A song called "The You of the Past" has prompted the entire internet to beg me not to leav

The Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles.

Old Xue splashed cold water on his face, looked at his reddened eyes in the mirror, took a deep breath, and straightened his slightly wrinkled tie.

The boss's casual words were replaying in my mind.

It was like a shot of high-concentration adrenaline, instantly clearing away all his fear of this foreign arena of fame and fortune.

Even if the sky falls, the man in the family wearing shorts will hold it up!

Old Xue pushed open the bathroom door and strode back to the banquet hall.

Instead of seeking out secluded corners, he walked straight through the crowd to the front row, to the main table next to Justin Davis, and pulled out a chair to sit down.

Justin was a young white man with blond curly hair and prominent brow bones.

Seeing that Lao Xue had returned and even sat down next to him in a blatant manner, Justin's eyes flashed with a hint of mockery.

"What, Xue, finally found the courage to stand up from the toilet?" Justin swirled his wine glass and mocked in rapidly spoken English.

Several white musicians nearby immediately chuckled knowingly.

Old Xue didn't quite understand those convoluted slang terms, but even a fool could see the superior air about the other person's face.

He calmly picked up the soda water on the table, glanced indifferently at Justin, pointed to the watch on his wrist, and retorted in broken yet extremely arrogant English:

"Justin, keep your voice down. In an hour and a half, I will show you what real pop music is."

(Justin, keep your voice down. In an hour and a half, I'll show you what real pop music is.)

Upon hearing this, the laughter at the main table seemed to be choked and abruptly stopped.

Justin's face darkened, then he sneered, "You think your old, tired lullabies will suffice? Fine, I'll wait. I hope you don't cry too badly on stage later."

Half an hour later, the assistant from the Los Angeles branch, covered in sweat, crouched down and squeezed into the banquet hall, shoving a tablet computer into Lao Xue's hand.

"Brother Xue, this was sent by President Lin!"

Old Xue grabbed the tablet and opened the file.

A sheet music so detailed it's almost unbelievable, accompanied by a demo audio that's just been synthesized with software and is still a bit rough around the edges.

Song title: Beat It.

Lao Xue put on his noise-canceling headphones and pressed the play button with his fingertip.

In just the first second, his pupils contracted sharply to the size of pinpoints.

boom!

What pounded into my headphones wasn't some ubiquitous pop chord, but a dull, oppressive, eerie bass drum that felt like it was hitting me directly on the back of the head.

Immediately following, a violent, ear-tearing electric guitar chord sweep, like a howling heavy chainsaw, cleanly and decisively sawed open Lao Xue's skull!

This melody is so powerful! So wild!

The metallic texture of heavy metal is seamlessly stitched together with the popular grassroots rhythms of Black people.

This extremely rebellious yet precisely rhythmic feel, perfectly aligned with the human heartbeat...

This isn't a pop song at all!

That's like throwing a Tomahawk cruise missile right into the middle of the dance floor!

Just as Lao Xue's scalp tingled and his whole body broke out in goosebumps, the WeChat video notification sound popped up.

It is Lin Yan.

Old Xue answered the call in a flurry of activity. On the screen, Lin Yan was standing in the spacious living room of the villa halfway up the mountain, his phone casually propped up on the coffee table.

"Have you finished listening to the demo?" Lin Yan asked through the screen.

"I've listened to it, boss! This...this song is absolutely amazing! But..." Old Xue's face was a mix of excitement and difficulty, "The arrangement is too wild. Just standing there and singing dryly isn't enough to create a powerful stage presence!"

Lin Yan snapped his fingers: "You're not stupid, are you? So, I'm going to teach you something. Keep a close eye on it, I'll only demonstrate once, and you'd better lock in muscle memory within an hour."

As he spoke, Lin Yan took two steps back.

On the screen, the man, wearing an oversized T-shirt and slippers, stood lazily on an expensive Persian carpet.

"The soul of this song lies half in anger and the other half in extreme body control."

Lin Yan slightly raised his hands, and his previously slouching shoulders suddenly slumped. In that instant, the salty aura emanating from him vanished, replaced by an extremely aggressive tension.

Immediately afterwards, under Lao Xue's horrified gaze...

Lin Yan tiptoed, seemingly taking a step forward, but his entire body glided backward like a ghost, as if gliding on ice!

Without the slightest pause! The visual illusion completely defies the common sense of physics!

"That's called the moonwalk," Lin Yan casually offered an explanation.

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly brought his legs together, his right hand hanging down naturally, accompanied by a short, penetrating breath that escaped from his throat.

"Hee-Hee!"

His lower body thrust forward like a spring!

Thrust your hips!

A brutal and violent explosion, yet with a deadly allure and a provocative edge!

Then, Lin Yan nimbly spun 360 degrees on the spot, perfectly freezing in a pose with his toes pointed outwards in an extremely arrogant manner.

This series of smooth movements lasted less than ten seconds, but it left Lao Xue on the other side of the screen dumbfounded, and even Shen Qingqiu, who was sitting on the sofa behind Lin Yan, dropped the orange she was peeling.

"Got it? This set of steps, paired with the beat of 'Beat It,' is enough to gouge out those foreigners' eyes and stomp on them." Lin Yan walked closer to the camera and said unhurriedly.

Xue Zhiqian swallowed hard, his fingertips trembling slightly. This was the most honest tremor a top singer could feel when faced with a work of art of a lower dimension.

He knew all too well what would happen if he unleashed this "trump card" combination.

This isn't just slapping Justin Timberlake in the face; it's practically digging a grave for the entire North American pop music scene!

"Boss, don't worry! If I can't learn this, I'll jump off Mount Beverly Hills tonight!"

……

An hour passed in the blink of an eye.

The charity gala reached its climax.

Justin Davis had just finished belting out a bass-heavy electronic dance track on stage, and the atmosphere was electric.

Bathed in the spotlight, he fiddled with the microphone, his gaze piercing through the crowd, sweeping towards Lao Xue in the audience with a hint of pity.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are very honored to have a guest from the East. We've heard he represents the pinnacle of Chinese fashion. Let's give him a round of applause, Xue!"

Justin's words were barbed and sarcastic, and his intention to flatter him was undisguised.

The Western celebrities in the audience clapped sparsely, some even turning away to cut their desserts. In their eyes, a Chinese singer coming to North America's home turf to show off his limited skills was simply asking for trouble.

Old Xue sat in his seat and let out a long breath.

He ripped off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the back of the chair, leaving only a close-fitting black shirt.

He pulled out a black fedora from somewhere, put it on his head, and pulled the brim down so low that it covered most of his face.

He climbed the steps with steady steps.

In the shadows on the side of the stage, the Los Angeles branch manager, his back completely soaked, gritted his teeth and gave an "OK" sign to the sound control panel.

Lao Xue stood still in front of the microphone stand, neither speaking nor bowing, but simply pressing one hand firmly against the brim of his hat, like a statue.

A few unsettling seconds of silence fell over the entire room.

Justin raised an eyebrow from the audience and chuckled, "What? Scared into silence? Want me to lend you the original soundtrack?"

The voice just fell.

"Thump!"

A deep, muffled bass drum sounded out of nowhere, shattering the atmosphere of the banquet hall through a multi-million-dollar sound system!

next second.

"Zzzzz!!!"

That frenetic, gritty, and grainy electric guitar strumming, like a sudden downpour, swept through the entire venue in an instant, piercing everyone's eardrums!

The white gold medal producers in the front row instinctively straightened their backs, and even stopped breathing.

What the hell is this mix?! This oppressive feeling, like someone has a knife to your throat?!

Is this a piece of music that an Asian could write?!

As the wild prelude crashed in, Lao Xue slowly raised his head, and his eyes, hidden under the brim of his hat, revealed a sharpness like a wild beast unleashed.

He gripped the microphone tightly, his rough, explosive, hoarse voice sweeping across the arena like a heavy bullet:

"They told him don't you ever come around here!"

"Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear!"

The moment the lyrics were sung, the entire banquet hall fell silent!

That's so blatant! It's like crushing Justin's earlier ostracism and arrogance right there and then smearing it back in his face!

Justin's facial muscles twitched slightly, and his face instantly turned pale.

Old Xue on stage gave them no chance to breathe; he was completely possessed by the berserk soul bestowed upon him by Lin Yan.

"The fire's in their eyes and their words are really clear!"

"So beat it, just beat it!"

The climax suddenly ended!

Old Xue kicked the microphone stand away, gripped the brim of his hat tightly with his right hand, and stood under the gaze of hundreds of pairs of eyes that seemed to have seen a ghost.

His feet began to slide backward!

Unbelievably smooth, ghostly translation with absolutely no friction!

Moonwalk!

For the first time on this Earth in this time and space, the arrogant musical dome of Beverly Hills was torn apart!

"Oh my god..."

A top Black choreographer held his head in his hands, his mouth agape enough to fit a light bulb, completely oblivious to the cigar that fell onto his crotch and burned a hole in it.

"What kind of crazy dance moves are these? He's sliding backwards?!"

"This damn rhythm! God!"

Accompanied by the powerful beat of "Beat It," Lao Xue instantly brought his legs together and put his left hand in front of him.

"Hee-Hee!"

A clean and decisive hip thrust, brimming with violent aesthetics!