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

Beijing, the headquarters building of the China Music Association.

The top-floor conference room, number one, was filled with smoke.

The most prominent figures and masters of the entire Chinese music scene were all seated around a long mahogany table.

Zhang Hai sat in the first seat on the left, his face looking somewhat ashen.

A photograph is being projected onto the large screen at the very front of the long table.

The background of the photo is extremely haphazard: a red plastic film covered in wrinkles and stained with some unknown water.

On the thin film, the notes written with a thick black marker are wild and unrestrained.

If you squint carefully, you can even make out the outline of the shrimp visible through the membrane.

The huge conference room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, with only the heavy, rapid breathing of a few veteran artists remaining.

Li Mingchang sat in the main seat, picked up his teacup and took a big gulp to moisten his throat, which was already hoarse from talking.

"This is the opening song submitted by our China region for the Asian Culture and Arts Festival."

Li Mingchang slammed down the teacup, the base hitting the solid wood table with a dull thud.

"Eternity. The lyrics, music, and arrangement were all written by Lin Yan. This is the original manuscript he wrote on a plastic bag of shrimp at the seafood market in the eastern district of Xinghai City in less than two minutes!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the facial muscles of several elderly composers below twitched uncontrollably.

Zhang Hai stared intently at the sheet music on the screen.

He had already mentally rehearsed the melody countless times.

With each rehearsal, the shock intensified, and the older generation felt a deeper sense of defeat.

"Old Li," Zhang Hai finally spoke, his voice as dry as sandpaper.

"This kid is a monster. The structure of this song is so grand and expansive. I suggest starting the intro with a set of chime bells to immediately transport us back two thousand years. Then the bass drum and guzheng come in, and the Western orchestral instruments are only fit to provide a low-pitched bass... Absolutely amazing, absolutely amazing. Even if all of us old bones put our heads together, we couldn't write something with this kind of momentum."

Li Mingchang nodded in satisfaction.

"Zhang Hai knows his stuff. This song has the absolute power to sweep across Asia. The higher-ups have already seen it, and Mr. Zhang immediately approved it as the opening theme!"

The discussion below erupted instantly.

"But President, who will take on such a grand project?" A middle-aged producer frowned.

"The high notes are incredibly powerful, and require a traditional Qingyi opera singing style. Male singers can't deliver that kind of penetrating power, and female singers can't suppress that historical weight."

Li Mingchang smiled like a cunning old fox.

"Lin Yan himself designated the candidate."

He paused, then uttered three words with a firm and resounding tone: "Shen Qingqiu."

A collective gasp filled the conference room.

"Shen Tianhou? She is indeed the undisputed number one female singer in China right now. But..." someone hesitated, "Her style is more aloof and ethereal. Is it too much of a stretch for her to force herself to handle this kind of epic battle song? If she cracks her voice or can't hold her own, it will be a train wreck broadcast live across Asia."

"No." Li Mingchang raised his hand to interrupt, "Don't forget 'Wanjiang'. Besides, Lin Yan is notoriously protective of his own. Since he dared to specifically name his wife for the role, it means he's 100% confident. As for the arrangement work, you'll have full cooperation with the team from the Unwanted to Work Entertainment Group. I don't care about the process, I only care about the result."

The next day at 10 a.m.

The official accounts of the Ministry of Culture and Tourism of China and the Organizing Committee of the Asian Culture and Arts Festival simultaneously updated a post.

"The opening theme song for the 15th Asian Cultural Arts Festival in China has been confirmed. The singer is Shen Qingqiu. The lyrics and arrangement are by Lin Yan."

The news caused an immediate uproar on the Chinese internet.

Lin Yan, who had been silent for half a year, the man who had 30 million netizens crowdfund 100 million yuan to invite him to come out of retirement, has finally handed in his homework!

Moreover, every move they made was a national-level super bombshell.

"Holy crap! Lin Gou is alive! The ten yuan I spent worked!"

"Hey upstairs, stop trying to make yourself look good. He's doing this for the country's prestige and, incidentally, using the Asian stage to appease his wife. Your ten dollars can't even buy a single scallion."

"A husband-and-wife team reunited! Is this their second project after 'Wanjiang'? Good heavens, the anticipation is off the charts!"

However, in stark contrast to the domestic celebration, the reactions on foreign websites, especially in the entertainment industries of Japan and South Korea, were rather sarcastic.

On Twitter and the largest entertainment forums in Japan and South Korea, skepticism and ridicule overflowed from the screen.

Kim Tae-woo, the lead vocalist of a top South Korean boy band, posted a message on his personal social media account:

"What the Asian stage needs is rhythm, trends, and beats that drive young people crazy. Placing hope in a semi-retired producer and a woman who sings love songs shows that the so-called 5,000 years of cultural heritage has been completely exhausted in popular music."

The accompanying picture is a photo of himself sweating profusely in the practice room, showing off his abs, along with a provocative thumbs-up emoji.

This top K-pop star, who boasts tens of millions of fans across Asia, has really gone all out.

Japan's reaction, however, carried a condescending arrogance. Miho Watanabe, known as the "last diva of the Heisei era," casually remarked in a media interview:

"Shen Qingqiu's voice is beautiful, but 'beautiful' is nothing special on a real competitive stage. I hope that the Japanese delegation can let everyone hear real music at the opening ceremony."

This wave of mockery from overseas was quickly brought back to China.

Chinese netizens are absolutely furious.

"Have the Koreans and their comfortable lives become so accustomed to the good old days that they've forgotten the fear of being dominated by 'Wanjiang'?"

"Heh, South Korea's plastics industry is all about assembly lines, Japan's anime-style clip-on voices. Are they teaching us what grand narratives are all about?"

"Lin Shen, come out and crush them! Let these keyboard warriors know what a true Chinese deity is!"

……

Xinghai City, the 33rd floor recording studio of the "Don't Want to Work" entertainment group headquarters.

Shen Qingqiu had no time to pay attention to the rumors circulating online. She was fully armed and standing in front of the microphone.

Outside the tent, Lin Yan sat imposingly at the control panel. He wore a white T-shirt that read "I won't change my profile picture until I lose 10 pounds," and chewed a piece of mint gum. Beside him, Lao Liang, Chen Yu, and the others sat upright, barely daring to breathe.

"stop."

Lin Yan pressed the call button, his brows furrowing into a knot.

Shen Qingqiu's voice stopped abruptly. She took off her headphones and rubbed her temples wearily. The song was far more difficult than she had imagined; she had been struggling with it for four hours, but Lin Yan still wouldn't budge.

"Qingqiu"

Lin Yan's voice was transmitted into the recording studio through the speakers.

Stripped of his usual gentleness, all that remained was absolute professionalism and tyrannical strictness.

"Your placement for that line, 'The long night breaks into dawn,' is too high. Don't just use your head voice; it's too weak. Focus your energy in your diaphragm and use your chest resonance to deliver the words! I don't want the sound of a lark; I want the sound of a phoenix rising from the ashes. Understand?"

Shen Qingqiu nodded, a hint of stubbornness flashing in her eyes. She didn't refute him; she knew very well that in the field of music, Lin Yan was an absolute tyrant who had the final say.

"Again," Lin Yan ordered.

The music started again.

The dull, heavy drumbeats seemed to strike directly into one's heart, causing waves of palpitations.

Shen Qingqiu closed her eyes. The oppressive feeling of being sidelined at Xingyao over the past few years flashed through her mind, followed by Lin Yan's composed manner as he pulled her from the abyss to the top. Her back straightened inch by inch, and an aura of proud indomitable spirit exploded within the cramped recording studio.

"The long night is breaking into dawn..."

The sound pierced through the obstacles like a sharp sword.

Without the slightest distortion, it possessed a metallic quality that pierced the clouds, perfectly intertwining with the solemn and austere aura of the guzheng.

Old Liang, who was outside the shed, felt his scalp tingle and felt as if a heavy hammer had pierced through his skull.

Lin Yan stopped chewing her gum.

He stared at the waveform on the control panel. Three seconds later, his fingertips deftly pushed the fader up.

"That's enough." Lin Yan took off his headphones, stood up, and said, "We can call it a day."

Shen Qingqiu pushed open the heavy glass door and walked out, her forehead covered with a fine layer of sweat.

Lin Yan casually grabbed a clean towel from the table and walked over, gently wiping her forehead. One second he was a stern tyrant, the next he was a gentle, domestic husband.

"You've worked hard. What would you like to eat tonight?"

Shen Qingqiu looked at him, her eyes sparkling, and chuckled softly, "Whatever. As long as it shuts up all of Asia."

Lin Yan chuckled softly and casually tossed the towel onto the back of the chair.

"Flying to Beijing tomorrow for rehearsals at the Bird's Nest."

Lin Yan glanced at the screen hanging on the wall, which was scrolling through screenshots of Kim Tae-woo and Watanabe Miho's provocative remarks.

A hint of coldness flickered in his eyes.

"Since they want to hear real music, then let them listen on their knees."