New Ming Year 3.
As evening settled over Jinan in Shandong, the execution ground at the marketplace underwent a transformation so complete that anyone arriving late might have wondered whether they had come to the wrong place, because the grim square that once dealt in death had been dressed up into a spectacle of light, silk, and calculated extravagance.
At the center stood a grand stage, towering and wide, layered with draped fabrics that shimmered under rows of carefully arranged lamps, each one tested and adjusted until not a single shadow dared linger where brilliance was intended. Workers moved continuously, calling out to one another, adjusting props, checking mechanisms, and fine-tuning every detail with the kind of intensity usually reserved for military logistics rather than entertainment.
Colored confetti had been packed into launch tubes, ready to explode at the right moment, while cages of white doves lined the sides of the stage, their restless fluttering adding a strange sense of anticipation, as if even the birds understood that tonight was meant to be unforgettable.
Near the stage, a group of dancers stood together, breathing slowly, trying to steady their nerves. Though they now carried themselves as professionals, there was still something fragile in their composure, because not long ago many of them had lived very different lives before being rescued and brought into this new world of performance and applause.
A passerby stopped to watch, his curiosity quickly turning into confusion at the scale of what he was seeing.
"What is all this supposed to be?" he asked. "Are they crowning an emperor here or something?"
One of the dancers glanced at him and lowered her voice slightly.
"You really don't know? This is a concert. A big one. A top star is performing tonight."
"Who?"
She leaned a little closer.
"Chen Qianhu."
The man froze as if struck by lightning.
"Chen Qianhu?" His voice jumped an octave without permission. "You mean Chen Qianhu's concert? Are there tickets left? Tell me there are tickets left."
The dancer simply shook her head.
"Sold out. A long time ago."
The man collapsed on the spot, dropping to his knees with the despair of someone who had just missed the last lifeboat, yet within moments he sprang back up again, his eyes burning with desperate determination.
"Scalpers," he muttered. "There have to be scalpers. I don't care how much it costs."
And with that, he ran off into the crowd, already shouting his offers to anyone who might be listening.
Back near the stage, the dancers tried to regain their composure, though their whispered conversation betrayed their growing tension. They had performed with famous figures before, and some had even shared the stage with Chen Yuanyuan, yet tonight felt different in a way that was difficult to explain.
"Chen Qianhu is coming soon," one of them said, her voice barely steady.
"What if he notices me?"
Another clasped her hands together.
"If I could become his wife, I would die happy."
"I heard he is the most gentle man in the world."
"No one can compare to how considerate he is."
There was a brief pause before someone added quietly, "But I also heard he is… very ugly."
The group hesitated for only a moment before another girl shook her head with surprising firmness.
"That doesn't matter. If he is truly gentle, then appearance means nothing."
There was a murmur of agreement, though it sounded slightly less confident than before.
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when a luxurious carriage rolled into view, its polished exterior catching the light as it came to a smooth stop near the stage. The door opened from within, and Chen Qianhu stepped out by himself, without waiting for any attendant to assist him.
That small detail alone sent a ripple through the crowd.
How humble.
How gentle.
The dancers froze, and the gathered fans erupted into excited cries.
"Chen Qianhu!"
"I don't care what you look like, I will marry you!"
"I love you!"
The energy surged upward in a wave of adoration.
Then Chen Qianhu fully stepped out of the carriage, and his face became clearly visible.
The shift was immediate.
Silence fell, sudden and complete, stretching for several long seconds as reality asserted itself with brutal clarity. People had seen his face many times through broadcast devices, but the difference between knowing and witnessing turned out to be far greater than expected.
Several women instinctively stepped back.
Chen Qianhu, however, showed no trace of discomfort. He had experienced this countless times before and had long since learned to accept it. He raised his hand and offered a smile, though the result was not quite what he intended, because the natural structure of his features lent even his gentlest expression a certain ferocity.
It was simply the face he had been born with.
No amount of effort could change that.
Without hesitation, he stepped onto the stage and lifted both hands, and the crowd, still caught between shock and anticipation, gradually fell silent.
When he began to sing, the song that flowed from him was not the one people expected. Instead of his famous declaration of being ugly yet gentle, he chose something unfamiliar, something softer and more vulnerable.
As the lyrics unfolded, speaking of struggle, of longing, and of the simple desire for warmth, the tension in the crowd began to melt away. The same people who had recoiled moments earlier found themselves drawn in, their earlier reactions now feeling shallow and unfair.
Tears began to appear.
"I was wrong," someone whispered.
"He is a good man."
"He never chose how he looks. He only wants someone to hold him."
"That is not too much to ask."
Voices grew louder as emotion spread.
"Chen Qianhu, I love you!"
"I want to marry you!"
The atmosphere shifted completely, transforming from hesitation into overwhelming affection.
When the first song ended, he did not pause for long. His voice turned, carrying into another melody, one that spoke of the difficulty of expressing love and the pain of keeping it hidden.
That was the final push.
The crowd surged forward.
Guards tried to hold the line, but they were quickly overwhelmed as a wave of fans rushed the stage, their emotions spilling over into chaos. Chen Qianhu was knocked to the ground, yet even as hands reached toward him from all directions, he did not stop singing.
He continued, voice steady, as though the performance itself mattered more than his own safety.
Only after considerable effort did the guards manage to pull the crowd back. By then, Chen Qianhu's clothing had been torn apart, buttons missing, ornaments gone, fabric hanging in disarray, yet his expression remained unchanged.
He smiled.
"Thank you," he said, his voice sincere and unguarded. "Thank you for loving me. I am truly moved. If I can have your love, then even if I die, I will have no regrets."
The crowd erupted again, some fans overwhelmed to the point of collapse.
The host stepped forward, eager to regain control of the event.
"Chen Qianhu, many of your fans are curious about your past. May I ask a few questions on their behalf?"
"Of course."
"I heard that you once served as a general under Nan Feng, and that your stage name comes from your military rank. Did you truly fight on the battlefield?"
Chen Qianhu nodded.
"Yes. I fought in many battles. For example, the well-known confrontation of Zu Dashou against Zu Dashou. That was also me."
The audience responded with another wave of excitement.
"And now?"
"After the founding of New Ming, I retired from the military. I am no longer a soldier. From now on, I will devote myself to music and bring the most moving songs to those who support me."
The cheers grew even louder.
The host leaned in slightly.
"One final question. Many fans want to know whether your gentleness is real, or simply part of your public image."
Chen Qianhu looked up and laughed, a full and open sound that carried across the stage.
Instead of answering directly, he began to sing again.
"I am ugly, but I am gentle."
The crowd responded as one.
"Cold on the outside, burning on the inside!"
Chen Qianhu smiled.
"That is me."
In New Ming Year 1, Chen Qianhu retired from the army and dedicated himself entirely to his career in entertainment.
By New Ming Year 3, he had begun touring the country with large-scale concerts.
By New Ming Year 5, he had become the most popular performer in the land, surpassing even Chen Yuanyuan and securing his place as the number one star.
In New Ming Year 8, he married an ordinary woman with no wealth and no remarkable beauty, yet he treated her with unwavering devotion and kindness, creating a story that many would come to admire.
That same year, he joined the production of Founding of the Nation as a special guest, playing multiple roles, including himself as well as several notable antagonists such as Zu Dashou, Huang Taiji, Wu Sangui, and the pirate Liu Xiang.
His portrayal of villains left a deep impression.
His portrayal of himself was barely remembered.
Years later, in New Ming Year 37, his son discovered an old diary among his belongings.
Inside, written in uneven handwriting, was a single line.
"I want everyone to like me."
"Please do not be afraid of me."