Entertainment: A song that brought his deceased wife back to life.

The taxi drove on the Third Ring Road for forty minutes, and Luo Qianyu chattered on and on the back seat the whole way.

From the famous scene of Fang Hong smashing a designer brand to the hilarious antics of netizens in the comments section, her mouth never stopped.

Xu Qing leaned against the car window the whole time, occasionally letting out a soft "hmm".

She thought he was really tired. When he got home, Xu Qing didn't take a shower and went straight into the study.

Luo Qianyu kicked off her Martin boots, walked barefoot on the floor, grabbed two cans of Coke from the refrigerator, and strolled over.

The door wasn't closed.

Xu Qing sat at her desk, her phone screen still lit up, displaying a news page.

He enlarged the photo that was taken at the scene.

A five- or six-year-old child sat on broken bricks and tiles, with black smoke and the charred skeleton of a building behind him. The left side of the child's face was covered in blood, and his eyes were so empty that it was suffocating.

That's not the look you should have at that age.

Luo Qianyu gently placed the cola on the corner of the table without making a sound.

Xu Qing stared into those eyes, her whole being like a statue.

She had never seen him like this before; it wasn't just simple anger, nor was it the fleeting sympathy of a bystander.

Luo Qianyu suddenly remembered that story.

"The boy was on the beach, throwing the stranded fish back into the sea one by one."

She recalled Xu Qing's nonchalant attitude when he donated the full amount of 1648 million yuan.

I remembered that he only had a pitiful 312.7 yuan left in his card.

I recall the top-secret reports of the Qinghe Foundation that it has never shown to the world.

He had seen it.

He had witnessed firsthand the suffocating despair in the photos of the Ichiro area in his Berlin laboratory. The expression on the face of that nineteen-year-old girl driven mad by the illegal testing by Deepsea Capital was probably exactly the same as the one in the photo.

"Xu Qing."

Luo Qianyu squatted down next to his chair and gently touched the back of his hand that was resting on his knee.

My fingertips are icy cold.

"Do whatever you want to do."

Luo Qianyu's voice was soft, yet unusually firm: "I'm not going anywhere, I'll stay here with you."

Xu Qing looked down at her, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty.

He didn't say anything.

But he grabbed her hand in return, with astonishing strength, as if he were grasping the last piece of driftwood.

That night, Xu Qing didn't go back to the bedroom. Only a desk lamp was left on in the study, its warm yellow light illuminating the blank musical staff on the table.

Luo Qianyu did not disturb him.

She ran to the kitchen and spent a full forty minutes cooking a small pot of millet porridge. After serving it, she placed it on the coffee table by the study door, gently knocked on the doorframe, and did not go in.

As she passed through the crack in the door, she peeked inside.

Xu Qing rested her forehead on her left hand, while her right hand held a pencil above the musical staff.

For a long time, not a single note was missed.

Half an hour later, the porridge had gone cold.

Luo Qianyu took the bowl in and replaced it with a hot one, and casually took the unopened can of cola.

Xu Qing still didn't look up.

Luo Qianyu walked up behind him, bent down, wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, and pressed her face against the back of his neck. Quietly, after more than ten seconds, Xu Qing's tense back finally relaxed a little.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.

Luo Qianyu didn't let go, resting her chin on his shoulder.

She saw that the phone screen on the table was lit up, filled with horrific photos of the Ichiro area: overcrowded field hospitals and rescue workers standing on the ruins.

Xu Qing's eyes were completely red.

Luo Qianyu felt a lump in her throat and buried her face in his neck. All suffering is endured by all living beings, yet you always seem to want to bear the world's hardships alone.

"Go ahead and write," she said in a muffled voice. "I'll stay here and watch over you."

Xu Qing raised his hand, covered her arms which were wrapped around his chest, and patted them gently twice. Then, he gripped the pencil tightly, and the first note fell heavily on the staff.

2:17 a.m.

The lamp bulb was replaced halfway through the session because it overheated.

Luo Qianyu moved a chair and huddled in the corner, wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to stay with him, but she couldn't resist the drowsiness and fell asleep with her head tilted to the side.

When I opened my eyes again, the sky outside the window was already turning a pale white. The study was filled with the dry smell of pencil shavings and paper. The bowl of porridge on the coffee table was finally empty.

Xu Qing was still sitting at the table, but the musical staff on the table was already covered with dense sheets of paper, and some pages had even fallen to the ground.

Luo Qianyu rubbed her eyes and walked over.

As I bent down to pick up the sheet music, my eyes were instantly fixed on the cover.

We Are The World

Lyrics and music: Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze

In the bottom right corner, there is a line of extremely messy pencil writing.

It's like a vow carved with all your might at the very end:

"Even dust can hold sparks, and the ordinary can give rise to legends."

"Dedicated to China, dedicated to Ichiro, dedicated to the world, dedicated to all the forgotten children."

Luo Qianyu's hands trembled uncontrollably.

She stood there, turning the pages one by one.

The structure of this song is so grand it's almost absurd; the chord progressions and choral parts resemble a magnificent musical cathedral rising from the ground.

The verses are extremely restrained, but the chorus bursts forth with a tension that strikes straight to the soul.

That explosive power wasn't for showing off skills, but rather an overwhelming, unreserved compassion and love.

This structure is located directly in the atmosphere!

When she reached the chorus of the song, Luo Qianyu completely broke down.

I couldn't hold back my tears; they just kept falling.

Before she could even wipe it away, a tear fell onto the musical staff, spreading the ink in a small circle.

Xu Qing turned to look at her.

After staying up all night, his face was frighteningly pale, and his eyes were bloodshot.

But his eyes were much clearer and calmer than they had been the night before.

It's like trekking through a long, dark night, finally welcoming the dawn.

"Why are you crying?" Xu Qing's voice was completely hoarse.

Luo Qianyu wiped her face haphazardly with the back of her hand, clutching the musical staff tightly to her chest, unable to suppress her sobs.

"Xu Qing... what exactly is inside your soul...?"

Xu Qing looked at her bright red nose and sighed helplessly.

He reached out and gently pulled the smudged page of sheet music back.

"Don't get it dirty, we still need to take it to the orchestra's rehearsal."

Luo Qianyu was so angry that she kicked his chair.

"Can't you just let me be quietly moved for three seconds? Not even three seconds?!"

Xu Qing ignored her protest, picked up a pencil, and used her fingertips to re-trace the blurred musical notes.

Go cook me a bowl of noodles.

Luo Qianyu stood there, tears still welling up in her eyes.

But she still sniffed hard and turned to walk towards the kitchen.

As she reached the door, she glanced back.

The morning light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, gently illuminating Xu Qing's pale profile.

He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, one hand firmly pressing down on the stack of musical scores, as if afraid the wind would blow them away.

Luo Qianyu bit her lower lip, forcing back all the remaining tears, and plunged into the kitchen.

The blue flames flickered, illuminating her reddened eyes.

As she scooped the noodles, she thought to herself, "This man is a monster."

He donated tens of millions without batting an eye, and was blacklisted and hunted down by capital. Even when his hand was injured and bleeding, he never shed a tear.

But last night, when he saw a complete stranger from the war zone, his eyes were red all night.

Luo Qianyu ladled out the noodles, topped them with a perfectly poached egg, and carried them back to her study.

This time, she walked directly to Xu Qing, squatted down, and brought the bowl to his nose.

"Go to sleep right after you finish eating."

Xu Qing opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the perfectly round fried egg, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

"Hey, the yolk didn't break."

"Nonsense, this is the ultimate egg I finally succeeded on after wasting eight eggs, okay?"

"What about the first seven?"

"They're all lying in the trash can, what's it to you!"

Xu Qing didn't argue back, took the bowl of noodles and ate heartily.

Luo Qianyu just squatted down beside him, resting her chin on her hands and looking at him without moving.

At the same time.

Across the ocean, in Manhattan, at the North American headquarters of Deepsea Capital.

In Marcus's private office, three huge electronic screens were lit up side by side.

On the left is a chart showing Xu Qing's voting trend in the third episode of "I Am a Singer," with the data line rising as steeply as a rocket taking off.

In the middle is the popularity monitor for Adam's song "Need Someone to Accompany Me," a glaring red that has completely covered European and American social networks.

On the right is a newly released public opinion warfare plan.

The cover of the PPT features several large, menacing characters:

"Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze: An Eastern Vampire with Absolutely No Social Responsibility."

Marcus stubbed out his expensive cigar in the ashtray, his knuckles clattering against the table.

"This Chinese tailor who only knows how to write love songs, does he really think he can defy fate?"

He glanced coldly at his assistant beside him, his eyes filled with malice.

"Next Monday, distribute this incriminating material across the entire internet! BBC Asia-Pacific, Reuters, and all those marketing accounts that have taken our money, get moving!"

"I want a unified message across all online press releases—that an actor who rakes in overseas royalties by writing love ballads is completely blind to the world's suffering; he's practically a cold-blooded animal!"

The assistant quickly jotted down notes in his notebook, nodding repeatedly.

Marcus stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Beneath my feet lies the cold yet bustling neon sea of ​​Manhattan.

"Did Adam Lambert think that staying in China would give him a get-out-of-jail-free card?"

Marcus's reflection was mirrored on the glass, and the cold smile on his face gradually twisted.

"Then I'll show the whole world what kind of selfish and despicable trash this so-called genius he's protecting really is!"

"I'm going to completely destroy him in this media war!"