Chapter 79: Didn’t I Already Give a Red Envelope?

The day after the commercial performance ended, a new storm swept across the internet. Lin Chuan’s latest song, “Matchstick Heaven,” became the top headline for every major online media outlet, earning unanimous praise from countless netizens within just a few hours. Some with particularly vivid imaginations even undertook a thorough analysis of the song.

From the lyrics, one could sense a child wandering alone through the snow on a cold night, longing for family, for love, for warmth. For many, such things are within easy reach, but for the child in the song, they are unattainable luxuries, never to be realized in a lifetime.

As everyone sought to piece together the story hidden behind the song, a short story titled “The Little Match Girl” appeared online.

It was a bitterly cold night, snow falling, the last day of the year, New Year’s Eve. In this dark, freezing evening, a little girl walked barefoot through the streets. When she’d left home, she still wore oversized slippers, but as she crossed the road, a carriage suddenly sped past, frightening her and causing her to lose them.

She had to walk barefoot in the icy snow, her small feet blue and red from the cold. In her old apron she carried many matchsticks, and held a bundle in her hand. After an entire day, she hadn’t sold a single one. Hungry and shivering, she curled up in a corner, afraid to return home for fear of her father’s wrath.

Besides, home was as cold as the street.

The biting wind howled, numbing her body, freezing her small hands stiff. She wanted to warm herself with a matchstick, even if only a tiny bit of warmth. But thinking of her father’s terrifying face, she hesitated.

Yet after a moment, with a hiss, she finally gathered her courage and struck a match. The matchstick flared with a strange light, conjuring a large stove before her. She reached out, trying to warm herself, but the match went out and the stove vanished.

She struck the second match, whose light shone on the wall. She saw a long table laden with delicious food, a fragrant roast goose with knife and fork stuck in its back, dancing before her. She reached out, trying to catch it, but the match went out again.

When she lit the third match, she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree, huge and splendid, decorated with postcards and ornaments. Then, the match went out again, and the candles on the tree rose up into the sky, leaving a trail of red.

Her mother had told her that when a star falls, a soul ascends to heaven. Was someone about to die?

Feeling sorrowful, she struck another match, and this time, her mother appeared. “Mother!” the girl cried out in excitement, “Please take me away! I know that when the match goes out, you’ll disappear, just like the warm stove, the fragrant roast goose, and the beautiful Christmas tree—all will vanish!”

The girl wept. She didn’t want her mother to disappear like those things. So, she struck all the matches at once.

The light grew brighter, and her mother’s figure became clearer and more beautiful. Smiling, her mother reached out and embraced her, carrying her away to a place without cold, hunger, or pain.

The next morning, when people found the little girl, she was already dead, frozen on New Year’s Eve.

“Damn, who wrote this story? It’s so heartbreaking! That poor little girl!”

“This is the story behind ‘Matchstick Heaven’? She’s so pitiful, sob sob…”

“How could there ever be such a cruel father, dragging his child out and beating her?”

“I’ve never heard of this story before. Did Chuan write it himself? Tsk tsk, Chuan really is a genius…”

With the appearance of the story, Lin Chuan’s fans were once again unsurprisingly shocked.

At that moment, Lin Chuan sat before his computer, reading comments on forums and social media, his face full of bitter smiles.

“Hahaha, Xiao Chuan, this story is brilliant!” Gao Mingyuan laughed heartily, giving a thumbs up.

“Uh… Uncle Gao, I didn’t write it. I haven’t gotten bored enough to write something like this,” Lin Chuan frowned and quickly denied it.

“What, you didn’t write it? Who else could have? Besides you, who knows this story?” Gao Mingyuan was stunned, his face filled with confusion.

When the story was first posted online, it caused quite a stir. Gao Mingyuan was deeply moved upon seeing it and rushed to Lin Chuan’s home after arriving at the company.

“Uncle Gao, you should ask Xiao Wu and Gao Meng. Besides me, they both know the story too,” Lin Chuan shrugged helplessly.

Gao Mingyuan had brought this up the night before while they were celebrating at the hotel.

“Matchstick Heaven” was unlike other songs, which were full of romance from beginning to end. The lyrics clearly concealed a story.

Uncle Gao, Gao Meng, and even Lin Yiyang were all quite curious. So, Lin Chuan had no choice but to recount “The Little Match Girl.”

At the time, Gao Mingyuan and the others simply found it sad, but no one expected it would be posted online the next day.

Uncle Gao chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head. “Xiao Wu is honest, not that scheming. If it wasn’t you, it must have been Mengmeng. That girl…”

Lin Chuan smiled, making no further comment.

“By the way, there’s a press conference at two o’clock this afternoon. I’ll have Xiao Wu come pick you up,” Uncle Gao said with a smile.

“A press conference? So sudden?” Lin Chuan was surprised; he hadn’t received any prior notice.

Uncle Gao shook his head with a wry smile, clearly helpless. “It is a bit abrupt, but there’s no choice. Your signing with Tiandi Culture is no secret anymore. Rather than letting the reporters break the news, it’s better for us to announce it ourselves.”

Hearing this, Lin Chuan nodded in agreement.

The two chatted briefly about the upcoming press conference, which would announce Lin Chuan joining Tiandi Culture and cover his plans for the remaining months of the year.

He didn’t need to worry about any of it; everything would be taken care of.

After seeing Uncle Gao off, Lin Chuan returned to his bedroom and found his son sitting on the floor, desperately striking matchsticks.

“Yangyang, what are you doing?” Lin Chuan frowned.

“Daddy!” Lin Yiyang turned around, holding an unlit matchstick. “Why can’t I see the stove or the roast goose?”

His son’s innocent expression and childish voice instantly relaxed Lin Chuan’s brow. Smiling, he walked over. “That’s just a fairy tale. It’s all made up.”

“But…” Lin Yiyang pouted, stubbornly striking the matchstick in his hand.

Hiss!

The instant the flame sparked, Lin Yiyang held his breath, staring unblinkingly at the flame, as if trying to see something within.

This gesture tugged at Lin Chuan’s heart. Only then did he realize his son wasn’t yearning to see a stove or a roast goose, but the mother he’d never met.

Yes, when Lin Yiyang was very young, An Xier had left. There were no memories, not even a photograph, nothing at all—almost as if she had never existed.

Yet the longing for his mother had always been deeply buried in Lin Yiyang’s heart.

In the past, the little boy would occasionally ask about his mother or what she looked like. But ever since Lin Chuan had mentioned the past to Wang Yue at kindergarten—and his son overheard—they never spoke of her again.

From that moment, the word “mother” seemed to become forbidden.

One match after another was struck and burned down, only to be reluctantly thrown into the ashtray. The same gesture, repeated over and over by a child just five years old…

Lin Chuan didn’t stop him. He had no right to prevent a child from missing his mother. The only thing he could do was quietly accompany his son.

…

At two in the afternoon, reporters from all the major institutions in the capital attended the press conference by invitation.

Lin Chuan’s signing with Tiandi Culture was no secret, and the internet was abuzz with all kinds of speculation.

But that wasn’t the only news they were after. Since “One Song to Fame” aired, Lin Chuan had been shrouded in mystery. Every song he wrote and every detail of his life attracted immense attention. Now that they could finally meet him in person, the reporters would never be satisfied with trivial questions.

After a brief wait, Lin Chuan appeared before the reporters, accompanied by Uncle Gao. Shortly after taking his seat, several reporters raised their hands to ask questions.

Uncle Gao was well prepared, appearing calm and confident.

“Mr. Lin Chuan, everyone is curious—what was your reason for signing with Tiandi Culture?”

“Mr. Lin, you performed a new song yesterday. Where did your inspiration come from?”

“Mr. Lin, what are your plans for the future? Have you considered entering the film industry?”

These were all reasonable questions, easy enough to answer. Lin Chuan replied with a smile, making the exchange pleasant.

But then, another reporter stood up.

“Mr. Lin, we’ve heard you have a lovely son. Have you considered finding him a stepmother? Do you have any special standards or requirements for a stepmother?”

As soon as the question was asked, most people in the room were stunned—including Lin Chuan and Gao Mingyuan, whose expressions changed slightly.

Especially Uncle Gao, who glared at the troublesome reporter, inwardly cursing, “Damn, didn’t I already give you a red envelope? How could you still ask such a question?”