Chapter 49: Preparations Before the Competition

The internet in this world was incredibly developed; it took only two days after Lin Chuan acquired the Quancheng Television Station for the news to spread online. Many netizens believed Lin Chuan was a fool, spending money to buy a television station on the verge of bankruptcy—playing with fire, they called it.

Of course, where there were dissenters, there were supporters, too. A small group of netizens declared unconditional support for Lin Chuan, stating that from today onward, they would closely follow the station’s programs. Leveraging Lin Chuan’s fame, the television station’s attention had indeed increased, and ratings rose as well. Yet it was only a slight increase; compared to the major stations, it was a drop in the ocean, unable to change the current predicament.

As the protagonist of this affair, Lin Chuan had hardly been idle—over the past two days, he received several phone calls. Among them, Huang Quan called to offer congratulations, while straightforward personalities like Li Rong and Tang Qinru called to question his actions, utterly unable to comprehend Lin Chuan’s decision.

It was no wonder; if not for Lin Chuan, few would even know about Quancheng Television Station. Apart from some elderly locals, who would care about it? Let alone it becoming a hot topic among fans and netizens online.

Beyond this, everyone was even more interested in the semifinal of “A Song to Fame,” just two days away. Though this round wouldn’t have the program team assigning songs to contestants as before, the difficulty of advancing was not diminished—it was, if anything, even tougher.

Rumor had it that this contest would feature three hundred judges, each with some connection to music. Most were staff from major music websites, and there were even professionals invited from record companies. These people dealt daily with all kinds of music—popular, obscure, classic, rock, and more. For them, ordinary music could barely reach their ears; even Lin Chuan’s earlier original songs would struggle to win over this judging panel.

As heated discussions raged online about what kind of song Lin Chuan would choose for this round, he had already quietly returned to Beining, accompanied by Lin Yiyang.

“Dad, aren’t we going home?” Lin Yiyang asked, puzzled, as they sat in the taxi.

Lin Chuan smiled and replied, “Let’s stop by the kindergarten first, say hello to Teacher Xiaoyue, and let her know we’re back.”

“Hooray! I finally get to see Teacher Xiaoyue again!” Lin Yiyang laughed happily.

During their days in Quancheng, Lin Chuan was busy with television station affairs, neglecting Lin Yiyang quite a bit. During the day, Lin Chuan was absent, leaving only the old man to accompany the child. At first, it was alright—everything was novel and interesting. But as time passed, the little one began to grow restless. The old man’s only pastime was sipping a little wine and watching television, nothing unusual. But to sit in the living room every day, watching Quancheng Satellite TV that never changed channels—anyone would go mad.

Soon, the taxi stopped at the kindergarten entrance. It was just past three in the afternoon, not yet dismissal time. Lin Chuan took out his phone and called Wang Yue.

Before long, Wang Yue came out from inside. Upon seeing her, Lin Yiyang handed his backpack to Lin Chuan and ran over, calling out “Teacher Xiaoyue” as he went.

The gatekeeper smiled and made no attempt to stop him.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Wang Yue said coldly, emerging from the gate with Lin Yiyang in her arms.

Lin Chuan laughed awkwardly. “The competition’s coming up; of course I had to return.”

“Oh,” Wang Yue nodded, saying nothing more.

Lin Chuan wasn’t bothered; he’d known Wang Yue long enough to understand her personality. He smiled gently. “Are you free tonight? Want to go out for dinner?”

“What, you bought a television station and now you’re rich?” Wang Yue’s expression remained indifferent.

Lin Chuan gave a sheepish laugh and hurried to explain, “No, I just wanted to thank you for helping Yiyang with his leave—it’s long overdue, and I thought I’d invite you to dinner.”

“No need, I have plans tonight,” Wang Yue replied coolly.

“Uh… alright then, maybe another day when you’re free,” Lin Chuan said, smiling with disappointment.

Wang Yue nodded and said nothing more.

An awkward atmosphere hung between them; they exchanged only a few hesitant words before Lin Chuan turned away with Lin Yiyang. Wang Yue stood for a while, watching until the father and son disappeared onto the bus, then slowly walked back into the kindergarten.

...

That evening, after dinner, Lin Chuan sat on his bed with his battered guitar, strumming and singing.

“The rain keeps falling, the mood is far from warm. Beneath the same roof, you feel your heart changing. You love him, perhaps with a touch of hate. Youth spent, only to accompany him in play…”

This song was “The Rain Keeps Falling,” a work by Zhang Yu from his previous life, one Lin Chuan had always loved. Even before his rebirth, its popularity remained high.

But halfway through, Lin Yiyang covered his mouth and giggled.

“Dad, it’s not raining now…”

Lin Chuan sighed. Truth be told, if he really used this song in the competition, he wasn’t confident at all.

He changed the guitar’s rhythm and continued singing.

“Do you know, loving you isn’t easy—it takes courage. Maybe it’s fate; so much left unsaid, afraid you couldn’t bear it… Having you along the way, I’d endure hardships, even if only to meet you through separation. Having you along the way…”

It was “Having You Along the Way” by Zhang Xueyou. Midway through, Lin Chuan faltered again. Lin Yiyang rested his chin in his hands, eyes glistening with unshed tears, staring at Lin Chuan in silence, lost in thought.

Did he understand the lyrics? Lin Chuan shook his head; it seemed children, like women, were best left unguessed.

“Hey, I really miss you. Outside the window, rain falls again. My eyes are dry, but there’s a feeling of wanting to cry. I don’t know where you are now. Hey, I really miss you—so many emotions, so few fitting expressions. The words I most want to say, where should I begin? Are you missing someone, just like me…”

“Dad, are you missing her?” Lin Yiyang suddenly asked, without preamble.

Immersed in “If There’s No You,” Lin Chuan’s fingers paused on the guitar strings.

“Who am I missing?” Lin Chuan asked.

“Hehe, no one. Dad, I want to hear you sing ‘Give and Take.’” Lin Yiyang giggled, giving no answer.

Lin Chuan looked deeply at his son. Of course, he knew who Lin Yiyang meant. But since the boy didn’t want to answer, Lin Chuan wouldn’t press.

He raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “‘Give and Take’? Have I sung that song?”

“Of course you have! It’s the one… ‘I keep asking from you, but never said thank you…’” Lin Yiyang recited in his young voice, recalling the song “Give and Take” from his memory.

After a few lines, Lin Chuan laughed. It was the song “Father” he’d sung a few days ago—he hadn’t expected his son to like it so much.

So, Lin Chuan strummed the guitar again, and music filled the air.

Always asking from you, never once saying thank you
Only after growing up did I see how hard it was for you
Every time I left, I pretended to be at ease
Smiling, saying “Go on home,” then turning, tears wetting my eyes
How I wish things were as before, holding your warm hand
But you’re no longer by my side, so I send the breeze to bring you peace
Time, please slow down, don’t let you grow old so soon
I’d give everything I have to keep your years here with me
...

The song drifted through the small room, two figures—one large, one small—leaning against each other, softly humming along.

For some reason, Lin Yiyang hadn’t inherited Lin Chuan’s musical talent at all; he always sang out of tune, sometimes even dragging Lin Chuan along into his off-key world. Hearing his father’s complaints, the boy burst into laughter, leaving Lin Chuan utterly helpless.

Time passed swiftly; before he knew it, it was past ten at night.

Father and son lay on the bed, gazing out the window at the night sky.

Tonight, the moon was full, and the stars twinkled across the heavens.

“Time to sleep; you have kindergarten tomorrow,” Lin Chuan said, patting his son gently.

“Dad, tell me a story. I haven’t heard you tell one in ages,” Lin Yiyang pleaded, his brows furrowed.

“What story do you want?” Lin Chuan smiled.

“Not ‘Snow White’ again; tell me a new one.”

“Alright, then let me tell you the story of Sun Wukong’s havoc in Heaven… Long, long ago, atop a mountain called Flower Fruit Mountain, stood a magical stone. One day, the stone cracked open, and a monkey sprang forth. This monkey was extraordinary; not only did he seize Flower Fruit Mountain, he became king of all the monkeys.”

“Dad, is that monkey Sun Wukong?” Lin Yiyang listened intently, fascinated.

“Yes, that’s Sun Wukong. Later, to protect his fellow monkeys, Sun Wukong traveled everywhere, seeking teachers and learning skills. Under the guidance of Master Bodhi, he mastered seventy-two transformations. These skills were remarkable—not only could he turn into a tiny fly, he could become a gigantic elephant…”

“Dad, why would he want to become a fly? That’s gross…” Lin Yiyang looked repulsed.

Lin Chuan coughed lightly. “It’s just a metaphor—Sun Wukong can transform into anything. Let me continue… Though Sun Wukong had great skills, he always felt something was missing. So he thought and thought. Suddenly, he realized he needed a weapon. Thus, he went to the Dragon Palace of the East Sea and borrowed a stick from the old Dragon King… No, wait, it was the Golden-Hooped Staff…”

(Lately, every night when I close my eyes, I can’t help but think about the plot, and then I can’t sleep… Making it hard to focus at work during the day, and writing is a struggle…)