July 30th, coincidentally a Sunday.

The MV for Only Ordinary premiered at 8:00 AM, jointly released under the Huayin and Xingyao accounts. It was simultaneously reposted by Huayang and several other government departments, making the launch line-up incredibly grand.

Of course, no matter how star-studded the promotion, what the audience truly cared about was quality. Only if the MV delivered would people pay attention—and care about the story behind it.

Still, a saying was spreading fast online: Anything from Xingyao is guaranteed quality.

Gu Xingyi had only uploaded two songs so far, but they had already won over countless fans’ ears. People were fully satisfied with the quality of his work.

Now, seeing that this MV was also written and composed by Xingyao, interest skyrocketed.

This mysterious guy never made a move unless it was stunning. So audiences everywhere started clicking in droves to watch the spectacle unfold.

Back in their old residential district in Jiangcheng, Gu Xingyi and his little family had already gathered on the sofa. He cast the video from his phone to the TV and opened Douyin.

Xia Xiyao and Xiao Nainai were still in the dark. All they knew was that Gu Xingyi had dragged them out of bed early, saying he had something good to show them—what exactly, they didn’t know.

He opened the MV, and the family turned their attention to the screen. The moment the video started, both Xia Xiyao and Xiao Nainai went quiet.

They were visibly surprised as the bold title Only Ordinary appeared on screen, with “lyrics & composition by Xingyao” written underneath.

Even more surprising—the MV was seven minutes long. Even Gu Xingyi was stunned. He had no idea how it got that long. Lin Guodong had previously reached out saying he wanted to show him the final cut, but Gu Xingyi declined.

He wanted to watch it for the first time with his family—and he trusted Lin Guodong’s editing skills completely.

Xia Xiyao turned to Gu Xingyi, her almond-shaped eyes glowing. She was amazed. He had written another song? And even co-produced it with Huayin? That was insane!

So this was what he had been doing all that time away? She had no idea!

She turned back to the screen, wanting to see just what else he’d done behind their backs.

As soon as the title faded, the screen showed a group of vibrant children, around ten years old, all wearing matching black t-shirts. In the center was a middle-aged laoshi playing the piano.

The piano began to play. The shot changed to focus on the first little girl. Her eyes were full of emotion as she stretched out a hand, as if gently calling something toward her, and sang:

“Maybe far away, or maybe just yesterday—
Whether here, or across the riverbank.”

The scene shifted again. A team of firefighters in orange uniforms appeared, carrying rescue supplies on their backs. They turned themselves into bridges, wading across floodwaters.

Then it cut to another little girl. Her eyes were red with tears, head bowed, voice soft as she murmured:

“Life’s long roads bring partings and reunions,
People gather, people drift apart.”

Her figure slowly blurred, replaced by a family seated around a table, eating dumplings and watching TV. It should have been a festive reunion, but the room was quiet—except for the elderly grandmother at the head of the table, silently holding back tears as she stared at the screen.

On the TV, a report was playing about her grandson who had died heroically in the line of duty.

Two more little girls appeared, their voices soft and clear:

“To let go of right and wrong—that is the answer.
It takes courage just to be alive.”

“No halo of divinity—
You and I were born ordinary.”

Their silhouettes faded, replaced by a plain-looking man whose eyes sparkled with intensity. He was watching a thief steal from someone on the bus.

The moment the thief made his move, the man stepped forward and grabbed him. But the other passengers, afraid, backed away and pretended not to see.

Suddenly, two more thieves stepped in to surround him. Things were clearly turning against the man.

Everyone watching the video at that moment felt their hearts clench. Fists tightened, eyes welled up—they wished they could reach through the screen and help him fight back.

But the video faded to black.

The laoshi kept quietly playing the piano, and one of the little girls began singing again:

“Through heartbreak we learn from regret,
Life is both fleeting and long.”

The scene cut to a hospital. A doctor, utterly exhausted, handed a newborn to an elderly couple. The grandparents wept with joy, thanking him repeatedly.

“As hearts beat, they grow vines—
Willing to fight through danger!”

That newborn boy grew up to be the man who had stood up to the thieves. Now, standing before them again, his eyes remained fearless.

The camera changed once more, two more little girls appeared, arms outstretched, calling out:

“Falling into darkness, into the abyss,
Faces covered in dirt!”

“No halo of divinity—
Hold tight to the ordinary in your hands!”

And then—movement.

Among the spectators who had been frozen in fear, one disheveled construction worker stepped forward, placing himself in front of the man and facing down the thieves.

His weathered face was firm and unwavering. And as he took that step, one by one, ordinary people began stepping forward to stand with him, confronting the three criminals together.

The thieves’ faces twisted in fear and disbelief—how could these seemingly insignificant people dare step forward?

Just then, a young boy appeared in the frame, his face lit with hope, quietly singing:

“This heart—this life—has no regrets.
The fire of life has been lit!”

At that point, every viewer watching the MV broke down in tears of joy. They saw it. They saw the thieves subdued by the people’s collective will.

No regrets in this heart. No regrets in this life. The fire of life had been lit.

The piano continued. The images continued. But the fire in every viewer’s heart had already been ignited—by sorrow, by inspiration, by the quiet heroism hidden in everyday life.

They noticed.

Another little boy appeared, the corners of his lips lifting gently.

“One day, we might drift far away… and maybe, we’ll meet again.”

The scene shifted back to the group of firefighters wading through the river. Now they were covered in mud, but their faces beamed with joy. Countless people lined the roadside to see them off, waving their hands in heartfelt farewell.

“Whether among the crowd, or beyond the skies—
Let me see your face one more time.”

The camera zoomed in—these firefighters were all barely in their twenties, their youthful innocence not yet completely faded. But those fresh, young faces would now be etched into the memory of countless people.

The crowd didn’t say a word, but their actions spoke volumes—shoving all kinds of things into the arms of the firefighters. Faces stained with tears but smiling, overflowing with emotion.

No words were needed—silence spoke louder than anything. Speechless, but with tears flooding every face.

At this moment, the silhouette of another little girl appeared. Her voice, clean and pure, sang softly:

“Even if tears fill our eyes,
Though silent, our faces are wet with tears.”

Next came a series of anonymous scenes—ordinary people. But in the eyes of the viewers now, they were anything but ordinary.

“No halo of divinity—
Only your ordinariness is what I want!”

The piano played on. Everyone watching was completely immersed, touched by every image and note. All they could think was how they wished they'd noticed earlier—how many lovable people had been right beside them all along.

Up to this point, not a single hero in the MV had spoken a word. And yet, their actions had been engraved deeply into the minds of every viewer.

The video continued. A choir of children began singing together. The harmonies were powerful, sincere, and filled with innocence, carrying the emotional weight of every story shown before. It left all who watched completely silent.

These same viewers who usually joked around online, who idolized celebrities and chased trends—this was the first time something had truly lit a flame in their hearts.

At the end of the song, the screen filled with a shot of all the children singing in unison.

“No regrets in this journey, no regrets in this life!
The fire of life has been lit!”

The screen slowly faded to black, and a deep male voice rang out:

“We’re not heroes. We’re just doing what needs to be done.”

Gu Xingyi was curled up on the sofa, rubbing at his sore eyes. He had known the video would be touching—he just hadn’t expected it to be this powerful.

Xia Xiyao was sobbing uncontrollably, curled up in Gu Xingyi’s arms. Crystal-clear tears streamed down her cheeks like a broken string of pearls, soaking into his shirt.

Even little Nainai was pouting, golden teardrops sliding down her face. The little one already had a budding sense of right and wrong. Watching those kind-hearted geges and jiejies working so hard made her feel upset too.

People are emotional creatures. By this point in the video, countless viewers across the internet had broken into tears. Their defenses shattered.

No one was thinking about how long the video was anymore.

They just kept watching—quietly, heart aching, tears flowing.