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

The next morning at 10:00 AM.

"I Don't Want to Go to Work" Group Headquarters, 66th Floor, Top-of-the-Line Soundproof Conference Room.

Lin Yan leaned lazily against the large boss's chair, toying with a black fountain pen in his well-defined fingers. For the first time today, he was wearing a plain-colored sweatshirt without any cartoon patterns—Shen Qingqiu had forced him to change into it that morning, saying, "At least give me some face when you're going to see a national-level expert."

Across the conference table sat three elderly men with gray hair, dressed meticulously in custom-made Zhongshan suits.

Seated in the center is Professor Zhou Chongshan, Director of the Institute of Classical Chinese Literature and head of the Textbook Review Committee. The two beside him are equally renowned figures in Chinese classical studies, whose mere presence would shake the entire field of musicology.

At that moment, the air in the conference room seemed to solidify into lead, so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Sitting next to Lin Yan, Li Mingchang was frantically kicking Lin Yan's shoes under the table, desperately trying to signal to this little tyrant to tone down his sharp edge.

"Mr. Lin." Zhou Chongshan placed his hands on the table with his fingers interlaced, his gaze sharp as if scrutinizing a failing student. "I've heard your songs. They're very popular among young people and have been very commercially successful."

He emphasized the word "business".

"But education is not a game of capital. This set of music textbooks carries the cultural bloodline of five thousand years of Chinese civilization. What we want to pass on to the next generation is highbrow culture, the broad-minded spirit in poetry and songs, not those dry, empty words, or the fast-food emotions of 'walking alone in a dark alley'." Zhou Chongshan's tone was rigid, with the undisguised arrogance and rejection characteristic of a scholar.

A leading figure on the left coldly chimed in: "The current pop music scene is full of assembly-line products that pile up fancy words and force rhymes. Songs without a literary foundation are castles in the air, not even reaching the threshold of our textbooks."

Lin Yan's fingertips stopped moving.

With a soft "snap," the pen was casually placed on the table.

"So, according to the professors, what kind of things deserve to be included in textbooks?" Lin Yan raised his eyelids slightly and looked directly at Zhou Chongshan.

Zhou Chongshan pushed a red-headed document towards him expressionlessly.

"The standards are simple. The material must be taken from orthodox classical Chinese poetry. The melody must match the modern aesthetics of young people and be easy to sing. At the same time, the melody must not overshadow the poem; it must perfectly capture the artistic conception of the poem and achieve true 'unity of lyrics and music'."

Zhou Chongshan stared into Lin Yan's eyes, his tone slightly menacing: "Old Li vouched for you with his reputation, guaranteeing you the position of editor-in-chief. Today, we'll give you a chance to demonstrate a poem on the spot."

"If what you produce is still the same shoddy industrial garbage from the entertainment industry, then I'm sorry. Even if we old-timers complain all the way to the central government, we will definitely get you out of this editor-in-chief position."

Li Mingchang broke out in a cold sweat. This request was simply unreasonable. Setting ancient poems to music required both extremely high literary skill and the ability to cater to modern popular aesthetics—it was a complete paradox. Countless top composers in China had failed miserably in this daunting task.

Lin Yan didn't even reach out to touch the document; he glanced at it indifferently and casually pushed it away.

He didn't argue or refute. He simply stood up, supporting himself on the table with one hand, and walked straight to the Steinway grand piano worth three million next to the floor-to-ceiling window of the conference room.

He opened the piano lid and sat down.

His slender fingers glided smoothly across the black and white keys, testing the tone.

"How about Song Dynasty poetry?" Lin Yan didn't even turn her head, her tone as relaxed as if she were asking what to have for lunch.

Zhou Chongshan's brows furrowed instantly: "Song lyrics have varying line lengths and extremely complex rhymes, making them the toughest nut to crack when setting classical Chinese texts to music. Are you sure?"

"Then let's have Su Shi's 'Prelude to Water Melody.' The one for the Mid-Autumn Festival."

After Lin Yan uttered those words, he immediately cut off the communication.

He closed his eyes slightly and hovered his hands above the piano keys for two seconds.

The next instant, fingertips lightly touched the keys.

Ding--

A pristine, timeless piano prelude, imbued with a sense of timelessness and solitude that seemed to transcend a thousand years, spread out like moonlight in the vast conference room.

It lacks the complexity and grandeur of Western symphonies, possessing only a pure and unique sense of blank space characteristic of classical Chinese aesthetics.

Zhou Chongshan's gaze, which had been filled with scrutiny and rejection, suddenly froze the moment the musical notes entered his ears.

Fifteen seconds later, the intro slowed down. Lin Yan leaned forward slightly, closer to the microphone on the piano stand.

He abandoned his previous powerful commercial voice and instead adopted a soft, ethereal voice, as if he were truly drinking alone under the moon, switching between true and falsetto.

"When will the moon be clear and bright? I raise my cup to ask the blue sky."

"I wonder what year it is tonight in the celestial palace..."

The moment he opened his mouth was the decisive blow.

The three old scholars sitting opposite him, who were about to pick up their pens to point out flaws, froze in mid-air.

The overwhelming visual impact completely overwhelmed the physical barrier of reinforced concrete. Those present seemed instantly transported back to a Mid-Autumn Festival night a thousand years ago, witnessing the wandering scholar Su Shi, holding a half-empty cup of wine, standing alone on a high platform, gazing up at the heavens.

There are no greasy technical tricks, and no fancy electronic music synthesis.

Lin Yan's singing voice blended perfectly with Steinway's clear sustained notes, capturing the varying rhymes and pauses in the Song lyrics with flawless precision.

"I long to ride the wind and return, but I fear the jade palaces and crystal towers are too cold at such heights."

"Dancing with my shadow, how unlike the mortal world!"

The melody suddenly rises to a high pitch, but it doesn't sound sharp at all. Instead, it reveals a kind of magnanimity and clarity that comes from being tempered by time and transcending worldly concerns.

The musicologist on the right wobbled slightly in his purple clay teacup, splashing scalding tea onto the back of his hand, but he seemed oblivious to the pain. He stared intently at the figure standing before the piano, muttering unconsciously, "This is impossible… this semitone transition, this nuanced phrasing… this melody, it's as if it were carved onto bamboo slips a thousand years ago along with this poem!"

The interlude flows smoothly, like the moon emerging from the clouds.

Lin Yan's fingering on the piano keys suddenly quickened, her emotions building layer by layer, surging to a climax.

"Turning to the vermilion pavilion, lowering the embroidered window, the light shines on the sleepless."

"There should be no resentment, so why does the moon always seem to be full when we are apart?"

Between each word and phrase, there was a touch of profound peace that came from having weathered countless storms. It was a gentleness born from a thorough understanding of the joys and sorrows of the world.

Zhou Chongshan subconsciously held his breath. He had studied classical literature his whole life and knew better than anyone the immense weight the four characters "Shuidiao Getou" carried in the Chinese literary tradition. Over the years, he had seen countless people seeking fame and fortune attempt to set this poem to music, all of which were cobbled together awkwardly, like trying to put a burlap sack on a beautiful woman.

But at this moment, Lin Yan's performance was flawless.

The melody is like a pair of invisible hands, steadily supporting the ancient texts; and the texts, in turn, endow this set of modern notes with an indelible soul.

The emotions reached their peak.

"People experience sorrow and joy, separation and reunion; the moon waxes and wanes, and nothing in this world is ever perfect."

May we all live long and share the beauty of the moon, though separated by a thousand miles.

Lin Yan drew out the last four words with an extremely long and steady breath. The distant echo lingered in the empty conference room, like a long sigh that had traveled through a thousand years, its lingering sound resonating long afterward.

Fingertips leave the piano keys.

Lin Yan casually closed the piano lid.

The huge conference room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, with only the slightly rapid breathing of the three elderly people rising and falling.

Lin Yan stood up as if nothing had happened and walked back to the conference table. He picked up the black fountain pen and took out a blank A4 sheet of paper.

He smoothly drew out the musical staff, filling in the notes, rests, and chord progressions. Without the slightest pause or correction, the entire process was seamless and took no more than three minutes.

Lin Yan pressed two fingers against the slightly dry ink on the A4 paper and pushed it in front of Zhou Chongshan, who was still in a daze.

"The arrangement of 'Shuidiao Getou' is extremely simple, requiring only a piano and a few strings as a base. It doesn't need any fancy mixing, and students can achieve good results by singing it a cappella in the classroom."

Lin Yan casually rested his hands on the edge of the table, looking down at the elderly men whose worldviews had been greatly shaken, his tone as calm as if he were stating a trivial fact.

"I have hundreds more songs in my head that are at this level. I can get as many as you need."

"Now, is it qualified to be included in your textbook?"

Zhou Chongshan's gaze was fixed on the sheet music, his withered fingers trembling slightly.

He suddenly stood up.

Because of the hasty movement, the solid wood chair behind him scraped against the floor, making an extremely piercing, sharp sound.

This academic giant, who usually looks down on celebrities and scorns the popularity of celebrities, actually took a half step back in front of everyone, pressed his hands tightly against his trouser seams, and bowed deeply to the young man in his early twenties.

"Mr. Lin, we were arrogant before!" Zhou Chongshan's eyes reddened, and his voice trembled. "This piece is more than just something that can be included in textbooks. It can stand as a monument, recorded in the annals of modern Chinese music history!"

Upon seeing this, the two luminaries beside them also pushed back their chairs without hesitation, their faces filled with shame and an almost fanatical sense of pilgrimage, and bowed in unison.

Watching this scene unfold, Li Mingchang was so excited that the wrinkles on his old face beamed with joy. He had known for a while that Lin Yan, this newcomer, could keep these old fogies in check, but he never dared to imagine that he could directly defeat the national team and make them submit on the spot!

"Alright, forget it. You can keep the score; figure out the details yourselves."

Lin Yan didn't take this shocking bow seriously at all. He casually put his hands into his hoodie pocket and turned to walk towards the door.

"I have to go to the company's annual meeting with my wife this afternoon. Regarding that textbook, don't bother me with pop-up messages anymore, except for submitting the music."

The heavy conference room door was pulled open and then slammed shut.

Zhou Chongshan held the thin sheet of music in his hands, pressing it to his chest as if it were a priceless treasure. He turned to look at Li Mingchang beside him, his eyes filled with unbelievable shock.

"Mr. Li, our Chinese entertainment industry... this is truly a god!"