In 2013, if we’re talking about the music app with the most users in China, that honor still went to Kugou. Looking at market share, Kugou held about 45% of the entire user base, QQ Music came in at 35%, Baidu Music—formerly known as Qianqian Jingting—had roughly 10%, and the remaining 10% was split among a bunch of smaller, lesser-known music apps.
(PS: In 2013, NetEase Cloud Music didn’t exist yet.)
QQ Music, being behind Kugou in market share, was hardly going to take that lying down. So they pulled out their favorite superpower—throwing money at the problem—and went on a massive music-licensing spree.
For Light Years Away, QQ Music offered a straight-up buyout of one million yuan, plus a prime spot on the homepage banner.
They offered way too much to turn down.
At midnight sharp, Light Years Away went live.
The staff at QQ Music watched the backend data nervously.
In that very first instant at midnight, over 120,000 unique IP addresses flooded into QQ Music.
What does 120,000 even mean?
For comparison, when Jay Chou released Greatest Works of Art, QQ Music saw about 1.1 million IPs pour in at launch.
But that was in 2022—a completely different world in terms of internet penetration, not to mention the sheer number of smartphone users.
At the end of 2013, China had 1.204 billion mobile phone users, with smartphone penetration at only about 33%—roughly 400 million devices. By 2022, that number had jumped to 1.21 billion smartphones.
If you roughly double the 120,000 figure to account for the difference, it stacks up quite impressively—on par with top-tier solo artists.
Ten minutes later, Light Years Away had already surpassed 300,000 plays.
The staff monitoring the backend all let out a collective sigh of relief. Looked like they’d bet on the right horse.
Of course, for QQ Music, the important metric wasn’t just the play count—it was how many new users the song would bring in. Still, to be fair, without strong play numbers, they wouldn’t be attracting new users in the first place.
As for user conversion, that wouldn’t be visible today—it would take at least two or three days to see results.
Meanwhile, online discussions about Light Years Away had already taken off:
“This song is incredible. The moment that piano melody kicks in, it feels light and nimble. Paired with that ethereal, airy voice, it instantly creates this hazy, dreamlike atmosphere. Add the crisp, flawless vocal runs and the vividly cinematic lyrics, and you feel like you’ve left the chaos of the real world behind and drifted into the vast, surreal emptiness of space.”
“For real. The song has this grand, epic scope—with the majestic universe as its backdrop, yet it’s singing about love. The contrast is so powerful.”
“‘Light year’—as a unit of time—describes something really long. Simply put, love’s shelf life lasts longer than a light year. That’s why it’s called Light Years Away.”
“The guy above is an idiot. A light year is a unit of distance—the distance light travels in a straight line through a vacuum over the course of one year.”
“Wait, isn’t a light year a unit of time? It literally has ‘year’ in it!”
“Even if Jesus himself shows up today, a light year is still a unit of distance.”
“Okay everyone, cool it! Do me a favor and just enjoy the song.”
Early the next morning, Lin Shuwen was still fast asleep when Sister Shan ripped the covers off her.
Sister Shan’s ice-cold hands pressed against Lin Shuwen’s face, jolting her awake with a shiver.
Lin Shuwen glanced at her phone with a look of utter misery: “Ugh! Sister Shan, what are you doing?! Do you know it’s only 7 AM?!”
“How can you even sleep at a time like this? Do you have any idea how huge Light Years Away has blown up?”
“How huge are we talking?”
“It’s been online for one night and it’s already #6 on the weekly chart. Isn’t that huge? Keep in mind, we released the song at midnight today—we didn’t get a single day’s worth of data from the first six days of the week, and we’re already at #6. Next week, it’s practically guaranteed to hit #1!”
Lin Shuwen was caught off guard. This was performing even better than that other OST that had made her go viral before.
She quickly grabbed her phone, opened the QQ Music app, and sure enough, there was Light Years Away sitting at #6 on the weekly chart.
“Sister Shan, I want king crab for breakfast.”
“Done! Eat as much as you want!”
Lin Shuwen beamed. She screenshot the weekly chart and sent it to Luo Ming.
There was no way Luo Ming was getting up at 7 AM—especially not on a day off. By the time he saw the message, it was already 10:20.
“Only #6?” he replied.
“‘Only’? Want to rephrase that?” Lin Shuwen shot back immediately.
“#6 isn’t exactly high, though.”
“For a song that’s been out for just one night, these numbers are already explosive. Check out Weibo—there are several trending hashtags about Light Years Away.”
Luo Ming scrolled through Weibo after reading her reply and saw that there were indeed quite a few trending topics related to the song, with the highest one climbing all the way to #3.
“Looks like this song really took off,” he admitted.
“Thanks to you.”
“So, aren’t you going to thank me properly?” Luo Ming asked.
“What are you thinking!”
“In the entertainment industry, one hit song can feed a career for life. Isn’t a proper thank-you reasonable?”
“Then what kind of thank-you do you have in mind?”
“How about giving yourself to me?”
Lin Shuwen’s cheeks flushed slightly when she saw his reply. But backing down online wasn’t in her nature—when you’re behind a phone screen, who’s afraid of who?
She fired back immediately: “Oh? Getting bold with me now? The other day you couldn’t even look at my feet openly—don’t tell me you’re all talk online?”
“I told you, I’m not interested in your feet.”
“Heh! Chicken!”
Luo Ming scratched his head. Honestly? He was chickening out.
The thing was, Luo Ming didn’t have much going for him right now—no money, no status—and he just didn’t have the courage to confess. Maybe a little flirtatious banter to get his kicks, that was it. If he was going to lay his feelings on the line, at least he should wait until his company’s game took off, right?
When Lin Shuwen saw that Luo Ming wasn’t replying, she felt a small pang of disappointment.
But she didn’t have the courage to push the topic further either.
Truth be told, Lin Shuwen could probably guess exactly what was going through Luo Ming’s mind.
Over the past few days together, she was pretty certain Luo Ming had feelings for her—and she had feelings for him too. It’s just that right now, those feelings weren’t quite strong enough for either of them to set aside their respective positions and circumstances to be together.
Luo Ming had his worries—his career hadn’t taken off yet, he didn’t have money or influence.
And Lin Shuwen had her own concerns—her contract with the company, her future as an artist.
At that thought, she tossed her phone aside and buried her face in the sofa cushions. “Aaaargh! This is so frustrating!”
“What’s wrong with Wenjie this time?” Chen Sichu, who was organizing Lin Shuwen’s clothes, poked her head out and muttered to herself.
“Don’t worry about it. Wenjie’s been pretty moody lately. Probably hitting a rough patch with songwriting—I mean, the album drops in 69 days and she’s still two songs short. It’s normal to be stressed,” Chen Junmiao said.
Hearing her sister’s explanation, Chen Sichu scratched her head—something about it didn’t quite sit right with her.
The way Lin Shuwen was acting lately? It kind of reminded her of how she’d been back when she had her first crush.
