Unintentional sensation

Look at Neil, his face brimming with excitement. Look at Stanley, his smile radiating. Look at the others raising their hands to welcome.

Reality seized hold of Renly's ankle, yanking him down with force, and he collided with the ground, a tremor rippling through. He paused, attempting to find the right words, but his brain momentarily glitched. Even with the experience of two lifetimes, all of this was still too surreal.

An indie folk song with a distinct style? And it was a song without any radio promotion or a music video? Moreover, it was a debut single by an artist without an existing fanbase? Let's not forget, it was also a single released solely through an online distributor, without being signed to a record label or distribution company?

Such singles numbered in the hundreds every day, countless in total. The probability of making it onto the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart was akin to a pie falling from the sky. The ranking wasn't crucial. Making it to any position within the top one hundred was an incredible feat. Even if it dropped off the chart the following week, just a fleeting spark, it would still be a miraculous accomplishment in the realm of indie folk.

Unintentionally sowing a seed to reap a bountiful shade. Initially, it had been a mere gift. Unbeknownst to him, he had arrived at this point. Life was truly fascinating, wasn't it?

Opening his mouth, Renly realized for the first time that language was rather feeble, incapable of expressing his current emotions. So, he chuckled helplessly and looked at Neil, who was gently closing his dropped jaw. The jumble of emotions defied suitable description. Instead, Renly chose to skip it all, conveying everything through silence. "... Do the two numbers on the cake represent the single's ranking?"

Evidently, the carefully prepared cake wasn't for a proposal but for celebration. The surfer statue likely hinted at the true target of the surprise party—Renly's experience learning to surf on the Gold Coast. Thus, the special significance of those two numbers wasn't hard to guess.

"Yes!" Neil puffed up his chest, lifting his chin as if performing, and sang out in a theatrical tone, "Ninety-seven! This week, "Cleopatra" ranks ninety-seventh!"

A mere ninety-seventh, barely noticed even for rankings below fifty, the tail end of the list. Nevertheless, this was the most sensational event since 2010. Even "The Pacific" and "Buried" couldn't be mentioned in the same breath.

"Ninety-seventh!" Renly also raised his right hand high, flashing a broad smile. Life was always filled with surprises, and who would refuse them?

"Roar!" Everyone in the room raised their right hands, joining in the cheering.

"Tonight, all drinks are on me!" Renly shouted again, setting off the crowd's enthusiasm. People raised their beers, chanting loudly, "Renly! Renly! Renly!"

Turning around, Renly spotted Stanley's hesitant expression. He knew that this party was thrown by Stanley for him. Naturally, he didn't need to pay for the drinks. However, Renly spoke up, "Stanley, this is my party. I've missed the earlier preparations, but at the very least, let me show my host's side." Stanley paused for a moment, eventually breaking into a smile.

Stanley took a half-step forward, leaning in close to Renly's ear, and said in a raised voice, "Don't worry, I won't open that bottle of rare whisky."

Stanley possessed a valuable bottle of whisky—Dalmore Distillery's 1942 whisky. It was a blend of four single malt whiskies distilled in different years, resulting in only twelve bottles worldwide. Each bottle had a unique name. Stanley's bottle was named "Alexander Matheson", with an unreliable estimated value. For reference, the commonly available "Dalmore 50" on the market was worth $58,000, but it was said that the value of Alexander Matheson was at least double that.

This bottle of Alexander Matheson, in truth, had never revealed its true nature to anyone; Renly had only heard Stanley mention it. It was said that Stanley had been holding onto it for a special occasion. Everyone in Village Vanguard always liked to make jokes about this Alexander Matheson.

"Ha-ha." Renly deliberately tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a disappointed expression. "This truly broke my heart." This caused Stanley to burst into laughter as well.

A glass of beer was passed from behind, and Renly walked forward to take it. He raised the glass high, joining the others. Then, he tipped the glass upside down onto his head, and in one gulp, he emptied it. The cold beer slid down his throat into his stomach, prompting him to let out an exclamation. Renly raised the beer glass high and turned it over on his head.

Everyone in the room began to drum on the tables, raising a ruckus. The atmosphere in the room reached its climax at that moment.

In Renly's apartment, a party not belonging to him was underway; in Village Vanguard, a party exclusively for Renly was also in full swing.

"Hey, everyone! Hey, everyone!" Janice's voice sounded through the speakers, calming the roaring crowd a bit. "Who wants to hear the protagonist sing the Billboard-conquering single today?"

With one sentence, the crowd once again erupted into loud cheers. "Renly! Renly! Renly!"

Seeing Renly's helpless expression, Janice continued to tease, "Neil's singing just now was absolutely dreadful. I don't want that to be my only impression of 'Cleopatra.' You have to cleanse my ears."

Standing nearby, Neil didn't mind at all and even nodded repeatedly. "Exactly, exactly! I went so off-key just now. You need to set the record straight, or this single's going down the drain."

"Ha-ha," the whole room burst into laughter.

Renly didn't hesitate either, setting down his beer glass and looking around. "Where's the guitar?" Immediately, someone handed him the guitar, and others started stepping back, leaving the stage to Renly.

The party had only just begun.

It was a wild night, with Village Vanguard closing for business for one night to host a private party accessible only with a personal invitation. Letting go of all burdens, simply enjoying alcohol, music, friends, and the night, on a Tuesday evening.

"Renly, come over." Stanley interrupted Renly, who was in a debate with an old fellow over whether Nirvana or Pearl Jam was more outstanding. "There's a special guest I want to introduce to you."

Renly said solemnly, "Believe me, Kurt Cobain was a genius, but Pearl Jam's greatness is as a collective!" Seeing the other party still wanting to argue, Renly paid no further attention. He followed Stanley's footsteps, walking away. Behind him came the undaunted shouts, "Foo Fighters! So you're saying Foo Fighters aren't impressive enough?"

After Kurt Cobain ended his own life, the remaining members formed the Foo Fighters, becoming one of the most significant rock bands in the past fifteen years.

However, these disputes were all left behind. Renly and Stanley arrived at a small table next to the bar, a typical Parisian arrangement. The small, round table was just enough for two people to sit face to face, their knees touching, embodying Paris's true essence of coziness amidst the compactness.

A white-haired old man crouched in a corner, his frail frame almost engulfed by the darkness, with only the faint reflection of light in his glasses visible.

"Hey, Woody." Stanley greeted familiarly. "This is Renly, plays a mean piano. Not the kind of textbook competition piano, but the kind that truly melds into the music." Stanley was never stingy with his praise, and this time was no exception.

"Can tell. His guitar's got flavor too," the old man mumbled with a New York accent, vaguely and casually commenting. "Maybe you guys can hit the stage together someday. Give it a try." Stanley said readily, without flattery, more like friendly banter, tinged with a hint of anticipation.

The old man shrugged, noncommittal, seemingly uninterested in the proposal. He looked up, directing his gaze at Renly for the first time. Yet, he didn't gaze rudely; his eyes rested on Renly's face, looking carefully, as if pondering Renly's gaze.

Only now did Renly finally get a good look at the old man's face. His cheeks, wrinkled with lines, carried a scholarly air. The black round glasses enhanced this quality. His silver-white hair was casually and messily combed to the side, revealing a full and smooth forehead. His somewhat lackluster eyes conveyed a sense of aloofness and pride, an unapproachable air.

"Renly Hall, you say?" the old man inquired.

Renly pursed his lips and then chuckled lightly. "Who's asking?"

Such a counterattack carried a noticeable hint of pride. However, unlike the slightly critical and sharp questioning of the old man, Renly's standard London accent was imbued with the politeness and chill cultivated through aristocratic life, maintaining decorum while firmly delineating boundaries.

The former was a scholar, the latter a noble. Their essence was distinct.

The old man chuckled softly, a faint snort in his breath revealing his disdain and repulsion. He seemed entirely uninterested in Renly's gentlemanly and dignified demeanor, clearly, nobility had no impact on him. However, his eyes flickered slightly, seemingly surprised to find such authentic London accent here. "You're an interesting kid."

Then, the old man stood up, nodding at Renly. "Let me know if there's a performance next time." He patted Stanley's arm afterward. "I'll be leaving now; it's time for me to go to bed."

"Sleep well," Stanley replied without minding, giving the old man's arm a casual pat as he watched him leave. Then he turned around, looking at Renly. "Looks like you've gained another listener."

"Yeah, a big-name listener," Renly nodded meaningfully. Woody Allen, even in Hollywood, was a top-tier, heavyweight presence, let alone in Greenwich Village, his domain.

Withdrawing his gaze, Renly raised his voice to Stanley again. "How about it, a round of tequila?" Then, he shouted loudly, "Neil! Neil? A round of tequila!"

As Renly walked up to the bar, Neil had already set up a row of tequila shots, with lemons and salt ready. Renly took a lemon, lifted it high. Neil also took his tequila glass, shouting loudly, "Next step, top fifty." His eyes glittered with anticipation.

Renly grinned widely. "Then let's wait and see! For the Hudson joyride!" With that, he tilted his head back and downed the shot!