Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C125

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Chapter 125: ’s Fandom

Not long after, the topic “Renowned Composer Reviews ” shot to the top of ’s trending list.

While many netizens were still discussing ’s new piece on platforms like , , and various group chats, word spread that a “big name” had weighed in with a professional critique. The masses flooded onto Weibo.

This sudden surge of traffic descended upon Tong Tai’s account like a tidal wave. As outsiders poured into the conversation, it wasn’t just that drew attention—search volumes for queries like “Who is Tong Tai?” and “What are Tong Tai’s notable works?” skyrocketed as well.

When people discovered that this elderly gentleman was indeed a highly respected composer, an unprecedented sense of pride washed over every fan of Moonlight and Cat.

This marked the first time since Moonlight and Cat’s rise to fame that a major figure from within the music industry publicly praised them. Despite their immense popularity and growing fanbase, they’d lacked official endorsements or recognition from authoritative figures—until now.

For the first time, they received validation from a heavyweight in the music world.

It felt akin to discovering that a small-time streamer you’ve been supporting has suddenly been invited to compete professionally—and won the world championship.

So much for doubting their potential.

Especially after scrolling through Tong Tai’s lengthy entry—his awards, his masterpieces, his illustrious career—their admiration only grew. Each accolade seemed to reflect not just on Tong Tai but also on Moonlight. And if Moonlight was brilliant, then by extension, so were they.

The thrill was indescribable.

“Haters, speak up! From now on, anyone who dares call Moonlight’s music ‘internet trash’ will answer to us!”

“ is amazing. His discerning eye picked out this masterpiece. Who dares disagree?”

“Turns out Master Tong recommended another cellist playing Moonlight and Cat’s compositions before. He’s got such sharp instincts.”

“If you support Moonlight and Cat, we’ll crown you the greatest composer in Zhonghua!”

Meanwhile, shortly after posting his review, Tong Tai received a phone call from one of his trusted students in the evening.

“Teacher, I get that you usually critique performers on Weibo, but why are you reviewing TikTok influencers now?” the student pleaded anxiously over the phone.

“The internet is a murky place. How do you know for sure that Moonlight didn’t plagiarize those pieces? What if they implode later? Or what if controversies arise online? You don’t want to…”

The student hesitated to utter the phrase “lose your dignity at this stage of life.”

The more respected a musician was, the more protective they tended to be of their reputation. This explained why, despite Moonlight and Cat’s viral success online, the classical music community remained largely silent.

The internet was rife with uncertainties. Especially when it came to two faceless “students.” If they were signed to a label or released albums, things might feel more legitimate. But all they did was post videos online. Who knew what scandals might surface down the line?

Tong Tai’s public endorsement made him the first prominent figure to openly “take sides.” His student couldn’t help but worry.

Why did you have to get involved? Did they pay you to praise them?

Upon hearing this, Tong Tai immediately bristled.

“What’s wrong with praising someone who writes excellent music?” he snapped.

“How infuriating it is that no one appreciates such a masterpiece, let alone understands it. Instead, everyone’s busy debating whether the boy and girl look good together. Ridiculous!”

“At times like these, shouldn’t we older cultural workers step forward to guide the public?”

But his words failed to convince his student. That night, even two peers reached out to discuss the matter, advising him to delete the post.

After all, the attention this time was overwhelming. With only twenty thousand followers, Tong Tai’s usual posts garnered barely a hundred likes. But this review of E Minor Cello Concerto had already racked up 110,000 likes, thousands of comments, and landed on the trending topics list. It attracted countless netizens.

And Tong Tai’s bold critique was met with gratitude from Moonlight and Cat’s fans. In their eyes, anyone who praised their beloved Moonlight became an honorary member of their community. Within less than a day of posting, this previously obscure composer gained sixty thousand new followers.

This was a mutual exchange of goodwill between Moonlight and Cat’s fandom and Tong Tai.

Later that evening, Lin Tian, who was preparing dinner for Gan Yanyu, glanced at his phone again. To his surprise, the video had garnered 920,000 likes—a doubling in just half a day.

Lin Tian was astonished. When he scrolled through the comments, he noticed a dramatic shift in tone.

“Moonlight’s music is like tea—initially perplexing, perhaps even bitter, but after repeated listens, its richness becomes apparent.”

“I’ve looped it several times and am truly awestruck. Moonlight’s work demands careful appreciation.”

“Let me put it this way: it’s normal for ordinary people not to understand this piece. Only those with life experiences can truly grasp it.”

“Yes, I’m one of those people. Normally, I’m easygoing and humorous, but if you cross my bottom line, I’ll show you real darkness. I wanted to face the world with compassion, but some people forced me to unleash the demon within. Ask yourselves: can you handle a true monster?”

Suddenly, the comment section for E Minor Cello Concerto transformed into a storytelling arena. Many users enthusiastically shared personal anecdotes and offered interpretations of the piece. Everyone seemed to find the emotions they sought within the music.

Regardless of how far-fetched their stories or interpretations might be, one thing was clear: people were genuinely engaging with the composition itself. The chatter about “shipping” had significantly diminished.

Lin Tian was amazed. How had netizens suddenly matured in just half a day?

After some searching, he stumbled upon Tong Tai’s Weibo post. Wasn’t this the same senior who had praised Gan Yanyu before? And he was a composer from !

Though unrelated, Lin Tian silently followed the elder, sensing that this connection might prove useful someday.

As Lin Tian immersed himself in browsing his phone, time slipped away unnoticed. When he finally checked the clock, it was already six o’clock.

Oh no.

Gan Yanyu would be back soon.

Lin Tian set aside his phone and hurriedly resumed cooking. The next dish was . While sugary foods weren’t ideal for health—especially given Gan Yanyu’s recovery phase—he knew she indulged in sweets often. Thus, he tried to limit high-sugar dishes in her meals, even though she loved them.

But today, considering it was a competition day, he decided to treat her.

Rushing to finish the final two dishes, Lin Tian arranged everything on the table. Surveying the spread, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment. At that moment, he resembled a devoted wife eagerly awaiting her husband’s return home after a hard day’s work.

Of course, if said husband brought good news, Lin Tian wouldn’t mind playing the role.

“Oh, right—dessert.”

Gan Yanyu had specifically requested something sweet after the meal. Lin Tian opened his phone and browsed a food delivery app.

A , two … Maybe some too? Otherwise, she might feel awkward eating alone.

Just as he pondered, the doorbell rang.

“Ding dong.”

Back already?

Lin Tian opened the door to find Gan Yanyu standing outside, her cello strapped to her back. Despite her evident exhaustion, she maintained her elegant appearance—perfect makeup, graceful gown.

Yet her face betrayed a profound weariness.

Without a word, she lowered her gaze, silently changed her shoes, and walked inside.

“What… what happened?” Lin Tian asked, dread creeping into his heart.

Her expression was worse than after a 9-0 loss.

Entering the living room, Gan Yanyu glanced at the table laden with food but headed straight for the sofa. Placing her cello aside, she plopped down heavily.

“Did you lose? Encounter tough competition?”

Lin Tian couldn’t help but ask.

“But wait—the preliminary round tested random classical pieces, right? There’s no reason you should’ve lost…”

“Conspiracy—it must be a conspiracy…”

Seated beside Gan Yanyu, Lin Tian continued voicing theories—

Until she grabbed one of his arms, pulled him closer, and then buried her head against his arms.

“I advanced smoothly through the preliminaries,” she whispered softly.

“Then…”

“I performed terribly. Several sections went off-key when they shouldn’t have. I was too nervous.”

“How could that happen?”

Lin Tian was baffled. Gan Yanyu, after all, was a walking library of classical sheet music. When focused, she rarely—if ever—made mistakes in traditional classical performances. One could criticize her playing as robotic or lacking emotion, but never as technically flawed.

“Were you wearing the pendant properly?”

“Yes.”

Gan Yanyu lifted her head, clutching the pendant around her neck.

“It’s my fault. Even if you were there today, Lin Tian, I probably still wouldn’t have handled it well.”

“What?”

“Look.”

She pulled out her phone. On the screen were Weibo posts filled with candid photos of Gan Yanyu entering the venue.

“Saw Gan Yanyu today. Wow… she’s stunning…”

“Yes, exactly like the legends say…”

“She even glanced at me once…”

Dozens of videos captured Gan Yanyu’s entrance, accompanied by captions shared on Weibo. Some even included screams of excitement—resembling a massive celebrity concert scene.

“It’s like watching a pop star perform, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lin Tian. Do you know what? There were light-up signs with my name in the audience. Have you seen those? Colorful, flashing ones with ‘Gan Yanyu’ written boldly.”

Describing the scene, Gan Yanyu’s expression turned fearful, as though reliving a nightmare.

“This was my first time seeing something like this at a competition.”

Lin Tian understood.

At a music competition, replicating the atmosphere of a concert was practically unheard of. Given Gan Yanyu’s situation, how could she remain unaffected? Midway through her performance, catching sight of an audience full of adoring, expectant gazes would make anyone tremble—not to mention Gan Yanyu.

In this light, Gan Yanyu’s skyrocketing popularity and influx of fans might not necessarily be a blessing.

“Didn’t the organizers intervene?”

“They did, but only symbolically. Sigh… maybe because the is a grassroots event. It’s not as strictly regulated as official competitions.”

“That makes sense.”

For a grassroots event like the Starlight Cup, attracting a popular contestant like Gan Yanyu meant drawing in droves of new viewers and boosting the event’s profile.

It wasn’t uncommon for musicians to have young admirers. Typically, these fans, being part of the music scene themselves, were mindful of proper etiquette during concerts—they knew what behavior was appropriate.

However, Gan Yanyu’s fanbase was far more complex. Her crossover appeal brought in followers from platforms like Weibo, , and beyond—many of whom had little prior interest in classical music. Some may never have listened to an entire piece before stumbling upon Gan Yanyu.

Drawn by her beauty and captivated by the allure of the title “genius cellist,” they flocked to the scene. Most couldn’t even comprehend classical music but attended the competitions nonetheless.

Understanding the nuances of the performance didn’t matter—what mattered was simple:

“Gan Yanyu is beautiful; Gan Yanyu is amazing.”

That was enough.

Harsh as it sounded, these “appearance-focused fans” were far harder to manage than genuine music enthusiasts. Their one advantage? Unparalleled purchasing power and emotional investment. Still, Gan Yanyu had no intention of exploiting her fans.

“If the finals are anything like today…” Gan Yanyu shuddered at the thought.

Lin Tian brainstormed countless ways to alleviate her stress during future performances. Yet he hadn’t anticipated the added pressure from fans below the stage.

Had this been a solo recital or fan meeting—even a -sized spectacle with tens of thousands cheering wildly—Gan Yanyu wouldn’t have reacted so strongly.

But this was a competition—an incredibly important one for her.

“I’ll call Gao Zhenyang later and see if we can request stricter measures from the organizers,” Lin Tian said.

“For now, let’s eat.”

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