The landlord has multiple personalities and wants everyone to pay him.

Ever since then, every time Shen Jingwan came, besides buying cassette tapes, she would always chat with An Jianxing for a few minutes.

We talked about the weather, the newly opened bookstores on the street, the movies we'd seen occasionally, but mostly we talked about music.

Sometimes when Shen Jingwan arrived early, or when there weren't many people at the stall, she would sit for a while on the small stool that An Jianxing had specially reserved for her next to the snakeskin bag containing the cassette tapes.

She would discuss music with An Jianxing, but mainly she would talk and An Jianxing would listen.

An Jianxing noticed that when Shen Jingwan talked about these pieces of music, a light would flicker slightly in her usually calm and serene eyes.

The light was not scorching, but very gentle, which made her feel much more lively.

Moreover, her speaking speed would be slightly faster than usual, and she would be more excited, as if she were happily recommending something she likes to a friend.

But most of the time An Jianxing didn't understand the technical terms she used, such as fugue, sonata form, dynamics, etc. To him, there was only a difference between liking it and not liking it.

But not understanding doesn't mean you don't like listening to it.

He loved listening, loved listening to her talk about things he didn't understand, loved seeing the light in her eyes when she spoke, loved the smile on her face when she spoke.

Every time Shen Jingwan started speaking, An Jianxing would become extremely busy, always finding something to do.

They would either take a rag and wipe the already clean cassette cases over and over again, or move the cassettes on the stall around.

If all else fails, he could just bend down and adjust the straps of his army green canvas bag, untying them, then tying them again, then untying them again, then tying them again...

He dared not look directly at Shen Jingwan for too long, afraid that the affection in his eyes would be revealed, and also afraid that his stunned expression would make him look too silly.

He needed to find some physical movement to release that pent-up energy.

But his face always wore a satisfied smile.

Occasionally, when Shen Jingwan looks at him or asks him a small question like "What do you think?", he will immediately look up, nod, and say "Mmm" to show that he is listening attentively and that he understands and thinks so too.

Even though he probably didn't understand even a tenth of it.

But within this happiness of pretending to know everything, a little bit of resentment and anxiety gradually arises.

He didn't want to keep listening to gibberish like this, and he also wanted to understand Shen Jingwan's feelings and the meaning behind her words.

At least, the next time she talks about "this brilliant touch" with her eyes shining, I won't just nod and smile foolishly, but will be able to express my own opinion and feelings, even if it's just one sentence.

Sometimes, a person's change really is just because of a single idea.

This idea was like a seed sown in the soil; once it landed, it quickly took root in his fertile ground.

So, on another trip to the south, An Jianxing made a list, which was full of names of musicians and pieces that Shen Jingwan had bought from him or mentioned in conversation.

His goal for this trip south was very clear: to find the gold that was of great significance to him from this pile of foreign garbage.

Who is Bach, who is Schubert, Debussy... he would collect anything that was in the notebook.

He wasn't selling them, but keeping them for himself to listen to. And so, this time, his snakeskin bag contained a small pile of "refined" items.

From then on, after finishing dinner, An Jianxing would lock himself in his small room, sit on the edge of the bed, frown at the dual cassette recorder, and strain his ears to listen.

But this kind of thing, if you don't like it, you really can't listen to it, and the more you listen, the sleepier you get.

An Jianxing yawned as he pondered, "There isn't even a single coherent word, so what's so appealing about it?"

But every time An Jianxing wanted to listen to a different pop song, he would think of Shen Jingwan's expression when she talked about music.

At these times, he would take a deep breath, pat his face a couple of times to refresh himself, and then force himself to refocus his attention on these refined things.

She's listening to this, she loves listening to this, and she's shining for it.

At the very least, I need to figure out where this light is coming from.

During that period, everyone in the An family felt something was amiss.

Especially Xiaonuan's grandmother, seeing her son suddenly turn over a new leaf, no longer wandering around after meals or going to the movies, she felt very gratified. She whispered to Xiaonuan's grandfather:

"Has Zhu Zi finally... become more ambitious? It would be great if he could find a proper job."

An Hongyi pushed up his glasses, looked up from behind the newspaper, glanced at his son's closed bedroom door, and listened to the piano music coming from inside. He naturally recognized what pieces they were, and slowly said:

"It's good that he's ambitious. Take it slow; you can't expect him to win his heart back all at once. Listening to these things is better than him humming love songs all day long."

However, what the elderly couple didn't know was that their son's motivation for reforming himself still stemmed from feelings of love and affection.

As the old saying goes, everything has two sides, and that's absolutely true.

An Jianxing's stubbornness and unwavering resolve, when used in the right way, are truly formidable.

Although he couldn't understand the music, he put in a tremendous amount of effort to learn it.

He went to the bookstore and started reading books like "An Introduction to Music Appreciation" and "A Brief History of Western Classical Music," which he devoured.

If there's anything you don't understand about the collision, write it down and ask your father when you get home.

Although An Hongyi did not specialize in music, he could still offer him some pointers.

More importantly, he treated every conversation he had with Shen Jingwan as a professional lesson.

He memorized every term Shen Jingwan casually mentioned, every composer, and every piece of music's background story, and when he got home, he quickly wrote them down in his ever-thickening notebook to study them slowly.

Quantitative change can lead to qualitative change.

He didn't know when it started, but it was as if someone had suddenly opened up his Ren and Du meridians. He suddenly found that he didn't feel sleepy when listening to these things.

Gradually, I was able to discern the direction of those notes, which varied in height.

Even with his eyes closed, he could tell which piece of music it was. Even if he couldn't identify it, he could roughly guess whose music it was from the style. While he wasn't always right, his accuracy was about 60-70%.

He no longer just felt that the lack of lyrics made the music unpleasant; he began to savor the nuances within those melodies.

As common ground quietly emerged, his musical discussions with Shen Jingwan gradually changed.

He was no longer the listener who needed to be interrupted; he started to chime in with a few words, albeit haltingly.

"Um... this part, I think it's quite... quite vast, like being on a grassland."

"The Debussy you mentioned last time, I listened to 'Clair de Lune,' and I felt a little dazed, but it was quite beautiful, like a dream."

Although his expression still seemed somewhat amateurish, lacking professional vocabulary, it was full of his genuine feelings and thoughts.

Shen Jingwan also noticed all his progress.

From a cassette tape vendor who knew nothing about classical music and could only laugh foolishly, to a young man who can now express his genuine feelings, albeit immature ones, this rapid growth surprised her and made her admire him even more.

Shen Jingwan's gaze towards him now held more approval and a growing sense of attention.

When the water flows naturally, the channel is formed; when the melon is ripe, it falls from the vine.

After a long talk about music, on an evening when the setting sun cast long shadows of the two of them, no one knows who took the first step forward, or how the first words were spoken.

In short, these two young people with completely different personalities and interests naturally came together.