Chapter Twenty-Six: "The Scoundrel"

Ren Qian merely shook his head to decline his father-in-law’s kind offer. He had his own plans; gifting such high-quality songs to his father-in-law was both a gesture of goodwill and served other, more subtle purposes.

“Gentlemen, is this song good enough to be selected for the album?” he asked.

“Of course it is! But please, don’t call us ‘elders’ anymore—it’s too much. Let’s just treat each other as peers.”

Once again, it was Senior Niu who spoke up first. Ren Qian thought, with a personality so quick to jump into the fray, Senior Niu must often attract trouble.

“There’s always someone who learns earlier or later. Your understanding of art already surpasses ours; we could call you ‘senior’ instead. But tell us, Brother Ren Qian, how did you come up with this song and these lyrics? Give us some tips—if I could master this art, I wouldn’t have to worry about living expenses after retirement,” joked the kindly, Buddha-faced man.

Ren Qian laughed. “Imitation—imitating life itself. Life is the greatest musician.”

Everyone burst into laughter. Among this group, he felt no burdens or pressure. Sometimes he would toss out a scholarly phrase, sometimes crack a joke—light-hearted and innocent, they bantered easily.

Guanshi Entertainment truly deserved its reputation as the last pure land of China’s music industry.

“This song could also be considered an ‘ancient style’ piece,” said a younger, gaunt man, so thin his cheeks were sunken, round glasses perched on his face, his sharp gaze cutting through the thick lenses like a snake’s stare fixed on Ren Qian.

“Ancient style songs can be divided into three categories: wind, elegance, and ode. This one is appreciated by both the refined and the popular—elegant to the utmost. We’ve been working in this direction recently, but to think you, Brother Qian, have already gone ahead of us—truly, masters dwell among the people.”

He paused, then continued, “You’ve cleverly blended colloquial expressions, yet your lyrics are full of Zen-like wisdom. The combination is remarkable. It turns out that ancient style doesn’t have to rely solely on Song or Yuan poetry. ‘Understanding the ways of the world is knowledge in itself’—how true that is. There’s no sign of forced ornamentation here; Brother Qian, you’ve given us a vivid lesson.”

Ren Qian was left speechless by such praise; he was genuinely embarrassed. After all, he wasn’t the true author of these songs—he was only their messenger.

But that was a fact he could never admit—no one would believe it anyway.

“Ahem. The next song is called ‘Rogue.’ I wrote it specifically to fit the concept of my father-in-law’s album, and it should have broader appeal.”

The music room fell instantly silent.

If their anticipation for the first song had come from Ren Qian’s recent rise to fame, their anticipation for the second was born from their admiration for his talent.

…

The prelude began again with guitar—notes trembling from the strings, laden with complex emotions: sweetness mingled with regret, self-blame woven with loneliness…

“Sometimes I drink too much, I love my freedom,
I often make mistakes, tell lies, but always feel guilty,
Met many bad friends, learned to crave the new and tire of the old,
I’ve owed many women too,
…
Afraid marriage is just a promise kept for three minutes,
I once said I’d quit smoking, but said it and forgot…”

Dreams and hopes have been cast far away, yet I still tire of working day after day,
Never good at planning since I was young,
But even so, only you still love this useless man in me,
When I make mistakes, you always choose to forgive,
Though everyone knows we’re not a match,
Still, you’re willing to wait…”

“It feels almost too calm, the chorus goes on for so long…” was the elders’ first impression, but their curiosity was piqued, and they couldn’t stop listening.

Ren Qian’s voice was exquisitely textured, low and weary, as if suppressing deep emotions. The others felt the same urge, waiting eagerly for him to unleash that pent-up feeling.

“Why do you still love me—a man like me?
Are you foolish, or are you just that great?
Everyone here looks down on me, my reputation is so bad,
But you never once blame me.
Why stick with a man like me?
I’ve lived half a life and still failed!
But you never change your heart, smile as you endure with me,
Even if I’m bad, I can’t bear to secretly do wrong…”

What? The elders gritted their teeth, waiting for the emotional explosion, but the tension only kept building. Ren Qian made them hold on, refusing to let them release it. It felt like desperately needing a restroom, running for miles to finally find one—only to discover every stall was occupied.

Their frustration was palpable.

But they held on, determined not to give up halfway. They had to wait for the natural release, anticipating that the eventual catharsis would be unrivaled, a pleasure beyond words.

It had been so long since they’d experienced the agony of holding back, followed by the exhilarating release.

…“A rootless weed, a drifting fate,
But you treat me as a treasure, do anything for me,
Old loves are just a rag, tonight I draw the final line,
I just want to grow old with you~
On this earth, only you love this useless man in me,
Even when I’m wrong, you always choose to forgive,
Though everyone knows we’re not a match,
Still, you’re willing to wait,
Why do you still love me, a man like me?
Are you foolish, or just that great?

Everyone here looks down on me, my reputation is so bad,
But you never once blame me!
Why stick with a man like me?
I’ve lived half a life and still failed!
But you never change your heart, smile as you endure with me!
Even if I’m bad, I can’t bear…
Still love me, a man like me,
Are you foolish, or just that great?
Everyone here looks down on me, my reputation is so bad,
But you never once blame me,
Why stick with a man like me,
I’ve lived half a life, still failed,
But you never change your heart, endure with me to the end,
If it were someone else, I couldn’t bear to secretly do wrong…”

Abruptly, the song stopped.

Abruptly? Truly?

The elders were stunned. The whole song had few fluctuations, and they’d been waiting for the emotional climax, the catharsis—yet on the brink of boiling over, Ren Qian had cut them off completely. They felt like a pot left to simmer, only to have the fire snatched away at the final moment—about to explode from the pressure.

A pang of heartache spread through them…

At some point, a new presence had entered the music room—Li Feifei. Her life echoed that of the heroine in “Rogue”: fifteen years ago, Lin Ruowan suffered a crushing defeat, falling from a beloved young idol to a “useless man,” abandoning all dreams, sinking into alcohol and despondency.

Only she had stayed by his side through his lowest days.

That tiny bar with only a single regular customer had been kept open thanks to her quiet support.

After Lin Ruowan’s fall, she had shouldered every burden alone, rising from a second-rate singer to a superstar over fifteen bitter years—tears only those who have lived it could understand. Words could not begin to describe it.

Whenever exhaustion tempted her to give up, she clenched her teeth—if Brother Lin ever made a comeback, she wanted enough strength to support his return as a king. How else could she have come this far without determination? How else could she have enabled him to return with dignity?

Though she had finally reached her original goal, the memory of the journey still stung with resentment.

This song, “Rogue,” was written for her. How could she not weep?

“Feifei…” Lin Ruowan wanted to thank her, but the words felt redundant. He simply held the incomparable diva tightly in his arms—held her as tightly as he could.

In this life, he had already failed one woman; he dared not fail a second. Otherwise, when the world and the heavens are forever separated, regret would come too late.