Chapter 34: Widely Divergent Ballot Types

The lightning-fast lyrics, paired with a melody steeped in ancient charm, swept through the venue like a fierce storm. At once, the audience, mentors, and music critics were left stunned.

The twenty-eight critics and media jurors at the scene began whispering among themselves.

"Is this... rap?"

"The lyrics are quick, but there's a melody—so it's probably not rap. It feels more like R&B."

"It's hard to categorize, but this song feels like it's about to explode."

"'Nocturne' isn't rap in the conventional sense either. It should probably be classified as classical rap, or melodic rap."

"This one is special too, though the lyrics are a bit hard to catch."

Among the professional critics, there were some who couldn't understand Cantonese. And even for those who did, the speed of the lyrics made it nearly impossible to catch every word. However, the producers had already provided lyrics to all mentors and critics. Many of the four mentors and twenty-eight professional critics followed along with the lyrics in hand as they listened.

Fang Xing's performance grew more impassioned with every line—more powerful, more heartfelt:

"Ah... ha... I cannot bear to leave this glittering, mundane world.

"Ah... ha... I can't escape the solace of infatuation.

"Ah... ha... I cannot find anything to replace these appearances.

"Ah... ha... A riddle for a lifetime, one I can never solve!"

The audience was utterly transfixed by the song. The rich melody, the powerful and resonant vocals, and the stirring lyrics—each aspect drew gasps of awe.

Especially those from Cantonese-speaking regions, who, upon understanding the lyrics, waved their glow sticks in joyous surprise.

A few quirky fans who had traveled from Cantonese regions even shouted with tearful eyes, "I don't want to roast you anymore, what am I supposed to do? We promised to do this for life!"

...

The entire song, with its ancient musical charm and majestic spirit, left listeners enraptured. Even after the final note faded, the mentors, critics, and audience were all left yearning for more.

It was silent for a long moment.

"Whew!" He Hao exhaled deeply, then joked with a smile, "Fang Xing, listening to most singers wears out my ears, but listening to you wears out my neck. With these never-ending lyrics, I nearly ran out of breath just following along.

"The song is over. Fang Xing, do you think you can claim a spot in the next round?"

"Of course."

Fang Xing replied with a confident smile.

"That confident? What if you don't make it to the next round and end up embarrassed? You know, it's not just the four mentors voting—there are also twenty-eight professional critics over there." He Hao gestured toward the critics' row on his left.

Fang Xing shrugged. "Whether they vote for me or not, it doesn't matter to me."

"So calm? What if you get eliminated?" He Hao pressed.

"It's fine. Let everyone vote as they see fit. Time will reveal everything." Fang Xing's expression was serene.

In truth, what he wanted to say was: time will reveal who the real clown is. But that was a bit too harsh; best to remain humble. After all, if any critics dared to vote for Hashim's arrogant rap after hearing this song, time really would show who the clown is.

Still not satisfied with the drama, He Hao turned to the advancement seat where Hashim sat and asked, "Hashim, do you think you'll win?"

Hashim's face darkened slightly. He could tell that Fang Xing's melody and arrangement were exceptionally strong.

At first, he believed that his own rearrangement of "Blood-Sealing Blade," with its brash and exhilarating rap, would easily crush any competition. Now, the outcome felt uncertain.

He couldn't understand the lyrics, so he wasn't sure what they conveyed. On top of that, "Blood-Sealing Blade" was a classic theme from a martial arts series, carrying weight in the audience's mind. So, he still felt he had a good chance to win.

He put on a confident smile. "My opponent is strong, but I believe I'll win. Defeating a powerful opponent is what brings true satisfaction."

He Hao turned back to the mentors' table. "Let's see how the four mentors and twenty-eight professional critics will vote.

"First, the mentors: if you think 'Blood-Sealing Blade' is superior, hold up the card with Hashim's name. If you believe 'The Unfathomable Sutra' has the edge, hold up Fang Xing's card. Please reveal your cards!"

All four mentors simultaneously raised cards with Fang Xing's name.

"Fang Xing receives four votes. It seems the mentors rate his performance more highly. But this isn't the final result—we still have the twenty-eight professional critics. First row, please reveal your cards," He Hao continued, guiding the critics through the process.

All seven critics in the first row raised cards bearing Fang Xing's name.

"All votes for Fang Xing—he now has eleven. Second row, please reveal your cards..."

He Hao counted off row by row. "Second row, all for Fang Xing as well—eighteen votes total."

At this point, the outcome was already decided. Four mentors and twenty-eight critics made thirty-two votes in total; Fang Xing had already secured eighteen.

The result was set.

Hashim, seated in the advancement area, wore a look of utter disbelief.

He hadn't expected such a lopsided outcome—not a single vote among the first eighteen. The gap was so wide, it defied comprehension. Even against a strong opponent, surely he should have received at least one vote?

But reality was as it was: the four mentors and the first two rows of critics—all eighteen votes—had gone to Fang Xing. The contrast was brutal.

Even the audience felt it was a bit much.

But the critics didn't see it that way. Their musical discernment far surpassed the average listener's. They could tell which performance was superior. If Fang Xing’s advantage had been slight, perhaps a few votes would have gone to Hashim out of personal preference.

But all of them held the lyrics in their hands. Listening to the song while following the lyrics was a wholly different experience. The composition, lyrics, and vocal delivery of this song were simply on another level compared to Hashim's adapted rap.

Just as Fang Xing had wanted to say: anyone who still voted for Hashim, time would reveal who the clown was.

One song could be called a work of musical art; the other was just a diss track. With time, one would become an eternal classic, the other would be buried and forgotten.

Voting for Hashim now meant that whenever "The Unfathomable Sutra" was mentioned in the future, that vote would become a running joke.

The difference was just too vast.

Even if these critics wanted to pander, they didn’t dare.

Although the result was beyond doubt, the voting continued.

He Hao pressed on, "Third row of critics, please reveal your cards."

As with the previous rows, all voted for Fang Xing.

There was no suspense left in the outcome, but the process continued—an open humiliation for Hashim, as if each vote was a public declaration of just how poor his rap was.

Hashim's face had turned ghastly pale; he looked as if he might explode from frustration.