The presenter was an old man in his fifties, a recognized titan of the lyrics world who had won seven Golden Song Awards.

He opened the envelope slowly, so slowly that the audience's breath hitched.

"Best Lyricist of the Year—"

He adjusted his reading glasses and saw the name on the card clearly.

"Lu Zhixian."

Applause broke out, polite and orderly.

It was expected; after all, once the nomination list was out, those in the know had already understood.

Lu Zhixian stood up, straightened his cuffs, and walked toward the stage.

The trophy was in his hand—metallic and heavier than expected.

He stood before the microphone, didn't flip through a script, didn't build up emotion, and said seven words to the audience.

"Thank you all for your support."

A smile, a turn, and he left the stage.

Clean and efficient; from the moment he stepped up to the moment he walked down, it took no more than twenty seconds in total.

A few veteran musicians in the audience exchanged glances and nodded silently: This kid doesn't put on airs; he's got guts!

Lu Zhixian returned to his seat and sat down.

Lin Shiya tilted her head and gave a slight nod.

It was a form of congratulations.

—

The next award was "Best MV of the Year," which had nothing to do with Lu Zhixian.

He picked up the mineral water on the table, unscrewed it, took a sip, and scanned the program list.

Jiang Cheng's "dispelling sorrow" was nominated for "Hot Single of the Year," scheduled for the latter half.

Su Qing's "bubble" was in "Best Single of the Year."

He flipped the program list back, seeing his name appear in five different spots, densely packed.

The MV award on stage finished.

The host's voice rose again: "The next award—Best Arrangement of the Year!"

On the big screen, the names of the five nominees popped up one by one.

The last one to light up was still those three words.

The presenter opened the envelope and paused for a moment.

He looked up at the audience, then down at the card again, as if confirming he hadn't misread it.

"Lu Zhixian."

The applause was still enthusiastic.

But this time was different—the audience instantly erupted, the buzzing discussions sounding like a beehive. Winning two awards in a row, and it's the same person—this move was incredible!

Lu Zhixian stood up and walked onto the stage.

When he took the trophy, he switched hands—his left hand already held one. With a trophy in each hand, the weight was much more balanced.

He stood before the microphone.

"Thank you all for your support."

The exact same seven words, the exact same tone.

A turn, and he left the stage.

Who would think he was reading a script now? It was clearly intentional, a blatant display of humblebragging!

A music critic in the back row whispered to the person next to him, "Is this kid for real, or is he doing performance art?"

—

Lu Zhixian returned to his seat, a trophy in each hand, and casually placed them by his feet.

The metal bases made "intimate contact" with the floor with two "clangs."

Lin Shiya tilted her head.

This time, even the tear mole at the corner of her eye trembled slightly, and the smile at the corner of her mouth could no longer be hidden.

"Are you planning to empty out all the trophies on stage?" she whispered.

Lu Zhixian looked at the stage ahead and let out two words.

"I'll try."

Lin Shiya said nothing more.

But she looked at Lu Zhixian for two seconds longer, her gaze shifting from casual indifference to inquiry and seriousness.

Several senior musicians in the front row began to look back frequently.

That look was subtle; it wasn't jealousy, but more like a mix of indignation from being offended and admiration that said, "This kid really has what it takes."

A twenty-eight-year-old young man was using an extremely blunt method to redefine their understanding of the word "junior."

—

After two performance segments, the program moved to the fifth award.

"Best Composition of the Year!"

The big screen lit up with the nomination list. After the five names rolled by, the presenter opened the envelope.

The whole venue fell silent instantly; you could hear a pin drop.

"Lu Zhixian."

The moment those three words came through the speakers, the reaction from the audience was completely different from the first two times.

Laughter and gasps were clearly mixed into the applause.

A superstar-level singer in the front row looked back at Lu Zhixian and slapped the armrest.

His lips moved silently.

You're ruthless.

Lu Zhixian walked onto the stage for the third time.

His steps were steady, but this time he didn't go straight for the trophy.

He first stood before the microphone and scanned the audience.

Thousands of people were staring at him.

He smiled.

"Me again."

The whole place burst into laughter; the atmosphere was just incredible.

Lu Zhixian picked up the trophy. The third one.

"Thank you all for your support."

The same seven words, for the third time.

The audience laughed even harder.

Some people started clapping simply because they found it hilarious.

He turned and left the stage; with three trophies, two hands weren't enough, so he "tucked" the third one directly under his arm, his posture incredibly casual.

"Lu Zhixian hat trick!!!"

"Is this guy here at the Golden Song Awards to stock up on inventory???"

"Saying the same acceptance speech three times, this man is so annoying I love it Hahahahaha."

"Holy crap, is no one noticing those heaven-defying long legs?"

#Lu Zhixian Hat Trick# rushed to number one on the hot search list within five minutes.

—

Lu Zhixian sat back down and lined up the three trophies by his feet.

There wasn't quite enough space, so the third one was a bit crooked.

Jiang Cheng leaned over from the back row, his mouth close to Lu Zhixian's ear, his voice loud enough for several rows over to hear.

"Brother Xian! Are you here to buy trophies wholesale tonight?!"

Lu Zhixian didn't even look up, like an old monk in meditation.

"Little Jiang, don't be in a rush."

Jiang Cheng pulled back.

Excitement and nervousness were fighting on his face, a battle that was hard to resolve.

Su Qing, in the adjacent row, sat quietly with her hands clasped over her knees; fine sweat was faintly visible on the back of her hands. Her "Best Single of the Year" was in the next group.

—

The host announced: "Best Single of the Year—"

The names of the five nominated songs and singers rolled across the big screen. "bubble" by Su Qing was third.

The guest opened the envelope.

"Su Qing, 'bubble'!"

The moment Su Qing stood up, her knees were trembling.

She steadied herself by leaning on the back of the chair before walking toward the stage.

She took the trophy with both hands.

Standing before the microphone, she scanned the audience, her gaze finally landing in a certain direction.

"This song is not my work alone."

Her voice was a bit shaky, but she enunciated every word clearly.

"It belongs to one person, Teacher Lu Zhixian."

The venue fell silent.

"Six months ago, I was a washed-up singer whom nobody remembered. My contract was expiring, no company was willing to renew, and I couldn't even get invitations for commercial performances."

She paused, her throat bobbing.

"It was Teacher Lu who handed 'bubble' to me. During the recording, I sang it seventeen times, and he wasn't satisfied with a single one. He stood outside the recording booth, tapped on the glass, and told me, 'Your voice deserves to be heard, but you have to believe it yourself first.'"

Her eyes turned red.

"Teacher Lu, thank you."

She bowed.

The applause from the audience crashed down, thick and long-lasting.

The camera cut to Lu Zhixian.

He lightly clapped a few times and gave a slight nod in Su Qing's direction.

The smile in his eyes couldn't be hidden. It was clear he was truly happy for Su Qing.

Lin Shiya's gaze lingered on his face for three seconds before she looked away.

She remembered what he had just said: "That's because they are worth it."

—

Su Qing's steps were airy as she left the stage; an assistant supported her at the side of the curtain.

In the back row, Jiang Cheng was so excited half his butt had left the seat; the person next to him pressed a hand on his shoulder: "Sit down, sit down."

On the screen in the presenters' waiting area, a replay of Su Qing's acceptance speech was playing. Shi Lei stood in the corner and watched the whole thing.

He had managed Jiang Cheng. He had managed him for over half a year and hadn't achieved much. Then Lu Zhixian threw "dispelling sorrow" over, and Jiang Cheng instantly went from a nobody with a few tens of thousands of fans to a hot singer with tens of millions of plays.

Now Su Qing was also standing on the Golden Song Awards stage.

He picked up a paper cup from the table and took a sip of water, looking at Lu Zhixian's profile on the screen and smiling softly.

This kind of gap really wasn't embarrassing.

In fact, it was somewhat convincing.

—

A performance segment paying tribute to the classics was interspersed, with several old seniors performing a classic song together.

During the break, Lin Shiya suddenly spoke.

"What Su Qing just said didn't sound like it was prepared in advance."

"It probably wasn't."

Lin Shiya was quiet for a few seconds.

"You are very good to your collaborators."

Lu Zhixian looked at her sideways, their gazes meeting briefly.

"That's because they are worth it."

Lin Shiya's eyes flickered, and she was the first to look away.

She picked up the mineral water bottle, the action of unscrewing the cap more forceful than any time before.

—

The program moved into the second half.

The lighting tones switched from warm yellow to cold gold, and the atmosphere on stage significantly leveled up.

The host walked to the front of the stage, his cue card listing the remaining heavyweight awards—"Best New Producer of the Year," "Best Album of the Year," "Producer of the Year," and "Best Singer of the Year."

The audience had already started heckling.

Someone shouted, "How many more times is Lu Zhixian going on stage?"

Another voice followed up, "I've already got my counter ready!"

The whole place laughed.

The style of the live stream's bullet comments had completely warped.

"Lu Zhixian's workload tonight is so heavy; he's practically getting a workplace injury from accepting awards."

"I suggest the Golden Song Awards build a dedicated lane for him; running back and forth is too tiring."

"That sentence, 'Thank you all for your support,' how many times is he going to say it tonight? I've already started memorizing it."

On social media, the topic #Lu Zhixian Award Acceptance Express Lane# was seeing its read count soar at a rate of millions per minute. The Weibo servers were reportedly starting to issue alerts.

The host cleared his throat.

He deliberately drew out his voice, leaving enough space between each word: "The, next, award—"

The whole place held its breath.

"Best New Producer of the Year."

Before he could even finish.

Hundreds of heads "whooshed," turning in unison toward the same direction. Hundreds of gazes, like searchlights, instantly "pew-ed" over.

The scene was momentarily hilarious to the extreme.

Lu Zhixian leaned against the back of his chair, hands crossed over his abdomen, slumped loosely in his seat.

He didn't make any extra movements.

The expression on his face, if translated into plain language, would probably be: "Just read it, you." That calmness was simply asking for a beating.

Beside him, Lin Shiya turned her face directly to the other side, but her shoulders couldn't stop trembling slightly.

She was laughing, very restrained, but those shaking shoulders completely gave her away.