Chapter 14: The Impact of the Rhapsody
Li Jiayan and Zhang Chen had gone out, leaving Lu Zhou alone in the villa.
It was only the first day of the show, yet Lu Zhou already felt that maintaining a calm state of mind during filming would not be an easy task. Though he and Li Jiayan were each other’s first loves, in truth, they’d dated for less than half a year and their feelings weren’t deep. But even so, when he saw her warmly chatting with another man, a strange sensation stirred within him.
The days of filming ahead would surely be even more complicated.
Lu Zhou pressed his fingers to his brow. His gaze, by chance, fell upon the white piano standing in a corner of the living room.
This villa truly had everything.
A piano had been prepared in advance, but for whom, he wondered, was it intended?
Lu Zhou rose and walked over to the instrument, letting his fingers glide across its surface.
He could play piano, but in this life, not as well as in the last—mostly due to lack of practice. Since signing with Jinhua Entertainment nearly ten years ago, he’d spent little time on instruments, devoting himself instead to dance and singing. Yet in the end, he’d gained nothing in the entertainment industry.
So many years without practice, no matter how solid his foundation in his previous life, his touch had inevitably grown rusty.
Therefore, before coming to the show, he’d spent every day reacquainting himself with various instruments, painstakingly reclaiming neglected skills.
Lu Zhou sat at the piano and lifted the lid.
With no one around and nothing else to do, he might as well seize the chance to practice.
He opened his phone and searched online for a comprehensive collection of piano scores, intending to find a suitable piece.
After browsing for a while, he chose “Croatian Rhapsody.”
Lu Zhou read through the score, and just as he was about to begin, his phone buzzed with a new message.
It was Pan Chengyi, the independent music producer whom Nan Qiao had recommended to him earlier that afternoon, approving his friend request.
Only now—had he been too busy to check his phone?
Sure enough, as soon as the request was accepted, Pan Chengyi messaged:
[Sorry, it’s been a busy day and I wasn’t paying attention to my phone. Nan Qiao has told me about your situation.]
[I have plenty of studio resources, but I’m not clear on your specific requirements.]
[How about this: tomorrow, I’ve booked a friend’s studio to record some songs. If you’re free, you can come by and check it out. We can meet and talk in person.]
Lu Zhou hadn’t expected such directness—getting straight to the point and suggesting a meeting.
He liked this approach and quickly agreed on a time and place for tomorrow.
He wasn’t sure yet what the show had planned for tomorrow, but the production didn’t restrict the guests’ activities during filming. Work could continue as usual, and if there was any conflict, it could be negotiated.
Once arrangements were settled with Pan Chengyi, Lu Zhou turned his attention back to the piano score.
He assumed the right posture, ten fingers poised above the keys, eyes fixed on the sheet music.
At the first touch of his fingertips, the piano rang out.
He was unfamiliar with the piece, having never played it before. At first, he couldn’t quite find the rhythm, but after following the score for a while, he gradually got the hang of it.
His fingers danced more smoothly across the black and white keys, and the music began to flow.
It wasn’t a difficult piece—the melody in the right hand and the accompaniment in the left were mostly repetitive—but if not handled properly, the tempo could easily become unstable.
The rhythm of the piece was tempting; it was easy to chase after the thrill and lose control, resulting in less clean notes.
Difficulty was one thing; sounding good was another.
Again and again—once, twice, three times...
At first, Lu Zhou played at 97 BPM, but as he grew more comfortable, he felt ready to speed up.
His feeling had fully returned.
He realized that playing at 147 BPM would create a dazzling effect for viewers watching on camera.
Immersed in the practice, he slipped into a world of his own.
Every cell in his body danced with the music.
Unbeknownst to him, every hidden camera in the living room had focused on him, capturing his performance from all angles.
The camera crew backstage, listening to his piano, found themselves unconsciously tapping their feet.
Zhao Xing, the PD monitoring the feed, stared in awe. Damn, so cool! So damn good!
Was this really the male guest he was responsible for—the one dropped by Jinhua Entertainment, who’d flopped in the industry for ten years and whose personality was so unremarkable?
He had a sudden hunch that Lu Zhou might just become popular.
Five times, six times, seven times...
Lu Zhou played the piece repeatedly. As he continued, his arranging instincts kicked in, and he began adding harmonies to the piano.
On the eighth round, after the final note faded, applause suddenly sounded behind him.
Lu Zhou turned in surprise to see Ye Fangfei leaning against a pillar behind him, smiling radiantly.
Lost in the moment, he hadn’t noticed anyone enter. He stood awkwardly, saying, “I made a fool of myself.”
“Not at all—you played beautifully.”
Ye Fangfei had changed from her morning outfit into a casual black T-shirt and loose jeans, her wavy hair pulled into a high ponytail—fresh and spirited.
“With such a fast tempo and such clean, precise notes, it’s clear your fundamentals are solid.”
She praised him generously.
In front of musicians, poor technique can’t be hidden—nor can skill.
Lu Zhou, accepting her compliment without false modesty, smiled and asked, “Would you like to play something too?”
Ye Fangfei waved her hand, a trace of fatigue showing on her face. “Too tired today, not in the right state. Another time, we can have a little competition.”
She used the word “competition.”
Lu Zhou raised his brows and closed the piano.
“How long have you been back?” he asked.
“Just arrived. Heard the music and came to watch.”
Ye Fangfei went to the sofa and collapsed onto it, clearly exhausted from the day.
It made sense—she’d been working non-stop, and even in these so-called moments of rest, she was still under the camera’s eye.
“Where’s everyone else? How come you’re alone?” Ye Fangfei asked.
“Out shopping for groceries. Should be back soon.” Lu Zhou joined her on the sofa, keeping about a seat and a half between them.
“Six people went shopping?” Ye Fangfei looked at him in disbelief, finding the situation rather odd.
Lu Zhou shrugged, showing he didn’t quite understand either.
Silence fell between them.
After all, they’d just met, and had only seen each other twice today—strangers still.
“I think I’ve guessed your profession.”
Ye Fangfei sized up Lu Zhou and broke the awkwardness.
Lu Zhou teased, “I don’t even have to guess yours—I knew from the moment I first saw you.”
Ye Fangfei laughed, “The show’s rule about keeping professions secret is pretty dramatic.”
They shared a knowing smile.
“Keep my secret for now. When the others return, don’t mention my piano playing—I’m curious to see what they’ll guess my profession is,” Lu Zhou said.
No sooner had he finished speaking than the sound of the door opening and voices came from the entrance.
Ye Fangfei and Lu Zhou exchanged a silent glance. She smiled, lips pressed together, and gave him an OK gesture with her hand.