Chapter 27: The World of Geniuses Is Beyond Our Comprehension

Chapter 27: The World of Geniuses, Beyond Our Understanding

“It’s alright, I’m here!”

These five simple words struck straight into Yang Xin’er’s heart. She suddenly realized that the words that move a woman most are not “I love you,” but rather, “It’s alright, I’m here!” At least, that was how Yang Xin’er felt at this moment.

In the midst of wind and rain, these words became a harbor for her, a source of reliance when she was at a loss. Women need more than love—they also need a sense of security.

Happiness is not about how many sweet nothings you hear, but about having a reassuring hand on your shoulder when you feel helpless, telling you, “It’s alright, I’m here!”

At that moment, Yang Xin’er felt the warmth and strength in the hand holding hers.

“Are we only allowed to use this twenty yuan to take the subway or bus to the hotel?” Zhang Le turned to the staff member and asked.

“How you get there is up to you. The production team only provides twenty yuan. If you can persuade a taxi to take you for twenty, then that’s your skill,” the staff replied.

“So we can earn our own fare?” Zhang Le continued.

“Of course!” the staff answered crisply, though there was a hint of doubt on his face. This was France, not home; in a foreign land, with a language barrier and unfamiliar surroundings, earning enough for the fare seemed a fanciful notion.

“That makes it simple.” Zhang Le smiled and said to Yang Xin’er, “Wait for me a moment.”

His smile was infectious. Though she didn’t know what he was up to, Yang Xin’er felt complete confidence in him.

She believed Zhang Le would give her a pleasant surprise.

Zhang Le slung his guitar off his back and walked to a busy corner nearby. He placed the twenty yuan into his guitar case and began speaking rapidly to the passersby.

“What did he say?” Yang Xin’er asked the staff beside her, curious.

“Does Teacher Zhang actually speak French?” one staff member exclaimed in surprise.

Several members of the crew accompanied them besides the cameraman, and naturally, some of them spoke French—after all, it would be impossible to film in France without French speakers. Yang Xin’er couldn’t understand the language, but she could tell Zhang Le was speaking French, hence her question.

“The world of geniuses is beyond your understanding!” Yang Xin’er smiled with pride. “He speaks several languages—French is just one of them.”

Her smile radiated pride, and her tone sparkled with delight.

Before the staff had time to translate Zhang Le’s words, he had already begun to strum his guitar and sing. Yang Xin’er didn’t understand the lyrics, but music often transcends language, drawing listeners in regardless.

There’s no such thing as an international boundary in music—these words are not spoken in vain.

“Teacher Zhang can even sing French songs! Did he write this one himself? I’ve never heard it before,” the French-speaking staff member exclaimed. He was a fan of French music and would surely have recognized such a classic if he’d heard it before.

Zhang Le was singing a French song—in fact, an extremely classic, widely beloved one titled “My Name is Hélène.”

This song had topped the French charts for twenty-five consecutive weeks. Listening to it felt like having afternoon tea in a rooftop garden, as a subtle sense of happiness and peace quietly filled one’s heart.

The song’s perspective was uniquely crafted: told through a girl’s introspective soliloquy, you could easily imagine a beautiful young woman speaking to herself with graceful composure, her lips forming a faint smile and her eyes shining with warmth. Anyone who has heard this melody would surely feel a rare and profound stirring of the soul.

Sung by a man, the song took on a different charm. Its lyrics conveyed the philosophy of French life, and its folk-style melody made it enduringly appealing. The French reverence for art is known to the world. Zhang Le’s deep, romantic voice, paired with the crisp articulation of French, delivered a musical experience beyond imagination.

Of course, Zhang Le’s singing wasn’t technically outstanding, nor was he particularly familiar with the song. Yet its classic status was enough to overshadow these shortcomings. Besides, Zhang Le’s distinctly Eastern features made his rendition of such a French classic all the more astonishing, drawing countless passersby to stop and listen.

In truth, this was the only French song Zhang Le knew. He had learned it because, in his previous life, he’d become enamored with a French Hollywood star and happened to hear a French cover called “Attachment,” which led him to the original.

Yang Xin’er was entranced, lost in the music. The production crew from “With You All the Way” didn’t share her musical sensibility or passion, but even they found the song beautiful—just not enough to distract them from their own shock.

They were both astounded and exhilarated. To earn enough for the journey in France, so that Yang Xin’er wouldn’t have to squeeze onto the metro or bus, Zhang Le had started busking at the airport—singing a classic French song no less, and attracting a crowd of listeners. It was a sensational scene, a total headline.

These days, any Chinese making a splash abroad brings honor to the country!

The “With You All the Way” crew were already imagining a ratings boom for their program, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Zhang Le’s actions were astonishing. When the program aired, it was sure to cause a sensation.

Now they finally understood why Yang Xin’er had fallen for him, why she had become the “fiercely supportive wife” so often teased by netizens.

Charisma! That was it—an irresistible, indefinable charm, perhaps emanating from his talent. Such charm was enough to win Yang Xin’er’s heart and inspire her unwavering support.

An Eastern face singing a French song, drawing spectators and even requiring airport security to maintain order—who could believe it? Once this story reached China, with Zhang Le’s current popularity, it would spark a massive sensation.

Zhang Le returned, clutching a handful of money—mostly euros. Yang Xin’er glanced at it: most of the bills were hundreds, with a few twos and even several five-hundred notes. Altogether, it looked to be several thousand euros, worth tens of thousands in Chinese currency.

The staff stared in disbelief. In less than ten minutes, he had earned tens of thousands. Since when was making money this easy?

Yang Xin’er’s earlier words echoed in their minds, filling them with awe: the world of geniuses is truly beyond our understanding.

Yang Xin’er smiled—not because of the money, nor because they could now ride in comfort without crowding onto trains or buses, but because of Zhang Le himself. Her smile brimmed with pride.

“It’s alright, I’m here!”—these were not mere words of comfort.

With money for the ride, and Zhang Le, the language prodigy, by her side, their journey to the Hanting Grand Hotel would be effortless.