The dating reality show host just wanted to give up, but the rich girl fell for him.

"Director, let's talk about something."

Lin Mo slumped on the sofa, clutching the chipped stainless steel thermos, his face full of bargaining intent:

"You see, art comes in many forms."

"It doesn't necessarily have to be playing musical instruments and singing, right?"

The director, holding a megaphone, watched him warily.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to perform... static performance art."

Lin Mo pointed to the sofa beneath him:

"I've already thought of a name: 'The Sleeping Working Class'."

"I won't eat, drink, or move; I'll just sleep here for eight hours straight."

"This is meant to satirize the high pressure and involution of contemporary society, and to call on people to return to their true selves and pay attention to sleep health."

"Even if the outside world remains unmoved, I will remain steadfast."

"How profound! How insightful! Isn't this much more elegant than singing a couple of pop songs?"

The director's lips twitched, and he almost smashed the megaphone in his hand.

This is absolutely amazing performance art!

You just want to sleep on public funds!

"turn down!"

The director, with a dark face, ruthlessly pronounced the verdict:

"It must be vocal music or instrumental music."

"It must have sound! It must have melody! It must have a performative element!"

"Otherwise, it will be considered passive resistance, resulting in the deduction of the notification fee and additional penalty for breach of contract!"

Upon hearing the words "penalty for breach of contract," the glimmer of light in Lin Mo's eyes instantly vanished.

He sighed and tightened the thermos cup around his chest.

"Alright."

"How about breaking a boulder on your chest? That would make a sound, a loud 'bang,' absolutely shocking."

"No! That's acrobatics! Too dangerous!"

"Then... sword swallowing?"

"No!"

"How about a live stream of pedicures?"

"roll!"

The director was so angry that his blood pressure spiked, and he turned around and left immediately, afraid that if he stayed any longer, he would suffer a stroke.

The chat room was filled with laughter.

[Hahaha! What the hell is this? A live stream of pedicures!]

Has Lin Mo started pushing the limits of human endurance to avoid performing talents?

[The Sleeping Working Class...this has a high artistic merit, I'd love to act in it too!]

[Director: This is so tough! I have to manage a dating reality show and also worry about the guests doing acrobatic stunts.]

In stark contrast to Lin Mo's "death struggle" was Zhao Kuo, who had long been unable to contain his excitement.

At this moment, Zhao Kuo was like a rooster that had just won a battle, head held high and chest puffed out, his face glowing.

A talent show?

This stage is practically tailor-made for him!

These past few days, Lin Mo's actions of climbing trees and repairing houses had left him humiliated, and he had been itching to get his revenge.

Now the opportunity has finally arrived!

"Since the director has said so, we have to take it seriously."

Zhao Kuo straightened the collar of his expensive-looking shirt and deliberately said loudly:

"After all, it's a satellite TV program, so we can't show the audience anything low-class."

As he spoke, he took out his phone and dialed a number.

The tone was quite Versailles:

"Hello, is this the butler?"

"Bring over that Steinway from my music room."

"Yes, that's the black grand piano, the one that was just flown back from Germany last month."

"Be very careful and hire a professional moving company. I'd be heartbroken if it even got a tiny scratch."

"It has to be delivered to this island, even if it's by helicopter!"

After hanging up the phone, Zhao Kuo casually glanced around the room, basking in the admiring gazes of everyone (mainly Lin Chacha).

"Oh dear, actually I didn't prepare much."

Zhao Kuo waved his hand modestly, but he couldn't suppress the smile on his lips:

"I just practiced piano since I was little, passed the tenth grade exam, and won a few international gold medals."

"Since everyone is going to perform, then I'll make a fool of myself and play a few difficult pieces to liven things up."

Lin Chacha immediately transformed into a cheerleader, clasping her hands together and her eyes sparkling:

"Wow! Steinway & Sons! Is that the Rolls-Royce of pianos?"

"Brother Zhao Kuo, you're amazing! You're a level 10 god!"

"I can't wait to hear it! It's definitely a million times better than those guys who can only strum the guitar!"

This statement has a hidden meaning.

After all, in this circle, guitars are often seen as standard equipment for "folk singers," which gives them a slightly cheap feel.

The piano, on the other hand, is synonymous with elegance and nobility.

A few hours later.

A huge transport helicopter roared as it flew over the island.

Immediately afterwards, a professional logistics truck drove into the villa area.

Under the careful handling of seven or eight professional workers, a grand piano, as black as ink and gleaming with a noble luster, was carried into the spacious living room of Building A.

It was placed in front of the most conspicuous floor-to-ceiling window.

At that moment, the entire Building A seemed to have been elevated to a higher level.

Zhao Kuo, like a king inspecting his territory, circled the piano twice.

Then, he gracefully lifted the piano lid.

She took out a snow-white silk handkerchief and gently wiped away non-existent dust.

sit down.

Adjust the height of the piano bench.

Take a deep breath.

Sink your Qi to your Dantian.

He suddenly raised both hands and then brought them down heavily.

"Clang—clang clang clang—"

A magnificent and incredibly fast arpeggio flowed out like a torrent.

Although it was just a sound check, the crisp and clear tone, as well as the dazzling speed of his hands, truly demonstrated his impressive skill.

This is the level of professionalism that comes with the support of financial power.

"good!"

Lin Chacha clapped her hands until they were red:

"It sounds amazing! The tone is incredible!"

"Brother Zhao Kuo, your hands are so beautiful! These are the hands of an artist!"

Zhao Kuo stopped with satisfaction, enjoying this long-awaited moment of glory.

He turned his head and looked defiantly at Lin Mo, who was lounging in the corner.

"Brother Lin, how is it?"

"Is this piano alright?"

"Although it can't compare to the equipment in those top concert halls, it's good enough for this deserted island."

"By the way, Brother Lin, what are you planning to perform?"

Zhao Kuo paused deliberately, his eyes full of mockery:

"I heard you used to be... tone-deaf?"

"If it really doesn't work out, don't force yourself."

"I see there's a decorative wooden fish in the living room."

"Why don't you play a wooden fish for everyone? It's simple, anyone can do it."

"It also fits your 'Buddhist' persona perfectly, giving our superficial entertainment industry a chance to calm down."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Lin Chacha laughed so hard her body trembled:

"Brother Zhao Kuo, you're so mean! Striking a wooden fish?"

"But it seems to suit him quite well, anyway, he's usually like an old monk, all he does is drink tea and sleep."

The live stream chat was filled with mockery.

[I'm rooting for Zhao Gongzi this time! That piano is truly amazing!]

Lin Mo has really met his match this time; there's no shortcut to talent.

[Knocking on a wooden fish... Hahaha, I can almost picture it!]

Lin Mo should just admit defeat; even pretending to sleep is better than embarrassing himself.

Despite the ridicule from the entire audience, Lin Mo didn't even change his posture.

He slowly picked up the thermos and took a sip of the goji berry water.

Then, looking at the expensive piano, he clicked his tongue:

"Steinway..."

"The zither is quite nice."

"pity……"

He shook his head and didn't say anything more.

The feeling is like a Michelin-starred chef seeing someone cook instant noodles with top-grade Wagyu beef. The ingredients are good, but... I don't want to comment.

"What's a pity?" Zhao Kuo asked, frowning.

"It's nothing."

Lin Mo stood up and dusted off his backside:

"I won't strike the wooden fish anymore, it's too noisy and will disturb my afternoon nap."

"As for musical instruments..."

"Since the director insists on forcing me to do this, I'll just find something to listen to."

After saying that, he ignored everyone's gaze, slipped on his flip-flops, and sauntered out of Building A.

He returned to his storage room in Building C.

Lin Mo walked into the room and glanced around.

Finally, the focus shifts to a pile of odds and ends in the corner.

That was trash left behind by the original owner of the house; it had been piled up there without being thrown away.

There were tattered fishing nets, rotten wood, and some unidentified scrap iron.

Lin Mo squatted down and rummaged through a pile of moldy old newspapers.

"Cough cough..."

A cloud of dust rose up, making him cough twice.

He pulled a dark, murky thing out of the pile of garbage.

That was a guitar.

If it can still be called a guitar.

The instrument had a crack in it, and it was covered with non-mainstream skull stickers, probably belonging to the landlord's rebellious son.

The neck of the instrument is slightly bent.

The most tragic thing is the strings.

Of the original six strings, two are broken, leaving four rusty strings that look like they could break at any moment.

"Tsk."

Lin Mo disdainfully picked up the broken guitar with two fingers.

This thing is even more worn out than the knife he uses to kill fish at RT-Mart.

"This...this is his instrument?"

The cameraman who had been following behind couldn't resist zooming in and giving the guitar a close-up.

The dust on it was so thick you could write on it.

【? ? ? ? ? ? 】

[Is this Lin Mo's secret weapon? A fire poker?]

[This can actually be played? The sound it makes is probably similar to sawing wood, right?]

[It's over, it's over, Lin Mo is really going to mess this up.]

[Zhao Kuo's side has a million-dollar Steinway watch, while Lin Mo's side has junk picked up from a garbage dump. The contrast is... too stark.]

Lin Mo, however, didn't care at all.

He carried the guitar into the yard and casually wiped it with a rag.

Then he took a pair of pliers out of the toolbox.

"Boom!"

He simply cut and tore off the two broken strings.

There are four strings left.

He then took the pliers and started twisting the knobs on the headstock of the violin.

"Squeak—squeak—"

The sound of metal scraping together was so loud it made your teeth ache.

"This string can still be used."

As Lin Mo twisted the string, he plucked the rusty string with his thumb.

"Buzz..."

It emitted a dull, off-key, and even somewhat shrill sound.

But he nodded as if he had heard something heavenly:

"The sound is a bit weak."

"But it's alright."

Lin Mo put down the pliers, hugged the broken guitar with only four strings left, and tried playing a chord.

Although two strings are missing, many chord fingerings have changed.

But this didn't stump him.

Back in his past life, when he played rock music, he could make even a single-stringed instrument look amazing.

"It'll have to do."

"Anyway, I just need to fool the director so he won't dock my pay."

Under the sunlight.

Lin Mo held the broken guitar, his fingers lightly gliding across the fretboard.

Although he said it would be alright, a glint of light flashed in his eyes for a fleeting moment, which inexplicably made the whole scene somewhat...

Unfathomable.

"Hey, Lin Mo."

Jiang Ruoyun walked over at some point.

She stared at the mangled guitar in Lin Mo's arms, her brows furrowed so deeply they could trap a fly:

"You...you really want to use this?"

"How about... I lend you money to buy a new one?"

"Or should I ask the director to let you be my supporting actor? I'll sing, and you can help me play the triangle?"

She was genuinely worried.

Although she believed that Lin Mo could cook and do woodworking.

But when it comes to music, the quality of the instruments is extremely important.

This broken guitar looks like it's mute, what good sound can it possibly make?

She would feel bad if she embarrassed herself at the party and was ridiculed by Zhao Kuo.

Lin Mo raised his head and looked at Jiang Ruoyun, who had a worried expression on her face.

Suddenly he grinned, revealing a set of bright white teeth:

"Need not."

"This guitar is pretty good."

"It may be broken, but..."

Lin Mo gently plucked a string, his voice deep and magnetic:

"It has a story."

"and……"

"To deal with Zhao Kuo, a cotton-fluffing machine who only has skills but no feelings."

"This broken guitar..."

"That's enough."