A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

The classroom fell silent.

No one speaks.

Some people are looking down at their phones, some are looking out the window, and some are writing something in their notebooks.

Teacher Fang didn't say anything more. He turned around, picked up the whiteboard eraser, and erased the words "recite" from the whiteboard.

He stood by the window, looking out at the playground.

People were running on the playground, and the setting sun cast their shadows long and thin.

What he didn't know was that at that moment, the student who had once been running at the very back was...

I was sitting in a small noodle shop by West Lake, with a bowl of Pian'erchuan noodles in front of me.

Su Wanci sat opposite him, with a bowl of Pian'erchuan noodles in front of her.

Su Wanci picked at the noodles with her chopsticks, but after several attempts, she still didn't put them in her mouth.

Chen Mo had already eaten half of his meal when he looked up at her.

"It'll get cold if you don't eat it."

"I'm thinking about something."

Su Wanci put down her chopsticks, rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him with bright eyes.

"Guess how many views your video of singing 'The Song of the Pipa' has gotten now?"

Chen Mo picked up a piece of bamboo shoot, chewed it, and swallowed it.

"I didn't see it."

"I just checked, and it's already surpassed 100 million."

Su Wanci's voice was low, but she couldn't hide her excitement, "Breaking 100 million. Just one night. Do you know what that means?"

"It means someone is watching." Chen Mo picked up another slice of bamboo shoot.

Su Wanci glared at him.

"It means you are now one of the most popular musicians on the internet. You are not a singer, you have not released any songs, you just borrowed a guitar by West Lake, sang a song you wrote, and then it broke 100 million views."

"Do you know that professional musicians spend millions on a song and still can't achieve this level of success?"

Chen Mo thought for a moment.

"It might be because I sang 'The Song of the Pipa,' which was written by Bai Juyi, not by me. People prefer Bai Juyi's version."

Su Wanci looked at his face, which seemed to say, "I'm just stating the facts," and took a deep breath.

"Do you know how many music platforms have contacted you since last night?"

"I don't know, I haven't been looking at my phone much."

Are you really not going to watch it, or are you just pretending?

Su Wanci took her phone out of her bag, opened WeChat, and scrolled to Chen Mo's chat window.

The above is a long list of screenshots—all messages sent to her by various people.

There's a music platform's A&R director, a founder of an independent music label, and a copyright agency manager.

There were also a few people who called themselves "Chen Mo's Fan Club".

"Count them yourself."

Su Wanci handed over the phone.

Chen Mo glanced at it but didn't count.

"Too many."

He pushed the phone back.

"Too much? You think you've done 'too much'?"

Su Wanci raised her voice by half an octave, and the other two tables of customers in the noodle shop turned to look at her. She then lowered her voice again.

"Chen Mo, the conditions offered by these people are getting higher and higher. The one from NetEase Cloud Music said that as long as you are willing to exclusively release 'Pipa Xing' on their platform, they will give you a homepage recommendation, a splash screen, and a special feature."

"That Penguin Music company said they could sign an exclusive copyright agreement with you, with a guaranteed minimum fee plus a percentage of revenue, and the percentage of revenue sharing is the highest in the industry."

"And then there's Douyin Music, which says if you join their platform directly, all the revenue will be yours, and the platform won't take a single cent."

She blurted out everything she could remember in one breath, until she was breathless.

Chen Mo picked up the bowl of noodles, took a sip of soup, and put it down.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He glanced at the almost untouched noodles in front of her.

"Don't change the subject!"

Su Wanci slammed her hand on the table in anger, raising her voice again.

The noodle shop owner peeked out from the kitchen, then quickly withdrew.

Chen Mo glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"I'm not trying to change the subject, I just feel like you've said so much, you're getting tired of it."

Su Wanci looked down at her bowl; the noodles were indeed clumped together.

She picked up her chopsticks and stirred the noodles a few times, but they clumped together like a swarm of worms.

She deflated, put down her chopsticks, and said, "Then I'll order another bowl."

"Boss lady, another bowl of Pian'erchuan noodles, please."

Chen Mo turned his head and called out, then turned back to look at Su Wanci.

"Are you done talking? If you're done, then I'll talk."

Su Wanci sat up straight, placing her hands on her knees, like a primary school student waiting to be scolded by her teacher.

"you say."

"I don't want to sign."

Chen Mo said four words.

Su Wanci opened her mouth.

"Why? Don't you like music? You sing so well, why don't you sing anymore?"

"It's not that I don't like it, it's that I don't have time."

Chen Mo's tone was very flat.

"Do you know what I'm going to do next? I'm going to Peking University to register in August, and classes start in September. After that, I'll have to attend classes, do homework, and take exams. I also promised Professor Lin from the Mathematics Department at Peking University that I would collaborate with him on a paper about Ricci flow."

"I also promised Professor Wang from the Chinese Department of Peking University that I would write an article about my creative experience in writing 'On the Love of Lotus' for their academic journal. I also promised my mother that I would go home at least once a month."

He paused for a moment.

"I also promised you I'd go out with you."

Su Wanci's mouth opened even wider, wide enough to fit a wonton.

"You...when did you agree to do so many things?"

When others ask me, I say "okay" or "great".

"You...when did you agree to do so many things?"

When others ask me, I say "okay" or "great".

Chen Mo's expression was as innocent as a cat that had been wronged.

"If you agree to my 'good' and 'deeds,' then I agree."

Su Wanci was speechless after hearing that.

She opened her mouth, wanting to refute, but found that every word he said was true.

He really isn't good at saying no.

No, it's not that he's bad at saying no.

He was decisive when he refused the Mathematical Sciences Association, and nonchalant when he refused the chairmanship of the Writers' Association.

It's not that he can't refuse; he only refuses things he deems meaningless.

He found the Peking University professor's request for a thesis, his mother's request to go home, and her request to go out and have fun all meaningful.

She lowered her head, her fingers tracing circles on the table, her voice softening.

"I'm not forcing you to sign a contract. I just think... you sing so well, it's such a waste that more people don't get to hear it."

Chen Mo looked at her and remained silent for a moment.

He saw something small and unspoken in her eyes—not money, not fame, but "a desire for more people to hear your singing."

She wasn't making the decision for him; she was feeling sorry for him.

He felt sorry for those opportunities that he thought were dispensable.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't really thought about this question seriously.

He writes poetry because he wants to; he writes prose because things from that world are worth bringing over.

She sang "The Song of the Pipa" because she stood by West Lake, and there was a light in her eyes.

He never thought about "letting more people hear" about it.

It's not that I don't care, it's that I haven't thought about it that way.

The second bowl of Pian'erchuan noodles was served, steaming hot, with the noodles unfurling in the soup like white flowers.