20: Chapter 20 Performance at the Temple of Music

New York, Christmas Eve.

The cold here is completely different from Los Angeles.

Chen Mo wrapped himself in a long, black down jacket, standing under the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

It was packed with people all around; everyone was holding coffee or hot dogs, their exhaled white breath mingling together.

"Chen," Daniel ran over, rubbing his hands, his nose frozen red. "The car is over there. We need to go quickly; New York traffic is even crazier than in Los Angeles."

"Where to?" Chen Mo asked, still looking at the blinking lights on the tree.

"Radio City Music Hall!" Daniel's voice was more excited than ever. "My god, Chen, the greatest music hall in the United States! Tonight belongs to you!"

Chen Mo withdrew his gaze and nodded; he was actually quite nervous today too.

Although he had faced tens of millions of live viewers at the Victorias Secret Fashion Show, he had never held a formal, ticketed, solo performance in a pure musical temple like Radio City Music Hall.

This is completely different.

Because this time, it represents the industry's ultimate recognition of his "live performance ability."

The car drove through the congested Fifth Avenue.

Outside the window, the luxury store windows were hung with Christmas decorations; those fake deer and fake gifts piled together were so tacky they made one want to laugh.

"Chen," Daniel suddenly turned around from the passenger seat, his expression as serious as if he were reading a will. "Tonight's tickets sold out in three minutes. Do you know what that means? Your current drawing power is stronger than those veteran singers who debuted over a decade ago."

"Scott just texted saying Universal Music wants to record tonight's performance and make it into a live album."

"That couldn't be better," Chen Mo replied, looking out the window, "I hope there are no issues with the sound system."

"Can you be any calmer?" Daniel was frantic. "This is Radio City Music Hall! You are now a truly top-tier celebrity! You should show that… that dominance of someone who controls everything!"

"Controlling everything is so tiring," Chen Mo zipped his down jacket to the top. "Can't I be nervous for once?"

Daniel shrugged, "Who told me to get used to that 'in control' version of you? Seeing you nervous is actually quite novel."

Radio City Music Hall.

"It's dizzyingly large here," Chen Mo said.

Daniel sighed, "It truly lives up to its status as a temple-level venue!"

Red seats spread out, and the intricate reliefs on the dome appeared solemn and dignified under the lights.

Chen Mo was in the backstage lounge, looking at himself in the mirror.

The makeup artist had just fixed his hair and applied a little hair wax to make him look less melancholic, but it was still the same face; in his glass-bead eyes, there was nothing but nervousness.

"Chen," an old gentleman in a tuxedo knocked and entered; he was the artistic director here. "Fifteen minutes until you go on stage. The audience can't wait anymore. Are you ready?"

Chen Mo took a deep breath and stood up.

"Ready."

Tonight, he would only use the piano.

When the spotlight hit the stage and Chen Mo sat alone in front of that Steinway piano, the six thousand audience members instantly went quiet.

The prelude began; it was "Stay."

The pure sound of the piano echoed throughout the massive music hall, every note clearly audible.

Without the support of post-production reverb, it was completely naked reality.

His voice resonated in the vast space; that feeling of exhaustion, fragility, yet immense determination flooded the entire hall like a tide.

Below the stage, no one dared to breathe loudly.

When singing "I want somebody to lean on…," Chen Mo looked up, his gaze sweeping across the dark audience seating.

He saw countless shining eyes, saw people secretly wiping away tears, and saw some people gently swaying to the rhythm.

This sense of connection was stronger than any data, striking his heart fiercely.

When the song ended, applause thundered.

Chen Mo stood up, bowed slightly, then sat down again and began to play "Believer."

A piano version of rock; this was so novel.

The original sense of power was transmitted through the keys to everyone's heart.

By the time the performance ended, it was already eleven o'clock at night.

Chen Mo returned backstage; before he could even remove his makeup, his phone began to vibrate wildly.

It was James.

"Chen! Did you see? Twitter is exploding! The whole country is talking about your performance! Even Mrs. Hussein tweeted that she watched the live show and said it was the most moving performance she had heard all year!"

James was so excited on the other end he was almost crying; he choked up and said, "Scott says we need to raise prices! Your ticket prices need to double!"

Chen Mo leaned back on the sofa, so tired his fingers were trembling.

"Got it," he said, panting. "Don't bother me, I want to sleep for a while."

"Sleep, what sleep!" James roared. "We need to hold a press conference! We need to release an album! We need to start next year's world tour! Also, Disney said the theme song is fantastic, and they want to put your name in the most prominent position at the beginning of the movie!"

Chen Mo hung up the phone and said, "Got it, I'm going to sleep."

The world went quiet.

He looked at the ceiling, his amber pupils reflecting the intricate plaster patterns on the ceiling.

Top-tier work, top-tier venue, top-tier praise.

He had achieved it.

He really had it!

But why did he still feel so empty inside?

He took out his phone and opened WeChat to that familiar chat box, labeled "Mom."

The last time they chatted, the last time, Mom said she saw his success.

Chen Mo's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, typing, deleting, typing again, deleting again.

Finally, he only sent one line: [Mom, the First Lady watched my performance, it went quite smoothly.]

A few seconds later, the phone vibrated.

Mom replied very quickly: [Auntie Wang next door saw it on TV and said the news even broadcast you. Don't just focus on making money over there, remember to eat.]

[Your dad won't say it, but he turned the TV volume up really loud, afraid others wouldn't hear it was you.]

Chen Mo looked at those lines, his nose suddenly feeling a bit sore.

He replied with an "Mm," then went through his album and sent a photo Daniel had taken of him backstage earlier.

In the photo, he was wearing a simple black shirt, sitting in front of the piano, with no expression on his face, only a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

Mom replied with a "hug" emoji, then sent a voice message.

Chen Mo tapped it.

In the background was the sound of the TV at home in Changsha, along with the conversation between Chen Jianguo and Uncle Liu—

"Look! That's my son! He didn't rely on me! He succeeded!"

Mom, Ms. Li, said with a smile: "Your dad insists on showing off to Old Liu; he's been watching since eight o'clock and hasn't even eaten."

Chen Mo held the phone to his ear, listening to the voice message, listening to it three times.

He had done it.

"Chen," Daniel poked his head in, "Are you packed? We're going to Times Square. Scott booked a penthouse box; we're going to countdown for the New Year!"

"Not going," Chen Mo put his phone away and stood up. "I'm tired; I want to go back to the hotel to sleep."

"But it's Times Square! Hundreds of thousands of people! Champagne! Parties!" Daniel tried to make a final struggle.

Chen Mo picked up his backpack, draped the long down jacket over his shoulder, and said, "Daniel, help me say thanks to Scott. Also, go have a good meal; consider it a bonus for your year-end reward."

He walked out of the lounge.

In the hallway outside, staff were cleaning up the venue. When everyone saw him, they stopped and respectfully called him "Chen."

Chen Mo nodded, responded with a smile, and walked out the door of Radio City Music Hall.

The cold wind in New York was still biting, and goose-feather-sized snowflakes began to fall from the sky.

He suddenly thought of the movie "Home Alone."

Chen Mo pulled up his collar to block the wind and walked alone toward the hotel.

Behind him was the top-tier praise and clamor; in front of him was that empty, quiet street with only snowflakes dancing.

He took out his headphones and put them on, but what played was the demo of "Stay" he had recorded on his phone in the garage at The Cooper Home that night.

He always felt something was missing.

The winter night in New York was cold enough to freeze one's lungs; it was quite unfriendly to someone like him who lived in the south and California.

Chen Mo zipped his down jacket up to his chin, leaving only his eyes exposed, hands in his pockets, walking aimlessly through the crowd in Times Square.

He didn't want to sleep anymore.