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

"Wait a minute! Sir, please wait a minute!"

The white-bearded old man pushed aside the chair blocking his way and almost ran to Lin Yan and Shen Qingqiu's table.

He was wearing a fine tweed suit, with a red silk handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket.

At this moment, however, he was completely devoid of manners, panting heavily, his eyes fixed on Lin Yan's right hand that had just held the bow.

The blond youth standing nearby turned pale upon seeing the old man and immediately bowed in respect.

"Dean Pierre..."

Pierre didn't even glance at the resident pianist, irritably waving him away. Then, he placed his hands on the table and tried to get as close to Lin Yan as possible.

"Incredible... The bow throw and the wide strumming of the left hand were done without any extraneous noise."

Pierre rattled off a string of beans in heavily accented English.

"I am Pierre, the director of the Royal Conservatory of Music in Paris and the principal conductor of the Orchestre National de Paris. Sir, are you a professional musician, or some reclusive classical master?"

Lin Yan frowned slightly as he looked at the old man in front of him, whose face was flushed with excitement.

"Neither," Lin said calmly. "I'm a retired chef."

Pierre stood there, staring intently at Lin Yan's face, his gaze lingering on the unremarkable black hoodie.

Suddenly, a photograph flashed through Pierre's mind.

That was a candid photo that was wildly retweeted on Twitter by David, president of Universal Music Greater China, and William, a Grammy bigwig, and was even regarded as a sacred object.

The background of the photo is a hot pot private room full of lively atmosphere, and the person in the picture is lazily holding a pair of chopsticks dipped in red oil.

Pierre gasped sharply, and his finger pointing at Lin Yan began to tremble violently.

"You...you're the person in that photo! The one Maestro William was kneeling before...Father?! The legendary Chinese composer who used two chopsticks to strike out the core motif of his entire 'Fate' Symphony?!"

Shen Qingqiu, who was sitting opposite him, was drinking water. When he heard the slightly childish honorific "Father," he couldn't help but lower his head and cover his mouth to chuckle softly.

Lin Yan's face darkened, and he rubbed his temples speechlessly.

"I've never had a son that old. That's just something William made up; don't try to claim kinship with someone like that."

Having received confirmation from the person himself, Pierre could no longer suppress the fervor in his eyes.

He pulled out a chair, sat down next to Lin Yan, and then grabbed his briefcase.

The zipper was pulled open, and a thick stack of manuscripts with slightly yellowed edges was carefully taken out.

Pierre, disregarding any sense of propriety, simply laid the manuscript on the table, conveniently blocking the half-eaten plate of blood duck.

"Mr. Lin! I've finally met you! When William returned to his country, he brought back the full score of your 'Fate' piece, and the entire European classical music world went crazy!"

Pierre spoke faster and faster, even stammering with excitement.

"This manuscript is my symphony 'Dawn on the Seine,' which I conceived over twelve years. However, I still can't figure out the fugue counterpoint in the development section of the fourth movement, and the conflict between the woodwinds and strings is simply a disaster."

Pierre clasped his hands together, his tone almost pleading, completely abandoning the airs of a dean of a top university.

"Please, just one look! Just one look! Help me find this damn dead end!"

Lin Yan leaned back lazily in his chair, arms crossed, unmoved.

"As I just said, I'm retired. This trip is for my honeymoon; I won't talk about work even if the sky falls."

Pierre was sweating profusely, like a schoolchild who couldn't hand in his homework.

He looked around, his gaze locking onto Shen Qingqiu across from him, as if he had grasped at the last straw.

Shen Qingqiu looked at Pierre, who was on the verge of tears, and then at Lin Yan, who was unmoved and full of disgust.

She extended her slender, white fingers and gently tapped them twice on the table.

"Husband," Shen Qingqiu said softly, but with a rare hint of tenderness and pleading, "please take a look. The old man is quite persistent."

Lin Yan turned his head and looked at his wife.

The icy diva rarely called him "husband" in such a coquettish tone in public. This one sentence shattered Lin Yan's defenses completely.

"Alright."

Lin Yan sighed and sat up straight.

He casually rummaged through the stack of manuscripts and quickly flipped through a few pages.

His gaze swept across the densely packed musical staff, like a supercomputer, without even a pause or thought.

"Waiter, could I borrow a pen?" Lin Yan snapped his fingers.

The waiter quickly handed over a black wooden pencil used for taking orders.

Lin Yan placed the manuscript on the table.

"You've brought in the timpani too early here, completely drowning out the oboe's melody. It's stealing the show. And here too," Lin Yan pointed with his pen.

"The double bass harmony in these four bars is completely wrong, moving in parallel octaves. You've committed a major taboo in classical music arrangement."

As Lin Yan spoke, he quickly made corrections on the yellowed manuscript with a pencil.

Without hesitation, he crossed out several complex notes and directly drew the staff by hand in the blank space, writing dense rests and slurs.

The pencil made a crisp, clean scratching sound as it rubbed against the paper.

Pierre stood to the side, barely daring to breathe, his eyes fixed on the ordinary order pencil.

At first, the dean tried to follow Lin Yan's musical arrangement in his mind. But just thirty seconds later, Pierre's breathing stopped and his pupils dilated slightly.

Lin Yan actually wrote a perfect three-part polyphonic counterpoint directly in the blank space!

He seamlessly intertwined the extremely bright tone of the brass section with the steady and heavy texture of the string section in an incredible way.

This is a divine harmonic arrangement that completely surpasses Pierre's twelve years of cognitive system.

Two minutes later.

"Smack."

Lin Yan tossed the pencil back onto the tray and casually pushed the manuscript back to Pierre.

"It's all fixed. Reduce the volume of the wind instruments by one-third, and move the trombone's position back six measures. Go back and rehearse it yourself to see how it sounds."

Pierre's hands trembled as he held the manuscript as if it were a Bible.

He stared intently at the dozen or so lines of musical notes that Lin Yan had modified. The perfect self-consistency of the music theory had already automatically played a grand symphonic melody in his mind, one that gave him goosebumps.

The dead end that had plagued him for twelve years was smashed to pieces in two minutes by this young Chinese man in a black hoodie with just a food ordering pencil.

Pierre abruptly took a step back and solemnly straightened the slightly disheveled hem of his suit.

Then, he bowed deeply to Lin Yan, his back bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle. This is the highest form of respect shown in the European classical music world to one's mentor.

"A miracle...this is a true miracle. You are the Mozart of our time, the one and only god of classical music!"

Pierre's eyes reddened, and his voice trembled.

"I offer my deepest apologies for the arrogance of that foolish musician. The depth of Chinese musicians far surpasses the imagination of us frogs in a well!"

"Alright, alright, stop flattering me." Lin Yan waved his hand impatiently. "Take your sheet music and get out of here. The food's getting cold, and we need to go back to the hotel to rest after we finish eating."

Pierre dared not linger any longer, for fear of angering this eccentric big shot.

He carefully tucked the manuscript into his suit pocket, bowed deeply again, and strode out of the restaurant.

He had only one thought in his mind: to drag the symphony orchestra out of bed tonight and start rehearsing immediately!

That evening.

A startling piece of news, centered around the Royal Conservatory of Music in Paris, swept through the entire European classical music elite circle like a Category 12 hurricane.

The young Chinese man who made Master William kneel and shout "Father" has appeared! And, in just two minutes, he forcibly completed the symphony fragment that Dean Pierre had been stuck on for twelve years!