156: Chapter 161 Another Live Stream Late at Night

On Weibo, the hashtag #Chen Mo AppleMusic Playlist# surged to number one on the trending list three hours after it was released.

The hashtags #Chen Mo Jay Chou#, #Chen Mo Red Bean#, and #Chen Mo Cook# ranked third, sixth, and ninth, respectively.

Someone translated the entire playlist into Chinese and made it into a long image, which was reposted over 500,000 times.

The top-rated comment read: "From 'Sold Out' to 'lovely', he arranged the thirty songs like a movie, and the protagonist is everyone who stays alone but doesn't feel lonely."

11:00 PM, Los Angeles.

Chen Mo sat on the bay window of the recording studio, leaning against the wall, with his laptop on his knees and the project file for 'Drown' on the screen.

He had been writing this song for a long time; he had revised the bridge three times and still wasn't satisfied, always feeling like it was missing something.

Only the row of warm yellow lights above the mixing console was on in the studio. Chen Mo picked up his phone, swiped a few times, opened Ins, hesitated for two seconds, and pressed the livestream button.

Scott was probably already asleep and would wake up tomorrow morning to find that the PR team had to work overtime again.

Let them scold, it didn't matter anymore.

It was tonight, it was right now; he wanted to chat with someone.

The number of viewers soared from zero to one million within thirty seconds, and the number was still climbing.

The comment section scrolled at a speed of thousands per second, with "Ahhhhh" in different languages mixed together, constantly surging upwards.

Chen Mo got down from the bay window, his bare feet stepping on the wooden floor. He walked to the corner, picked up the Yamaha guitar, returned to the front of the camera, and sat cross-legged in the sofa.

"No rehearsal today." He smiled at the camera, his eyes slightly squinting, deep and charming, "I'll play a song for you all."

He plucked a few open strings, his fingers finding their position on the fretboard.

The B-flat major prelude—the piano version adapted for guitar—the melody line in his right hand became crisper and thinner on the nylon strings than it had been on the piano.

He played a segment of the chorus of 'lovely', and after he finished singing, as the last note faded, he gently pressed down on the still-vibrating strings.

"This song is called 'lovely', released on the AppleMusic playlist, and will be released globally in a week. It was written for myself, for people like me."

The comment section was being spammed like crazy. Someone had already recorded the livestream and uploaded it to Twitter, and the video clip was retweeted tens of thousands of times within half a minute.

Chen Mo leaned the guitar against the sofa armrest, moved closer to the screen to look at the comment section, his eyes scanning the rapidly scrolling text.

"Someone asked what 'dont stop' means." He read a comment, then looked up at the camera, "Many people have been asking this lately—on the streets, on the red carpet, in interviews, in private messages, everywhere. I've said it many times, but I want to say it again tonight—"

Chen Mo paused, his fingers unconsciously plucking a string.

"It doesn't mean you should never rest; it means that after you rest, you can keep going. So if you're tired, rest. Once you've rested, keep moving."

The screen was instantly flooded with the words "dont stop". There was no rehearsal, but the reaction in the comment section was more synchronized than any rehearsed performance, one message overlapping another, surging in like ocean waves.

Towards the end of the livestream, he looked at the camera, his voice a little softer than before.

"One last thing. I received some news today; someone I respect very much mentioned me in a speech. That person—" Chen Mo carefully chose his words, "He is someone who wants to change the world, so I feel very honored."

He didn't say who it was, but people in the comment section had already started guessing.

Taylor, Beyoncé, Adele—names were scrolling by rapidly.

Some guessed wrong, some guessed right, and some just typed a long string of question marks.

"No matter who you are, no matter where you are, no matter if you win or lose—dont stop."

After chatting for about half an hour, he reached out and turned off the livestream.

He placed his phone face down on the bay window. Outside the window, the Los Angeles night sky was illuminated a pale orange by the city lights, and the leaves of the pothos plant swayed gently in the air conditioning breeze.

It was quiet.

Those scrolling comments, the soaring numbers, the flashing indicator lights—they were all gone in an instant. All that remained in the studio was the low-frequency hum of the air conditioner and the sound of his own breathing.

Fifteen minutes after the livestream ended, his phone began to vibrate. He had brought this on himself.

The first message was from Jessica, without even any punctuation: [You are crazy for doing another late-night livestream do you know what the situation on Twitter is right now?]

The second one followed immediately: [Forget it never mind I'll listen to you anyway.]

Chen Mo thought for a long time and replied with one word: [Oh]

The phone had just been put down when it vibrated again. This time it was Scott; he could imagine Scott's face, on the verge of tears, from behind the screen.

He sent seven messages in a row.

[Chen Mo do you know what time it is?]

[Why didn't you tell me beforehand that you were going to livestream? You just love messing with me, right? Your mouth is never honest.]

[Do you know what the Twitter trend is right now? Take a guess?]

#dont stop Change the World#

[The news hasn't even broken yet, and you've already blown it up! You're one step ahead of CNN. I see you just say whatever comes to your mind.]

[Forget it, I'm not saying anything else, go to sleep!]

[Meeting tomorrow morning! It's a must!]

Chen Mo finished reading the last message, smiled silently, and replied with an emoji of an Orange Cat burying its head under a sofa cushion.

Not listening.

He tossed his phone onto the sofa, stood up, and stretched, his bones cracking a few times.

He walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Halfway through drinking, he glanced at the sticky note on the refrigerator that said "See dentist next Wednesday". He had written it himself, and it had been up for two months, but he had never gone once.

Before he could return to the recording studio, his phone lit up again. This time, it was a voice call.

Taylor.

He answered, and before he could speak, the person on the other end started talking.

"Don't say a word." Taylor's speaking speed was twice as fast as usual, "I was just woken up by a call from the PR team. They said you did a late-night livestream, then CNN's late-night show cut directly to your livestream footage, then Hussein's campaign manager retweeted that clip of yours on Twitter, and then—"

"Take a breath." Chen Mo leaned against the kitchen doorframe, catching his own breath, "Don't PR teams sleep?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone for two seconds. Taylor took a deep breath, then asked in a tone that tried to sound calm but was actually anything but: "Did you know he would mention you?"

"I did."

"When did you know?"

"Hussein invited me to a rally before, but I didn't go. This afternoon, someone from his team contacted me to ask if they could use the phrase 'dont stop'."

"And then?"

"I said go ahead and use it."

"Go ahead and use it?" Taylor's voice went up half an octave, "The former president wants to use your slogan at a rally with tens of thousands of people, and you said just go ahead and use it?"

"What else was I supposed to say," Chen Mo changed his posture, leaning against the refrigerator door, "Mr. President, please pay the copyright fee?"

Taylor laughed on the other end of the line, and after laughing, she was silent for a moment.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm doing great."

"You're lying again. You're clearly excited."