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

Sha Zhu and the others were also stunned, muttering, "My goodness, is Wan Qing's voice made of gold?"

Mu Wanqing and the others turned on the radio in the small courtyard and listened to themselves singing, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

Zhang Dabiao leaned back in his recliner, listening to the noise outside, and took out a pack of Daqianmen cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

He exhaled a puff of smoke, his gaze passing through the window frame of the cabin.

This veneer of "artist" and "mainstream creator" has been completely firmly in place.

In the years to come, no matter how the winds shift, as long as these few solid works stand in the lead, coupled with Mu Wanqing's ode to the era, anyone who wants to touch them will have to think twice about whether they have the weight to back them up. This isn't just for show; it's a real lifeline.

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

At this very moment, the streets and alleys of Beijing, and the loudspeakers hanging on utility poles, are all playing this song on a loop.

In the faculty and staff quarters of the art academy.

Several of the deans and student council members who had previously been the most vocal critics of Mu Wanqing's decadent singing (all from musical families or related to her family) were now gathered in front of the radio in the courtyard, staring at each other, not daring to utter a single word.

This song was released in conjunction with a key national project to celebrate the occasion; who would dare utter a single word of criticism?

Mu Wanqing not only completely shed the controversy caused by her background, but also became the most popular person in the academy.

The principal even personally declared that he was going to establish Mu Wanqing as a role model for literary and artistic workers in the new era—there was no other way, since Zhang Dabiao wasn't from their school, so they could only push Mu Wanqing up first.

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

In the courtyard, Yan Bugui was the most uneasy.

After the song ended, Yan Bugui turned off the radio, and everyone dispersed, waiting for Mu Wanqing to pass by the front yard of the Central Courtyard on her way back so she could chat with the big star for a bit.

Yan Bugui stared intently at the direction of the east courtyard through the crack in the window.

The sour feeling in his heart was bubbling up.

The three women came over carrying a winnowing basket: "Old man, what are you looking at? Da Biao is a dragon in the sky now, and we're just worms on the ground. Don't go and provoke him."

"What do you know!" Yan Bugui flicked his sleeve and lowered his voice, "No matter how powerful Zhang Dabiao is, he still came from our courtyard! I'm the third eldest uncle in this courtyard, so it's not an exaggeration to say I'm his elder, right?"

The old woman curled her lip: "Does he still acknowledge you as his 'Third Uncle'?"

"He has no choice but to admit it!" Yan Bugui's eyes darted around. "I'm his teacher! His mentor! He can't deny it, can he?"

The three women rolled their eyes. Forget it, they didn't want to argue with the old man about this.

Yan Bugui thought about it more and more and felt that there was something fishy about this matter.

Zhang Dabiao is being lauded to the skies by outsiders. If people knew that Zhang Dabiao was trained by Yan Bugui, wouldn't he walk with his back ramrod straight?

Riding the wave of trending topics and gaining traffic is Yan Laoxi's forte.

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

The National Day holiday has flown by.

In the vegetable garden in the backyard of Hongxing Primary School.

Yan Bugui hasn't officially resumed teaching yet, and he's busy in the vegetable garden every day—but to be fair, Yan Bugui is much more reliable at growing vegetables than teaching students.

As he was loosening the soil with a hoe, he heard several older students wearing red armbands gathered together by the vegetable garden, holding up a copy of "Heroes and Daughters".

"Comrade Zhang Dabiao is simply a genius! His painting skills and ideological awareness make him an absolute vanguard of our proletariat!"

"I heard he's not very old and lives in Nanluoguxiang."

"I really want to meet him and hear him talk about his creative process in making this comic book."

Several students discussed the matter with flushed faces and fervent emotions.

Yan Bugui heard this and his vanity grew wildly. He slammed his hoe on the ground, cleared his throat, and strode over with his hands behind his back.

"Ahem, a few kids, talking about Zhang Dabiao?"

Several students stopped their discussion and turned to look at the gaunt old man in charge of logistics.

The tall boy who seemed to be in the lead frowned: "Yan, the school worker, you know how to draw?"

"I don't know anything about painting, but I know Zhang Dabiao!" Yan Bugui raised his chin, striking a teacher's pose. "You guys don't know, do you? Zhang Dabiao is from our No. 95 courtyard. I'm the third uncle in that courtyard. I've been watching him run around the streets since he was wearing open-crotch pants."

Several students stared in surprise, their eyes widening, and swarmed around them.

"Really? You know Comrade Zhang Dabiao?"

"What's he like normally? Does he stay up all night every day working on his creative projects?"

Yan Bugui felt lightheaded and almost floaty as he was stared at by those admiring eyes.

"That kid, he was incredibly mischievous and unruly when he was young," Yan Bugui began to ramble on. "If I hadn't disciplined him strictly back then, would he be where he is today? Who am I? I was his first teacher!"

The students listened intently, nodding repeatedly.

Yan Bugui's boasting became increasingly outrageous, even including gestures.

He raised his right hand and gestured in the air: "You wouldn't believe it, when he was little he loved to scribble all over the walls with chalk, and our yard was covered in it."

"I immediately gave him a good spanking! I told him that drawing is fine, but you can't damage the environment. You have to have a sense of public morality. If you want to draw, you can go back to your own home to draw."

"Thanks to my strict guidance, this child hasn't gone astray..."

What Yan Bugui said was true. When the original owner, Zhang Dabiao, had just been adopted a year or two ago, he was bullied by Yan Jiecheng, Xu Damao, and a few others.

The original owner of this body had intellectual disabilities and couldn't beat anyone in a fight. In the end, he took a piece of chalk and wrote "Yan Jiecheng and Xu Damao beat people, they are turtle bastards" everywhere.

The words weren't even written clearly; they came out as "Salt OO Xu XX beat someone, is a..." In the end, that bastard had to draw them on.

Of course, it had to be written on the wall of the Yan family's house, but Yan Bugui hit it a few times as a result.

Yan Bugui essentially embellished the story a little, but as soon as he finished speaking...

The surrounding air froze instantly.

The students' expressions visibly changed.

The tall boy stared intently at Yan Bugui's right hand, his voice cracking: "You hit Comrade Zhang Dabiao?"

"You even hit his hand?"

Another short boy with a parted hairstyle pointed at Yan Bugui and screamed, "I remember now! There's a rumor at our school that a teacher who was inhumane almost broke the hand of an art prodigy a couple of years ago!"

"So it was you, you old codger!"

Yan Bugui froze, his smugness still lingering on his face, his lips frozen in mid-air: "No... I was trying to teach him a lesson..."

"fart!"

The tall boy grabbed Yan Bugui by the collar, his eyes blazing with fury: "Comrade Zhang Dabiao is a vanguard of Wu Chan class art! You're persecuting a spark of revolution! You remnant of the Wu Chan class!"

"Down with the bad elements who destroy art!"

Someone shouted, and several hot-blooded students rushed forward.

And then, it got out of control.