A song called "The You of the Past" has prompted the entire internet to beg me not to leav

Living room of a villa on a hillside.

On the television screen, the chosen one was slapped against the wall by a black bear demon. The blood-red character for "vegetable" was mercilessly smeared across the entire screen.

"I'm not playing anymore, what a terrible judgment." Lin Yan threw the controller on the coffee table and sighed.

Shen Qingqiu walked over carrying a plate of freshly sliced, chilled watermelon. She wore a simple white shirt, her long hair casually pinned up with a hair clip, exuding a relaxed, homey vibe. She picked up a slice of watermelon and naturally offered it to Lin Yan's lips.

Lin Yan took a bite, and the cool, sweet juice burst in her mouth – this was summer.

"Old Liang just sent the financial report." Shen Qingqiu sat down on the single sofa, crossed his long legs, and glanced at the tablet. "The overseas rights fee for 'The Brightest Star in the Night Sky' has exceeded two hundred million US dollars. Executives from several North American streaming platforms want to fly over to meet you."

"No." Lin Yan took out a tissue to wipe his hands, his tone completely calm. "I barely escaped death. For the next two weeks, not even the King of Heaven himself can make me leave this place."

The voice just fell.

Shen Qingqiu swiped his finger across the screen, switching to the surveillance footage outside the gate: "The Heavenly King himself might not be here, but this guy outside is about the same caliber. David has stopped his car."

In the video, a black Audi A6 with a Beijing license plate is parked outside the villa's iron gate.

Fully armed David, accompanied by two Blackwater security personnel, stood like three walls of despair in front of the vehicle, their faces expressionless. Their tungsten steel tactical gloves gleamed coldly in the blazing sun.

The car door opened, and an old man with a full head of white hair emerged. He was carrying a tattered snakeskin bag in one hand and, without saying a word, forced his way through the door.

David dared to snap a mercenary's neck, but when faced with this old man, he didn't dare to touch him at all. He could only grimace and use his two-hundred-pound broad latissimus dorsi muscles as a human shield.

Lin Yan saw the old man's face clearly, and his temples throbbed.

"Li Mingchang? Why is that old man in Xinghai City instead of staying at the Beijing Musicians Association?"

"Probably here to urge you to write songs again... oh no, urge you to write songs." Shen Qingqiu chuckled.

Lin Yan grabbed the walkie-talkie on the table and pressed the call button: "David, get that old man back to the car. Tell him I'm not on Earth."

"Too late! Lin, I saw your car parked in the yard!" Li Mingchang's booming voice pierced through the surveillance microphone and boomed into the living room.

David looked troubled on the screen, glancing pleadingly at the camera above. This was a national treasure-level veteran, a man with a medal for special contributions, whom even high-ranking officials dared not raise their voices in his presence. David wouldn't dare to use force even if he had eight times the courage.

Two minutes later.

Li Mingchang swaggered into the living room.

He completely ignored Lin Yan's face, which was as black as the bottom of a pot, and threw the rustic snakeskin bag in his hand onto the Italian leather sofa worth hundreds of thousands of yuan with a "bang".

The bag was open, revealing an old cotton quilt printed with bright red peonies, with a chipped enamel basin and a plastic toothbrush holder hanging next to it.

Lin Yan's eyelids twitched violently: "Old Li, what are you up to? Are you begging for food here because you can't find any in the capital?"

Li Mingchang pulled up a chair without any ceremony, sat down, poured himself a cup of tea, and gulped it down in one go.

"The Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Culture jointly issued an official document. The music textbooks for primary and secondary schools across the country will undergo the largest revision in thirty years." Li Mingchang wiped his mouth, his eyes fixed on Lin Yan.

"Congratulations on getting another big job. Take care, turn right when you go out and David will call you a car." Lin Yan gave a perfunctory bow, without even moving his buttocks.

"Don't try to dodge my questions!" Li Mingchang slammed his teacup down on the table. "What they're saying is that the old textbooks are too outdated and can't keep up with the times. Young people these days are brainwashed by those catchy pop songs and electronic music every day. The country urgently needs a new set of textbooks that have both the essence of Chinese culture and the ability to appeal to these young people and be sung by them willingly."

Lin Yan shrank back into the sofa, his gaze drifting to the ceiling, with an expression that said, "What's it to me?"

"I recommended you to the higher-ups as the chief editor of this new textbook nationwide," Li Mingchang dropped a bombshell.

The moment Shen Qingqiu cut the watermelon was frozen in time.

Chief editor of national primary and secondary school music textbooks.

This isn't some lowly resource from the entertainment industry. This is about etching Lin Yan's name directly into the minds of an entire generation, or even several generations, of Chinese youth.

This is a true role model for all ages, whose name will be etched in history. Those so-called "top stars" and "kings" in the entertainment industry don't even deserve to carry his shoes.

However, Lin Yan didn't hesitate for even half a second.

"I won't do it," he answered decisively.

"Do you know what this position means? So many people would kill to even get a position on the editorial board!" Li Mingchang exclaimed, suddenly standing up.

"That means endless seminars, countless revisions of idiotic manuscripts, and constant table-banging and bickering with a bunch of half-buried old scholars." Lin Yan counted on his fingers, calculating with righteous indignation, "Every morning I have to sleep until I naturally wake up, cook for Qingqiu at noon, finish playing 'Black Myth' in the afternoon, and go fishing at the reservoir in the evening. Where do I have the time to be your laborer?"

The air fell into a deathly silence.

If these words were to get out, musicians across China would probably be so angry that they'd vomit blood and end up in the ICU because someone refused to be the chief editor of the national textbooks in order to "cook and play games."

Li Mingchang was clearly prepared. He took a deep breath and surprisingly didn't lose his temper.

He turned around and walked to the snakeskin bag, untied the rope, and pulled out the bright red peony quilt, spreading it out on the leather sofa with a whoosh.

Then, as if by magic, he pulled a transparent plastic medicine box from his pocket and slammed it onto the expensive mahogany coffee table.

"I've got all the blood pressure medication, quick-acting heart medicine, and nitroglycerin."

Li Mingchang took off his shoes, sprawled out on the peony-patterned quilt, and closed his eyes: "If you don't agree, this old man will stay here. Whatever you eat, I'll eat; you sleep in the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa. I'm seventy-six this year, with a bunch of chronic illnesses. If you get sick from angering me in the middle of the night, do you think the medical team upstairs might bring an excavator and raze this hillside villa to the ground!"

Lin Yan was dumbfounded.

This guy is the chairman of the Chinese Musicians Association? What's the fundamental difference between him and that old scoundrel who throws a tantrum and tries to extort money from you at the village entrance?!

"David!" Lin Yan gritted his teeth.

Outside the door, a muscular man weighing 200 pounds poked half of his bald head in.

Lin Yan pointed at the old man on the sofa: "Throw him, blanket and all, back onto the street!"

David glanced at the gleaming gold medal of special contribution on Li Mingchang's chest, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. He then quickly pulled his head back in, locking the living room door from the outside as well.

"Old Li, you're really cheating here." Shen Qingqiu rubbed his forehead, feeling both amused and exasperated.

Li Mingchang squinted one eye and muttered, "Qingqiu, I know you're on his side. But this concerns the cultural foundation of the next generation of China! This kid's incredible talent is wasted on just setting music for those petty romances—it's a complete waste!"

Lin Yan picked up the game controller: "Fine, whatever you want. I'm not going anyway. Don't look for me if you get hungry."

Thus began the bizarre tug-of-war over the hillside villa.

first day.

Lin Yan sat on the carpet, wearing headphones and playing video games. Li Mingchang lay on the sofa reading the Beijing Daily.

At noon, Lin Yan prepared four dishes and a soup: braised pork ribs, steamed grouper, blanched bok choy, and winter melon and clam soup.

As soon as the dishes were served, Li Mingchang, drawn by the aroma, sat down at the table with his bowl. He not only filled a large bowl to the brim with rice, but also swiftly and decisively snatched away the most flavorful piece of pork rib that Lin Yan had been eyeing for so long.

"The chef's skills are indeed quite good, even better than the chefs at the Grand Hotel in Beijing who cook for state banquets," Li Mingchang commented while gnawing on a bone.

With a "snap," Lin Yan snapped the disposable chopsticks in her hand.

the next day.

Lin Yan went fishing at the reservoir in the backyard.

Li Mingchang, carrying a small stool and holding a thermos, sat down next to him.

Just as Lin Yan finished preparing the nest, Li Mingchang started clearing his throat with a cough, took out a retro radio from his pocket, turned the volume up to the maximum, and loudly played the Peking Opera "The Empty City Stratagem".

For the entire afternoon, Lin Yan's float didn't budge an inch, and he didn't catch a single whitebait.

On the morning of the third day.

Lin Yan, sporting dark circles under his eyes, walked down from the second floor with a look of utter despair. Last night, the old man's snoring on the sofa downstairs was like a tractor going uphill, keeping him awake for half the night.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window, he saw Li Mingchang holding a teacup, energetically instructing David in Tai Chi push hands in the courtyard. David was stunned by the pushes.

Lin Yan went to the kitchen, filled a large glass with ice water, tilted his head back, and gulped it down in one go.

After drinking ice water, the internal heat was forcibly suppressed.

"Fine. You win, I admit defeat." Lin Yan slammed the glass down heavily on the kitchen counter, his voice echoing in the early morning living room.

In the courtyard, Li Mingchang's hands froze instantly. He stopped breathing, turned his head to stare at the kitchen, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile that could trap a fly.

"Have you figured it out?"

Lin Yan walked out in her slippers, held up three fingers, and looked at him expressionlessly.

"First, I will only be the nominal editor-in-chief. I will not go to Beijing or clock in at the ministry."

"Secondly, all meaningless seminars and award ceremonies should be canceled. I won't listen to the old man's ramblings."

"Third, the content to be compiled is entirely up to me and brooks no argument. Anyone who dares to interfere will be dismissed immediately. If you can't do these three things, you should take some nitroglycerin pills and go back to bed right now."

This is a blatant act of reverse power grab.

Li Mingchang thought the old man would hesitate, but he slapped his thigh and agreed faster than anyone else: "Deal! The ministry has already given me the highest authority. As long as you can come up with something impressive that will impress everyone, you can name your terms!"

After saying that, Li Mingchang displayed a speed far beyond that of a seventy-year-old man, quickly rolling up the bright red quilt on the sofa while muttering, "Hurry up, I've booked a flight back to Beijing this afternoon. This old sofa is too soft; it's making my old bones ache."

Watching the old man's swift and efficient packing movements, Lin Yan knew that he was completely under the old fox's thumb.

"Wait a minute." Li Mingchang rolled up his bedding, then suddenly stopped, his playful smile vanishing, and his expression became more serious than ever before.

"What kind of mischief are you up to now?" Lin Yan asked warily.

"It's no use me promising you." Li Mingchang pointed towards the door, his tone turning somber. "Those old scholars in the Ministry of Education and the Textbook Review Committee are the toughest nuts to crack."

"They're not as open-minded as I am. In their eyes, no matter how famous you are, you're just an 'actor' in the entertainment industry. If you want to bring the foundations of pop music into mainstream textbooks and get that supreme 'editor-in-chief' title, you have to get past them personally."

Li Mingchang picked up the snakeskin bag and took a deep breath: "The investigation team they formed will head straight to Xinghai City tomorrow morning."

Lin Yan didn't speak.

He turned around, slowly walked to the refrigerator, took out half a watermelon that he hadn't finished eating last night, and left Li Mingchang with an extremely casual view of the back of his head.

"Let them do it."

His tone was flat, yet it exuded an undeniable arrogance.