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

Xinghai City, East District Seafood Market.

"Old Zhang, the shrimp shells are too soft, and the meat isn't firm enough."

Lin Yan was squatting in front of the basin of water when a roar came from the market entrance.

"Lin Yan!"

Lin Yan's hand trembled, and he almost dropped his phone into the basin of water.

He looked back.

Five men in suits strode into the market, their feet sinking into the filthy water.

Li Mingchang, who was in the lead, was covered in sweat, and there were mud splatters on the hem of his suit.

The president of the Huaxia Music Association, who is over sixty years old, had red eyes from anger.

"Old Li?"

Lin Yan frowned.

"How did you find your way here?"

"How did I find my way here?"

Li Mingchang rushed to the stall and grabbed his arm.

"You dare hang up on me!"

"The Asian Culture and Arts Festival opens next month, and the opening song hasn't been decided yet. And you're telling me I have to wash dishes and buy shrimp, given the tasks assigned to me from above?"

The music association members following behind were panting heavily, their hands on their knees.

They flew from Beijing to Xinghai City, and without even drinking water after leaving the airport, they went straight into this fish market filled with the smell of fish.

The person they were looking for was squatting here picking shrimp.

Lin Yan pulled his arm back and turned to look at the stall owner.

"Old Zhang, weigh out two jin."

The bald stall owner, Lao Zhang, was dumbfounded.

He looked at Li Mingchang, then at Lin Yan, and carefully picked up the net.

"Mr. Lin, you're really hard to please."

Old Zhang grinned as he scooped up shrimp.

"In the entire East District, my shrimp is the most lively. You haven't released a song in half a year, but you come here every day to haggle over a few dollars."

"Calculate less water."

Lin Yan pointed to the electronic scale.

"Otherwise, I'll go buy it from Old Li next door tomorrow."

Old Zhang deftly controlled the water and put it on the scale.

"One hundred and twenty, I'll give you one hundred and one hundred and one hundred."

Lin Yan took out his phone to scan the QR code.

"Ding, WeChat payment received, 110 yuan."

The loudspeaker on the stall blared.

Old Zhang handed the bag to Lin Yan. Two pounds of prawns were jumping around in the bag, splashing water droplets all over his hand.

Lin Yan took the bag and then looked at Li Mingchang.

"Mr. Li, I've already retired."

"My main job now is being a stay-at-home dad."

He raised the live shrimp in his hand.

"Qingqiu wants to eat braised prawns tonight. I have to rush back to prepare the ingredients, otherwise the prawns won't be fresh if they die."

Li Mingchang stared at the bag of shrimp, his beard trembling.

"A crowdfunding campaign for 100 million!"

"The voice of tens of millions of people!"

"You really won't even glance at it?"

He lowered his voice and emphasized his point.

"This song will be heard all over Asia."

"Production teams from Japan and South Korea have already stated that Chinese pop music can't write grand narratives. They've already come knocking on our door, and you're still thinking about your braised prawns?"

Lin Yan paused for a moment, holding the plastic bag.

He doesn't like others interfering in his professional field.

William in his previous life was like that.

The same applies to Japanese and Korean teams today.

However, he still did not give up.

"Let Zhang Hai and the others write it."

"The older generation has a deep understanding of history and can hold their own."

After saying that, Lin Yan walked past Li Mingchang and was about to leave.

Li Mingchang took a step to the side and spread his arms to block the way.

The man, in his sixties, was acting like a spoiled child.

"They can't capture that soul!"

"Zhang Hai stayed up all night working on a song, but it was rejected as soon as he submitted it!"

Li Mingchang's old face turned bright red.

"They said it was all limp and lifeless, like a funeral!"

The officers behind them lowered their heads, pretending they hadn't heard anything.

If Grandpa Zhang knew that the chairman was publicly executing his artwork in the vegetable market, he would probably leave the group chat overnight.

Old Zhang, who was standing nearby, also noticed the commotion.

He quietly took out his phone and pointed the camera at the two of them.

Lin Yan glanced at the time.

He was silent for two seconds, then suddenly turned his head.

"Old Zhang, do you have a pen?"

Old Zhang was stunned for a moment.

Yes, yes!

He picked up a thick-tipped black marker from beside the ledger and quickly handed it over.

Lin Yan took the pen and removed the cap.

In my left hand is a red plastic bag containing two pounds of live shrimp.

In his right hand was a marker that cost a few dollars.

"Mr. Li, let's get this straight first."

Just this once.

Lin Yan lowered his head and pinched a corner of the plastic bag.

"Don't come and block me at the market anymore; it ruins my shopping experience."

Before Li Mingchang could understand, the marker had already landed on the plastic bag.

squeak.

The thick pen tip made a harsh sound as it scraped across the plastic film.

A string of simplified musical notation then fell.

The next moment, the notes spread out rapidly, with rhythm points, chord progressions, and arrangement markings crowding the red bag.

The shrimp in the plastic bag were still jumping around.

The bag kept shaking, but Lin Yan's hand remained frighteningly steady.

Li Mingchang didn't react at first.

When he saw the musical notes clearly, he froze.

"this……"

His gaze was fixed on the plastic bag, which was covered in water stains and smelled of fish.

"Is this sheet music?"

Lin Yan did not answer.

He doesn't need a piano for testing, nor does he need sheet music as a guide.

That melody had long been etched into his mind.

How the drum falls.

At which beat should the guzheng (Chinese zither) begin?

When will symphonic music rise to new heights?

How can the voices of the audience dominate the entire venue?

One stroke after another, without the slightest pause.

Two minutes later, Lin Yan put down his pen.

The front of the red plastic bag has been filled with black musical notes.

A few prawns jumped around through the handwriting, making the sheet music rise and fall.

Lin Yan threw the pen back to Lao Zhang.

"The main theme is all here."

"The basic arrangement is outlined below. The bass drum forms the foundation, while the guzheng and symphony orchestra interweave and cut through it."

He picked up the plastic bag and waved it in front of Li Mingchang.

"Don't try to force a powerful effect with Western musical instruments."

"What I want is authentic Eastern heavy metal symphony."

Lin Yan spoke casually.

It was as if what he had just written wasn't the theme song for the Asian Culture and Arts Festival, but rather instructions on how many spoonfuls of vinegar to put in a plate of shredded potatoes.

Li Mingchang, however, did not move.

His breathing became heavier and heavier.

"Give me."

He stretched out his hands, his voice trembling.

Lin Yan handed over the plastic bag.

Li Mingchang treated the bag like a rare treasure, carefully supporting the bottom of the bag, not even caring about the live shrimp struggling inside.

He played the piano his whole life.

Whether a piece of music is good or bad doesn't need to be actually played.

After reading only the first few lines, the melody suddenly resounded in his mind.

The heavy drum fell first.

The guzheng is like a knife, slicing through the sky.

Then, the symphony soared higher and higher, like a vast landscape unfolding simultaneously, or like a thousand troops galloping through the years.

Solid, yet not sluggish.

Grand, yet not empty.

The melody contains mountains and rivers, sharp edges, and a confidence that has been suppressed for thousands of years.

Li Mingchang held the plastic bag, speechless for a long time.

This isn't a grand song forced together for the sake of creating a spectacle.

This is a truly epic performance that can command the entire audience.

It is more incisive than "Ten Thousand Frontiers" and more expansive than "A Laughter in the Vast Sea".

The provocations from Japanese and Korean teams are nothing but a joke in the face of this melody.

"This song..."

Li Mingchang raised his head; his voice was already hoarse.

"What's your name?"

Lin Yan turned and left, leaving only a silhouette of himself wearing shorts.

"Eternity"

The sound wasn't loud, but it cut through the hustle and bustle of the entire market.

Li Mingchang lowered his head and looked at the special musical score again.

"For a Thousand Autumns and Ten Thousand Generations".

What a magnificent line, lasting for eternity!

Lin Yan had only taken a few steps when he stopped again.

He turned around and pointed to the plastic bag in Li Mingchang's arms.

"Mr. Li, please take a picture of the sheet music or make a copy, and get it done quickly."

"But I need to get my shrimp back."

"Qingqiu is still at home waiting to eat."

Li Mingchang tightened his arms and held the plastic bag even more firmly.

"No!"

"This is more important than my life right now, you're coming with us!"

Lin Yan glanced at the shrimp in the bag.

"OK."

"My main concern is the safety of the shrimp."

Several music association staff members stood to the side, their lips twitching incessantly.

The president of the Huaxia Music Association held a bag of live shrimp with a strong, fishy smell, his eyes reddening with emotion.

The person who wrote this song was only worried about not being able to cook for his wife that night.

Old Zhang was completely stunned, holding his phone.

He looked down at his seafood stall.

Those two pounds of shrimp seem to have inadvertently become the most expensive filler in the history of Chinese music.

Twenty minutes later.

A black Audi A6 slowly came to a stop in front of the villa on the hillside.

Lin Yan got out of the car and picked up the red plastic bag again.

Li Mingchang and several staff members stood beside the car, each holding several newly developed high-resolution photos.

In the photo, the wrinkles and water stains of the plastic bag, as well as the black musical notation, are all clearly visible.

Li Mingchang made three backups.

One copy was put into a briefcase.

One copy was kept by the secretary.

He held onto the remaining portion tightly in his hand.

That kind of posture wasn't meant to defend against thieves, but against the entire world.

"Lin Yan".

Li Mingchang looked at the photo, then looked at him.

"I'll take the music back with me."

"But you have to decide on the lead singer. This song is not one that most people can handle."

Lin Yan walked to the villa door and entered the password.

"Lead singer?"

He didn't even turn his head.

"Who else, besides my wife, is qualified to sing the grand songs I wrote?"

drop.

The gate opened.

Li Mingchang stood there, stunned.

The officers looked at each other in bewilderment.

Lin Yan walked into the entrance hall and waved to everyone with his back to them.

"I've given you the song."

"Leave me alone, I need to cook."

The door slowly closed.

Li Mingchang stood outside the door, looking at the photo of the sheet music in his hand, and remained silent for a long time.

The next second, he suddenly burst into laughter, put the photo into the innermost part of his briefcase, and patted it hard.

"Let's go back to the capital!"

"Let those people hear what true Chinese strength is!"

The group got back into the car.

The black Audi quickly drove down the mountain road.

Inside the villa's kitchen.

Lin Yan washed her hands and tied on a black apron.

He poured the prawns into the pool, picked up a pair of scissors, and skillfully trimmed the prawn whiskers and removed the prawn veins.

Shen Qingqiu, wearing slippers, slowly walked to the kitchen door.

She leaned against the door frame, holding a glass of warm water in her hand.

"I just saw Mr. Li upstairs."

"He was standing at the door laughing like that, what did you do to provoke him this time?"

"Nothing."

Lin Yan didn't even look up.

"I casually wrote a song in a plastic bag and used it to get rid of him."

Shen Qingqiu almost choked after taking a sip of water.

"Plastic bags?"

She put down her cup to make sure she hadn't misheard.

"Written for the Asian Culture and Arts Festival?"

"Um."

Lin Yan tossed the deveined prawns into a clean bowl.

"I also got you a side job."

"Go to Beijing and be the lead singer."

Shen Qingqiu walked to his side and looked at the two pounds of shrimp in the bowl that had almost been collected as sheet music.

"Lin Yan, that's the Asian Culture and Arts Festival."

"At that time, all of Asia will be watching."

She turned her face to the side.

"Is your song really capable of holding the stage?"

Lin Yan put down the scissors and took out kitchen paper to dry her hands.

Then, he raised his hand and gently pinched the tip of Shen Qingqiu's nose.

"When I take action, all of Asia has to listen in silence."