Chapter 45: My Father Never Wrote Prose Poems, Nor Did He Keep a Diary
In the early hours of August 1st, “Boundless Skies” and “The Prose Poem My Father Wrote” were released on the Tiantian Listening music platform.
Artists from Star Orange Entertainment began recommending the songs one after another on the Weilang platform.
Qin Pei: “‘The Prose Poem My Father Wrote’—a great song you could listen to on repeat all day.”
Zheng Chengjin: “After the storm, we still have ‘Boundless Skies’—a classic!”
Wu Di: “Newcomer’s new songs ‘Boundless Skies’ and ‘The Prose Poem My Father Wrote’ are online now—welcome to listen!”
…
At present, Luo Jiaxing and Qu An’an had almost no fans.
Only a handful of people left comments.
Yet they still posted long entries on Weilang, sharing their inner journeys.
Su Chen opened his Weilang account and posted his second message on the platform:
“My self-written and composed new songs are now available.
‘Boundless Skies’—for all friends who keep striving in confusion!
‘The Prose Poem My Father Wrote’—a gentle reminiscence, a tribute to fathers!
Thank you all for your support!”
A standard bit of promotion.
For Su Chen, this was a newly registered account.
He had no real fanbase and little influence.
After posting, he returned to his homepage.
To his surprise, the account he’d registered just yesterday had gained over 2,000 followers overnight.
Most of the comments were left under his first post.
“This is the warmest thing I’ve heard all year—instantly a fan!”
“I’m part of a special group too. When I was at my lowest, you reminded me that life is worth it!”
“A songwriter? If you can write such poetic words, your songs must be amazing!”
“…”
Su Chen never expected that a simple act would bring him so many new fans.
He went back to check the girl’s Weilang post.
He found that she had pinned his comment to the top!
Soon, the first day’s numbers were out.
“Boundless Skies” had 260,000 downloads.
“The Prose Poem My Father Wrote” had 290,000 downloads.
They temporarily ranked 36th on the Newcomer Chart.
Most of those ahead were already established singers.
On August 2nd, Star Orange Entertainment’s partner media accounts launched a full promotional push.
“Song Critic Pro”:
“Highly recommend ‘The Prose Poem My Father Wrote.’ Everyone has memories they can’t let go—about fathers, about children. This song is like a gentle touch, peeling back the purest part of human nature.
Even if you haven’t lived it, it can still move you to tears.
Truly, a good song bridges joy and sorrow.
Enough said—I’m off to cry some more!”
“Music Horn”:
“A stunning voice, a moving song!
No arrogant shouting, no bitterness or cynicism!
‘Boundless Skies’ is absolutely the best rock song in years!
When you’re down, listen to it—you’ll resonate.
When you’ve succeeded, listen to it—it will bring calm.
Chinese rock lives on!”
…
In the comments section, listeners began sharing their own stories.
“My father was an ordinary man. He never wrote prose poems or kept a diary.
I remember as a child, he worked odd jobs for others, leaving before dawn and returning late at night, his meager earnings supporting our whole family.
I didn’t spend much time with him; my memories are full of the calluses on his hands brushing my face.
When I was young, I often blamed him for not giving me anything.
But in the end, I realized he had given me everything!
He’s been gone for many years now. He appears in my dreams less and less. Thank you for letting me relive the purest love deep in my heart!”
“My father did keep a diary. When I peeked inside, I found it was all about his income from odd jobs and our living expenses!”
“I once read this line in my father’s yellowed diary: ‘I ask myself, I’ve done nothing wrong in my life, so why does fate clutch me by the throat?’”
“…”
There were countless comments like these.
-------------------------------------
Zhang was a marketing strategist.
In Shanghai, it was a respectable job—well-dressed and well-paid.
But now, her mood was terrible.
She’d just had a heated argument with her father.
At thirty, she was at the starting line of a career-driven woman.
But her father always seemed to pick the busiest, most stressful moments to urge her to get married.
Over the years, she’d grown used to being alone.
Eating alone.
Watching movies alone.
Moving house alone.
Going to the doctor alone…
She managed just fine on her own.
She couldn’t understand why she had to get married.
Some people marry for happiness; some divorce for happiness.
Her choice to remain single was also for happiness.
Besides, she wasn’t refusing marriage outright—just not for now.
But to her father, it felt like she was mechanically completing a task.
He nagged her again and again.
Today, her father called once more.
They argued again, and her words were harsher than usual.
Her father was silent for a while on the other end, then said nothing more.
After hanging up, she deeply regretted it.
She knew she shouldn’t have spoken to her father that way, but didn’t know how to start making amends.
When she was upset, she liked to browse Weibo, reading jokes to lighten her mood.
She opened the Weilang app, and a recommended post popped up.
“Song Critic Pro: Highly recommend ‘The Prose Poem My Father Wrote.’ Everyone has memories they can’t let go—about fathers, about children…”
At the word “father,” she felt a pang in her heart.
“Song Critic Pro” was a blogger she followed, whose music recommendations she often enjoyed.
Most of the time, his suggestions were spot-on.
Today’s song, however, made her feel some resistance.
She was about to scroll past, but something made her pause and search for the song instead.
“1984.
The crops are yet to be harvested.
My daughter sleeps sweetly in my arms.”
In an instant, a wave of nostalgia washed over her.
She saw, in her mind’s eye, her father in a poor village during the busy farming season, putting down his work to rock her to sleep.
Then came her mother’s gentle nagging, the daily trivialities of rural life—she was completely drawn in.
“Tomorrow I’ll have to borrow a bit more money from the neighbors.
The child cried all day,
Begging for a biscuit.
The blue polyester jacket aches in my heart,
Squatting by the pond,
I punched myself twice.”
Just a few simple lines, and she could feel her father’s helplessness.
The constraints of the times, the weight of the family—all borne on the shoulders of an aging father!
Such plain, sincere lyrics brimmed with emotion, awakening something pure within her. Her eyes grew moist.
Time shifted; in a blink, the daughter had grown up, and her father was fading, growing thin and old.
At the thought of a daughter leaving to be married, the father’s reluctance and longing became palpable.
Hearing this, her heart skipped a beat.
Yes—when a daughter marries, it’s the father who finds it hardest to let go.
He was the one who suffered most!
In that moment, she understood.
Her tears finally fell, pouring like rain.
Without hesitation, she picked up her phone and dialed her father.
“Dad, I’m sorry…”