Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

The buzzing sound gradually subsided.

Director Zhou glanced at the audience, his gaze lingering on Zhao Weiguo's team for a second before sweeping over Zhang Dabiao's group. His lips seemed to twitch slightly—it was unclear whether he wanted to laugh or sigh.

"I wrote down the topic of classical poetry myself, and I also drew the answer sheet myself." He paused, "It's fair and just, so no one should have any objections."

No one in the audience said a word.

"I know some students may find this topic obscure and difficult to approach," Director Zhou said slowly, his hands behind his back. "But I want to tell you—our country's ancient poetry, accumulated over thousands of years, is a treasure left by our ancestors. How to express these treasures in new forms that young people will like and that ordinary people can understand is something we music professionals should be thinking about."

He looked at the students below the stage, his gaze carrying a hint of scrutiny and a touch of expectation.

"This composition is open to all, regardless of form or style. You can use Western instruments or traditional Chinese instruments. You can write a solo or a chorus. The only requirement is—"

He held up one finger.

"Respect the spirit of the original work. Don't give me any messy stuff that will ruin something good."

After saying that, he glanced at Zhang Dabiao again, then looked away.

"Alright, all teams, go back and prepare. We'll see who comes out on top in three days."

------------

As soon as Old Zhou stepped down, Zhao Weiguo and the others gathered together and went into the classroom they had chosen. Each group had its own classroom so they wouldn't disturb each other.

These days, forget about music rooms with excellent soundproofing; they simply don't meet that requirement.

"Classical Chinese poetry!" Zhang Mingyuan finally couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Even the heavens are on our side!"

Liu Yuanchao was more composed, but there was a smile in his eyes: "Don't be too happy yet. Setting ancient poems to music is not difficult, but it's not easy either. We need to think carefully about which poems to choose and what style to use."

"Is that even a question?" Zhao Weiguo waved his hand. "We'll definitely choose a theme related to the emperor's death! Li Bai and Du Fu are out of touch with our times."

"Why don't Li Bai and Du Fu fit together?" Liu Yuanchao frowned. "Are you disregarding your ancestors?"

"That's not what I meant—" Zhao Weiguo quickly explained, "I meant we need to choose something educational, something inspiring. Like Wen Tianxiang's 'Passing Lingdingyang,' with its lines, 'Since ancient times, who has ever escaped death? Let my loyal heart shine in history,' how powerful that is!"

Liu Yuanchao thought for a moment and nodded: "That's a good idea. There's also Yue Fei's 'Man Jiang Hong,' with the line 'My hair stands on end in anger as I lean on the railing,' that's powerful enough."

"Yes, yes!" Zhang Mingyuan interjected. "Man Jiang Hong is great! That one has so much power!"

As the three were talking, a man came over—one of their team's two foreign players, a senior student surnamed Qian, who could play the violin.

"What are you talking about?" Senior Qian asked, leaning closer.

"Let's choose a poem," Zhao Weiguo said, sharing his thoughts.

After listening, Qian Xuechang pondered for a moment: "Man Jiang Hong is good, but too many people use it, and it's easy to overlap with others. Guo Lingdingyang is also good, but its melody is too tragic and doesn't quite fit the atmosphere of our time."

"What suggestions do you have, senior?"

Senior Qian thought for a moment and said, "I do have one in mind—Xin Qiji's 'Po Zhen Zi,' with the lines, 'In my drunken stupor, I pick up my sword by lamplight; in my dreams, I hear the bugles echoing through the camps.' That poem is both heroic and evocative; if set to music, it would be absolutely amazing."

Zhao Weiguo's eyes lit up: "This is great! This is great!"

Liu Yuanchao nodded in agreement: "Xin Qiji, a dragon among poets, is acceptable."

"Then it's settled?" Zhang Mingyuan asked.

"It's settled!" Zhao Weiguo slapped his thigh. "We'll do 'Po Zhen Zi'! This time, let Zhang Dabiao see what real creation is!"

------------

On the other side, Han Xiaomeng and Tang Min were looking at Zhang Dabiao with complicated expressions.

Han Xiaomeng was a junior in college. She had two braids and wore a faded blue cotton jacket. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but her features were clean and she looked like the kind of girl who diligently practiced the accordion. She held her accordion, her fingers unconsciously stroking the keys, as if she wanted to say something but hesitated.

Tang Min is a senior in college. He's tall and thin, wears black-rimmed glasses, and carries an erhu case in his hand. He majors in folk music and has been playing the erhu for eight years. He can also play a few tunes on the suona, but in this era where everyone is scrambling for pianos and violins, he's the kind of "unwanted" outside helper.

"Um..." Han Xiaomeng finally spoke, her voice soft, "Zhang, what musical instruments do you play?"

Zhang Dabiao was immersed in his own world—the songs "May We All Be Blessed with Longevity," "Do You Know," and "The Mighty Yangtze Flows Eastward" were playing in his mind, and a strange smile hung on his lips.

"Comrade Zhang?" Han Xiaomeng called out again.

"Huh?" Zhang Dabiao snapped out of his daze. "What?"

I asked, "What musical instruments do you play?"

"A musical instrument?" Zhang Dabiao scratched his head. "I don't know how to play."

"All I can do is whistle, does that count as a musical instrument?"

Han Xiaomeng: "..."

Tang Min: "..."

The two looked at each other and saw despair in each other's eyes.

"Then...can you read music?" Tang Min asked, clinging to her last glimmer of hope.

Which spectrum?

"The simplified musical notation like '1234'?"

"Won't."

"..."

"The musical staff?"

"No, not either."

"..."

【Then why the hell did you ask what kind of score it is?】

Tang Min fell silent.

Han Xiaomeng took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm: "Zhang, what can you do?"

Zhang Dabiao thought for a moment: "I can create art."

"You don't know how to play sheet music, yet you're creating music?"

"Yes." Zhang Dabiao nodded. "I'll take care of the lyrics and music."

Han Xiaomeng and Tang Min exchanged another glance.

This time, Han Xiaomeng's eyes no longer held despair, but rather the pity of someone who thought, "This person is probably an idiot."

"Zhang," Tang Min said, trying to be tactful, "creating something... isn't something that can be done in a day or two. We only have three days."

"One day to write lyrics, one day to compose music, one day to rehearse... and then you have to go on stage."

In fact, the third and fourth-year students felt very troubled by this arrangement. Was the school's curriculum reform a bit too drastic this time?

They managed to come up with a song in just 3 days. Although the theme was classical Chinese poetry, which made writing lyrics much easier, but...

They've never experienced this level of intensity before!

I've never seen anything like it!

"I know," Zhang Dabiao said nonchalantly.

"Moreover, setting ancient poems to music requires careful attention to rhythm and rhyme. If even a single word or rhyme doesn't match, it will sound terrible when sung," Tang Min continued to explain. "We both study folk music, so we've done a lot of research on this and know the ins and outs."

"Oh." Zhang Dabiao nodded. "That's good. You guys know these things, so you can just cooperate with me when the time comes."

Tang Min: "..."

Han Xiaomeng couldn't hold back any longer: "Comrade Zhang, are you serious? This is a competition! If we lose—"

She paused, too embarrassed to say, "If you lose, your wife will be even more ashamed at school," but the meaning was already quite clear.

Zhang Dabiao looked at her and suddenly smiled.

Han Xiaomeng found that kind of smile a bit strange—it wasn't mockery or disdain, but rather... how to put it, a kind of "Don't worry, I'll hold up the sky if it falls" kind of confidence.

"Senior Han, right?" Zhang Dabiao asked.

Han Xiaomeng nodded.

"Senior Tang?"

Tang Min nodded as well.

"I have a question for you," Zhang Dabiao said slowly, leaning against the windowsill. "What do you think is the most important thing when setting classical Chinese poems to music?"

If not now, when?!