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

Beijing, National Stadium, Bird's Nest.

There are only three days left until the opening of the Asian Culture and Arts Festival. A full-scale, closed-door rehearsal is underway here.

Inside the Bird's Nest, a huge circular array of lights flashed continuously, illuminating the stage as if it were daytime.

The humming of various equipment and the director's instructions mingled together, creating complete chaos on set.

The VIP seats in the front row of the inner area.

South Korean heartthrob Kim Tae-woo, sporting a sophisticated smoky makeup look and a sequined suit, leaned back in his chair like a lord.

He was surrounded by seven or eight assistants and bodyguards, some fanning him and others holding specially supplied imported mineral water.

Not far away, Japanese diva Miho Watanabe, dressed in a modified kimono-style short skirt, was watching the concert choreography on a tablet, her expression exuding an innate arrogance.

It's 3 PM. It's the China region representatives' turn for rehearsal.

Shen Qingqiu, dressed in a simple black tracksuit and without makeup, walked to the center of the stage.

She had no backup dancers, nor any complicated props. There was only a lone microphone stand.

"Cut the audio source, track three," the assistant director shouted into the walkie-talkie.

The prelude begins.

However, the moment the sound came out, the entire stage's sound system suddenly emitted an extremely piercing howl.

The sharp, high-frequency noise tore at eardrums, and everyone present covered their ears in pain.

Shen Qingqiu was the first to be hit, and was forced back a step by the huge sound wave, his brows furrowed.

Upon seeing this, Kim Tae-woo, who was sitting in the audience, burst out laughing.

He turned to his manager and loudly mocked in Korean, "Is this the level of the Chinese team? They can't even suppress a howl. Don't blame me for requesting a reduction in their rehearsal time later."

Miho Watanabe also curled her lips into a cold smile and shook her head with disdain in her eyes.

On the control panel, several Chinese audio engineers were sweating profusely, frantically checking the wiring: "That's impossible! It was working perfectly fine just now. How could the signals from the third and fourth tracks suddenly be conflicting!"

Just as chaos erupted at the scene and Kim Tae-woo was about to start a commotion demanding that the organizing committee replace him.

The entrance to the Bird's Nest's No. 1 passage.

With a muffled thud, the heavy metal door was violently pushed open.

The blinding sunlight streamed in from the entrance of the passageway.

A figure walks towards the light.

He was wearing a pilling grey hooded sweatshirt and loose jeans.

The most outrageous thing was that he was wearing a black and white checkered kitchen apron around his waist.

The edge of a stainless steel long-handled spoon was faintly visible in the pocket of the apron.

The person who arrived was Lin Yan.

He was originally making rock sugar pear soup for Shen Qingqiu in the makeshift kitchen backstage when he heard about the sound system malfunction in the frontstage, so he grabbed a soup ladle and rushed out.

Lin Yan's steps were not large, but extremely fast.

He exuded a terrifyingly low-pressure aura that kept strangers at bay.

He walked straight through the inner area, completely ignoring the way Kim Tae-woo and the others looked at him like he was mentally ill.

Lin Yan walked up to the control panel. He shoved aside the foreign audio instructor who was frantically pushing and pulling levers.

"What are you doing! Non-staff members are not allowed to touch the control panel!" the foreigner roared in broken Chinese, preparing to reach out and stop him.

Lin Yan didn't even lift his eyelids.

He held the mixing console with one hand, while his right hand's ten fingers swept across the hundreds of faders and knobs as if playing a piano.

His hand speed was so fast that it left afterimages.

"Cut the low frequencies below 40Hz, and limit the high frequencies to 4:1. You bunch of idiots have connected the output of channel four bus to the monitor; if this doesn't cause feedback, even Newton would turn in his grave!"

Lin Yan's cold voice boomed throughout the venue through the still-on main microphone.

Less than ten seconds.

The whistling stopped abruptly. The massive audio system was instantly tamed, leaving only an extremely pure background electrical noise.

Lin Yan grabbed the communication microphone on the control panel, his gaze piercing through dozens of meters to precisely lock onto Kim Tae-woo and Watanabe Miho in the guest seats.

"Who was talking nonsense in the audience just now?"

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable air of dominance.

The venue, which had a capacity of 100,000, was so quiet you could hear someone breathing. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the man wearing an apron.

Kim Tae-woo's manager immediately jumped up and rebuked him in broken Chinese: "Who are you? How dare you mess with the equipment like that! You're responsible for delaying Mr. Kim Tae-woo's rehearsal time!"

Lin Yan chuckled.

"I am Lin Yan. The producer of this song."

He casually slammed the stainless steel ladle onto the control panel, making a crisp "clang" sound.

"Wasting time? Those assembly-line pop songs churned out by synthesizers in South Korea, you call that a rehearsal?"

"A piece of trash who can't even play three basic chords properly will shut up and listen quietly in my place."

These words were merciless, a direct and scathing rebuke that shattered Kim Tae-woo's aloof demeanor.

Upon hearing the accompanying translator's words, Kim Tae-woo's face instantly turned ashen, and he abruptly stood up, ready to unleash his fury.

Lin Yan didn't give him a chance to speak at all.

Press the master play button directly on the control panel with your finger.

"Qingqiu, ignore these trash. Speak up."

On stage, Shen Qingqiu watched Lin Yan, wearing an apron and holding a microphone, commanding the stage with an air of authority, and a barely suppressed smile flashed in her eyes.

The tension and grievances I felt earlier completely vanished at that moment.

She held the microphone with both hands.

thump.

The chime bells began to ring.

Ethereal, ancient, as if it has crossed the barrier of two thousand years of time and space.

Immediately afterwards, a huge drumbeat resounded, like a thunderclap, across the Bird's Nest dome.

The top-of-the-line sound system, costing around 100,000 yuan, unleashed an incredibly powerful dynamic range under Lin Yan's extreme tuning and adjustments.

Shen Qingqiu closed his eyes.

Focus your energy in your lower abdomen and straighten your back.

"The long night breaks into dawn, and the mountains and rivers endure for eternity."

Her powerful vocals, reminiscent of a Qingyi opera singer, pierced the sky like a sharp sword.

The extremely terrifying sound pressure and penetrating power, combined with the majestic momentum of a symphony, seemed to be about to lift the roof off the entire venue.

There's no fancy technical embellishment whatsoever. This is the purest power of sound, a testament to the profound heritage of five thousand years of Chinese civilization.

offstage.

Kim Tae-woo's legs, which had just straightened up, suddenly gave way, and he slumped back into the leather seat.

His arrogance and haughtiness shattered, and he froze on the spot, his scalp tingling. The sheer volume of sound was so overwhelming that he couldn't even breathe properly.

Miho Watanabe, standing next to her, trembled and dropped her tablet on the ground with a "thud," cracking the screen in several places.

Her eyes widened, and her body trembled uncontrollably. She had never experienced such an epic live performance, not even with the national treasures of Japanese singers!

The song ended.

The final drumbeat brought the song to a heavy close, its lingering echo reverberating long afterward in the empty Bird's Nest stadium.

The entire room was silent for a full half minute.

The next second, regardless of whether they were stagehands, directors, or set designers from various countries, or whether they understood Chinese or not, they all spontaneously stood up and applauded thunderously.

Lin Yan stood in front of the control panel, arms crossed.

The black and white checkered kitchen apron stood out under the spotlights, but at this moment, no one dared to utter a single laugh.

He glanced coldly at the Japanese and Korean celebrity team slumped in their chairs.

"Remember all of this."

Lin Yan picked up the communication microphone, his tone eerily calm.

"On Chinese soil, when it comes to music, I am the rule."

After saying that, Lin Yan turned around decisively.

He yanked the ladle out of the control panel and strode towards the backstage area.