The sharp blast of the PE teacher’s whistle cut through the scattered thoughts drifting in the afternoon breeze.

As Xie Lan walked back with the others, a cool wind rustled through the tree-lined path. Dou Sheng smiled beside him and asked, “How are the views?”

“Over four hundred thousand,” Xie Lan said. “Better than I imagined.”

“I told you—you’re a rising star in the Music Zone. Your brilliance is peerless.” As he spoke, Dou Sheng made an upward-sweeping motion with his hand. His long, fair fingers flickered in the light as he reached up to gently swat the hanging leaves of a plane tree.

The leaves rustled loudly. Xie Lan couldn’t help but look up, but the sunlight caught his eyes, leaving him momentarily dazed.

Che Ziming nudged the group. “Hey, it’s Liu Yixuan’s birthday tomorrow. Should we get her gifts?”

Dai You shook his head. “I feel like giving a girl a personal gift might be awkward. Learning that dance together is our gift.”

Yu Fei chimed in with his usual grumpy face, “Exactly. Are you even that close to her?”

Che Ziming immediately retorted, “You’re not giving anything? Young Master, don’t you usually give a little something to everyone in class for their birthdays?”

Yu Fei choked for a second, then said irritably, “I ran out of pocket money recently. Not giving anything.”

Che Ziming was shocked. “Your mountain of pocket money actually hit zero? What did you buy?”

Yu Fei gave him a frustrated shove. “Bought a ‘big item.’ Why do you care so much? Are you sick?”

Xie Lan didn’t join their discussion. He was scrolling through his private messages. A lot of people were flooding in to tell him that he had caught the attention of the Music Zone’s A-Ze.

Xie Lan casually scrolled through A-Ze’s recent posts. It turned out someone on a forum had leaked the news about them competing for a business deal where A-Ze lost out, leading people to suspect A-Ze’s recent video was a deliberate attempt to block Xie Lan’s hype. A few minutes ago, A-Ze had reposted his video from two days ago with the caption: “A veteran Uploader won’t make things hard for a newcomer. Besides, art is a matter of individual strengths. Manually tagging @XieLan_em—your sense of ‘atmosphere’ is top-tier. I’ll just stick to being a ‘Technique God.’ /shakehands”

Below, fans were praising A-Ze for being “magnanimous,” but the more Xie Lan read the post, the weirder it felt. If this were on a Chinese exam asking to analyze the subtext, he’d probably label it as “praising while belittling” or “sarcasm.”

Scrolling down, he found people agreeing.

• “Six-year fan here. Our boy doesn’t understand ‘romance,’ he only knows how to refine his violin skills. He’s challenging the whole site to see who dares to disagree.”
• “Flashy stuff is useless. Playing the violin is hard, honest labor. Technique is king.”
• “Whispering: When someone did their first livestream, the HBlood they played was a copy of a certain God on YouTube. A-Ze copied it too, but someone changed the S-rank difficulty multiple variations in the climax. Guess they just couldn’t handle it.”

“Heh.” Xie Lan couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. “Who says my technique isn’t up to par?”

Dou Sheng leaned in. “What?”

“Nothing.” Xie Lan’s face went cold as he typed out a notification: “Going live tonight to practice the violin for a bit.”

While Dou Sheng was wondering what was up, Che Ziming pulled him again. “What about you? Are you giving a gift?”

Dou Sheng withdrew his gaze and let out a lazy yawn. “No. I just bought a ‘big item’ too. I’m broke.”

Big item?

Xie Lan asked curiously, “Does ‘big item’ mean it was expensive? What did you buy?”

Dou Sheng paused, tilted his head back to down half a bottle of mineral water, and mumbled, “Nothing much.”

Hmm?

Xie Lan instinctively glanced at him, but Dou Sheng kept his head tilted back, guzzling the water. It felt like he was hiding something.

---

There was no evening self-study during these makeup days. Boarding students could go home, so the campus was packed at 6:00 PM.

The dance Liu Yixuan chose was Koi Dance (from The Full-Time Wife Escapist). The group had looked into it during break; the leg movements were simple, but the hand gestures were tricky. They needed to practice individually tonight and sync up tomorrow.

As Xie Lan walked toward the school gate, he could see “claws” flying up and down in his peripheral vision. Che Ziming, who wasn’t even invited, insisted on practicing along. Dai You followed with a smile, and even Yu Fei was rare in his seriousness, fiddling with his two inflexible hands.

A weight settled on his shoulder—a certain someone had latched on again.

Xie Lan felt stifled. “I thought your mood was ‘beautiful’ already?”

“I think I sprained my ankle playing ball today.” Dou Sheng started limping and let out a sorrowful sigh.

Xie Lan glanced at his foot. His pants covered any injury, but the low, suppressed hiss of pain sounded genuine.

He couldn’t help but say, “Are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?”

“No need, it’ll be fine in a couple of days.” Dou Sheng rubbed his forehead against Xie Lan’s shoulder and leaned closer to his ear, whispering with a tsk: “There’s a move in that dance where you have to swirl your hips in a circle. It’s a bit embarrassing. Luckily, in the formation map Liu Yixuan drew, I’m in the back row.”

Xie Lan’s head buzzed. He instinctively opened the formation maps Liu Yixuan had sent to the group. In the segment with the hip swirl, he was standing directly in front of Dou Sheng.

Xie Lan heard the sound of his soul going up in smoke. After a long moment, he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s hard to do that move with a hurt foot. You should suggest she change it.”

“No way.” Dou Sheng immediately vetoed it, leaning against his back and whispering, “I’ll just watch you while I learn.”

Xie Lan: “!”

Because of that one simple sentence, Xie Lan’s consciousness remained scattered all the way home.

---

Zhao Wenying was rarely home and cooked dinner herself, but Xie Lan ate in silence, riddled with anxiety from head to toe.

Zhao Wenying kept putting food on his plate. “Lan-lan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Xie Lan tried to suppress his despair. “Aunt Zhao, I’m going to livestream some violin practice later. It might be a bit loud.”

Zhao Wenying smiled. “That’s wonderful! I’ll put on a face mask and listen from downstairs.”

“Thank you, Aunt Zhao.”

It wasn’t until he was back in his room and touched the violin that his fluttering heart settled. He really hadn’t played high-difficulty pieces in a long time. Fortunately, he’d been doing some “rehab” lately. He spent two hours practicing before the stream to get his “feel” back.

At 9:30 PM, as Xie Lan prepared to start, Dou Sheng leaned against his doorframe and laughed. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in ‘battle mode.'”

Xie Lan’s expression was cold. “His fans are implying my technique isn’t good enough. As a violinist, I can’t let that slide.”

Dou Sheng burst out laughing. “Where are you learning these internet terms? You even know ‘implying’ (nèi hán) now?”

“From your fans.”

Dou Sheng coughed from laughing and reached over to pat his head. “You’ve been corrupted.”

Xie Lan froze. “Can you stop touching me? I’m about to go live.”

Dou Sheng immediately raised his hands and backed out. “Alright, alright. I just wanted to remind you that A-Ze will likely come to your stream. His fan base is huge, so try to keep your cool. If you really can’t hold back, call me. I’m quite good at arguing.”

“Mhm.”

Once Dou Sheng left, Xie Lan adjusted the camera and picked up his violin. Dou Sheng had a misunderstanding—friction between Music Zone Uploaders didn’t need to be solved by arguing. A single song was enough to settle the score.

---

The stream began, and the viewer count surged faster than ever before. This “showdown” had spread through the Music Zone all afternoon. As Xie Lan glanced at his system notifications, he saw several familiar Uploader names enter the room. These Uploaders had a silent agreement: they’d drop a wave of gifts first to get the special chat effects. A-Ze arrived too, ostentatiously dropping enough gifts to take the number one spot on the contributor list.

The bullet comments (danmu) were flying.

• “Whoa, Lan-zai has a huge crowd! So many people!”
• “Xie Lan Boss, please notice me! I’m a fellow violinist.”
• “Can you share your arrangement thought process?”
• “A-Ze fan here just to eat popcorn and watch. Not talking.”
• “Following A-Ze here.”

The chat had never been this chaotic. It was roughly a three-way split between Xie Lan fans, A-Ze fans, and other Uploaders/passersby. Suddenly, the system notification chimed: @World_Famous_Handsome_Dou_dm has arrived. A massive string of gift effects instantly took over the screen, burying everyone else and taking the top spot on the leaderboard.

Xie Lan was stunned. He instinctively glanced toward the wall of the next room.

What happened to ‘I just bought a big item and have no money’?

• “Hahaha, is Lan-zai glaring at Dou-zi?”
• “Wuuu, the Big Cat (Dou) is here to hold down the fort for the Little Cat (Xie).”
• “I ship it, thank you.”
• “What are you playing tonight, Lan-zai?”

Xie Lan pulled his gaze back. “I’ll start with a segment of HBlood. I’ve modified it again based on the original creator’s version. Have a listen.”

• “He’s definitely here for a duel!”
• “Fight! Fight!”
• “But your arrangement probably lowered the difficulty, right?”
• “How can you compare if you’re not on the same starting line?”
• “Speechless. Can someone’s fans have some manners?”

A-Ze, using his special effects, messaged: 【Wow, I’m getting excited.】

Xie Lan glanced coldly at the flashy text and immediately set his bow to the strings.

You fake fan. I hope you stay excited until the end.

As the bow moved, the chat quieted down. Xie Lan stilled his heart, pouring his emotions into the strings, playing the melody he knew so well. In his peripheral vision, A-Ze was constantly praising him with his obtrusive special effects.

• “Really has a great feel.”
• “Everyone calm down, don’t be impolite.”
• “Focus on the performance, it’s quite good.”
• “This part is nice too, hope we can exchange pointers later.”

Xie Lan continued playing expressionlessly. He cut out some of the introductory buildup and quickly reached the S-rank difficulty variation before the climax.

He focused entirely on the bow and strings. His arm tensed, and a series of clear, elastic ascending notes suddenly poured out. The strength of every note was precise, the rhythm superb. The rapid coordination between the bow and his left hand was seamless. As those high notes climbed to the peak, his right wrist flicked, and his left hand slid down from the high positions, performing repeated variations that manipulated the listener’s heart—pulling them close and tossing them away. His wrist and fingers worked with light, agile coordination, dozens of notes per bow stroke. He didn’t stop the variations; he pulled the bow to the end, a sequence of notes like a string of pearls.

The annoying special effect comments disappeared. Instead, other Uploaders’ effects flooded the screen, following the wall of regular comments.

• “Holy crap, more variations? More?? MORE???”
• “That sequence of thrown bows (ricochet) killed me.”
• “Dad, look, is my kneeling posture standard enough?”
• “To play staccato to this extent… it’s not just practice. The nerves, muscles, and innate reflexes all have to be there. This is a gift from God.”

Xie Lan’s expression grew even more cold and focused. He handled the continuous variations as easily as if he were playing a simple scale. The transitions between flying staccato, staccato, and ricochet were incredibly smooth. He broke the climb before the HBlood climax into four distinct segments, jumping up and down constantly while the overall pitch surged until the peak—he tossed the note out with a single bow stroke, suspended at a high position. After a brief pause, he cut back to the main melody, low and lingering, rendering a touch of sorrow that lasted before abruptly ending the bow.

The chat exploded, but there were no more “strange” people or “strange” words.

• “THIS is technique!!!”
• “I’m asking too: What is technique???”
• “My son made his mother proud!!”
• “Layman here, I’m stunned.”
• “Professional here, I’m even more stunned than the layman.”
• “Wait, are we sure Xie Lan isn’t a professional concert-grade performer?”

Xie Lan put down the violin and rubbed his aching collarbone. In the frame, the boy’s slender fingers circled the red mark on his neck. After a short break, he set the violin back up and said calmly, “Warm-up is over. Today I want to accompany a clip of Tom and Jerry. The greatness of this animation actually lies in the music’s… uh… com… com-uh…”

His brain stalled unexpectedly.

From next door came Dou Sheng’s thunderous shout: “INTERPRETATION!!“

Xie Lan’s ears began to burn again. He glanced hurriedly at the wall of “Hahahas” in the chat, cleared his throat, and said in a low voice, “Right, interpretation. I don’t use that word often, sorry.”

He paused and continued explaining: “If you observe carefully, you’ll see that in Tom and Jerry, many of the movements’… uh, weight, pitch, size… no, not size… anyway… and the reac… the visual feedback of the cat and mouse are all driven by the music… uh…”

• “Hahahaha I’m laughing so hard I’m gonna throw up.”
• “Lan-zai, don’t rush, speak slowly.”
• “Your Chinese was already pretty good before?”
• “As expected, the violin is his true form. Once the true form appears, the human vessel can’t maintain its IQ.”

Xie Lan felt a bit hopeless. He muttered, “My Chinese is okay, I’m just not used to describing these things in Chinese yet.” He then quickly explained what he meant in English for a few sentences. The classic Tom and Jerry animations had won multiple Oscars, and the music made an indelible contribution; the exaggerated violence and extreme wit could not be separated from the musical score.

• “Can’t understand, but Lan-zai sounds so attractive.”
• “Holy crap, this is the first time I’ve heard Lan-zai speak English.”
• “British accent is the GOAT!!!”
• “Lan-zai, say more!!”

Next door, Dou Sheng was laughing non-stop. The laughter echoed through the wall. Xie Lan was speechless. He sighed, “I’m starting.”

He glanced at the chat. A-Ze and his fans seemed to have vanished into thin air; the chat was peaceful. But Xie Lan instinctively felt A-Ze wouldn’t just leave quietly; he was definitely still watching.

Anyone who understood music knew the technical difficulty of scoring Tom and Jerry. Xie Lan used Dou Sheng’s iPad to play a 3-minute clip of the cartoon with only the piano accompaniment, missing the violin parts. He had practiced this clip for a long time—it was his personal benchmark for “rehab” testing. He knew it by heart.

Xie Lan paused with his bow ready. “I’m starting.”

As the opening melody played, the audience started spamming “My DNA is reacting.” This was a famous scene where Jerry, with the help of a little canary, pranks Tom. Xie Lan was fully focused, perfectly interpreting the various reversals of fortune between the two camps.

Tom used curtains to make wings; Xie Lan used a cheerful waltz to show his triumphant joy. When Tom caught Jerry mid-air, the tension in the music surged, followed by a long, sudden smear of a note—the turning point. The little canary caught the wing’s strap behind Tom. Xie Lan tilted his bow, making the notes pop out one by one to simulate the sound of the strap snapping out of the holes. As Tom plummeted, the violin shifted to a rapid, sharp high note, then a pause. Tom landed on a tree with a “thud,” splitting it down the middle; Xie Lan used the side of his bow at the tip of the string to draw out a literal sawing sound—

The chat was filled with “high energy” comments. The scene shifted to Jerry and the canary jumping onto a train to escape, and the violin finished with a cheerful flourish.

After just three minutes, Xie Lan was sweating. He took a few breaths before putting the violin down.

• “Kneeling for Lan.”
• “Kneeling for Lan.”
• “Kneeling for Lan.”
• “Hall-of-fame level imitation!”
• “I can’t say it’s similar, I can only say it’s identical.”
• “Are you there? Don’t use the original audio to trick me.”

Xie Lan exhaled and smiled. “That’s it for today’s practice. I have some other things to do. Getting ready to sign off.”

• “Play and run??”
• “Doesn’t the new champion have some victory words?”
• “LOL, a certain someone’s fans haven’t made a sound for ages.”
• “It’s like an empty arena.”
• “Does your face hurt?”
• “Is the sound of Tom hitting the railings familiar?”
• “Why go looking for trouble?”
• “Congrats on waking the sleeping beast, Lan.”

Xie Lan waited for a few minutes until finally, a special effect comment from A-Ze appeared:

【I’ve been schooled.】

After he posted that, the stream’s popularity dropped by 20-30%—presumably his fans leaving. Xie Lan had been waiting for those words. He said calmly, “I’ve been busy lately. See you in the next video.”

---

He ended the stream, shut his laptop, cleaned his violin, put it back in the case, and collapsed onto the bed. After a while, he refreshed the feed and found that A-Ze had deleted that passive-aggressive post from the afternoon.

Xie Lan snorted and tossed his phone away.

How long had it been since he had such a strong desire to win? He couldn’t remember. He had been competitive in the symphony orchestra too; Winchester Public School’s orchestra was full of talent. If he hadn’t been competitive, he wouldn’t have become concertmaster within six months. He just hadn’t expected that after returning to China, he would return to that state of mind—recovering that burning passion to reach the summit.

Xie Lan let out a long breath. Suddenly, a meow sounded at the door. He looked up to see Dou Sheng pushing open the ajar door. Dou Sheng let Wutong the cat in. Perhaps it was the lighting, but the smile in those dark eyes was very gentle, carrying a faint, indescribable emotion.

“Good work.” After a long moment, he only left those three words.

Xie Lan sat up, raising an eyebrow with a bit of pride. “Didn’t expect me to be this amazing, did you?”

Dou Sheng paused, placing a carton of chocolate milk on the nightstand. “I expected it.” He walked over to pick up the violin case from the floor, carefully placing it in its usual corner. He said casually, “I told you—it won’t be long before the top of the Music Zone changes names. This isn’t about ‘atmosphere’ or technical level. You’re very special, you know.”

Xie Lan’s heart went quiet for a second. The light was warm. He looked at Dou Sheng’s gentle gaze and found himself speechless.

In fact, more than once, he had experienced a fleeting, dazed hallucination—feeling that Dou Sheng was too gentle with him. The things he said seemed to subtly cross the line between friends and partners.

---

After Dou Sheng went back to his room, Xie Lan took a shower. He came out, briefly memorized the moves for Koi Dance, and turned off the lights. He lay in bed, but his heart was restless. After tossing and turning, he tapped on Dou Sheng’s profile—the one with the darkened pink background.

Has-Disease: Done for the day?

In seconds, a reply popped up.

Doctor-Dou: Doctor Dou welcomes you. What’s up?

Xie Lan hesitated, then slowly typed: The person you like… are they a celebrity, or someone you know?

This time, Dou Sheng was silent for a long while. Xie Lan’s phone felt hot in his grip. Finally, two replies came.

Doctor-Dou: Someone I know. They have a bit of fame, but obviously can’t compare to a celebrity.

Doctor-Dou: Actually, I’m getting a bit impatient. Maybe… it’ll be soon.

Xie Lan was dazed. He instinctively followed up: Soon? You’re planning to confess?

Doctor-Dou: Yeah. I’m preparing for it.

Xie Lan’s brain went numb. He instinctively locked his screen but didn’t put the phone down. His heart went cold in an instant—cold down to his fingertips. The joy from winning the “battle” vanished. He just felt hollow, gripping his phone in the dark room.

After a long while, he lit up the screen again and stiffly typed: I wish you success.

Che Ziming’s metaphor was so good—everyone is a “Lemon Spirit.” No matter how brightly you shine in your field of expertise, there’s always a time when you’re just sour. He hesitated for a long time before finally pressing send in a frantic, defeated mess, then immediately stuffed the phone under his pillow.

He barely slept all night.

---

The next morning on the way to school, Xie Lan looked like a ghost. Dou Sheng started by limping and hanging onto him, but seeing his withered expression, he didn’t have the heart to lean on him.

When they walked into the classroom, Dou Sheng finally asked, “Did you have insomnia? Or are you sick?”

Xie Lan pushed him away listlessly. “No insomnia.”

“Then what is it?” Dou Sheng followed him. “Fever? Let me feel your forehead.”

Xie Lan ignored him and walked straight into the classroom.

The class atmosphere this morning was a bit off. Usually, this was when the reps collected homework and everyone ate a noisy breakfast, but today it was quiet. Everyone’s focus was on the center of the class—Liu Yixuan’s seat.

It was her birthday. There were several cards and small gifts on her desk, but the most eye-catching thing was a massive, snow-white box sitting on her chair. Liu Yixuan herself stood before the box, dumbfounded.

Che Ziming was at the front line of the gossip. “Who sent this? Open it, let me see!”

Dong Shuijing was even more excited than Liu Yixuan. “I don’t know! I just went with her to pick up the delivery!”

“Oh—so it was mailed.”

“Holy crap, what’s inside?”

“Croissant (Liu), open it quick! The bell is gonna ring.”

Xie Lan had no interest in this. He walked past the crowd, but as he was about to sit down, he stopped. As if possessed, he turned his head to peek at Liu Yixuan opening the box.

The matte-textured gift box was slowly opened. A magnificent Hanfu—moon-white with dots of vermilion—lay quietly inside. The embroidery, silk, and gauze were incredibly delicate. Even without taking it out, one could tell it was expensive.

Dong Shuijing was stunned. After a long time, she said in disbelief, “Is this the one you posted about wanting to buy for a video but said you couldn’t justify the price?”

The girls around them were exploding with excitement. “It must cost thousands!”

“Definitely,” another said. “The texture of this material is incredible.”

Liu Yixuan was also stunned. She looked around. “Who sent this? I… I can’t accept this… Who was it? Can you message me on WeChat?”

The whole class was buzzing. The only person indifferent was Xie Lan—and Yu Fei, who was face-down on his desk in the distance.

Xie Lan glanced at the beautiful Hanfu again. Look at that smooth material… doesn’t it look like someone’s 180-count yarn JK uniform?

Dou Sheng was leaning into the crowd, observing with great interest, while occasionally glancing toward the corner where Yu Fei was playing dead.

A moment later, he looked back, only to feel a chill on his face—as if a very angry little animal was staring him down.

He looked up and froze.

Xie Lan had turned around from the front and was watching him with a dark, brooding gaze.

Dou Sheng: “?”