Chapter 7: His Song Is Not Bad

Yu Wei had to send out over two hundred digital red envelopes to thousands of authors just to reach the required reader engagement for his song. This earned him nicknames like "The Charity Boy" and "The Money-Sprinkler." The web literature circle is quite small, and many veteran authors belong to multiple groups; he feared his antics would spread through every reader group within ten minutes, becoming the latest joke among his peers.

"Some guy in Group 10 has lost his mind, spamming red envelopes to boost his stats."
"It's only twenty thousand words; why bother? If he has money to burn, he should just give it to me."
"Must be a newbie. It'll be hilarious when he flops and can't even recoup his losses."

Yu Wei was clearly too occupied to care. Once his novel's data met the requirement, he activated the song redemption. It wasn't until the entire composition became clear in his mind that he understood what the system meant by "complete mastery." He knew not only the result but the cause. He understood the song's inspiration, the creative process, and could even resonate with the creator's state of mind at the time. Yu Wei lacked formal music theory, yet he now possessed an exhaustive knowledge of the song's composition, arrangement, vocals, and performance. He could perform it perfectly, and if a professional were to discuss the details with him, he could hold his own. However, this was limited strictly to this one song; other works remained beyond his grasp. He was a "concept god," but only within that specific concept. It was as if he knew how to cook a perfect Mapo Tofu—masterful knife skills, precise heat, full theoretical and practical knowledge—but couldn't stir-fry a simple dish of shredded potatoes.

"Looks like I'll have to learn a thing or two later." Yu Wei decided to brush up on music fundamentals outside of his writing hours to handle unexpected situations. In novels, protagonists only follow the main quest, but real life is nothing but side quests. If a musician were to suddenly ask for his critique, he needed to have something substantive to say.

"Let's go exchange the song first." He couldn't delay; the performance setlist was being finalized. The music supervisor and staff were busy recording and tuning for Zhang Lingye when Yu Wei walked in. They were taken aback; this kid usually hid in the dance studio playing on his phone. Why was he in the recording booth today?

"Teacher, I want to change my song!" Yu Wei was brimming with confidence, a far cry from his hesitant demeanor two days ago.

*This kid still hasn't given up…* "The setlist is already made. It’s too late." Music supervisor Hong Hui gave a dry retort. The performance was the day after tomorrow; he had no time for Yu Wei's games.

"If it hasn't been released, it can be changed!" Yu Wei had persisted for days; he couldn't give up now. "This might be the last time I ever perform on stage. Please, give me a chance..."

Playing the emotional card always worked. Hong Hui remained silent for a long time before finally relenting, pushed along by Zhang Lingye’s support. "What do you want to sing? Let's record it quickly." The price of his soft heart was overtime.

"No need to record. I'll sing live," Yu Wei said, noticing the shift in their expressions. He added quickly, "I wrote it myself; there’s no time for an accompaniment track." Recording was usually for lip-syncing, which was less obvious with a live band. Since his new song couldn't be rehearsed with the band, he had to go it alone.

"Hey, buddy..." Zhang Lingye suspected he’d misheard. They had known each other for six years since their trainee days—when on earth did this guy learn to write songs? Still, since he’d come forward, he must have something. Zhang Lingye assumed it was likely mediocre or even unlistenable. *He knows he's being dropped from the industry,* he thought. *He just wants one last moment without regrets, to sing something he wrote himself...* If he were in that position, he’d want to do the same—pour his life’s experiences into a song and leave it on the stage as a memorial. *Seal my story here. Brother, I get you!*

"I've heard his song; it's decent. Teacher, look..."
"?" *Hey buddy, when did you hear it?*

Yu Wei was surprised by the sudden wingman, but help was help. "You're putting me in a tough spot," Hong Hui sighed, rubbing his temples. He was just the supervisor; too many departments were involved in the farewell show. "Fine. Sing it once. If it’s okay, I’ll take it to the director..." It was a classic bureaucratic shuffle; if it failed, it wasn't his fault. He doubted it would be any good—just another pretentious, self-indulgent song by a young idol who hadn't done anything for years.

"Lend me your guitar." Yu Wei gestured toward Zhang Lingye's instrument. He wanted to test his new skill.

"You play, too?"
"Didn't you say you'd heard it?"
"..." Zhang Lingye was speechless. He’d only said that to help! This kid was turning the tables on him—how vicious.

"Help me tune the guitar."
"You don't know how to tune it?" Zhang Lingye wondered if his friend had truly lost his mind.
"Ahem, it's better if you tune your own guitar." Yu Wei felt awkward. He only knew how to play *Heart Wall*; he hadn't figured out how to handle the "potatoes" of guitar maintenance yet.

Seeing this, Hong Hui and Zhang Lingye lost all faith. He couldn't play, couldn't write, yet he wanted to perform a self-accompanied song? They braced themselves for the impending disaster. Zhang Lingye felt even worse; he’d already decided he would have to praise the performance regardless of how bad it was. A brother had to support a brother.

Zhang Lingye turned away, unable to watch. But the next second, a flawlessly smooth guitar melody drifted from behind him. Before he could turn around, Yu Wei began to sing. He played and sang with a raw, human touch—the occasional minor slip or missed note only made it feel more authentic. It didn't sound like a canned recording; it sounded like a person truly performing.

"That's enough." Hong Hui cut him off after only a few lines. He had realized from the intro alone that this song was something else. Was this really written by Yu Wei? Had he misjudged him? Was the kid a genius?

"Tell me, Lingye, you actually called this 'decent'?"
Zhang Lingye gave a strained, awkward laugh. He had only been covering for him! If this was just "decent," then what did that make the rest of their group's songs? "Well... it’s... it's alright..."