The location Xiang Luan had sent was five hundred meters away.

Five hundred meters was too far.

The cluster of reefs was too difficult to navigate, seriously hindering their speed; they couldn’t just fly over directly.

The manager of the marketing department, the youngest of the group, still had some of the flair of his university sprinter days. After a few twists and turns, he found the path. Just as he was about to shout, several hands clamped down on him.

Someone pushed him past a boulder, and the people behind him rushed forward. He realized what was happening and scrambled to give chase, but Fang Hang had already dashed forward, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the person they were looking for.

Ming Chi hadn’t gone anywhere. He was relaxing against a reef, properly wearing his windbreaker, clearly not at risk of catching a cold.

Xiang Luan was rubbing his fists, ready to massage his brother’s legs, but was gently placated by a light pat on the head from his brother. Instead, he quickly grabbed his phone to send a message to Fang Hang, tipping him off and telling him everything he could think of.

Seeing Fang Hang and the others arrive, Xiang Luan’s eyes lit up. He hid behind Ming Chi and mouthed, “President Ming, President Ming…”

Noticing Xiang Luan’s reaction, Ming Chi propped himself up with one hand on the reef and looked over.

Fang Hang cleared his throat.

Having secured the first-place spot, Manager Fang completely ignored the furious, threatening gestures of those behind him. He tried his best not to smile too brightly, steadied his breathing, and walked over.

“It’s me, Fang Hang, your Artist Department Manager.”

Fang Hang answered the question from the phone call again. He walked over and extended a hand to Ming Chi. “Long time no see.”

Ming Chi took his hand, silent, just smiling at them.

Xiang Luan was squatting on a nearby rock.

He stared wide-eyed, not daring to speak, filled with awe at the unspoken understanding of adult friendship. Then, he watched in shock as his brother was pulled up by that hand and hoisted onto someone’s back.

His brother even seemed prepared, not at all surprised, and even had time to stuff his cane into Xiang Luan’s hands before being whisked away.

It was as if a starting pistol had gone off. The calm, mature, and composed management team exploded, rushing forward without a word, crowding together, all vying to get a hand on him.

Someone touched his shoulder, someone ruffled his head, someone gently patted his back. So many mouths were shouting their names and positions, afraid President Ming wouldn’t hear them.

…

Xiang Luan, clutching the cane, was stunned by the shouts and laughter for several seconds. He squatted next to the agent. “…Brother Zhao.”

“They’re a lost cause,” the agent sighed deeply. “So many people, and their combined age isn’t even twenty.”

Xiang Luan turned his head and saw the agent’s beaming smile, which completely contradicted his words. He grinned. “Brother Zhao, are you including yourself?”

“Yes, yes, yes! I’m three years and seven months old!” the agent said, exasperated, shaking Xiang Luan. “With so many people, how did a kid like you find him first! What kind of luck is this? How could you just be running around a pile of rocks and get picked up by the General Manager?!”

Of course. Xiang Luan was instantly smug, his head held high. “It’s the telepathic connection I have with my brother.”

He was itching to join in. Rubbing his hands together, he was about to subtly blend into the crowd. He had just jumped off the rock when Fang Hang walked over and held out a hand.

Xiang Luan froze for two seconds, then quickly handed over the cane in his arms, coughing in embarrassment, his face flushed. “Brother Fang, uh…”

“No,” Manager Fang said calmly, taking the cane. “This is a celebration for adults.”

The adult age group at Huaisheng Entertainment was set at twenty. Xiang Luan was just a few months short. He jumped up and down in frustration, but the agent quickly covered his mouth.

This kid’s luck was ridiculous. By a strange twist of fate, he had been the very first one, out of so many people, to see the General Manager.

He was even rescued by the General Manager.

And he got lost with the General Manager.

If he wasn’t mistaken, it also looked like he was the first to hug the General Manager and drown him in tears.

The agent felt a headache coming on just thinking about it. Before Xiang Luan could get any more carried away, he covered his mouth and dragged him away from the scene.

Fang Hang carefully put the cane away and walked over.

After much squabbling, the group had finally decided who would carry their President Ming.

The manager of the legal department hadn’t wasted all those years at the gym. Just like before, he carried Ming Chi steadily on his back, and just like before, he turned his head to whisper, “Close your eyes if you’re tired.”

Ming Chi looked well. He shook his head gently, his eyes still clear and bright. “Not tired.”

This one sentence made the group ecstatic all over again. Several more hands reached out, wanting to touch their President Ming’s hair, but Fang Hang slapped them all away. “What about his hairstyle? What about his image?”

Those people immediately retracted their hands, nodding guiltily. “Right, right.”

Ming Chi was amused by them.

His hair was shorter than before and couldn’t really be messed up beyond repair. He shook his head slightly, and his bangs fell loosely back into place. “It’s fine. It’s not a one-time style.”

Of course, the Artist Department Manager couldn’t control the General Manager. Seeing the group brazenly reaching out right in front of him, Fang Hang was both angry and amused. “Gently! Just a touch is enough. This is our company’s pillar…”

He didn’t need to remind them. The others were already being extremely gentle. Even during their earlier horseplay, they had maintained perfect control.

They had researched so much during this time. If they hadn’t been constantly on that patient support forum, they wouldn’t have accidentally discovered that post.

Although they knew a month had passed since the surgery, a month was still very short. They were anxious every day watching the recovery progress, guessing which stage Ming Chi had reached, whether his other physical problems had been resolved, and if his old injuries were healing well.

They were desperate to know these things but were too embarrassed to ask. So they used this opportunity, with carefully controlled strength, to gently touch and feel him, to try holding Ming Chi’s hand. When they felt him squeeze back with equal force, their eyes immediately lit up with excitement.

Ming Chi, of course, could feel it. His original plan had been to reappear in better health than he was now, and he felt a little regretful. “I won’t break from a couple of touches.”

“No,” Fang Hang said. “We can’t spoil them too much, or these people will carry you on their backs and run laps around the beach. Next, they’ll find out where you live and sneak in at night to kidnap you.”

The others immediately protested, retorting all at once. This soon evolved into a session of telling on each other.

A lot had happened during this time, and they wanted to tell Ming Chi everything. In no time, it turned into a litany of complaints against the Artist Department Manager for being a complete workaholic who seemed to need no sleep and was ruthlessly exploiting them.

Fang Hang wasn’t the only workaholic. The artist department’s office wasn’t the only one with its lights on late at night. Manager Fang called people out on the spot. Those called out refused to accept it and immediately turned around to expose others.

President Ming never took sides. He listened quietly, not saying a word, just smiling along.

…

It was just like before.

They had been through so much recently. Of course, they no longer placed all the burdens on the General Manager alone, and Ming Chi would no longer suddenly stop, lost and left behind somewhere.

But aside from that, as long as they were together—give it five minutes, at most—everything else would become just like it used to be.

Ming Chi was being carried on their backs, a group of people chattering away.

Completely impromptu, saying whatever came to mind. Ming Chi listened quietly and earnestly with a smile.

He was always listening earnestly.

You didn’t need him to speak. You could tell just by looking at his eyes, just by seeing what he did.

Fang Hang crossed his arms, watching them expose and complain about each other. He met Ming Chi’s questioning gaze, knew what he wanted to ask, and answered in a low voice, “Brother Kuang is watching over our things at the beach. You’ll see him in a bit.”

Ming Chi blinked, nodded, and then continued to study him with a very serious look.

Fang Hang pretended not to understand. “Something else?”

This time, it wasn’t just the General Manager on his back; the entire group turned around, staring at him with great disapproval.

Fang Hang cleared his throat and immediately complied with a progress report. “He can talk, he can talk. He suddenly started calling out a few days ago. We just don’t know who he’s calling for. He’s looking everywhere.”

“How come my son is learning to talk so slowly?” Fang Hang sighed with a straight face. “Is he not smart?”

General Manager Ming corrected him, “Speaking late means he’s smart.”

Fang Hang smiled and nodded, taking out his phone.

His son was born prematurely and had a weak constitution. He had been sick several times and was only completely discharged from the hospital after more than a year. He was behind his peers in all aspects.

But you could never tell with children.

Some are clever from a young age and learn everything quickly. Others start slow but suddenly have a breakthrough and catch up in the blink of an eye.

His son’s language explosion began with learning to say “Little Uncle.” After that, the little guy’s mouth never stopped. He called out to everything he saw, delighted by everything, leaving his parents both relieved and sleep-deprived for several nights.

Ming Chi watched the video on his phone. He saw the healthy, robust little boy waving his arms, babbling “Little Uncle” with a smile, and his own eyes widened slightly.

Ming Chi’s gaze was bright. He watched the video twice, very seriously, before returning the phone to Fang Hang. “I remember.”

Fang Hang was currently using the marketing manager’s phone and being lectured by the film department manager. He turned his head and heard this, so pleasantly surprised that he almost dropped the phone into the encroaching tide. “Remember what?”

“I remember this,” Ming Chi’s eyes curved, and that unchanging boyishness resurfaced. “I have a group of very good friends, and one of them has a son.”

He said, “I’ve been waiting to be a little uncle.”

…

It took the mature management team a little more time to come down from the state of cheering and tossing their President Ming into the air. They regained their usual composure and calmness.

The calm managers returned to the beach, soothed their respective departments, and squatted in a row behind the reef to be lectured by the film department manager.

It was like the Calabash Brothers trying to save their grandpa.

Xiang Luan had disappeared and couldn’t be contacted. The management went to find him.

Soon, the management also disappeared and couldn’t be contacted at all.

Kuang Li was left on the chilly beach. He and the company staff watched the sunset until the last sliver of sun sank into the water, until the sky turned dark, until even the bonfire was lit, and still, not a single person had messaged him back.

If the agent hadn’t brought Xiang Luan back first to report, Kuang Li would have seriously started to suspect that some local gang had stripped them all naked, tied them to posts, and left them to soak in the seawater. Otherwise, how could not a single one of them answer their phone?

“Not having time to answer the phone is one thing.”

Kuang Li asked, “Why did it take so long to come back? Did you bother him and make him uncomfortable?”

Xiang Luan had received his brother’s permission and broadcasted the news across the entire beach within three minutes. Kuang Li, of course, had heard it too.

That much time was more than enough to adjust one’s state of mind. Kuang Li was much more rational than this group, and his first reaction was to worry about Ming Chi’s physical condition.

The bonfire on the beach was bright, the atmosphere exceptionally lively. The sound of guitars was more than twice as enthusiastic as before.

Kuang Li didn’t see them bring Ming Chi back. He frowned and lowered his voice, “Didn’t we agree not to bother him?”

“We didn’t… bother him that much,” the marketing manager explained in a small voice. “Just a little.”

Mainly, their President Ming was just too amazing.

How could he have recovered so well in such a short time, so reassuringly, so joyfully?

How could he be so handsome? Even after being hugged and ruffled by them, his image wasn’t affected at all. With a little tidying up, he still looked like he could do a photoshoot on the spot.

“It’s true we were late coming back. We walked slowly on the way, wanting him to rest more.”

The legal department manager admitted, “He’s not fully recovered yet. When I carried him, he was so light he barely weighed anything.”

It was precisely because of this that they had long ago agreed not to cause a fuss when they met. Kuang Li had a headache and rubbed his temples forcefully. “Where did you take him?”

Ming Chi had said he was coming, so he would definitely not break his promise. But only these few department managers had returned.

Kuang Li was the one among them who most frequently read the patient support forums and could practically recite all the various situations mentioned inside. He really couldn’t rest easy and stood up to go find him. “Where’s Fang Hang?”

This was the question the group was waiting for him to ask. They immediately beamed. “He’s walking over with President Ming.”

Kuang Li took two steps and stopped in astonishment. “What?”

“He ran so many laps chasing Xiang Luan, his legs are sore. Plus, it’s a sandy beach, so he probably has to walk a bit slower,” the marketing manager could no longer hold back his laughter and passed on Ming Chi’s message with a smile. “He said to let us play first. When the party is at its liveliest, he’ll have arrived.”

Whether it was intentional or not, perhaps someone had been secretly passing along information. As he finished speaking, a huge cheer erupted from the beach.

Kuang Li walked quickly around the reef. He was still standing in the falling shadows when someone patted his shoulder hard, bringing him back to his senses.

He didn’t walk over, and the other managers weren’t in a hurry either.

Fang Hang greeted him as well and walked over, giving a smiling gesture behind him.

They always gathered together, standing or squatting with their arms crossed, watching the cheers and shouts on the beach that were so lively they could almost set the night ablaze, watching the excited smiles on everyone’s faces.

Ming Chi was brought back into the midst of everyone.

Someone jumped over to add more firewood, and the bonfire instantly became brighter than before. The wood crackled as it burned, occasionally sending bright, hot sparks into the air, carried away by the wind into the night.

They didn’t stop others from joining in; anyone could play together. Some passersby who didn’t know what was going on were extremely curious and asked who had arrived to make the atmosphere so lively. The answers they got were a wild variety.

Some said the General Manager, some said an idol, some said their company’s pillar. Later, the scope of the interviews expanded to include the managers who had joined in, adding friends, brothers, and his son’s little uncle to the list.

…However, the “idol” and “pillar” claims were actually quite believable.

After all, the person who arrived was so handsome, with an obviously outstanding temperament. Even at a gathering of a film and entertainment company that specialized in this industry, he didn’t pale in comparison to the other artists.

He sat there, and the people from their company kept running over, bringing food, drinks, and freshly grilled, glistening, fragrant meat skewers.

A few young guitarists in T-shirts and hoodies, with colorful hair, pushed and shoved each other, finally mustering up the courage to rush over for an autograph.

Ten minutes later, someone was still jumping around the beach in excitement, holding a guitar signed by the idol.

“Should we suppress the news?” The public relations manager rubbed his forehead and chuckled with a sigh. “If this keeps up, public opinion is going to explode tomorrow.”

But even if it did, there wouldn’t really be any problems… After all, the entire internet was waiting for Young Master Luo to come back.

They had already done plenty of groundwork and guidance. The Ming family’s news and press conferences had also been fully cooperative. In an interview with a print media outlet, Ming Weiting had already explained part of the situation.

The reason the missing persons list had not been changed until now was that no one had indeed found Luo Zhi, and the Luo family had already filed a death certificate for him.

If even the immediate family had given up the search and confirmed the person’s death, then the cruise line naturally had no authority to change the list.

As for the Ming family, after this shipwreck, they had indeed rescued a person from the sea.

However, the person’s condition was extremely weak, their life hanging by a thread, and they had no identification on them.

It took two months just to nurse them back from their illnesses and injuries. And when the person woke up, they had severe memory loss and could hardly recall anything from the past.

“So he no longer has a past. He is now a member of the Ming family.”

In the interview video released by the print media’s official website, Ming Weiting’s expression was very calm, as if he were stating a simple fact. “The young master of the Ming family will undergo comprehensive, formal training in the future. After accumulating experience and obtaining the relevant qualifications, he will become our family’s new ship captain.”

This short interview clip was embedded in a two-hour-long discussion, the rest of which was about other related matters of the shipwreck, the safety of ship navigation, and an introduction to the cruise business—all quite dry and lengthy.

And this matter seemed to have been brought up merely as a simple supplementary explanation for the “missing persons” part of the shipwreck’s handling.

But in the comments section under Huaisheng Entertainment’s official Weibo, which was filled with people waiting with bated breath, the connection was keenly grasped in an instant. It was quickly combined with previous speculations about Young Master Luo’s condition, piecing together a version of events that was very close to the truth.

That night, the public relations department collectively monitored the situation for half the night. Finding that there was nothing for them to do, they disappointedly called it a day.

The PR manager went to the general manager’s office to scrounge for food and read comments to a group of people who were gathered, having a hot pot and drinking beer.

“I can’t sleep. Is it him or not? I can’t sleep until I know today.”

“It must be! He’s the only one left on the missing list. They couldn’t have just rescued a merman from the sea, right?”

“It must be. Look at the gossip news, the Luo family is already starting to make a fuss.”

“I saw. That pair of bizarre parents of his are trying to find doctors for him everywhere, trying to make him remember, wanting to take him home and treat him well.”

“How can they treat it? Every stage could lead to memory damage. The cranial lesion itself was dangerous. If that’s the reason, the lost memories can’t be recovered at all. Plus the drowning, hypoxia, and asphyxiation, and how that family tortured him… All I can say is they brought it on themselves. It’s useless to make a fuss now.”

“What parents? Didn’t the Luo family already file a death certificate for him? They have no relation whatsoever, okay? He’s the young master of the Ming family, from the Ming family, his surname is Ming.”

“Honestly, it’s a miracle he was saved. The chances of survival were so slim… But it’s still a bit of a pity that all his past memories are gone.”

“With the kind of past he had, what’s the point of keeping those memories? To let his family continue to leech off him?”

“It’s better that he doesn’t remember. It’s a fresh start for a brand new life!”

“So what if he has no past? Having a future is what’s amazing, okay!”

…

The comments section was excited for half the night. After collectively going to the blessing video to fulfill their wishes, they suddenly remembered something important.

Back to reality. The head of the PR department held his phone and, facing the bonfire party, helped ask, “If he doesn’t remember anything, can we still wait for Young Master Luo to come back and debut?”

Fang Hang and Kuang Li exchanged a look, fell silent for a moment, and shook their heads.

“No need to suppress the news, and no need to specifically control public opinion.”

Fang Hang said, “He’s not coming back.”

Xiang Luan was still too young. He was just happy and hadn’t thought this far yet.

The moment they saw Ming Chi and heard him say he was willing to come to the beach with them, all the managers knew in their hearts that Ming Chi had already made his final decision.

This decision didn’t surprise anyone.

Whether it was Luo Zhi or Ming Chi—from the very beginning, he hadn’t jumped onto that stage with a guitar to sing the songs he loved for the sake of being in the spotlight or surrounded by flowers.

He just wanted to have fun with more people, to try more happy things, and also to go to a place under the spotlight where he could be seen, to show the elder who had always taken care of and protected him.

This industry, for him, had too many unwritten rules and restrictions, was too confining and not free, with too many things that didn’t bring happiness.

If Ming Chi still had the thought of debuting again, he wouldn’t have come with them today completely unprepared.

If that were the case, the second Fang Hang and the others saw Ming Chi, they would have left Brother Kuang here alone to have a bonfire and feel the cold wind with the company’s staff and artists.

The rest of them would have gone back to the company with Ming Chi while it was still quiet, letting their President Ming return to the unchanged General Manager’s office, curl up comfortably in that corner of the sofa, and they would chat all night about the plans for the future.

The reason Ming Chi came with them, the reason he was sitting here playing with everyone, was actually a farewell before his departure.

After the Luo family filed the death certificate, the relevant documents were also sealed. There was no way to prove any connection between him and the missing second son of the Luo family. Everything belonging to the identity of Luo Zhi had been brought to a complete close.

They would still meet as friends, still make plans to have meals together when they were free. But after tonight, the guitarist who had made a brief, stunning appearance and now had countless fans would never again perform any work as an artist.

…

“Wait a minute,” Kuang Li couldn’t listen anymore. “Why am I being left here?”

“Are you in the film department? He’s not acting, and you can’t help with discussions about a singer.”

Fang Hang nudged the person next to him with his elbow. “And you still haven’t gone to greet President Ming.”

The other managers immediately caught on, lined up, and started chanting like a repeating machine, “Haven’t gone to greet President Ming, greet President Ming, greet…”

Kuang Li’s head ached from their chanting. He was stunned for a moment, then laughed, took a deep breath, and let it out. “Fine, I’ll go!”

He pushed them aside and strode towards Ming Chi.

The sand was soft, and footsteps couldn’t be heard. Ming Chi sensed the figure and looked up, his eyes immediately brightening.

Kuang Li walked right up to him before stopping.

In the past, Ming Chi rarely sat in such a bright place—he hadn’t found a corner reef for himself as he used to, but was sitting among the people, around the bonfire.

The windbreaker was too prone to getting sandy and had been folded and set aside for the time being.

The bonfire was bright and warm, so there was no risk of getting cold. The firelight made Ming Chi’s complexion look very good. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a button at his collar was undone. He looked almost the same age as when they first met Young Master Luo.

“Brother Kuang,” Ming Chi smiled and proactively raised a hand. “Long time no see.”

A smile slowly appeared on Kuang Li’s face. He bent down, pulled him up from the soft sand, and then hugged him. “Long time no see.”

He had done those things to Jian Huaiyi, no longer hiding his methods and calculations, no longer the “nice guy” in Young Master Luo’s memory.

He actually didn’t know if Ming Chi would become suspicious of past events because of this. Of course, Ming Chi himself didn’t remember what had happened, but there were ways to find out.

However, it was only as he walked over that he suddenly realized—just having this thought showed how much less he understood Ming Chi compared to the others.

No wonder those guys planned to have a meeting with Ming Chi and still leave him here.

“President Ming,” Kuang Li said in a low voice, “Did I forget to tell you that this is my favorite company, and I want to work here until I’m old?”

Ming Chi blinked slowly.

“Okay,” he didn’t remember either, but he could remember it now. “When we’re all old, we’ll still hang out together.”

Kuang Li laughed out loud.

He seemed to relax completely in an instant. He hugged Ming Chi tightly, then released his arms. “Welcome back.”

“Go out and wander, see the world. It will make you happy,” Kuang Li said. “Remember to come back and hang out with us.”

Ming Chi’s eyes curved into a smile.

He looked up, his eyes reflecting the bright firelight, and nodded lightly.

…

Behind a nearby reef, a group of people peeking out finally breathed a long sigh of relief.

“This is great… just a bit of a pity.”

The head of the PR department was now confident and no longer busy. He put away his phone. “Young Master Luo’s guitar playing is so good.”

Fang Hang half-joked, picking up the thread, “Who says President Ming doesn’t play well?”

“Does he still play well now?”

The marketing department head immediately got excited, then deflated. “No, no, we agreed he wouldn’t be an artist anymore.”

“Who says you can’t play the guitar if you’re not an artist?” the legal department head said. “The law doesn’t specify that, does it? Being an artist is just a job. It requires coordinating with the company’s planned development path, getting endorsement deals, going on shows, doing promotions, and dealing with all that public opinion stuff.”

The legal department head said, “You can go to a grass-roots music festival even if you’re not an artist. You can hold concerts and performances and have fun with a bunch of people even if you’re not an artist.”

The group was stunned for a moment. A new line of thought suddenly opened up. They immediately gathered together excitedly, even pulling Kuang Li over. “Quick, quick, let’s vote. Should we start now? Create a new department specifically for this…”

The group buried their heads in discussion for a long time, practically drawing up the entire charter for a new department with lightning speed. In the end, they still had to ask for Ming Chi’s opinion.

The marketing manager lost at rock-paper-scissors and was pushed out. He took a deep breath and stammered, “Pre-President Ming—”

Ming Chi had changed back into his windbreaker. He had been pulled over by those few hardcore fans and was standing by a reef, watching Xiang Luan and a few young guitarists compete in skill.

Hearing the marketing manager’s voice, Ming Chi turned and looked at him curiously.

“It’s just,” the marketing manager asked in a small voice, “do you still want to play the guitar?”

Ming Chi smiled. “I’m thinking about it.”

The marketing manager had been prepared to be more roundabout. He heard the answer before he could even build up to it, and the rest of his prepared words got stuck.

“Wait a moment,” Ming Chi said. “I’ll be right back.”

He saw that Xiang Luan had finished showing off with a highly difficult piece, so he took his cane, walked over slowly, and said a few words to Xiang Luan.

Xiang Luan’s eyes lit up in an instant. He practically jumped up and immediately thrust his guitar at him.

“Brother, isn’t your house right over there? Want me to run and get you some clothes?”

Xiang Luan was desperate to hear him play the guitar. He was already nimbly connecting the pickup, circling around Ming Chi. “It’s not easy to play in this, right? There’s a changing room over there. I can go get you something, it’ll be quick…”

“No need,” Ming Chi explained to him. “You can play the guitar in a windbreaker. It’s cool and handsome.”

Xiang Luan was immediately convinced, his eyes wide. “Really?!”

Ming Chi laughed and didn’t say more, just walked over to a sand dune and sat down. He placed his cane aside, held the guitar, and tested the strings a couple of times.

He played a tune no one had ever heard before.

Xiang Luan was his hardcore fan and had listened to every song Ming Chi had ever written. Unlike the lively and passionate tunes of the past, this one was gentle and warm right from the start, like stars falling, swept by the wind into the tide.

…

Xiang Luan didn’t even know that his own guitar could sound so quiet and gentle.

The melody flowing from the strings gradually quieted the area around the bonfire. The pickup carried the sound further, and people gradually stopped what they were doing, standing on tiptoe to look over.

Ming Chi sat by the bonfire, his eyes lowered, concentrating on playing.

That guitar was always passionate and unrestrained in Xiang Luan’s hands. But now, in Ming Chi’s hands, the steel strings seemed to have suddenly become docile, following his hands to caress the flowing notes.

Sometimes, even the simplest, most unadorned melody has a strange power to captivate people.

Xiang Luan listened to the tune. He couldn’t fully understand what Ming Chi was trying to say with this song. Perhaps because he hadn’t experienced as much, he couldn’t yet grasp it with enough clarity and detail… but the wind quieted within the music.

The wind and the tide became quiet. The sound of the music felt warm.

The moonlight seemed to have melted into the waves, making them bright. The starlight scattered finely within, rising and falling with the rhythmic surge of the waves.

This gentleness, so quiet it could lull one to sleep, was of course not the entirety of the song. Before long, the tune on the guitar showed a vibrant energy.

This vitality wasn’t fiery; it was more of a tangible, bright, and gentle life force that could be seen everywhere in the mortal world. It wasn’t too conspicuous, but rain couldn’t extinguish it, and the dark night couldn’t swallow it.

Another guitar was suddenly thrust into Xiang Luan’s hands.

He was stunned for a moment, looked at Fang Hang gesturing at him, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he looked at Ming Chi again.

Ming Chi nodded slightly, a smile in his eyes. He didn’t rush to continue but found a suitable point and repeated the tune a few times.

Xiang Luan memorized it completely and played the harmony on the guitar that had been thrust upon him.

Next, a few more guitars joined in.

Then came the clarinet and violin—there happened to be a bar nearby, and the instruments of the resident band had been urgently borrowed. Even an electronic keyboard on its stand was carried onto the beach.

All of Huaisheng Entertainment’s artists were here. The ones who played music were all hand-picked by Ming Chi back then, talented and inspired. With a year or two of targeted professional training, each of them could command a stage on their own.

The artists he had personally chosen played harmony for him. No instrument overpowered the guitar.

They followed the tune flowing from the guitar, a tune so warm and bright it could almost make one cry. It was as if they were trying to wrap those clear, gentle notes, or perhaps they were sending them to a farther place.

The guitar’s tune began to grow brighter and brighter.

It was a kind of golden, almost brilliant, completely free brightness.

It was as if the wind had swept through the bonfire, carrying countless bright sparks along the path the stars had fallen, flying to a sky higher than the clouds.

The strings were in almost constant motion, crisp, light, and clear, paired with the signature rasgueado of flamenco—Xiang Luan knew very well that he couldn’t play this section at all right now. He knew better than anyone what kind of musical talent and how much effort it took to master this.

They accompanied this guitar, playing their hearts out.

There was no better stage than the beach at night. Open and quiet, the tide surging, the wind carrying the music ever farther. They accompanied him, constantly going to farther places.

It felt like they could go anywhere, like they could go to the ends of the earth.

Ming Chi’s eyes reflected the moon and the bonfire, and also the figures before him. He looked seriously at every face in front of him. The guitar in his arms suddenly erupted with a fervor and scorching heat that everyone present knew all too well.

Fang Hang practically leaped up. He pulled Kuang Li forward a few steps, standing not far from the fire.

A smile suddenly flowed from Ming Chi’s eyes.

He held his guitar and strummed his strings with exhilarating force.

The beach was ignited in an instant. The bonfire blazed, turning the sea surface red, as if a wildfire was burning uncontrollably even in the sea.

The entire beach became fervent in an instant. People began to cheer and applaud. The drums from the bar joined in with a powerful beat, and more and more people clapped their hands red together.

Ming Chi held his guitar and looked up.

Tonight, there were also ships docked at the port, but they were not obscured by the night as in his memory, leaving only a vague, barely discernible silhouette.

The cruise ship was constantly responding to him, its lights turning on. A searchlight swept in his direction, turning the water’s surface a brilliant white.

The light outlined the cruise ship with exceptional clarity, casting a massive shadow in the water.

The fire burned across the surface of the sea.

The cruise ship was quiet for a moment, then suddenly, all its lights blazed to life.