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

As evening fell, the evening breeze over Erhai Lake dispelled the day's heat.

After taking a shower, Lin Yan changed into a loose T-shirt and strolled into the yard.

Old Mike was still under the grape trellis, but the electric guitar in his hand had been replaced with an old Martin acoustic guitar.

He was holding a piece of sandpaper, slowly and methodically sanding down the rough edges of the guitar bridge.

On the stone table was a dish of peanuts and an open bottle of Niulanshan Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor).

On the second-floor terrace, Shen Qingqiu sat in a rattan chair, holding a cup of red tea, quietly gazing at the Cangshan Mountains in the distance.

Lin Yan walked to the stone table and, without any hesitation, pulled over a bamboo stool, sat down, and grabbed a handful of peanuts, popping them into his mouth.

Old Mai stopped what he was doing and glanced at him sideways.

"Young man, are you being polite?"

"Director Li said that this place includes food and lodging," Lin Yan replied confidently, chewing on peanuts.

Old Mai sneered, grabbed the bottle, and took a swig.

"You internet celebrities, you just make videos and wiggle your waist, money comes easily, and you're used to having no rules."

Lin Yan didn't refute, his gaze falling on the Martin guitar in Old Mai's hand.

This instrument is quite old; the lacquer on the soundboard has peeled off, revealing a layer of patina.

However, the string spacing was adjusted very low and the neck was straight, clearly indicating that it was a treasure that had been carefully tuned by an expert.

"Old Mai, don't you usually go online?" Lin Yan asked.

"What do you go online for? To watch those young heartthrobs wiggling their butts on stage? Or to listen to those assembly-line pop songs cobbled together with four-line chords?"

Old Mai threw the sandpaper on the table, his face full of disdain.

"The current Chinese music scene is fucking dead."

Lin Yan raised an eyebrow.

Old Mai pointed to Shen Qingqiu on the second-floor terrace.

"Take your female companion for example, she seems aloof and has a certain air about her. The other day, the internet was flooded with posts about this Lin Yan guy and this Shen Qingqiu guy. They sang something like 'Love You,' is that even a song? It's just some cheap stuff for kids!"

On the second-floor terrace, Shen Qingqiu paused, her hand holding the teacup still.

She lowered her head, her cold gaze fixed on Old Mai without a trace of warmth.

Lin Yan almost choked on the peanut in his mouth.

He cleared his throat: "Old Mai, that's such a harsh assessment. You've heard 'A Laughter in the Vast Sea,' haven't you? That's not effeminate, is it?"

Old Mai paused, his expression changing slightly.

He remained silent for a few seconds before reluctantly speaking.

"That piece... well, it's not bad. To be able to write something so powerful and majestic using the pentatonic scale shows some skill. But that's all it is; these days, young people don't understand what real technique is!"

Old Mai got angry and grabbed his guitar.

"Hey internet celebrity, I'm in a good mood today, I'll give you a free lesson!"

Old Mai pressed the strings with his left hand and pulled out a pick with his right.

A powerful, sweeping string shot burst forth.

Next came a very fast heavy metal riff, which he played on an acoustic guitar with the ferocious, grainy sound of a distorted electric guitar.

Old Mike's fingers left afterimages on the fretboard, vibrato, string bending, and string striking—a complex technique that exuded the raw and wild energy unique to old-school rock musicians of the 1990s.

As the music ended, Old Mai slapped the strings, abruptly stopping the lingering sound.

He picked up the bottle, took a sip, and looked at Lin Yan provocatively: "Did you understand? This is called depth! In today's music scene, you can't find anyone who can play with this kind of power."

Lin Yan took out a tissue and slowly wiped the peanut crumbs off his hands.

He looked at Old Mai, his tone as calm as if he were having a casual chat.

"The strength is good. But your left index finger has an old injury, right? The tension was a little lacking when bending the strings, and the E-flat note was shaky."

Old Mai's expression changed instantly. He slammed down the bottle and stared intently at Lin Yan.

Is this kid's ear blessed?!

He did indeed injure his left hand ten years ago, which is why he became disheartened, left the rock scene, and went into seclusion in Dali.

Lin Yan stood up, walked to Old Mai, and extended his right hand.

"Can I borrow your guitar?"

Old Mike looked at the young man in flip-flops, snorted, and handed him his Martin guitar.

He wanted to see what tricks this internet celebrity who only knew how to make videos could pull off.

Lin Yan took the guitar but didn't sit down.

He placed one leg on the stone bench and laid the guitar horizontally on his thigh.

He doesn't need a pick.

He slightly adjusted the position of his right hand, and then closed his eyes.

"Zheng..."

The thumb struck the sixth string hard.

At the same time, the index and middle fingers suddenly hooked the first and second strings.

A very peculiar, deep melody full of Latin American flavor bursts out from the piano like a wild beast breaking free from its cocoon!

Old Mai's hand, which was holding peanuts, suddenly trembled.

This is... authentic flamenco fingerstyle!

But what Lin Yan did next completely overturned Old Mai's understanding of things he had for most of his life.

Lin Yan's right hand was not only plucking the strings, but the base of his palm and knuckles began to strike the guitar's top and sides at high frequency.

"Bang! Bang bang! Tap!"

The drumbeats, the bass, and the melody line—three distinct sounds—surprisingly burst forth from a single acoustic guitar at the same time!

Lin Yan's fingers danced wildly on the strings, perfectly blending harmonics, plucked strings, and Am techniques in a fluid and graceful manner.

The song he played was "Fight," which was hailed as a divine piece in the fingerstyle guitar world in his previous life.

The entire courtyard seemed to instantly transform into a small symphony orchestra venue.

The rapid rhythm is like a heavily armored cavalry charging into battle, the notes so dense they are suffocating.

That absolute control over the rhythm, that precise grasp of the sounding point of each string, demonstrates a dominance that inspires despair.

On the second floor, Shen Qingqiu had somehow reached the railing and was looking down at the man who radiated a dazzling light.

This was the first time Lin Yan had shown his pure musical instrument skills without reservation.

At this moment, he was no longer the lazybones who always wanted to be a salted fish, but a king who reigned supreme.

As the last overtone slowly dissipated in the breeze.

The courtyard was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; the only sound was the rustling of the grape leaves.

Old Mai sat motionless in the wicker chair.

He hadn't noticed that the bottle of Niulanshan Erguotou in his hand had tilted, spilling liquor all over his shoes.

He has been in the rock scene for thirty years and has seen countless geniuses.

But he had never seen anyone in his life play an acoustic guitar with such a powerful presence.

Lin Yan casually placed the guitar on the stone table and stretched his right wrist.

"It's been a while since I played, my fingers are a bit rusty."

Lin Yan grabbed a handful of peanuts and casually added another stab.

Old Mai suddenly jolted back to his senses.

He stared intently at Lin Yan, his voice trembling, "Who...who are you?"

Lin Yan grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

"I am Lin Yan, the one who wrote 'Love You' and only knows how to fool children."

Old Mai's face instantly turned bright red, and he stared at Lin Yan for a full ten seconds as if he were looking at a monster.

Suddenly, he slapped his thigh and burst into laughter.

The laughter carried a mix of relief and fervor.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Old Mai grabbed a bottle of liquor from the table, chug half of it straight down his throat, and then slammed the bottle down on the table with a loud bang.

With red-rimmed eyes, he looked at Lin Yan and said, "I, Old Mai, have never submitted to anyone in my life. Today, I must have been blind! Brother Lin, I'll personally cook tonight's meal! Wild mushrooms to your heart's content! Lamb to your heart's content!"

Lin Yan nodded in satisfaction: "Then I'll trouble you, Boss Mai. By the way, please put in less chili, my boss can't eat spicy food."

Old Mai followed Lin Yan's gaze to the second floor.

Shen Qingqiu stood by the railing, the night wind blowing through her long hair, a faint, triumphant smile playing on her lips.