Volume One: Reaching the Pinnacle at Debut Chapter Twenty-Six: He Is My Father

The next morning, Chen Jing woke up on time, his internal clock as punctual as ever. Still groggy, he shuffled off to wash up. The previous night, he had given Sun Ruoqing a proper massage for over an hour, leaving him somewhat sleep-deprived. As for what kind of massage could possibly last that long, only Chen Jing himself could answer.

Fortunately, it was the weekend, so he didn’t have to work. Chen Jing leisurely prepared breakfast, and as he stepped out of the kitchen, he saw Molly sitting quietly on the sofa in the living room.

“Molly, you’re awake? Go wash up and come have breakfast,” he called out.

After Molly finished washing up, the two of them sat together at the dining table. Chen Jing took a sip of porridge and asked, “Molly, would you like Uncle to become your guardian in the future?”

“Hm?” Molly looked at him, a little confused.

Chen Jing explained, “It means from now on, you’ll live with Uncle, and I’ll take care of everything for you.”

When Chen Jing finished speaking, Molly hesitantly asked, “Is it like before, with my dad?”

“Your dad before?” Chen Jing was surprised.

“Yes, back there, each of us had a dad who was in charge of our lives,” Molly recalled uneasily. “The one who let me out was my dad.”

“Uh…” For a moment, Chen Jing didn’t know how to respond.

After thinking it through, he said, “In a way, it’s similar to what you called ‘dad’ before, but I promise you, nothing will ever hurt you here. I’ll protect you from now on.”

Molly gazed at Chen Jing, who was explaining so earnestly, and her unease gradually faded. She then looked at him and asked, “Then should I call you Dad?”

“Huh?” Chen Jing was caught off guard. Did it really have to be that? Or maybe… Father?

Shaking his head, he gently stroked Molly’s purple hair and said softly, “You can call me whatever you like. If anyone asks, just say I’m your father.” After a moment, he added, “And if I don’t ask you to, don’t mention your past to anyone else, okay?”

“Okay.” Molly lifted her head slightly, savoring the warmth of his hand. She actually enjoyed the feeling of Chen Jing touching her hair; every time he did, it calmed the anxiety inside her.

Since it was the weekend, Chen Jing decided not to go to work and instead spent the day at home, teaching Molly about the household appliances and other basic knowledge. Molly displayed an extraordinary memory; she only needed to hear something once and she would remember it all. Chen Jing suspected this had something to do with her abilities or those experiments she’d been through.

As noon approached and Chen Jing was about to prepare lunch for Molly, the doorbell suddenly rang.

He was a bit surprised—at this hour, the only people who might come by were Sister Xi and Lin Zitan. But why would they come looking for him?

Chen Jing turned and patted Molly’s hair, smiling. “Some friends of Uncle’s are here. Don’t be afraid, Molly—they’re very nice people.”

“Uncle’s friends?” Molly didn’t quite understand.

When Chen Jing opened the door, sure enough, it was Lin Xi and Lin Zitan.

“What brings you two here?” Chen Jing asked curiously.

Lin Zitan grinned mischievously. “What, not happy to see us? Or are you hiding a beautiful woman in here and it’s inconvenient for us to come in?”

Lin Xi just smiled quietly at Chen Jing.

Chen Jing was speechless, but opened the door wide to let them in. “Yes, yes, I’m hiding a great beauty,” he joked, then ran over to pick up Molly. Turning to them, he said, “Come, meet the beauty I’m hiding.”

“Oh my, what a cute child!” The moment Lin Zitan saw Molly’s short purple hair, she was captivated and squealed as she lunged toward her.

Startled, Molly quickly hid in Chen Jing’s arms.

Chen Jing hurriedly stopped Lin Zitan from pouncing and said helplessly, “You scared her. She’s just come to a new place and is a little shy.”

Lin Zitan stuck out her tongue sheepishly. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Is this your relative’s child?” Lin Xi asked, eyeing Molly’s purple hair with curiosity. Was she mixed-race?

“Yes, her name is Molly,” Chen Jing replied with a smile. “Come on, Molly, greet them—this is Aunt Zitan, and that’s Aunt Lin Xi.”

Prompted by Chen Jing, Molly turned to look at the two unfamiliar “aunts.”

“Pfft, Aunt? We’re young ladies, not aunts!” Lin Zitan corrected Chen Jing indignantly. She then reached over to pinch Molly’s cheek, teasing, “If Molly calls us aunt, then what should she call you—uncle? Haha!”

“I call him Dad,” Molly said abruptly.

Lin Zitan’s laughter stopped abruptly, and the room fell into sudden silence.

“Uh…” Chen Jing opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

Lin Zitan stared wide-eyed at Chen Jing. “She’s your daughter? And mixed-race?”

Lin Xi also looked at Chen Jing, holding the child, in shock. There was only one thought in her mind: So what Zitan said before was actually true.

Chen Jing wanted to sigh deeply—what a mess this was.

After much explanation, he finally convinced Lin Xi and Lin Zitan that Molly was not his biological daughter, but the child of a comrade who had died in action. Seeing that Molly had no one else to rely on, he had taken her in to care for her.

“Poor little Molly,” Lin Zitan said softly, hugging the quiet girl sitting on the sofa. She was so pure-hearted that she believed everything Chen Jing had made up.

But Lin Xi was not so easily convinced. Adjusting her glasses thoughtfully, she asked, “What about Molly’s mother?”

“Yeah, where’s her mother?” Lin Zitan chimed in, turning to Chen Jing with a puzzled look.

“Uh…” Chen Jing was stuck again; he hadn’t considered this loophole when he made up his story.

“I don’t have a mother,” Molly said coolly, saving Chen Jing from embarrassment.

“That’s so sad.” Lin Zitan hurried to pat Molly’s head, assuming her mother must have abandoned her.

Lin Xi didn’t pursue the matter further. After all, Chen Jing had plenty of secrets she didn’t know about—one or two more didn’t make a difference.

“Don’t you have to go to the studio today?” Chen Jing asked Lin Xi.

She shook her head. “One more day of recording and we’ll be done. Then it’s just editing before the broadcast.”

Lin Zitan laughed. “Once it airs, Ah Jing, you’ll be even more famous. I bet you’ll take first place again in the second round. And that Li Qingwei—he’s sure to become popular, too.”

Chen Jing shrugged. “I think Qingwei will get more attention than me; the main focus of our performance was his rap.”

Lin Xi looked at Chen Jing seriously but said nothing. If you knew choosing that song would make someone else stand out, why did you choose it yourself?

“There’s something else,” Lin Xi said, turning to Chen Jing. “Everyone at the company knows that ‘Aurora’ was written for Ling Ruohan by you.”

“Oh?”

“And now, a lot of the company’s artists are asking me if you have any more songs. They’re willing to pay for them.”

“Huh?” Chen Jing was surprised, but after a moment, he understood.

If you asked what the most popular song right now was, without a doubt, it was “Aurora.” The song was so popular that not only had it topped the country’s major music charts, but it was also playing everywhere—record stores, entertainment venues, you name it.

The songs Chen Jing wrote before, “The Brightest Star in the Night Sky” and “Birch Forest,” were also hits, but compared to the phenomenon that was “Aurora,” they were nothing.

While ordinary people focused on Ling Ruohan, the singer of “Aurora,” other singers were more interested in the composer. That’s when they discovered the previously unknown Chen Jing. A quick search revealed—aha!—he had written and performed two other songs, both of which were quite popular. Suddenly, they saw the light. Maybe they could ask this songwriter for a song, too. Even if they couldn’t get another “Aurora,” getting a song like “The Brightest Star in the Night Sky” or “Birch Forest” would be good enough.

So they started inquiring about Chen Jing, and of course, the first to seek him out were the artists from his own company.

Hearing that people wanted to buy his songs, Chen Jing’s eyes lit up. It was like someone offering him a pillow when he was drowsy—he was in need of money, after all, still owing Lin Xi over a hundred thousand.

He patted his chest. “Of course, I have songs of every kind—as long as they can pay the price.”

“You’ve written a lot of songs, Ah Jing?” Lin Zitan asked curiously.

“Yep.”

“How many?” Even Lin Xi couldn’t help but ask. She’d always known Chen Jing had written a lot of songs, but she’d never seen him bring them out, so she’d never asked.

“Wait a moment,” Chen Jing said, heading into his room. Soon he emerged carrying a large cardboard box.

Lin Zitan recognized it as the box Chen Jing had brought over when he moved from his old apartment. When she’d helped him move, it was one of his few belongings—she remembered it clearly.

Chen Jing carried the box over to Lin Xi and Lin Zitan and let it drop with a thud, evidently packed full.

He gestured to them. “Take a look.” With that, he opened the box for them.

Lin Xi and Lin Zitan exchanged glances, staring at the large box that neither of them could wrap their arms around. Lin Xi asked uncertainly, “All of these are songs you wrote?”

Chen Jing nodded. “Yep.” Then he pointed to his room. “There’s still half a box more in there, but it’s not much, so I didn’t bring it out.”

The two of them exclaimed in unison, “Half a box more?”

“That’s right.”

Lin Zitan looked at Chen Jing in disbelief, murmuring, “Ah Jing, you’re amazing.”

Lin Xi was at a loss for words. She pulled out a small notebook from the box; on the cover, written in pen, was “Midnight Serenade.” She took out another—“Goodbye.” These were songs Chen Jing had performed in bars before.

Opening them up, she found not only music scores, but even detailed arrangements. Now she finally understood why every song Chen Jing released became an instant hit—with such a vast creative reserve, it was no wonder a few songs had gone viral.

“Have you copyrighted all these songs?” Lin Xi asked.

Chen Jing nodded. “Some of them, yes. Some, no.” Those he’d performed publicly, he’d copyrighted; the others, he hadn’t.

“You haven’t copyrighted them?”

“Hmm?”

“You dare to just leave all these songs lying around without copyrighting them?”

“Uh… why not?”