Superstar of Tomorrow

41 - 50

Even though Dina, an industry veteran with even more seniority, had already spoken, many people were still looking forward to Ming Cang’s comments.

Epics varied in quality. In Ming Cang’s opinion, was there a discrepancy in quality between the first and second movements?

Also, Dina had said that Ming Cang was too emotional to comment when he’d offered his own thoughts the other day. What had prompted the other deputy head of the music association to get so worked up?

That was why people were glued to Voice of Yanzhou, the publication run by Yanzhou Music Association, during the five days Ming Cang was missing. When Ming Cang showed up, everyone took notice.

In his webcast, Ming Cang looked like he was in good spirits, his gaze bursting with joy and lingering passion. That vouched for Dina’s remarks five days ago.

“My apologies. These were probably the most exciting five days of my 60-plus years of existence!” Ming Cang’s voice started to quiver toward the end of the sentence.

A hand carrying a teacup entered the frame.

Even though the hand was the identifying feature, people who knew about Ming Cang’s family situation recognized it belonged to his wife.

Ming Cang was probably trying to break the ice. Wasn’t his wedding the happiest few days of his life? But judging from the gesture that had just occurred, Ming Cang’s wife agreed with the sentiment.

What exactly had happened to create such emotional upheaval in the couple?

The keen news sense of the “Prairie Fire” producer prompted him to message a staffer immediately, asking him to look into Ming Cang’s latest movements.

Back at the live webcast, Ming Cang accepted the cup of tea and calmed himself down. He continued speaking with a steady voice.

“Many people know that I was preoccupied with my music career the first 50 years of my life. When I was 51, I married Prof. Su Tong from the arrangement department at the Qi’an Academy of Music. The year I turned 52, we had a child. But God added a twist—our son was different from other kids.”

At that point in the monologue, many viewers remembered that Ming Cang was once a rising star. He was named president of the Qi’an Academy of Music at 49. That was young, considering life expectancy had doubled in the New Era. Ming Cang was the type deemed a genius since he was a kid.

Ming Cang’s wife Su Tong was also well-known back then. Hailing from a musical family, she was supremely talented, a standout at the Qi’an Academy of Music.

But soon after their son was born, he was diagnosed as a carrier of the Hull virus.

The New Era was marked by rapid technological advancements. Medical care also improved leaps and bounds. Some 95 percent of diseases that had existed during the Period of Destruction had been cured, but 5 percent remained unsolved. Even though those illnesses were treatable, existing protocols provided limited relief.

The Hull virus was part of the 5 percent—and even basic treatment and alleviation were unavailable. The virus emerged during the Period of Destruction. Infected patients were trapped in a frozen state, zapped of all emotion. Even though their bodies were perfectly healthy, they needed help performing basic bodily functions. They were rendered speechless, their listless eyes blinking non-stop. They were shells devoid of their souls. Their brains were state-of-the-art machines that simply refused to function.

A Dr. Edward Hull had contracted the virus during the end of days. He had spent the nearly six-month period of his illness studying the virus and promised his corpse to researchers following his death. The virus was later named the Hull virus.