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

The audience fell silent.

Han Xiaomeng panicked: "You—"

Tang Min pulled her back and shook her head.

Zhao Weiguo continued, "I'm not targeting anyone in particular, but it's okay to bring in outside help, but I didn't say we should have outside help as the lead singer! Hiring a professional to sing in place of us? What's the point of this competition then?"

Is Zhang Dabiao a professional singer?

Now there's no doubt that no one would consider him a simple art student.

Liu Yuanchao also stepped forward: "Yes! We have questions!"

Zhang Mingyuan then shouted, "Questioning!"

One by one, the members of their group stepped forward.

The audience began to murmur amongst themselves.

"Yes, he's definitely not from this school..."

"The rules don't seem to mention whether or not we can bring in outside help, right?"

"But it makes no sense to hire an outsider as the lead singer. Think about it, if you hire a musician to sing and your own group members provide accompaniment, what's the point of winning first place like that...?"

"What you said makes a lot of sense, and I'm speechless."

Director Zhou frowned even more. This was indeed their oversight, and it was also a rule that music students tacitly followed—I can ask someone to write songs, compose music, and find someone to accompany me, but the singer has to be myself.

Otherwise, it has nothing to do with me at all, right?

But Zhang Dabiao isn't a music student. Among all the foreign players, he's the only one who isn't a music student!

The department made a mistake when it was making the rules!

He glanced at the judges beside him and whispered a few words to them.

Then he looked up, about to speak—

"Director Zhou."

A voice rang out.

It was Zhang Dabiao. He stood there, still with that lazy expression on his face.

"I also have something to say."

Director Zhou looked at him and gestured for him to speak: "Speak."

We can't stop people from talking, because strictly speaking, the performance mishap was due to their department's inadequate preparation.

If Zhang Dabiao insists on this, they will have no choice but to accept their fate.

It's more acceptable for Zhang Dabiao to speak up than for them to overturn the rules themselves.

Zhang Dabiao took two steps forward and stood in the center of the stage.

"Zhao Weiguo's questions are indeed valid, but—"

"Whether people from other schools can participate in the performance is not clearly stated in the rules."

"Therefore, our group requests that Mu Wanqing sing a solo song again."

The students immediately began to discuss it in hushed tones.

Singing solo is not impossible, but since you just got a high score for a duet, you can't possibly get a high score for a solo performance now. It will have an impact.

This song clearly only has this feel when sung as a duet between a man and a woman.

If you ask to sing a solo now, aren't you just asking for trouble?

And it's not fair either!

"Director Zhou, fellow teachers, our group has prepared two songs."

He emphasized the word "two".

The students immediately started making a ruckus again—

"Two songs?"

"It's only been a few days, and other groups can't even finish one song, but they can finish two?"

"Impossible, right?"

"Is this allowed by the rules?"

"It doesn't seem to say you can only compose one song, does it?"

"..."

Director Zhou gestured for everyone to be quiet: "Mu Wanqing's group did indeed submit the lyrics and arrangement of two songs on the first and second days, and our judging panel can attest to that."

Then he picked up the two file folders, one containing "Do You Know?" and the other "The Song of Changle".

Seeing that the red paint on it was still unopened, everyone quieted down.

I just feel—isn't this guy a bit too arrogant?

Two songs?

Two high-quality songs adapted from ancient Chinese poems within three days?

impossible?

"Since Zhao Weiguo is questioning whether I should participate in the singing, then I won't sing. I'll be responsible for the accompaniment—use this."

He took something out of his pocket.

It is a xun (a type of ancient Chinese wind instrument).

It was a light yellow color, about the size of a large duck egg, and looked quite unremarkable.

Some people in the audience laughed.

"this one?"

"What can that thing produce?"

Zhao Weiguo laughed too, but as he laughed, he suddenly remembered something—

He had heard from the elders in the compound that the xun was an ancient musical instrument with a desolate and mournful sound, but it was not easy to play.

But the way Zhang Dabiao held it in his hand didn't make him seem like someone who couldn't boast.

He suddenly felt a little uncertain.

"Let's begin." Director Zhou nodded.

Mu Wanqing stood in the center of the stage and took a deep breath.

Han Xiaomeng picked up the flute and brought it to her lips.

Tang Min set up the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle).

Zhang Dabiao found a chair and sat down, holding the xun (a type of ancient Chinese wind instrument) in his hand.

The sound of a flute begins.

It was open and vast, like the wind blowing from the grassland.

The audience fell silent.

The sound instantly transported the person to another place.

Then, the sound of the xun (a type of ancient Chinese wind instrument) rang out.

"Waaah—"

Deep, resonant, and desolate.

Like a sigh echoing from thousands of years ago.

Like the wind blowing across the wilderness, like horses trampling across the grassland, like a shepherd calling to his cattle and sheep in the twilight.

Then the sound of the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) also blended in.

Someone in the audience shivered.

That voice was so different.

It's completely different from the previous "The Story of Minglan".

It is completely different from all the works in all the previous groups.

The smile on Zhao Weiguo's face gradually disappeared.

Liu Yuanchao stared with his mouth open, not moving for a long time.

The hand drum in Zhang Mingyuan's hand fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The sounds of the xun, flute, and morin khuur continued.

One sentence, two sentences, three sentences—

Mu Wanqing spoke.

"My heart follows the heavens and earth, but my will is led by cattle and sheep."

A lone plume of smoke rises from the desert, embracing the setting sun.

Chatting with the moon at the ends of the earth;

The campfire illuminated my face, and I, drunk, used the lasso.

The sound was clear and bright, floating in the flute music.

Han Xiaomeng's flute was gently placed on top, neither pressing nor pushing.

Tang Min's morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) has a warm and solid base.

Zhang Dabiao's xun (a type of ancient Chinese wind instrument) added a whole layer of richness to the song.

"The sky is like a vast dome, covering the four fields—"

Mu Wanqing's voice gradually spread out, like the wind on the grassland, blowing farther and farther away.

Then, the flute music stopped, and the morin khuur music stopped.

Only Mu Wanqing's voice remained, clear and bright, floating in the air.

"Where is my beloved?" the girl asked the heavens.

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

The sound of the xun ceased as the last note faded.

The hall was so quiet it was as if no one was there.

There was a three-second silence.

Five seconds.

ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Then--

Someone cried.

It wasn't the kind of loud, wailing crying; it was the kind of silent, suppressed crying, where you secretly wipe away your tears.

Teacher Fang took off her glasses and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

Teacher Chen looked at the scoring sheet in her hand; there wasn't a single word written on it.

This is no longer a question of whether or not to side with Zhao Weiguo. At this moment, if she hesitates for even a second, it would be a desecration of art!

Director Zhou remained silent for a long time before standing up.

"9.8 points."

The entire audience erupted in uproar.

"9.8 points!"

"Even higher than before!"

"How is that possible?!"

"But it really sounds good..."

The judges began to display their scores.

9.8, 9.8, 9.9, 9.8——

The final average score was 9.83!

The whole place erupted.

As Mu Wanqing stood on the stage, listening to the numbers, she suddenly felt her legs go weak.

She turned to look at Zhang Dabiao.

Da Biao was returning the xun to Tang Min, his face still bearing that sly smile.

"What are you standing there for?" he said.

"We won!"