Just because I wrote "Zhu Xian," the school beauty sent me razor blades.

December 31st.

Shanghai Olympic Sports Center.

At 7:30 p.m., four and a half hours before New Year's Eve, the area outside the venue was already packed with people.

Those who couldn't get tickets.

Official tickets sold out in 30 seconds, while scalped tickets were sold at exorbitant prices and were extremely difficult to obtain. Thousands of people gathered around the venue, some bringing folding chairs to sit on the roadside, some holding homemade support light boards, and some simply sitting on the ground, blasting Lin Yuan's songs as if it were an open-air party.

At the entrance to the venue, both sides were covered with handwritten banners from fans.

"From 'Suspended' to 'Secret,' my youth has always been accompanied by your background music."

"Lin Yuan, eternal god, eternal light."

"I want to spend the last day of 2026 with Lin Yuan."

There were 60,000 people inside.

The seats were full, and the aisles were packed with people. Glow sticks, cell phone lights, and banners—a dense array of lights covered the entire stands.

Qingmang TV's broadcast van was parked at the back of the venue, with twelve cameras in position. Tencent Video, Changhu Video, and various other apps were simultaneously streaming the broadcast. The technical team kept an eye on the data panels on the monitor wall.

Backstage.

Lin Yuan stood in the passageway, listening to the sounds coming from inside the arena.

Fei Zhao walked over and handed him a bottle of water.

Are you nervous?

"Don't be nervous."

"Sixty thousand people in person, plus an estimated eighty million watching online simultaneously. You're telling me you're not nervous?"

"Not nervous at all." Lin Yuan unscrewed the water bottle and took a sip. "The one who should be nervous isn't me, it's the sound engineer."

"...Can you say something normal?"

Lin Yuan smiled and placed the water bottle on the box next to him.

Fifteen minutes before midnight.

The noise inside was suddenly drowned out by a low hum—all the lights went out.

Everyone gasped in surprise at the same time.

The darkness lasted for three seconds.

Then, a crack appeared in the floor in the center of the stage, and a cold white beam of light poured out from the crack, spreading out in a thin mist.

A Steinway grand piano, carrying Lin Yuan, slowly rose from below the stage.

A lone figure. White light. Mist.

Like it emerged from the deep sea.

"Abyss God, Abyss God!!!"

The entire audience erupted in screams.

The sea of ​​fireflies swayed wildly in the darkness.

The camera remained fixed on the slowly rising silhouette.

The piano was lowered onto the stage.

The cold light narrowed into a single beam, illuminating only the piano keys and him.

Lin Yuan's fingers gently fell.

The prelude begins.

The piano music clearly reached the ears of 60,000 people and was also transmitted to 80 million screens via signal.

A few simple chords, like the wind blowing through the classroom corridor, like sunlight falling on the playground track, like the echoing footsteps in the empty stairwell after school.

Then he spoke.

"The little yellow flower of the story has been drifting since the year it was born."

The sound wasn't loud, but the venue's acoustic design made every word crystal clear.

"The swing from my childhood still sways with me to this day."

"Re So So Si Do Si La——"

Lin Yuan hummed that melody, without lyrics, only the outline of his mouth moving and a series of precise piano notes.

Tens of thousands of lights inside the venue swayed gently to the melody, like a tide.

"Playing the intro and gazing at the sky, I thought of petals trying to fall."

"The day I skipped class for you, the day the flowers fell, that classroom—why can't I see it anymore—"

The audience started singing along.

Sixty thousand people spoke up naturally.

"On this windy day, I tried holding your hand."

But then, the rain gradually intensified, until I could no longer see you.

Sounds surged in from all directions, some off-key, some hoarse, and some filled with laughter.

In the vast Olympic Sports Center, only Lin Yuan's piano music and the singing of 60,000 people mingled together.

The glow sticks swayed left and right to the rhythm. Some people sang with their eyes closed, some recorded videos with their phones, and some clung to the arms of the people next to them.

How much longer until I can be by your side?

"I think I'll feel better when the weather clears up."

Lin Yuan's voice and the audience's voices merged into a river at the chorus, drowning out everything.

Once upon a time, there was someone who loved you for a very long time.

But then, the wind gradually blew the distance much farther.

"Finally, I can love you for just one more day."

His fingers paused on the piano keys.

But in the end—

"You seem to have said goodbye after all."

The last note faded.

The music faded.

There was a two-second silence in the venue.

Then, somewhere in the stands, a girl's voice broke the silence—

"The God of the Abyss—!"

Like a signal, it connected from all directions—

"Lin Yuan—!"

"God of Abyss, I love you—!"

The shouts rose and fell in waves, then applause and screams came crashing down like a tsunami.

Lin Yuan sat at the piano, bowing his head slightly, and only raised his head after the applause subsided.

"Thanks."

Just two words.

But those two words caused the screams to suddenly rise several decibels.

Xuncheng.

Lin Liguo and Jiang Wanqing sat on the sofa at home, with the New Year's Eve live broadcast of Qingmang TV on TV.

The moment the scene cut to Lin Yuan playing the piano, Jiang Wanqing spilled all the melon seeds in her hand.

"This is... Xiao Yuan?"

Lin Liguo didn't speak, staring at the TV screen.

On the screen, Lin Yuan sat in front of the Steinway, white light shining on him, overlapping with the boy in my memory who was at home.

Jiang Wanqing wiped her eyes: "When did he become like this..."

She didn't finish speaking.

Lin Liguo picked up his teacup, took a sip, and held it steadily.

But the teacup trembled slightly.

"I've grown up," he said.

602 Dormitory.

Four people were watching the live stream around a laptop. The screen was a little blurry due to the crowding, but it didn't affect the sound.

When Lin Yuan sang "The day I skipped class for you," Zhou Zixuan suddenly fell silent.

Qian Zhuangzhuang lay on the edge of the bed with his mouth open, unable to close it for a long time.

Chen Mo sat in his seat, staring at the screen, his expression as blank as ever.

When Lin Yuan finished singing "Goodbye," the dormitory was quiet for a few seconds.

Qian Zhuangzhuang was the first to speak: "Brother Yuan...when did he learn to play the piano?"

"He always will," Chen Mo said.

How did you know?

"When we first entered university, he was the one who went to the music practice room the most."

Qian Zhuangzhuang opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Zhou Zixuan leaned back in his chair, staring at the figure sitting at the piano on the screen, and murmured, "I share a dorm with him, and I had no idea he could play the piano."

"You don't even know how many subjects you failed," Chen Mo said.

"...Could you please not bring this up at a time like this?"

404 Dormitory.

The TV screen was projected onto the wall, and the picture just happened to cut to a distant view of the entire audience singing together.

A sea of ​​fluorescent lights, cell phone flashes, like an upside-down starry sky.

Xie Wanyin sat cross-legged on the bed, clutching a pillow in her hand, her eyes unblinking.

When the prelude to "Sunny Day" started, her fingers tightened.

"The little yellow flower of the story has been drifting since the year it was born—"

Then the sound of thousands of people singing together came from the speakers.

"On this windy day, I tried holding your hand—"

Xie Wanyin's lips moved, and she sang that line as well.

Shen Qingci reached out and gently patted her back.

Su Zhiyuan didn't speak, but her fingers tapped lightly on her knees, following the rhythm of the piano.

Gu Zhiwan's gaze never left the screen.

She heard Lin Yuan say "thank you" very clearly.

Because she had heard the same voice before, while filming, when wrapping up on set, and when passing by someone on campus.

But never before has it been like tonight.

Separated by a screen, separated by the entire dome of the Olympic Sports Center—

The sound seemed to come from a very far place, yet it also seemed to be right next to my ear.

The online data skyrocketed in those two minutes.

The real-time viewership curve of Qingmang TV's New Year's Eve live broadcast showed an almost vertical line the moment Lin Yuan appeared.

Meanwhile, the viewership ratings for other TV stations' New Year's Eve galas were as flat as a straight line on an electrocardiogram.

The number of viewers watching Tencent Video's live stream was 42 million.

The number of viewers watching Changhu Video's live stream is 38 million.

The two platforms combined have nearly 80 million users on mobile alone.

The Weibo trending topics exploded right after the song ended.

#Lin Yuan plays the piano during the New Year's Eve#

#Ten Thousand People Sing Along to Sunny Day#

#But in the end, it seems you still said goodbye#

11:59 PM.

Lin Yuan stood in the center of the stage, looking at the 60,000 faces below the stage.

"Ten seconds left."

Lin Yuan's voice was very soft, but everyone heard it.

The live broadcast camera shot from above—the entire interior of the Olympic Sports Center, with stars hanging upside down.

"Nine."

Everyone joined in the shouting.

"eight."

The sound grew louder and louder.

"Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—"

"Happy New Year!!!"

Cheers exploded like nuclear bombs under the dome.

The audience inside the venue jumped up at the same time, waving glow sticks and creating a sea of ​​stars.

The thousands of people outside the venue also finished the countdown, and some people set off fireworks, with orange-red lights exploding in the night sky, one after another.

The sky over Shanghai was lit up by fireworks.

Lin Yuan gazed at the sea of ​​stars.

Fireworks rose from outside the venue and burst above his head, golden fragments falling like a meteor shower.

He suddenly remembered July of last year.

He was still a soon-to-be college freshman sitting at home writing novels, with no identity as a singer, no identity as a director, and no one knew that he was the old rascal from Mount Akina.

More than a year.

From zero to ten thousand people singing in unison.

From keyboard to piano.

From home to the Olympic Sports Center.

He lowered his head and smiled.

time flies.