The first note rang out.

That note was excessively steady.

In the livestream room with six million online viewers, the bullet comments came to a brief standstill.

Within three seconds, the screen was clean, with only a dozen or so lines of text drifting by. The six hundred audience members on-site even lightened their breathing, for fear of shattering this moment of tranquility.

Lu Zhixian had his eyes closed.

His right hand rose slowly and landed on the treble section, playing the first phrase of the prelude.

It was outrageously simple. A short phrase consisting of only five notes, so thin that it seemed extremely lonely in the vast venue.

It wasn't showy or complex; it was just a clean, minimalist sketch.

Su Ran stood under the spotlight at the front of the stage, holding the microphone to his lips.

He didn't close his eyes, but instead looked directly into the camera lens ahead.

The first line of lyrics came out.

“I have walked through the crowd ten thousand times, yet no one sees the cracks on my face.”

In the front row of the judges' seats, several music critics sat up straight at the same time. He Wanqing's hand, holding a pen, paused in mid-air, while the Bald Producer leaned forward directly.

Su Ran had changed.

That rich baritone texture remained, but the edges had been polished with meticulous detail, and the emotional layers had expanded by more than just one dimension.

He had shed the over-exertion of a trending idol and become someone telling a story.

Sighs were hidden in his articulation, and stories were tucked away in his trailing notes.

As the verse moved into the second section, the layers of the arrangement began to unfold.

The piano under Lu Zhixian's hands shifted from simple chords to flowing arpeggios.

Su Ran's voice naturally pushed upward along with this background; he didn't force it higher, relying entirely on the sense of breath provided by the arrangement.

The coordination between the two required no eye contact; it was a complete musical synergy.

In front of the backstage monitoring screen.

Zhou Qiming stared at the screen, the thermos in his hand creaking under his grip.

He stared intently at Lu Zhixian's hands flying across the keys.

Laymen listen for the spectacle, while experts listen for the technique. This style of arrangement locked the vocals and instruments together seamlessly.

Every rest was in its proper place, and every chord served the emotion.

This was a textbook-level performance seen once in a decade. Having been in the music industry for so many years, Zhou Qiming knew very well that this kind of thing couldn't be taught; it was a gift from the heavens.

The song progressed to the bridge.

Lu Zhixian made a move that made the scalps of every professional musician in the audience tingle.

He stopped.

His hands left the keys entirely and hung at his sides.

There was no accompaniment at all.

A cappella.

Su Ran's hand holding the microphone trembled. He thought of the days and nights in the rehearsal room where Lu Zhixian scrutinized every detail, and he thought of his own struggles over the past three years.

He sang the most central line of the entire song.

“I know the light of a single star is insignificant, but I choose to burn—”

His voice was naked, fragile, and so real that it made one's heart ache.

The six hundred audience members suppressed their breathing to the minimum; in the vast studio, only Su Ran's voice echoed.

Half a second later, Lu Zhixian's hands slammed down heavily.

The string section, synthesizers, and drums—all parts flooded in at this very second.

Extreme silence cut directly into extreme surge.

“Because I refuse to be extinguished!”

Su Ran's voice pushed to the limit.

It wasn't the kind of high note achieved by squeezing the vocal cords like before, but a shout that resonated from his chest through to his head.

Wrapped in a coarse texture and three years of pent-up frustration, it all poured out.

Someone in the back row of the audience stood up, raising their hands high.

Screams were drowned out in the terrifying wave of sound.

The song entered its final section.

All the instruments began to recede like a tide.

Lu Zhixian's fingers slowed, the piano sound faded, returning to those five simple notes from the opening.

Su Ran's voice also settled accordingly.

For the last line, he was almost whispering.

The stage lights slowly brightened.

On the big screen, there was a close-up of Su Ran's face.

There were two trails of tears on his face.

He didn't bother with facial expression management or worry about his makeup; he just let the tears flow down.

He raised the back of his hand to casually wipe his face, then looked at the camera and smiled.

That smile was incredibly clean, like a child who had just learned to sing.

The bullet comments in the livestream room went completely wild.

“Wuwuwu, I'm a grown man crying like a dog on the subway.”

“My defenses are broken, completely broken.”

“Su Ran, you're amazing! You are a singer!”

“I take back everything I said against him before. I'm sorry.”

At the judges' table, He Wanqing took off her glasses and looked down for a tissue. More than half of the judges had red eyes.

The voting segment began.

The scores from the seventeen regular judges lit up one by one. 8.5, 9.0, 9.5, 10.0... high scores across the board. The numbers on the big screen jumped successively, finally settling on an average score of 9.47. This was the highest score of the entire season.

It was the turn of those three judges.

No. 12, 6.5.

No. 18, 7.0.

As soon as these two numbers appeared, the venue broke into an uproar. A clear wave of boos erupted from the audience. The livestream's bullet comments were instantly filled with rage.

“6.5? Are you deaf or blind?”

“Whose money did these two take?! Is the production team going to do anything?!”

“Shady! A complete and utter fix!”

The camera cut to the oldest judge, No. 7.

His hand hovered over the scoring device, hesitating to press down.

His face was clearly reflected on the big screen. He was gritting his teeth, and a layer of fine sweat had broken out on his forehead.

The eyes of the entire audience were fixed on him.

He had been in the industry for twenty years; he understood the rules and the interests involved.

Taking money to solve people's problems was his long-standing rule for survival.

But he was someone who had started out in music.

Su Ran's song just now had slapped him hard in the face and awakened his conscience.

He remembered the days when he had just entered the industry at twenty, writing songs in a basement with his guitar.

He closed his eyes.

His finger pressed down hard.

A number popped up on the big screen: 9.0.

The entire venue erupted in thunderous applause.

This applause wasn't just for Su Ran, but also for this veteran musician who had held onto his principles.

He Wanqing even stood up to applaud him.

Judges No. 12 and No. 18 turned their heads in unison to stare at him, their faces filled with ghostly shock.

Judge No. 7 didn't look at them.

He lowered his head, his lips trembling.

He had ruined the deal and offended Qin Haoran, but he had preserved his integrity as a musician.

...

Su Ran left the stage; it was Lin Feng's turn.

Zhou Qiming brought out his best skills.

With a live symphony orchestra accompaniment, a twenty-person string and wind ensemble filled the entire stage.

The arrangement was magnificent, grand, and precise. Lin Feng's singing technique was impeccable—steady high notes and long breath control. It was a piece of work that couldn't be faulted.

But the audience's perception had changed.

Lin Feng's performance was like an oil painting with intense colors; the technique was superb, but after watching it, no specific stroke remained in the mind.

Su Ran's performance was like a scar carved across a blank sheet of paper. It wasn't perfect, but it hurt—it hurt so much that it was unforgettable.

This was the difference between being correct and being stunning.

When Lin Feng stepped off the stage, he glanced at Su Ran.

In that glance, there was no jealousy, only the relief of being utterly defeated.

He understood that what he lost to today wasn't popularity, but music itself.

The final voting segment.

To widen the gap, Judges No. 12 and No. 18 gave Lin Feng an exaggerated perfect score of 10.0.

But the tide had already turned. Judge No. 7's defection had completely disintegrated their camp, and the scales of the other seventeen judges had fully tilted. The vast majority gave Su Ran scores that surpassed Lin Feng's.

The online audience voting channel opened for five minutes.

As soon as the time was up, two bar charts shot up on the big screen.

The red bar represented Su Ran, and the blue bar represented Lin Feng.

The red bar climbed with overwhelming momentum, leaving the blue bar far behind.

Su Ran's online votes were 2.3 times that of Lin Feng's.

An undisputed landslide.

The host walked to the center of the stage with the final statistical results. His voice wavered with excitement.

“The champion of the first season of Heavenly Voice Partners is—”

The entire venue was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.

“Su Ran!”

The studio erupted in the wildest cheers since the show began. Golden streamers poured down from the ceiling, covering the entire stage.

Su Ran stood there, completely stunned.

After a few seconds, he crouched down, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders shook violently.

The grievances, ridicule, and unwillingness of the past three years were all released in these few seconds.

Lu Zhixian came out from behind the piano, walked to his side, and reached out to pat his back.

“Congratulations, Singer Su Ran.”

Su Ran looked up, his face covered in tears, smiling more radiantly than anyone.

The host handed the heavy trophy to Su Ran, who raised it and bowed deeply in Lu Zhixian's direction.

...

Qin Haoran stared intently at the results on the screen, his face as pale as paper.

Gritting his teeth, he took out his phone, prepared to call the public relations department to forcibly suppress the online public opinion.

Just as the screen lit up, a news notification popped up.

Publisher: Gezi.

Title: Ironclad Evidence of Score Faking in Heavenly Voice Partners: Three Judges Suspected of Taking Bribes, Complete Data Chain Exposed.

Qin Haoran's hand trembled. He clicked the link.

In the article, there was not only that anonymously provided, outrageously detailed table of score deviations but also explosive information that Gezi had dug up himself.

Screenshots of recent financial transaction records between Qin Haoran's companies and these three judges.

Clear and unmistakable. The timing of every transfer perfectly coincided with the recording schedule of the competition.

The comment section below had completely exploded.

“Holy crap! It's verified! Haoran Entertainment, get out of the entertainment industry!”

“So Su Ran has been suppressed by capital all along! My heart aches for Su Ran!”

“Investigate thoroughly! It must be investigated!”

“Smack.”

The phone slipped from Qin Haoran's hand and hit the ground, the screen shattering into a spiderweb.

...

Lu Zhixian leaned against the wall, the light from his phone screen illuminating his jawline.

The cheers from outside came in waves, making the glass vibrate slightly.

He read every single word of Gezi's long article, then turned off the screen and tucked the phone into his pocket.

From beginning to end, he hadn't posted a single word online or complained about any injustice in front of the cameras.

It was time for it to end.

He stood up straight and walked toward the brightly lit stage ahead.

There, the carnival belonging to them had only just begun.