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

"Where is my beloved? I ride my horse across the Chule River—"

After the last note faded, the stable fell silent for a few seconds.

Then Tang Min led the applause.

"Mu, you sang so well!"

Han Xiaomeng nodded repeatedly, "Really, she sings better than most people in our department!"

Mu Wanqing blushed, lowered her head, and looked a little embarrassed.

Zhang Dabiao leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips, squinting at her.

The light shone on her face, and her naturally alluring eyes sparkled, as if they were filled with water.

He suddenly remembered a sentence—

Some people are just born to be fed by God.

Mu Wanqing is that kind of person.

However, due to her family background and social class, she never had a suitable stage to perform on.

But singing these days is honestly quite risky...

Forget it, let her play music for a few years. If it really doesn't work out, when the wind blows strong, I'll take her to Hong Kong to develop her career.

With Brother Biao protecting me, none of that is a problem!

"Alright, stop praising her. If you keep praising her, she'll get arrogant." Zhang Dabiao walked over. "Let's do it one more time, and smooth out the orchestration."

The four of them started rehearsing again.

The sounds of the xun (ocarina), the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle), and human voices intertwined in the night.

The sound wasn't loud, but it still carried through the quiet courtyard.

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

The Intermediate People's Court, the Jia family.

Jia Zhangshi was sitting on the kang sewing shoe soles when she heard the sobbing sound, and she stopped sewing.

"What's that sound?" She pricked up her ears to listen.

Qin Huairu was sewing clothes and didn't turn her head: "Over in the small courtyard, Zhang Dabiao and the others are rehearsing."

"rehearse?"

Madam Jia frowned. "What kind of rehearsal is this at night? It's like a ghost story."

However, since it was Zhang Dabiao who was causing trouble, Jia Zhangshi didn't dare to go and make a scene.

"It sounds like a funeral..." she muttered to herself, continuing to sew the shoe soles.

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

Around 9 p.m., the rehearsal finally ended. Zhang Dabiao escorted Tang Min and Han Xiaomeng out of the alley. The two of them were riding their bicycles back to school, and Zhang Dabiao insisted on accompanying them halfway back, worried about their safety, since it wasn't far anyway.

After returning to the hospital, Zhang Dabiao went to his small room, sat in front of the computer, and turned on the NAS that contained 30TB of data.

I found Tan Weiwei's version, the Morin Khuur version, the flute version, and the a cappella version of "The Song of Changle".

He put on his headphones and started listening to the songs one by one.

Tan Weiwei's version is magnificent and vividly portrays the vastness of the grassland.

The Morin Khuur version is desolate and tragic; every note seems to come from the depths of the grasslands.

The flute version is clear and melodious, like the wind blowing across the hills.

The a cappella version is the simplest, yet the most moving.

As he listened, he took notes in his notebook; this is called being prepared for any eventuality.

We can't write sheet music, so we'll use broken lines to record it!

I have to go to the music academy tomorrow.

The music needs to be finalized and written into a score.

And the day after tomorrow, I'll show those who look down on Mu Wanqing and me what it means to be truly amazing—

Dimensionality reduction strike.

The next day, the corridors of the staff dormitory were already bustling with people coming and going. Today was the second day, and the sheet music had to be submitted before school ended. Everyone had different expressions—some looked worried, some were beaming, some were muttering to themselves, and some were simply squatting in a corner clapping along.

As I passed Zhao Weiguo's classroom, the door was ajar, and I could hear arguing coming from inside.

"Let me tell you, 'Man Jiang Hong' has to be played on the piano! The piano has such a powerful presence!"

"The piano certainly has the power, but it lacks national flavor! This poem is by Yue Fei; putting it on a Western instrument just looks incongruous!"

"Then what do you suggest? The erhu? Can the erhu produce something like 'hair standing on end in anger'?"

"What's wrong with the erhu? The erhu can be played with great power too!"

"Come on, once you start playing the erhu, it becomes 'Moon Reflected in the Second Spring,' doesn't it? That's sorrowful, not angry!"

Zhang Dabiao paused, a slight smile playing on his lips—damn it, they're still arguing about this even now.

How dare someone like this compare themselves to themselves?

The sheet music was put away after school as usual. Rehearsals started the next day, and we pressed on with great enthusiasm, quickly making it to the third day—

Match day!

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

In October, Beijing was bathed in clear skies and gentle breezes. Sunlight streamed through the windows into the third-floor hall, landing on the makeshift judges' table.

Today is the day we'll see the results.

The third-floor lobby was packed with people—the twelve participating teams, along with the teachers and students watching, completely blocking the floor. Some people were standing on chairs, some were leaning on windowsills, and some even climbed onto the corridor of the adjacent building to peer through the windows.

After all, the music performance department suddenly implemented some kind of curriculum reform, and even changed the evaluation method. This was quite a big event, so naturally I had to join in.

Zhang Dabiao and the others had a hard time squeezing their way in.

Department Head Zhou sat in the center of the judging panel, with Composition Teacher Chen on his left, Vocal Music Teacher Fang on his right, Leader Wu from the Municipal Education Bureau next to him, and several other experts whose names he didn't recognize—all invited by the school.

"There are quite a few people here." Leader Wu looked around and smiled.

Old Zhou nodded: "Yes, the school takes this competition quite seriously."

"If good works can be produced under such reforms, then they can be promoted and implemented in the future."

Leader Wu ignored all that and simply asked, "I heard there's a group that seems quite interesting?"

Old Zhou glanced at him but didn't reply.

Leader Wu didn't ask any more questions, but simply glanced around the crowd, as if looking for someone.

The acquaintances from the other three departments had spoken to him, and although they didn't ask him to abuse his power and give arbitrary scores, they at least wanted to ensure that Zhang Dabiao wouldn't be bullied on other people's turf.

Leader Wu would naturally not refuse such a small favor.

The order of the matches will be determined by drawing lots.

Zhao Weiguo had good luck and drew third place.

"Third best!" Liu Yuanchao lowered his voice, "Not too early, not too late, just when the judges' attention is at its peak."

Zhang Mingyuan nodded in agreement: "Yes, the first group was too tense, and the judges were exhausted by the last group. Third place is just right!"

Zhao Weiguo smiled and glanced back at Zhang Dabiao on the other side of the crowd.

The person was leaning against the wall, chatting with Mu Wanqing, Han Xiaomeng, and others, and wasn't nervous at all.

This scene is worse than the backstage area of ​​a New Year's Eve party at a third-tier university. What's there to be afraid of?

Seeing his nonchalant demeanor, Zhao Weiguo and the others were somewhat displeased.

"Just wait and see," Zhao Weiguo muttered, frowning.

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

The first group to perform chose a frontier poem; the melody was decent, and their singing was alright.

The judges gave it a score of 8.2.

The second group chose an ancient poem expressing patriotism and loyalty. The orchestration used piano and violin, which sounded quite sophisticated, but it always felt like something was missing.

The judges gave it a score of 8.5.

It's the third group's turn.

Zhao Weiguo took a deep breath and led Liu Yuanchao, Zhang Mingyuan, Zhu Hongqi, and two foreign aid workers onto the stage.

The rule is that the entire group should not exceed 6 people, and the number of external helpers should not exceed 3 people. This rule was added by the leaders on the first day.

You can't leave it unrestricted. Otherwise, if you call up the school choir and twenty or thirty people come up for a big sing-along, how do you score them?

Therefore, Zhao Weiguo's group could only call up two foreign aids, but these two foreign aids were quite good at playing instruments and harmonies, and could hold their own and do their job.

A round of applause erupted from the audience—the loudest clapping came from their class, as this was their class's "seed" team.

According to everyone's opinion, with the class monitor, the Youth League secretary, and the class committee members all making a move, first place is practically guaranteed!

Director Zhou looked at them calmly: "Let's begin."

Zhao Weiguo nodded and gestured to Liu Yuanchao.

Liu Yuanchao and one of the foreign players sat down in front of two pianos, placing their hands on the keys. Another foreign player used the cello, making it look like a small symphony orchestra.

So stylish!

Zhang Mingyuan stood to the side of the stage, holding a hand drum in his hand—this was the result of their three days of discussion: the piano as the main instrument, the cello as the secondary instrument, and the hand drum as an embellishment, retaining the passion of "Man Jiang Hong", adding a touch of the epic feel of Western music, and adding a bit of national flavor.

Zhao Weiguo stood in the center of the stage and took a deep breath.

The sound of a piano begins.

"My hair stands on end in anger, as I lean against the railing, the rain has just stopped—"

Peking opera style?

Zhang Dabiao's eyes lit up—

That's interesting!