144: Chapter 149 Paparazzi's Unauthorized Photos Cause Internet Outage

Scott pressed the intercom button: "How many awards have you won so far?"

"I haven't counted," Chen Mo said.

He didn't know when he stopped calculating the number; perhaps it was from some early morning when he sat in an empty venue.

"I've counted them. Four AMAs: Artist of the Year, Favorite Pop Male Artist, Favorite Pop Album, and Best New Artist."

"Three EMAs: Best New Artist, Best Male Artist, and Best Pop Song. Three People's Choice Awards: Favorite Male Artist, Favorite Breakout Artist, and Favorite Pop Song. Three Billboard awards. That's thirteen in total."

"We still haven't won any Grammy Awards, though we have nominations, and they haven't been presented yet."

"Soon."

Scott leaned back into the sofa chair, his hands crossed over his abdomen, a faint smile hanging on the corners of his mouth.

This time, it wasn't the kind of smile that came from calculating commercial value; it was something else.

As an agent, he rarely showed this expression, like someone who had placed a bet on an underdog horse, only for that horse to run the best race of the year.

Looking back at the moment he placed the bet, he felt that his past self was a bit foolish, yet also a bit remarkable.

"What are you smiling at? It's a bit silly."

"Nothing, I just counted them over."

"Finished counting?"

"Finished."

That evening, he recorded the chorus of the newly written "2015" as a voice memo and sent it to Taylor.

She replied after quite a while, likely during a break in her tour rehearsals. He tapped it open to find a text message:

[You are very good at writing about time, about what time leaves behind on a person. This is a gift; don't waste it.]

He read this sentence over and over again, then picked up a pen, opened the first page of his notebook, and wrote a few words above the line "Anger is gone": Don't waste your talent.

(He had written this sentence twice.)

The handwriting was light, but each stroke was deliberate. To this day, he still couldn't write those fancy artistic signatures.

He closed the notebook, picked up the guitar, and continued to play the unfinished chord progression.

A whole year's worth of songs were lined up quietly on the hard drive; those were the traces time had left on him.

The top line was recorded in January. He listened to it, didn't change it, just hung the headphones back on the hook, and started playing the next melody.

He was no longer in a rush to name his songs.

In January 2015, the rainy season in Los Angeles had just passed, and the sun had reclaimed the city. But for the pop music scene, a much larger "storm" was quietly brewing.

On Tuesday morning, the famous paparazzi account "TMZ" suddenly threw out a set of high-definition candid shots on Twitter, instantly igniting the global entertainment industry.

The photos were taken at the Los Angeles harbor last weekend.

In an abandoned container yard, the dim streetlights stretched out two shadows.

In the center of the frame, Chen Mo, wearing an oversized, distressed leather jacket, was looking down and saying something to a blonde young man sitting on a high stool.

The young man wore huge black headphones, his profile sharply defined. It was none other than Justin Bieber, who had just celebrated his 21st birthday and was at a critical juncture in his career transition.

The caption was just a short line: "Pop Tyrant x King of Pop. The collab is real. #LMLY"

(Pop Tyrant × King of Pop, the collaboration is real.)

Ten minutes later, Bieber's studio account posted a photo with a black-and-white filter: two hands—one wrist wearing Chen Mo's signature black woven bracelet, the other wearing Bieber's custom studded bracelet.

The caption was just a headphone emoji.

The entire internet was paralyzed.

Los Angeles harbor, last weekend.

The weather forecast said there would be rain tonight, so the abandoned Pier 5 was shrouded in thick fog and salty sea breezes, with a few high-powered dysprosium lamps glowing dimly in the darkness.

Chen Mo leaned against the corrugated iron wall of a container, watching the setup on the set.

The director was the Asian woman they had chosen, Jin Minxi, who was squatting on the ground, fixing the camera dolly track with tape.

"One more time," Jin Minxi said into the walkie-talkie, her voice calm. "Justin, don't look at the camera this time. Look at Chen Mo's back, or look at that mirror. I want that feeling of 'being unable to hold on.'"

Bieber nodded and exhaled a puff of white breath. The stylist hadn't even styled his hair, just letting it hang down in a messy tangle.

Chen Mo walked to the center of the set, wearing that distressed black leather jacket, holding an old-fashioned handheld camera—a friendly contribution from George, ancient but sturdy.

"Action," Jin Minxi said.

The prelude of the music began.

It was purely the raw audio they had recorded at the Universal Music studio, without any reverb—most people wouldn't dare to do this.

"Let me love you..."

Bieber began to sing. He was sitting on a solitary high stool, his back to the camera.

The light hit him, stretching his shadow out.

He sang very softly, as if talking to himself, but every word was clear, sounding exceptionally ethereal in the empty harbor.

Chen Mo held the camera and slowly walked toward him.

The lens focused on Bieber's hands, hands with veins bulging from gripping the stool legs tightly.

This fit the sense of powerlessness in the lyrics—I want to love you, but even touching you feels clumsy.

"Cut!" Jin Minxi called out to stop. "Chen Mo, get closer. Put the camera on his shoulder."

Chen Mo adjusted the angle; the lens was almost touching Bieber's skin.

Bieber didn't dodge; he closed his eyes and continued to sing.

"When the world is falling apart..."

The next second, the prop team activated the mechanism.

The giant searchlights overhead began to flash frantically, simulating lightning, and at the same time, several high-pressure water guns sprayed cold columns of water at Bieber.

Corresponding to the "heavy rain" in the lyrics.

Bieber was instantly drenched, his white T-shirt clinging to his body, revealing his lean skeleton. He shivered in the rain, but his singing voice didn't change.

He was "falling," and Chen Mo's lens was the net trying to catch him.

"Perfect," Jin Minxi said, covering her mouth behind the monitor.

Chen Mo covered his head with a towel and stared intently at the monitor, thinking to himself: As expected of someone from South Korea, this sense of cinematography is truly superb.

Jin Minxi said: "Next scene."

At 3:00 AM, the rain finally stopped.

Bieber, wrapped in a towel, sat on top of the container, still panting heavily. The previous scene had exhausted too much of his energy.

Chen Mo handed the old-fashioned camera to Jin Minxi, climbed up the container, and sat beside him.

"Are you cold?" Chen Mo asked.

"Cold," Bieber said, rubbing his arms. "But I like this kind of cold. It's much better than lip-syncing in that climate-controlled recording studio."

Chen Mo took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulled one out to offer him.

Bieber waved his hand and said: "Quit."

Chen Mo pulled out a stick and handed it to him, saying: "It's lychee candy."

Bieber took the candy, half-doubting, and said: "You're really interesting. Thanks."

"In that scene just now," Bieber looked at the lighthouse in the distance, "I really felt like I was drowning. You're quite suited for acting. At that moment, I really felt like you were saving me."

"That's because this song was written for you in the first place," Chen Mo looked at the sea. "Written for that Justin who is about to suffocate in the vanity fair, and of course, for myself too. 'Let me love you'—I don't think that's charity; it's a reminder that you still have someone to rely on."

Bieber was silent for a long time, then said: "Bro, I think you're a philosopher."

The sea breeze dried the water on them.

Chen Mo said: "My neighbor in Pasadena taught me. He's been divorced eight times and takes everything in stride."

"Chen, I can't respond to that," Bieber said with a smile. "But if this MV gets released, those tabloid reporters will definitely say that I'm on drugs or that my mental state isn't good, being so decadent."

"Then let them say it," Chen Mo shrugged indifferently. "We make music, not beauty products. Authenticity is worth more than perfection."

Lin Wei was packing up equipment below and looked up, shouting: "Wrap! You two geniuses! Go back to sleep!"

The two jumped down from the container.

When passing by that broken mirror, Chen Mo paused for a moment.

In the mirror, his leather jacket was dirty and his hair was messy, but his eyes were bright.

Bieber stood next to him, looking the same.

This was what "Let Me Love You" was meant to express.

In a broken world, two equally broken people looked at each other and decided to keep living together.