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

"Eating like this every day?"

Zhang Dabiao laughed, "No, it's mainly because I need to ensure I get enough nutrition during the competition. I usually eat more steamed buns and noodles."

"During the growth period, they have a large appetite."

Of course, I can afford to eat like this every day, but there's no need to go around telling everyone, right? I can only cover it up by saying I have a big appetite.

Moreover, Zhang Dabiao has now grown to 180cm, and with the added weight of 40 jin (20 catties) from boxing practice—yes, he didn't even take off the weights when he came to sing practice.

So there was plenty of food, which Mu Wanqing was already used to.

Han Xiaomeng sighed, picked up another piece of sausage, and as she chewed, she suddenly felt a pang of emotion.

She was a junior, and had been at this school for three years. What kind of people hadn't she seen? Usually, when forming teams, outside helpers were just outside helpers, and support players were just support players—used and discarded. She'd never seen anyone like Zhang Dabiao, who even provided meals for outside helpers.

"Comrade Zhang," she put down her chopsticks and said earnestly, "Don't worry, I will definitely do my best in this competition. Not for anything else, but just for this meal you're having."

Zhang Dabiao waved his hand: "No, food is food, and competition is competition. Just play your best, don't feel pressured."

"It's not pressure," Tang Min interjected, "it's the thought that counts. Comrade Zhang, you're so loyal; if we let you down, would we even be human?"

Han Xiaomeng nodded: "Exactly."

Zhang Dabiao looked at the two of them and smiled.

"Alright, let's beat those bastards to a pulp together."

Everyone laughed, even Han Xiaomeng and Tang Min were now full of confidence – how could they possibly lose?

The flames on the coal stove licked and hissed, the aroma of braised pork filled the room, and the autumn sun of 1961 shone warmly outside the window.

At that moment, Han Xiaomeng suddenly felt that the competition didn't seem so difficult after all.

—Even if it's for nothing else, she has to win this meal.

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

Outside the door, in the corridor.

Several students carrying lunchboxes passed by, sniffed, and looked at each other in bewilderment.

"What does it taste like?"

"It looks like braised pork?"

"Impossible! These days, who would be so generous with the oil when making braised pork? Are they trying to starve themselves?"

"It smells like...not just braised pork, but also cured meat."

"Stop talking, the more you talk, the hungrier you get. Let's go, let's go."

The footsteps faded into the distance.

Inside the room, Zhang Dabiao placed another piece of chicken on Mu Wanqing's plate and whispered, "Eat more, we'll be busy this afternoon."

Mu Wanqing looked at him, her eyes full of smiles.

She suddenly felt that this man, no matter where he was, was like a little sun.

Steaming hot and cozy.

It makes people feel at ease.

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

At 1:30 p.m., the door to the creative classroom was closed again.

People from the neighboring groups couldn't help but glance over when they passed by—the smell of that braised pork was so irresistible, it still lingered in the corridor like a ghost, making them hungry just smelling it.

Damn, which group is developing biological weapons? They have no sportsmanship at all!

This is meant to distract us!

But what intrigued them even more was what kind of mess Zhang Dabiao, the "outsider" who was just a painter, could possibly come up with.

Zhao Weiguo's group was in a classroom at the other end of the corridor, which was a bit far away. In order to avoid disturbing each other, they basically did not choose classrooms that were adjacent to each other.

The door was tightly shut, and you could vaguely hear someone arguing inside.

"Man Jiang Hong won't do! The 'My hair stands on end in anger' tone is too harsh; it sounds like shouting a slogan!"

"Then what do you suggest? 'Bring in the Wine'? That's even more hopeless. Li Bai's poems are too long and rambling; how can you set them to music?"

"How about 'Nian Nu Jiao: Reminiscences of Chibi'? That has enough momentum, and it's easy to perform well..."

"Come on, that's even harder! How do you match 'The Great River Flows East'? You try matching 'The Waves Wash Away the Past' for me!"

"If you're so good, why don't you do it yourself? You get it working first, instead of telling me this won't work or that isn't suitable. You try making one yourself and let's see."

The arguments came out intermittently, making for a lively scene.

If Zhang Dabiao could hear this—what's so difficult about it?

Isn't this something anyone can do?

Why be picky? Just bring them all out!

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

Zhang Dabiao and Mu Wanqing's group, however, had a completely different style.

They spent the afternoon fiddling with "The Song of Changle".

Seeing that the accordion didn't seem too difficult to play, Zhang Dabiao decided to give it a try, and then—

Damn, everyone else is playing the accordion, but he's playing a saw!

It sounds absolutely awful!

That's a form of damage to the eardrum!

Zhang Dabiao sighed helplessly, "Do I really not have the talent to play musical instruments?"

Should I try the suona again?

If all else fails, a kazoo would be fine too.

His helpless expression made Mu Wanqing, Han Xiaomeng, and Tang Min chuckle.

A genuine creative genius, yet he can't read music and doesn't play any musical instruments.

He really can't play any musical instruments; he can't even find the do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti anywhere.

It's kind of funny, but there's no way to reason with it.

Then Zhang Dabiao got annoyed and started whistling, playing the prelude to "The Song of Changle"—whistling was the only instrument he knew how to play!

A few very simple notes, but when put together, they evoke an indescribable sense of desolation.

"This is the prelude to 'The Song of Changle'." He looked up at Han Xiaomeng. "Did you hear it? It should have that empty, distant feeling, like standing on the vast grassland looking towards the horizon."

Han Xiaomeng was stunned for a moment, and a picture instantly appeared in her mind—the sky was vast, the fields were boundless, and the wind blew the grass low to reveal cattle and sheep.

She had been learning the accordion for five years and never imagined that a few simple notes could create such a mood.

"Comrade Zhang, would you like to play it again?" She took out paper and pen.

Zhang Dabiao poked it again, this time at a slower pace.

Han Xiaomeng memorized it quickly, muttering to herself: "Do—airpai—lai—extend—mi—zhuan suo—"

After finishing writing it down, she looked at the few lonely musical notes, somewhat uncertain: "It's...it's that simple?"

"It's that simple." Zhang Dabiao handed the accordion back to her. "Sometimes the simplest things are the hardest. Try it, play it on the accordion, don't use too much force, try to get that floating feeling."

Han Xiaomeng took the violin and tried playing it once.

The moment the accordion started playing, that desolate feeling came through. But compared to the few taps Zhang Dabiao had just made, it felt like something was missing. Actually, the accordion didn't quite fit that feeling, but it was a mainstream instrument in this era.

"Too solid." Zhang Dabiao frowned. "Every note you played was too solid, like stepping on the ground. I want it to float, like clouds floating in the sky."

Han Xiaomeng seemed to be thinking about something, and tried it again.

This time, she held back her strength and gently exhaled, and the notes floated out, indeed much more ethereal than before.

Tang Min, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke up: "Comrade Zhang, what if we used a flute for this part? The flute would be even more ethereal."

"You play the flute?"

"Huh?"

Why didn't you say so sooner?

Didn't I say so?

"You're holding a suona and telling me you can play the flute?"

"It's all just bragging..."

"That seems to make some sense."

Zhang Dabiao's eyes lit up: "That's right! You give it a try!"

Tang Min took out her flute, brought it to her lips, and gently blew it.

As soon as the flute started playing, the entire classroom fell silent.

That sense of vastness and desolation was even more vivid than that of an accordion. The flute's timbre is inherently melodious, and when paired with those simple notes, it truly feels like standing on the Chule River, gazing at the boundless grassland, with clouds drifting across the sky and the wind brushing past your ears.

Mu Wanqing listened intently, and unconsciously hummed, "Chilichuan, at the foot of Yinshan..."