A perfect score on the college entrance exam? The Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng has astonis

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The young man stood to the side, his eyes reddening.

He played guitar for ten years and thought he understood music.

Ten minutes ago, he felt that he sang "Encounter" quite well, at least his pitch was accurate, his rhythm was steady, and his emotions were on point.

Now he feels like he wasn't singing, but reading from a script.

That's not what truly good music is like.

It's someone like Chen Mo.

No complicated techniques are needed, no fancy arrangements are needed, and no powerful vocals are needed.

All you need is a simple melody, a clean voice, and a poem from a thousand years ago.

Chen Mo sang until the very end.

"Who wept the most among those present? The Jiangzhou Sima, his blue robe soaked with tears."

He played the last note.

The lingering resonance of the strings trembled in the air.

Like ripples spreading out in circles on the surface of a lake.

Swing to the other side, swing to the top of Leifeng Pagoda, swing into the heart of everyone.

He sat there holding his guitar, his fingers still resting on the strings.

The crowd remained silent for several seconds. No one applauded, no one spoke.

Everyone was silent, but it wasn't an awkward silence; rather, it was a silence that was filled with something.

Then, applause broke out.

It wasn't the kind of polite, perfunctory applause, but a kind of applause that welled up from the bottom of one's heart.

The applause grew from one person to two, from two to ten, and from ten to dozens.

People standing by the lake, people sitting on stone benches, people passing by and stopping, people attracted by the sound.

Everyone stood there, clapping their hands frantically.

Su Wanci did not applaud.

She just stood there, looking at Chen Mo, tears silently streaming down her face.

She remembered him writing "Jiang Cheng Zi" on the Broken Bridge, writing "On the Love of Lotus" in the hotel, and now he was sitting under the willow tree by West Lake, turning a poem from a thousand years ago into a song.

She felt very lucky.

It wasn't because he was so amazing, but because she saw all of this.

Chen Mo stood up and returned the guitar to the young man.

"Thank you," he said.

The young man took the guitar, his hands trembling.

He looked at Chen Mo, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he only managed to utter one sentence.

"Can I learn the songs you know?"

Chen Mo glanced at him.

"If you want to learn, this is in the key of G, and the chords are very simple. You'll be able to play it smoothly after just one try."

The young man nodded, his eyes red-rimmed.

He looked down at the guitar, the body of which still carried the warmth of Chen Mo's hands.

He suddenly realized that this guitar would never be played on the streets again.

He wanted to hang it on the wall at home, with a piece of paper next to it that read: "The guitar Chen Mo played."

Chen Mo stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Su Wanci.

She still had tear stains on her face, and her eyes were red.

He looked at her and asked, "Why are you crying again?"

Su Wanci sniffed and wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

"You sang so well."

"It's alright," Chen Mo said.

Su Wanci raised her hand to hit him, but halfway up, she laughed first.

As she smiled, she lowered her hand and took Chen Mo's hand in hers.

This time, she didn't let go. Neither did Chen Mo.

The two continued walking along the lake shore, while the crowd behind them continued to applaud, record videos, and discuss the song they had just heard.

The live stream chat was still flooded with comments, the words piling up on the screen in waves, like the endless flow of West Lake.

"Chen Mo, when Bai Juyi wrote 'The Song of the Pipa,' did he ever imagine that someone would sing it a thousand years later?"

"I hadn't thought about it, but he'll like it."

How did you know?

Chen Mo thought for a moment.

"Because he was Bai Juyi, he wrote poems so that people would remember him."

"It doesn't matter who remembers it, or how they remember it; what matters is that they remember it."

"If I sing it today, someone will learn it tomorrow, someone will listen to it online the day after tomorrow, and someone will still be singing it a thousand years from now, that's enough."

Su Wanci looked at him and suddenly smiled.

She laughed until her eyes curved into two crescent moons, and her dimples sank deep into the corners of her mouth.

She held his hand as they walked along the West Lake, bathed in the sunset, between the poems of a thousand years ago and the songs of today.

She said, "Chen Mo, could you sing for me more often in the future?"

Chen Mo said, "It depends on my mood."

Su Wanci glared at him, then smiled and leaned on his shoulder.

The evening breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, making their hair look messy.

The video was uploaded at 6:12 PM.

It's not Chen Mo's account, it's not Su Wanci's account, it's that street performer's account.

His name is Lin Yuanzhou, a young man who has been singing by West Lake for three years.

He propped his phone up on the guitar case, recorded the entire "Pipa Xing" song, then edited it and added a title.

"I ran into Chen Mo by West Lake, and he sang a song on my guitar."

The caption was just one word: "God".

The video went viral on Douyin (TikTok) ten minutes later.

An hour later, it surged to the top of the entire network.

It didn't climb slowly; it was directly pushed up, like a star thrown into the sky by a giant hand. Everyone saw it rising, and no one could stop it.

The first comment in the comments section was just one sentence: "Isn't this a poem? How can it be sung?"

This comment received three million likes.

The second entry reads: "The Song of the Pipa - written by Bai Juyi in 816 AD, sung by Chen Mo in 2024 AD. In 1208 years, he waited for Bai Juyi."

Article 3: "My Chinese teacher once said that 'The Song of the Pipa' could originally be sung. Tang Dynasty poems were all sung with musical accompaniment, but the music was lost. Today, Chen Mo has found it again."

Article 4: "He didn't find it; he rewrote it. If Bai Juyi were alive and heard this song, he would probably say, 'Did I write this? Did I write it so well?'"

The entire internet is discussing the same thing.

A long poem from 1,200 years ago was turned into a song by an 18-year-old boy.

It's not a poetry recitation with background music, nor is it reciting lyrics to a rhythm; it's a real song.

It has a melody, a chorus, emotional ups and downs, and a line that brings tears to your eyes: "After much calling, she finally appears, still holding her pipa, half-concealing her face."

A poll was started on Weibo: "Do you think Chen Mo's rendition of 'Pipa Xing' is beautiful?"

There are only two options – “It sounds good” and “It sounds amazing”.

In the end, "It's so good" won with 98% of the votes.

The remaining two percent chose "sounds good".

No one chose "not good to listen to".

On Zhihu, the question is, "How would you evaluate Chen Mo's adaptation of 'Pipa Xing' into a song?"

It received three thousand replies within half an hour of being posted.

The top-ranked answer came from a music producer.

He wrote.

"I've been making music for twenty years and have heard countless people set ancient poems to music. Most of them just find a melody and fill in the lyrics."

"Lyrics are lyrics, and music is music; they're two separate things. Chen Mo is different. He creates a complete song, and you can't change any of the lyrics."