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

3 PM.

Lin Yan was abruptly awakened by a loud, piercing noise from downstairs.

He scratched his head and sat up in bed. Shen Qingqiu was standing in front of the French windows, looking down through the gap in the curtains with a somewhat subtle expression.

"What's wrong?" Lin Yan yawned, threw off the covers, and got out of bed.

Walking to the window, Lin Yan glanced down following Shen Qingqiu's gaze and immediately gasped.

The plaza in front of the George V Hotel was now completely blocked by a huge crowd.

This is definitely not an ordinary fan.

They were a group of well-dressed, sophisticated foreigners who seemed almost mad.

Some were carrying cello cases, some were holding thick stacks of manuscripts, and there were even several burly men who worked together to push a huge harp, squeezing themselves right next to the fountain.

The hotel security personnel, sweating profusely, set up three lines of cordon, barely managing to stop the group of artists' frenzied attack.

"Lin! Please give me some pointers on my violin fingering! Just one line!"

"Mr. Lin! Please accept my symphony manuscript! Even just a glance would be appreciated!"

"Master Lin! I am the concertmaster of the Berlin Philharmonic! Please come down, I want to become sworn brothers with you!"

Even through the top-notch soundproof glass of more than ten floors, the foreigners' shrill shouts could still faintly reach Lin Yan's ears.

Lin Yan's face instantly darkened.

What kind of honeymoon is this? I really can't stand staying in Paris anymore.

The European classical music scene's fervor for pure music far surpasses that of the domestic fandom's pursuit of celebrities.

These big shots don't care about personal relationships; they only recognize absolute strength.

Lin Yan's two-minute rewrite of the score, coupled with his impromptu performance of "To Qingqiu," was tantamount to dropping a nuclear bomb into the European elite circle.

Shen Qingqiu lowered the curtains, turned to look at Lin Yan, and sighed.

"That big mouth of Pierre sold your hotel information to the entire European art world. Now, downstairs, there are members of royal symphony orchestras from at least three countries blocking the way."

Lin Yan didn't respond and walked silently towards the dressing room.

He dragged out his suitcase, unzipped it, and started throwing clothes inside like a whirlwind.

"Pack your things, honey." Lin Yan moved swiftly and decisively. "We're not going to Switzerland, and we're not going salmon fishing either. Let's go home."

Shen Qingqiu was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter.

She has always preferred quiet and didn't want to be stared at like a monkey in a zoo, so she joined in tidying up without saying a word.

The two of them finished packing all their luggage in ten minutes.

Lin Yan didn't dare to notify the hotel front desk.

He sent a private message directly to the hotel's French general manager, simply and directly bribing him with double the room rate.

Fifteen minutes later.

Wearing a black baseball cap and a mask, Lin Yan shielded Shen Qingqiu in his arms and, under the cover of the hotel's security supervisor, successfully escaped from the George V Hotel via the underground freight elevator used for transporting linens.

We got into an unassuming Citroën sedan and sped off towards Charles de Gaulle Airport.

I bought a first-class ticket for the next available flight to Xinghai City, China.

It wasn't until the plane entered the stratosphere and Lin Yan looked out at the vast sea of ​​clouds that he finally let out a long breath and completely removed his mask.

"These foreigners are too fierce. I'll never come to Europe again, even if you kill me."

Lin Yan slumped in the large airline seat, looking like he had just survived a disaster.

Shen Qingqiu couldn't help but laugh when she saw his disheveled yet down-to-earth appearance.

More than ten hours later.

The plane landed smoothly at Xinghai International Airport.

Stepping out of the terminal, the familiar sultry sea breeze hit me; it was already 11 p.m. back home.

Lin Yan dragged his suitcase and took a deep breath.

The air was filled with the smells of car exhaust and the aroma of cumin from roadside stalls in the distance; to him, this was the taste of absolute freedom.

There was no boring classical music, no difficult Hollywood moguls, and no various gods forcing him to write songs.

Lin Yan, holding Shen Qingqiu's hand, didn't even glance at the Maybach waiting in the VIP lane, but instead strolled straight towards the main road outside the airport.

Under an overpass at the airport intersection, a dim, yellowish incandescent light was on.

A well-worn, modified tricycle was parked there, its glass display case emitting enticing steam.

"Boss, two sets of deluxe jianbing guozi, please!" Lin Yan strode over, his voice booming.

"Add two eggs, two sausages, and plenty of crispy crackers! Spread some sweet bean sauce on it, and make it less spicy."

The stall owner, an older woman, was idly scrolling through short videos when she heard about the big sale and immediately stood up.

"Alright, young man, here you go!"

The woman skillfully scooped up a spoonful of batter and spread it evenly on the hot griddle using a bamboo dragonfly.

Crack an egg on top, sprinkle with chopped green onions and black sesame seeds—the movements are fluid and seamless.

The older woman looked up at Lin Yan, then glanced at Shen Qingqiu standing beside him, who was wearing a simple trench coat but whose exceptional temperament was undeniable.

"Wow, young man, you look very handsome, and your wife is beautiful too. Just got off the plane?"

The middle-aged woman chuckled and chatted with the idle chatter, completely unaware that the two casually dressed people in front of her were the top celebrities who had just caused a sensation among 100,000 people at the Bird's Nest.

"Just got back from a trip abroad." Lin Yan leaned comfortably against the tricycle. "Is the food abroad even fit for humans? I'm craving your pancakes."

"Absolutely! I've been running this stall here for ten years, and my skills are absolutely authentic!"

The woman quickly wrapped two huge jianbing guozi (Chinese crepes) in a plastic bag and handed them over.

Thirty yuan.

Lin Yan quickly scanned the code to pay, took the piping hot pancake, and handed one to Shen Qingqiu.

The two didn't care about being superstars at all; they simply walked to the curb under the overpass and sat down side by side.

The dim streetlights cast long shadows of the two people.

Lin Yan couldn't wait to take a bite.

The crunch of the crispy biscuit, the aroma of the caramelized egg, and the rich sweet bean sauce instantly filled his mouth, and he squinted his eyes in satisfaction.

"It's still better in China, it's still more comfortable at home." Lin Yan chewed on a pancake, his cheeks bulging as he mumbled indistinctly.

Shen Qingqiu held the pancake and ate it in small bites.

She turned her head and looked at the unassuming man beside her, who exuded a down-to-earth charm, her eyes filled with tenderness.

In Europe, he is the god of classical music, worshipped by top celebrities; in Hollywood, he is a legend who would pay fifty million dollars for a single piece of music.

But at this moment, here, he was just an ordinary man sitting on the curb eating a jianbing (Chinese crepe). He was her husband.

"Lin Yan." Shen Qingqiu swallowed her food and called him softly.

"Hmm?" Lin Yan turned his head, a noticeable smear of sauce still on the corner of his mouth.

Shen Qingqiu gave him a thumbs up and naturally wiped the sauce from the corner of his mouth.

"You're back in China now. What are your plans for the future?" she asked with a light laugh.

Lin Yan stretched out a big yawn as he watched the occasional night taxi drive by, his bones cracking.

"Sleep in tomorrow. Then go to the market and buy two pounds of pork ribs to make you sweet and sour pork ribs. We'll play games in the afternoon, and then I'll take you for a walk along the river in the evening."

Lin Yan clapped the sesame seeds off his hands and made the final decision.

"My life as a 'salted fish' after retiring from the industry has officially restarted. From now on, no one can expect me to write another note."