Chapter 49

For several days in a row, Wu Yuchen kept calling Li Xiaoran’s family, making her eventually answer the phone with a sour tone, saying he sounded like a nosy old nanny checking up on her.

When Wu Yuchen inquired about the Lu-owned bar owner, he stopped pestering Li Xiaoran, but he showed up at the dance troupe demanding a refund; the troupe naturally refused—how could they return flower baskets sold through their own skill?

The Eastern Dance Troupe, being a national-level institution, was fiercely proud; the man named Lu had no recourse, and after a heated argument, he never returned again, seemingly giving up.

Upon hearing this news, Wu Yuchen breathed a sigh of relief and thereafter left Li Xiaoran alone, letting her return to her rented apartment outside.

Before long, it was December; Wu Yuchen had been living a full and busy life—attending classes during the day, spending evenings doting on Jiang Qin, and occasionally slipping home to check on his father’s progress with “Bright Sword,” offering suggestions whenever he could.

As for the “Dance of Martial Arts” documentary, his involvement had accelerated production dramatically: twenty out of twenty-two topics were already completed, and the entire crew was filled with laughter and cheer.

One day, Jia Leilei asked, “Dear colleagues, our documentary is nearly finished, but we still need a theme song—any suggestions?”

“Little Jia, asking us won’t help—we don’t know a thing about music.”

“Yeah, you’d better find someone from the academy who handles music.”

The China Art Research Institute had its own dedicated Music Research Institute, so connecting with relevant talent was no problem.

Jia Leilei smiled and said, “I was just thinking—maybe one of you here has inspiration? Doesn’t have to be composing music; writing lyrics works too!”

“You’ve got to ask Little Wu—if anyone’s got inspiration, it’s definitely him!” Everyone burst out laughing.

Everyone had watched Wu Yuchen’s performance over the past month—he was endlessly inventive, brimming with ideas; the older colleagues now fully recognized his talent and, having grown closer, naturally teased him freely.

Jia Leilei also smiled warmly at Wu Yuchen: “Little Wu, what do you say?”

Wu Yuchen hesitated, then asked uncertainly, “I do have a bit of inspiration, but I can only hum—I don’t know music theory or how to compose.”

“You really do!” Several older colleagues exclaimed in surprise.

Jia Leilei’s face lit up—he’d never been disappointed by Wu Yuchen so far.

“Not knowing how to compose doesn’t matter—I’ll get someone here to write it down while you hum it!”

Wu Yuchen nodded—he wasn’t worried anyone would suspect him, since in his past life he’d known more than one music genius in the industry who didn’t understand theory but could only hum and still produced countless songs.

Take Gao Jin, for example—the man who sang “My Good Brothers.” He didn’t know music theory, just hummed, and others turned his hums into dozens of songs; whether they were popular or not, they carried genuine emotion, and the people loved them.

Closer to home, Taiwan’s music scene once dominated Rock Records’ Flying Dolphin label with seven top Jinpai producers known as the “Five Chen, Two Li.” One of them, Chen Dali, couldn’t read sheet music and could only hum—but he composed hundreds of songs, including Ye Qianwen’s “Wander Freely” and “Live a Life with Sincerity,” Little Tiger’s “Love,” Lin Zhiying’s “Why Is It Always Me Who Gets Hurt?”, and Guo Fucheng’s “Love You.”

Honestly, if mainland China’s music copyright protection weren’t so abysmal, Wu Yuchen had seriously considered humming out a few hundred songs just to sell them.

“Little Wu, do you have lyrics for this inspiration?” one of the older colleagues asked directly.

“Yes.”

“Great! Write them down—we want to see them!” Everyone’s eyes brightened with interest.

Wu Yuchen didn’t dawdle; since he’d decided to share it, he’d write out both lyrics and melody.

He picked up his pen and wrote swiftly; when he finished, Jia Leilei took the lyrics and gathered with the older colleagues to read them.

[

Light fur coat, long sword, fiery steed, wild song

Loyalty and courage, stirring the mountains and rivers

What a free-spirited wanderer of the martial world

Dare to stand shoulder to shoulder with emperors

Soft heart, iron bones, a promise worth a thousand gold

Smoke and waves rise before and after life

What a fleeting wealth—what can you do to me?

Where the sword gleams, it weeps and sings]

A heart full of blood, never exhausted, the true spirit of heroes

Two feet, worn through deserts and great rivers

Three sighs, sighs, sighs—all for home and country

Across the land, people chant the song of righteous spirit

The language wasn’t ornate, but the imagery leapt instantly to life—reading it felt like stepping into a martial world of clashing swords, swift vengeance, endless deserts, and frost-like sword qi. One could see a free-spirited, unyielding hero, clad in a light fur coat, wielding a long sword, riding a fiery steed, singing wildly, aiding the weak, crushing tyrants, sacrificing himself to save his nation in its hour of peril!

“Excellent! What a martial wanderer! What a true hero’s spirit!”

“Hmm, loyal heart, heroic bones, grand ambition—what power!”

“It elevates the spirit of the hero to patriotism—brilliant!”

Everyone praised him without restraint; one elderly woman teased:

“Little Wu, if you’d lived in ancient times, you’d have been a great hero for sure!”

Wu Yuchen smiled modestly.

Jia Leilei’s face beamed:

“Little Wu, you’ve never let us down! Come with me—I’ll take you to find someone to compose the melody.”

Saying that, Jia Leilei pulled Wu Yuchen along, and moments later they arrived at another hall in the Gong Wangfu , another music research institute under their academy.

Inside a room, a thirty-something young man rose with a smile upon seeing Jia Leilei:

“Brother Jia, what brings you here?”

“I’ve come to trouble you, Brother Sun! We’ve got a melody here—could you help us compose it?”

Jia Leilei then introduced Wu Yuchen: “This is Sun Chuan—he’s incredibly talented. He composed ‘Viewing Flowers Through the Mist’ for Na Ying.”

“Nice to meet you, Teacher Sun!” Wu Yuchen greeted with a smile, his heart stirring slightly—he hadn’t expected Jia Leilei to bring him to the original composer of “Chinese Martial Soul.” But then again, they were all colleagues from the same institute; it wasn’t strange he’d be asked to help.

Still, he hadn’t realized Sun Chuan had composed “Viewing Flowers Through the Mist”—that was Na Ying’s breakout hit, the song that got her on the 1995 Spring Festival Gala.

Sun Chuan wasn’t surprised to hear Wu Yuchen didn’t know music theory and could only hum—it was common for ordinary people to get musical inspiration—and he asked Wu Yuchen to hum the tune while he wrote it down.

Half an hour later, as Sun Chuan put down his pen, Wu Yuchen volunteered:

“Teacher Sun, what do you think of the melody? I don’t know much about instruments—what do you suggest?”

“The melody’s excellent. I loved your lyrics—while writing, I felt it deeply. I’ll handle the orchestration myself—how’s that?” Sun Chuan effectively volunteered to arrange the entire piece.

“Thank you so much!”

“But Little Wu, you really are tone-deaf—if you want to sing this yourself, you’ve got your work cut out for you!” Sun Chuan teased with a grin.

Wu Yuchen laughed sheepishly: “Teacher Sun, don’t make fun of me—I know my limits. My singing talent is negative.”

“Not that bad~ If you like singing, practice regularly, you can improve.” Sun Chuan encouraged.

“No thanks—I’ll just be a good listener. How about you try singing it, Teacher Sun?”

“Me? My skills aren’t good enough.” Sun Chuan shook his head outright—he didn’t mind singing his own compositions, but he felt awkward singing someone else’s. In his past life, he’d sung this song himself—his voice was rough and lacked refinement, and his technique was indeed lacking.

He thought for a moment and said: “But I’ve recently collaborated with a singer—his voice has explosive power, grand and majestic—I think he’s perfect for your song.”

“Who’s that?” Wu Yuchen asked curiously.

“Tu Honggang.”