lifetime to make up for."

Xiuying paused and said: "Look at you, child, you've become a philosopher."

She laughed again after saying this, calling out to Old Chen while laughing—

"Old Chen! Your son sent a Mickey Mouse back! He said it's to make up for the one from when he was little!"

Chen Jianguo shouted from the living room: "Tell him not to spend money! He hasn't bought a cabinet for his trophies yet, and now he's buying toys! Can the Mickey Mouse fit in the display cabinet? If it can, buy another glass one!"

Xiuying told him: "Your dad is asking if it can fit into the display cabinet, and Momo says he didn't buy it; Disney gave it to him."

"Then I'll put it inside," Chen Jianguo said.

After hanging up the phone, the living room was very quiet.

Chen Mo placed his phone on the coffee table. The floor lamp was still on, and at some point, the stereo had switched to a low, old jazz track, the brass instruments sounding as if muffled by a layer of frosted glass.

He unwrapped the chocolate Jessica had left on the shoe cabinet that morning, popped the small ball wrapped in gold foil into his mouth, and leaned his head back.

"Comforting."

Outside the window, the night sky of Los Angeles was illuminated in a pale orange by the city lights, and the white dome of the Griffith Observatory was vaguely visible in the distance.

On the coffee table lay an unopened mint, given by The Weeknd, which he had kept since the last awards ceremony and hadn't eaten yet.

He picked up the candy, twirled it between his fingers, and put it back down, thinking he would wait until the day of the Grammy Awards to unwrap it.

It wasn't exactly (or maybe it was) superstition; he just felt that some things should be saved for a more important moment.

After the behind-the-scenes footage was posted on ABC's official account, the tone of the comment section gradually drifted away from the family-friendly atmosphere of the Disney Christmas special.

Someone specifically took screenshots of the Mickey Mouse doll and turned them into memes that spread widely across the internet.

Disney Christmas tickets sold out in seconds, the Chen Mo-style embroidered Mickey Mouse sold out in stores, and some people were even offering high prices to buy dolls embroidered with the words "Chen Mo."

People really have too much money to burn.

On December 7th, in New York, the headquarters of Time magazine in Midtown Manhattan was brightly lit. Every second Monday of December, this building becomes the focus of global media.

The Person of the Year selection has no red carpet, no fan zones, and no award presenters. All nominees simply attend by invitation and sit down in a not-so-large banquet hall.

Chen Mo stepped out of the black Cadillac. There were no screams at the entrance, only a few security guards in dark coats standing quietly under the portico.

He wore that white Dior suit without a tie, attending the banquet in a comfortable state.

Jessica walked beside him, carrying his coat over her arm.

"The nominees for Person of the Year tonight include Merkel, Donald, Tim, Taylor, and you, along with a few political figures. Ultimately, the Person of the Year is Merkel, but Time has arranged seats for all nominees, and your seat is next to Taylor."

The banquet hall was not large, with over a dozen round tables covered in dark gray tablecloths, each with a low candlestick on it.

The lighting was set to a warm tone, and the background projection cycled through the classic covers of Time magazine from this year.

When Chen Mo found his seat, Taylor had already arrived, wearing a red long dress, her head turned to the side as she spoke in a low voice to a silver-haired woman next to her.

Seeing him approach, Taylor looked up, her gaze shifting from his face to his white suit, and said: "You look very good in white."

"You too." He sat down next to Taylor.

The candlelight cast a small, flickering shadow on her collarbone.

Taylor tapped her skirt with her index finger and said: "I'm in red; you can just say 'You look good,' no need to say 'You too.' You're wearing white, I'm wearing red; they aren't the same color."

"Red looks good too; it's not a contradiction."

The corner of Taylor's mouth tilted to the left, and she didn't reply.

Chen Mo unfolded his napkin and laid it on his lap, then picked up his water glass and took a sip.

Several guests across the round table were whispering to each other; some were talking about this year's Eurozone economic data, and others were discussing the fluctuations in polls during the election year.

Tim walked over from the other side, smiling as he greeted Chen Mo: "You're in high spirits today. How have you been lately?"

Chen Mo stood up to shake his hand, half-jokingly saying: "It's probably because I got my beauty sleep yesterday. You look quite pleased with yourself too."

Tim smiled and adjusted his bowtie, then said: "There are many Time figures here today; you can chat more. It's never a bad thing."

"Thank you, I will," Chen Mo said.

The menu on the table was pre-set—

The appetizer was roasted beet salad, the main course was pan-seared salmon, and the dessert was chocolate lava cake.

He folded the menu and placed it back on the table. Taylor whispered beside him: "Salmon goes better with white wine, but they only have red today."

Chen Mo nodded and said: "Then I'll drink water."

Halfway through the dinner, Nancy, the editor-in-chief of Time, stood up on the podium.

She spoke for about ten minutes, mentioning Merkel's iron-fisted and calm approach during the Eurozone crisis, and mentioning how Donald had, in another way, triggered a global re-debate on "political correctness"...

Finally, she mentioned how Taylor used music and an open letter to make the entire recording industry start to face the rights of creators, and then she paused, lifting her gaze from her script.

"There is one more person, a young man from China, less than 21 years old this year. His music transcends language, national borders, and all the boundaries we thought were boundaries."

"In this year of retreating globalization, in this year where the world is increasingly inclined to build walls rather than bridges, he used his singing to make hundreds of millions of people forget what boundaries are. We are honored that he is also sitting here tonight."

Nancy didn't read his name, but the eyes of the entire room had already turned to Chen Mo.

When he received the notification of his nomination that day, Scott only sent a three-word text message— "Person of the Year"—while he was still in the recording studio revising the string arrangement for "Drown."

He was still replying, "Mixing, talk later," and then placed his phone face down for a few hours.

Now, hundreds of eyes were watching him, and the entire banquet hall quieted down, with only the candlelight flickering slightly on the tablecloth.

Chen Mo was not used to being the center of attention in such settings.

On the AMA stage, he had lines; for Grammy Awards rehearsals, he had the beat. But this was not an awards ceremony; there were no acceptance speeches to give, no performances to complete.

He was just sitting at this round table, with figures in front of him who could only be seen on political news.

Including him, there were nine in total.

Taylor gently tapped his knee under the table and whispered very softly: "Look up, they are looking at you."

Chen Mo looked up and gave a slight nod in the direction of the applause, a very small movement.

Nancy continued speaking on stage, shifting the topic to the Person of the Year, Merkel.

The applause gathered again, the gazes shifted away, and the banquet hall returned to its normal rhythm.

Taylor withdrew her hand from under the table, picked up her red wine glass, took a sip, and said nothing.

The interview session after the banquet was set up in a small reception room outside the banquet hall.

The Time interviewer was named Nora, blonde, wearing a dark gray suit, with a gentle tone but speaking without any pleasantries.

"Why do you think you were nominated for Person of the Year?"