This impromptu beach concert lasted for a considerable amount of time.

The most fiery and bright part of the song belonged to the guitar solo. That guitar led everyone in continuous cheers, one melody building upon another, then coming to a clean, crisp stop on the final note.

The surrounding people were still not satisfied, clapping and shouting for an encore, but Ming Chi had already smilingly pressed the strings to a halt.

He placed one hand on the strings and raised the other.

He had never done this before, although he probably wanted to quite badly in his heart—perhaps he remembered it from a glance at some grass-roots music festival, or perhaps at that time, Auntie was holding him up, excitedly shouting how cool it was and that Huo Miao must do this for Auntie to see in the future…

The memory was no longer that clear, but the accompanying feeling was exceptionally clear and distinct.

In a breath-held silence, Ming Chi raised his hand, held it for three seconds, and snapped his fingers.

The beach was thoroughly ignited.

All the instruments accompanying him burst forth with brilliance in an instant.

The melodies from just now were precisely transferred to different instruments, immediately taking on different stylistic variations, yet sounding incredibly harmonious when put together.

Xiang Luan took his guitar back from Ming Chi, clutching a marker he had snatched from who knows where, his eyes full of excitement, wanting to speak but hesitating. Ming Chi sighed with a light laugh, signed the guitar that was pushed in front of him, and even wrote a special message.

He gave Xiang Luan a light pat on the back, letting him jump into the center of the crowd with his guitar.

Xiang Luan was so happy he shouted at the top of his lungs, hugged his guitar and shook it, then did a somersault in pure bliss. The sand was soft; as he jumped up, his hand was already on the instrument, and the strings burst out with a gorgeous variation.

The scorching, bright light of the bonfire reflected on everyone’s faces, and every pair of eyes was shining.

They usually trained and had classes together, so it certainly wasn’t their first time playing in an ensemble, but it was the first time they had felt such a strong sense of tacit understanding and fervor. Every rhythm felt natural, every coordination felt comfortable, and the smiles on their faces seemed impossible to suppress.

Before the final melody even ended, some fanatic guitarists had already opened their shopping apps, filling their carts with windbreakers.

Ming Chi sat on the sand dune, listening to the ensemble with quiet concentration. He watched the scene before him, his expression completely focused, focused enough to imprint everything in his mind.

Then he looked back in the other direction—during the most passionate guitar solo just now, he had only been looking in this direction. Ming Chi looked towards the corner near the reef, a smile in his eyes, and turned to grab the cane beside him.

Xiang Luan had been keeping an eye on Ming Chi’s movements. He immediately threw down his phone, which was still on the shopping cart page, and jumped up to rush over and help his brother.

Fang Hang was quick-eyed and nimble-handed. He grabbed him firmly and pulled him back, pinning him to the sand by the collar.

“Hurry, hurry, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

Xiang Luan was used to being manhandled, but he was still extremely anxious. “I have to go ask my brother for advice! How did he improve again? This solo was just too amazing! That fluency, that emotion, that infectiousness…”

Fang Hang was a complete amateur when it came to music, but he might be able to answer this question.

Their group had all promptly hidden behind the reef on the other side. Fang Hang held Xiang Luan down firmly, preventing him from jumping too high, and discreetly made a gesture.

Xiang Luan still didn’t understand what was happening. He peeked his head out to look, and when he saw the scene not far away, his eyes widened in an instant.

…

He had gotten a special personalized signature from the idol he admired and worshipped the most and thought he was surely a super lucky fan. He never expected there to be a fan even luckier than him.

Not only did they take the cane, but they also took the place of the cane themselves.

And they were walking slowly with the idol, chatting and laughing.

When a stretch of beach was submerged by the rising tide, they could even bend down and carry the person across steadily.

And they could even touch the idol’s hair.

“Did you see clearly?” Fang Hang patted Xiang Luan and whispered, “Where did they go?”

Xiang Luan had originally wanted to ask how one could chase a star like that and if there were any secret tips. Hearing Fang Hang’s unusually serious and tense question, he swallowed dryly. “To… to us.”

Fang Hang’s eyes widened in an instant.

“Really,” Xiang Luan thought carefully. “It’s definitely in our direction, there’s no mistake…”

Before he could finish, Fang Hang pushed Xiang Luan back down and peeked his own head out.

They had actually discovered the presence of a rather special fan for a while now, but they were just too curious and wanted to get a closer look to see if they could find any clues.

The hiding spot behind the reef wasn’t spacious to begin with, and it was easy to get exposed.

The others huddled together anxiously. Seeing Fang Hang’s reaction, they knew it wasn’t good. They wanted to slip away behind the reef as quickly as possible, but it was too late.

Fang Hang coughed loudly, repeatedly gesturing to the people behind him, while he himself stood up very properly. “President Ming.”

The sand here was starting to get harder. Ming Chi didn’t need support. He steadied himself against the reef, somewhat curious. “So serious?”

…Of course, they had to be serious.

If they had known things would develop this way, all of them should have worn suits and ties.

At the very least, they should be able to support their General Manager.

Whether it was effective or what it was effective for could be discussed later… They had to have some presence, to let people know they were all Ming Chi’s people.

Fang Hang had met Ming Lu many times and immediately recognized the smiling Ming family butler following behind. He shot a look of disappointment at the marketing manager’s slippers and beach shorts.

The General Manager himself, however, had no concept of this.

Ming Chi had a great time tonight. Seeing everyone else having fun made him even happier. Although his body was inevitably a bit tired, his spirits were still very high.

The managers of Huaisheng Entertainment failed to appear in their best state. They childishly lamented for five seconds before letting it go. Seeing Ming Chi’s condition, they couldn’t help but smile.

“We just had a meeting. From now on, we’ll come to the beach every year, play music, and light a bonfire together.”

Fang Hang said with a smile, “The date is set for today. The Huaisheng Beach Music Festival.”

They had just crammed in the relevant knowledge, introduced the arrangements in a few words, and made it sound quite official. Ming Chi’s eyes also lit up. “Are there internal tickets?”

Fang Hang exchanged a look with the others. “That’s hard to say.”

They wanted to try inviting Ming Chi to come back and play the guitar every two or three years. But they were also worried it might be too frequent, as he would surely have many other things to do, including undergoing systematic training to become a ship captain.

For so many years, Ming Chi had been tied down here by various reasons and people, and these reasons and people even included them—so Ming Chi also had every reason to do whatever he wanted.

“Audience seats will definitely be in high demand, especially the VIP seats. Even we might not be able to get a spot.”

The managers, still not over the blow of failing to get cruise tickets, collectively felt a pang of heartache hearing this. Kuang Li took over the conversation amidst a wave of resentment and continued, “However…”

“We can trade,” Ming Chi put his hand into his coat pocket. “I have invitation letters.”

Kuang Li was still thinking about the content of “however.” He paused for a moment, then suddenly asked, “What invitation letters?”

The others took a little longer to come to their senses, but they gradually reacted, suddenly guessing what Ming Chi had come to find them for, and one by one, they stared over with gleaming eyes.

Ming Chi no longer suppressed the curve of his lips. He mimicked them, clearing his throat with a straight face.

He had also just gotten these from Uncle Lu. When he took his hand out of his windbreaker pocket, there was a stack of very exquisite envelopes. “Invitation letters for a cruise trip. I’m an intern on the ship, so I can invite friends.”

Some managers looked quite calm, but they were already secretly stepping on Manager Fang’s foot.

Fang Hang calmly stepped back, walked up to Ming Chi, and asked in a low voice, “Is it convenient? Would it be inappropriate—”

“It won’t be.”

Behind Ming Chi, the lucky fan who had walked over answered, “We will invite all our friends.”

That sentence sounded too much like it would be followed by announcing some kind of event. Fang Hang was stunned for several seconds before he came to his senses and quickly extended his hand. “Mr. Ming.”

Ming Weiting had already heard about these people from Ming Chi. He nodded and shook his hand. “Thank you for your trouble.”

Fang Hang understood what he was saying and shook his head, speechless. “If only we could have been of trouble sooner… We don’t know how to thank Mr. Ming.”

The storm had passed, and everything was back on track. But seeing Ming Chi leaning against the reef to rest, supported by Butler Ming, they still couldn’t help but feel a sense of regret.

Because everything had gotten better, there was no longer a need to voice this regret. It was just that less than four years had passed since the nineteen-year-old guitarist had leaped nimbly onto the stage.

…

If only they could have been of trouble sooner, if only they could have carried him on their backs earlier.

“He will be very healthy, he just needs time.”

Ming Wei Ting seemed to know what they were thinking. “I will invite him to travel at sea for a while to recuperate and recover.”

This was the answer the group was waiting for. They exchanged glances quickly, all seeing the surprise in each other’s eyes.

—Actually, on the way here, Ming Chi had already assured them that he would be very healthy in the future.

But in the past when they were together, Young Master Luo would curl up in a corner of the sofa with a pillow, playing games, finding it difficult to even stand up on his own, yet he still firmly believed he was healthy every day.

Considering the General Manager’s consistently overly lenient judgment criteria on this matter, they still needed to hear a sufficiently strong piece of supporting evidence to be completely at ease.

“Good, that’s very good,” Fang Hang immediately nodded. “He can recuperate for a longer period, a very long time, there’s no rush at all.”

“We also really want him to rest, to be free to do what he wants without worrying about the people around him.”

Fang Hang said, “He should be doing things he likes. We will absolutely not disturb him.”

As he said this, Fang Hang suddenly paused.

He remembered the night the interview clip went viral. The crew of “Huo Miao” had contacted them late at night, the call very urgent.

The two sides had been cooperating for some time. Zhao Lan was calling on behalf of Director Gong to inquire about the situation—not an official confirmation process, and it would absolutely not be leaked. They were just asking in a private capacity, wanting a slightly more definite answer.

Zhao Lan called, apologizing for the presumptuous interruption on behalf of Director Gong, wanting to ask for that answer.

Zhao Lan herself actually wanted to know that answer even more.

“We won’t disturb him, we definitely won’t,” Zhao Lan knew this kind of situation all too well and repeatedly assured them over the phone. “Whether it’s him or not, he needs a long time to recuperate. It must be absolutely stable.”

Zhao Lan herself had experienced something remarkably similar. She knew this feeling all too well—it had taken her thirteen years, with the company of family and the support of her husband, to finally walk out of the shadow of that past event.

Only now was she fully prepared to engage with the past, with things related to the past, to see familiar people.

So she knew better than anyone that one must not rush such things.

No matter whether Ming Chi was back on track or had started a new life, as long as Ming Chi wasn’t ready, she would not come and disturb him rashly.

…

Just like before she came, her sister had repeatedly mentioned to her the boy who had been stopped outside the hospital room, clutching a seashell boat, his eyes red but absolutely refusing to let anyone see, telling them clearly, word by word, that his sister would definitely get well.

After the death certificate was confirmed, Zhao Lan received the inheritance Luo Zhi had left for her, sent by the trust agency.

At that time, Luo Zhi knew nothing about the film crew, nor did he know that she had come with gifts from the whole family, wanting to give her little brother a super big surprise.

Luo Zhi still thought she was living far away.

Over the years, Luo Zhi would actually write letters, and her sister would write back. Luo Zhi knew she had a happy family, a very good husband, but that she still often had nightmares.

Luo Zhi wrote a long, long letter, telling her that he was going abroad, going to travel, going to see the scenery.

Luo Chi told her that he was going to take a boat out to sea to play guitar for the waves, going to the mountaintop to paint the sunrise, going to make friends with many people, going to do many wonderful and interesting things, and that it might be many, many years before he could come back.

In the letter, Luo Zhi said that his sister must always live the happiest life, that he would help his sister chase away the nightmares, that his sister was the bravest sister.

Luo Zhi was sleeping in the water. He didn’t know that Zhao Lan had learned everything, didn’t know that Zhao Lan was well aware it was an inheritance, and was also well aware that the contents inside were not true.

…

Zhao Lan had never told anyone these things.

She hadn’t received the bad news suddenly. She had always been prepared and had continued to undergo psychological counseling and guidance over the years. The psychologist had talked with her a lot.

So even after receiving that letter, she was already capable of regulating her psychological and emotional state.

Zhao Lan and her husband had agreed that in the future, they would take her brother’s letter and go out to sea, climb mountains, and take him to see the scenery described in his letter, to see if it was as beautiful as he had imagined.

She thought her emotions were already well-regulated—so she herself didn’t even understand why she suddenly couldn’t hold it back tonight.

Upon seeing the news circulating online, knowing that her brother had only forgotten everything but that there was still hope and a possibility of survival, she suddenly hugged her husband and cried, unable to stop no matter what.

Even Zhao Lan herself didn’t know why she couldn’t sleep tonight, why her heart ached and she was happy and couldn’t help but want to cry, wanting to pour it all out.

“It’s true,” Fang Hang finally answered Zhao Lan. “Everything in the letter is true.”

Every sentence was true. Even if the content was just a dream Luo Zhi had—they all eventually became true.

Their General Manager never broke his promises. Even if some things, due to time and physical constraints, hadn’t been realized yet, they would all become true one by one in the end.

Fang Hang said, “He was too tired during this time, so he slept for a long time.”

They hadn’t responded to anyone before this. So when he said this, Fang Hang himself seemed to have only just confirmed this fact. “He will be fine. He will have a new life. It’s true.”

That night, Zhao Lan and her husband talked with them on the phone for a long time.

They talked until there were no more tears, only pure relief and joy, only eager anticipation.

Zhao Lan’s husband was a professor at a well-known dance academy and was considered a semi-insider in the industry. He was a warm and cheerful person and quickly became familiar with them. They even sighed together about how hard it was to get cruise tickets.

Xiang Luan’s estimation was wrong; there were still many people in the world who couldn’t get tickets—Zhao Lan and her husband both had vacations recently. Their original first stop was to take her brother’s letter on a cruise to see the scenery at sea.

The plan was perfect, but it failed at the first step. Zhao Lan’s husband had even sent them a message today, lamenting their bad luck, fellow sufferers in the same boat.

…

Fang Hang came back to his senses, just in time to see the marketing manager excitedly get up and wave his phone at him.

Zhao Lan and her husband were extremely surprised and delighted. They had found the lottery page, registered their names and phone numbers with a “let’s try” attitude, and actually won family vacation cruise tickets. They were now suggesting that their friends at Huaisheng Entertainment should also give it a brave try.

The friends at Huaisheng Entertainment hit it off with the couple right away and got to know them very well in just a few days. The leader of the dance training group had even been wanting to take a few artist trainees to witness the performance of the professional group.

These people could turn any conversation to work. They were even more interested when they heard that Zhao Lan’s husband had his own dance studio. They were now enthusiastically chatting on their phones, arranging to meet up before the trip.

Fang Hang met Kuang Li’s gaze, rubbed his temples, half exasperated and half speechless, and took a deep breath.

He turned to Ming Weiting and once again expressed his sincere thanks. “Really… we don’t know how to thank Mr. Ming.”

“If it’s convenient,” Ming Weiting said, “Could you release some shares? The Ming family will subscribe.”

Fang Hang was stunned for a moment, then looked up at him.

Because of Ming Chi, this “master” of the Ming family, who was revered and feared by many, was gentle in their presence, not making them nervous at all—Fang Hang was mentally prepared for this.

But he never expected the other party to proactively suggest such a thing.

Of course, there was no problem releasing shares to the Ming family.

Their original intention was only to ensure the absolute integrity of the equity, to ensure the absolute management rights of the original team over the company, and to no longer let irrelevant outsiders interfere.

Now that everything was on the right track, if the Ming family was willing to hold shares, it would only be beneficial for future development.

That was the official reason. Unofficially… they were only doing it to return the company to Ming Chi.

Almost as soon as this thought emerged, Fang Hang suddenly came to his senses and realized the other party’s true meaning. “General Manager—”

Fang Hang and Kuang Li looked at each other, their eyes lighting up with disbelief.

Fang Hang quickly glanced at Ming Chi, who was resting not far away. He unconsciously lowered his voice, almost impatiently asking, “Is he still willing to be our General Manager in the future?”

As soon as he said this, the others immediately looked up, their gazes burning.

“If you can accept a General Manager who is always absent from work and lets go of everything.”

Ming Weiting had agreed to discuss this matter on Ming Chi’s behalf and relayed his exact words. “Only when he sees a good script, a good artist, or a good resource does he remember that he is still a General Manager and helps to snatch them back.”

Fang Hang almost burst out laughing. “That’s enough, that’s enough—he doesn’t even have to do those things!” He couldn’t help but start blaming himself for being careless, for not even thinking to bring the share subscription agreement when coming to the beach to play. “The office has always been kept for him, just like before, cleaned very well, just waiting for the General Manager to come back to play games and sleep at any time.”

“We’re still the same as before, having meals in the office, having hot pot. The fridge is still full of beer,” Fang Hang said. “The General Manager is welcome to come back for hot pot and beer anytime.”

His voice was a little out of control, or perhaps he didn’t want to control it anymore. It was carried by the wind, so the General Manager could hear everything clearly.

The General Manager was good at everything, except that, just like before, his ears would turn red whenever he heard these things.

Ming Chi calmly propped himself up, picked up his cane to get some fresh air. Before he could take a few steps, he was surrounded by the team he had personally brought up.

Mr. Shadow and Uncle Lu didn’t even help.

Mr. Shadow even proactively reached out, ruffled his hair, and took the cane from him.

Ming Chi was lifted up by several pairs of hands without any room for argument.

In the course of one evening, these people had completely figured out Ming Chi’s physical condition. They were both more and less measured than before, joyfully lifting him and tossing him high into the air.

…

It was exactly the same as before.

Ming Chi’s eyes widened. He realized he still remembered some very vague fragments—he couldn’t see any specific details, so blurry they were almost silhouettes. He remembered being thrown into the air like this.

It seemed to be when they had secured some particularly amazing resource, or perhaps when a drama’s ratings had surpassed their estimates by several times.

He couldn’t really remember these things; he only remembered the feeling at that time.

His sense of balance was affected by old injuries, so he felt a bit dizzy, but there was no need to be afraid. There were many hands below to catch him.

He was surrounded by extremely excited clamor. Ming Chi laughed along. After being playfully tossed enough, he was let down and steadied. He reached out to gather everyone he could see.

No one was willing to be left out. A crowd of people used all their strength to squeeze in, hugging into a big lump without a word.

Xiang Luan’s guarantee sometimes failed.

For example, even very mature, very composed adults couldn’t help but shed tears at certain times.

Seeing Ming Chi well, they were just happy. Seeing Ming Chi shining in the crowd, they were not only happy but also felt a sense of shared glory.

Perhaps it was only at times like this.

They had done everything in their power to save the company, finally returning it to the person who had led them here. And this person turned back, smiled, and asked them if they still wanted him, if things could still be the same as before.

The marketing manager was the least composed, crying the loudest. “General Manager, you’re finally back! We missed you so much! We’ve been missing you so, so much…”

Because he was crying too loudly, it was likely he would be heard by other company members, shaming the management. He was silenced by a slap from Manager Fang and Manager Kuang.

As a warning to others, the rest didn’t dare to make a sound. Under the menacing supervision of those two, they quickly and orderly let their tears fall.

Ming Chi laughed, patting each of them on the shoulder, patting their backs gently.

“It’s not a big deal,” Ming Chi said with a smile. “It’s alright.”

The marketing manager had just managed to stifle his sobs. Hearing him say the exact same words with the exact same tone as before, he quickly raised his hands and clamped them over his own mouth.

A slight miscalculation. This time, Fang Hang and Kuang Li didn’t have time to manage him either.

How many times had it been? Probably too many.

Countless. Mostly in the middle of the night. During this period, no one didn’t work overtime until the middle of the night.

When they felt terrible, when they really couldn’t work anymore, they would tiptoe to the General Manager’s office and pull the door open.

The wind would seep in through the not-fully-closed window, gently lifting the curtains.

It was as if there was still someone in the room.

They stood at the doorway, as if listening to the young man every time he adjusted the company’s development direction, every time he had to take a step back, back to a place where no one could see.

That figure would be curled up on the sofa, typing on the computer. Hearing a sound, he would look up, see these people, each one more dejected and discouraged than he was, and then smile with a hint of helplessness. “Alright, it’s not a big deal…”

…

“It’s not a big deal.”

Ming Chi said softly, “It’s alright.”

“You’ve worked hard,” their little General Manager said. “I’m back.”