Chapter Nine: The Decision

"How come you seem like a different person after just a trip to the restroom?" Back at the table, Shen Mengxue and Ma Xiaoqian keenly sensed the transformation in Lin Qihua. Where he had once been as serene as still water, he now radiated a peculiar energy, a vibrant sense of life.

Lin Qihua smiled, brushing off their suspicions. "You're overthinking it," he replied, though in his heart he had already resolved that this secret would be his greatest weapon, never to be shared with anyone. He would find a way to explain it in the future. After all, although Lin Qihua had always dabbled in songwriting, except for one or two presentable pieces, most were failures. Those close to him knew this well—otherwise, the company wouldn't have let him go so easily. A truly talented songwriter was a rare find, a prized asset in the industry.

The conversation continued, mostly with Shen Mengxue excitedly planning the Spring Festival gathering. Fan Ziming drank sullenly in silence while Ma Xiaoqian listened quietly, occasionally stealing glances at Lin Qihua. Her intuition was even sharper than Shen Mengxue's; she sensed that something extraordinary had happened to him. But it was a good thing—why press for the details? As long as he was well, she was content.

Lin Qihua listened with a gentle smile, occasionally offering his thoughts. For a while, a warm, comforting atmosphere enveloped them.

Once Shen Mengxue had put together a rough plan, everyone bid their farewells. Lin Qihua parted with a smile and left alone, leaving behind only Ma Xiaoqian's lingering, wistful gaze.

"Alright, after years of pining, your wish is granted, yet you still look so forlorn?" Shen Mengxue teased.

"Oh, hush," Ma Xiaoqian retorted. "You're not much better yourself."

"Hey, with looks and presence like his, who wouldn't be drawn to him?" Shen Mengxue admitted without hesitation. "But I know we're not on the same path. Unless it’s just a fling, we're not part of his world. We have no chance—it's just a dream."

"A dream, is it?" Ma Xiaoqian murmured. "I once had a dream. Now I’ve awoken and seen the real him. Should I keep dreaming?"

"Yes, keep dreaming—sweet dreams," Shen Mengxue replied with a mischievous grin.

"You little brat, I'll tear your mouth apart!" Ma Xiaoqian, blushing with embarrassment and annoyance, lunged at her.

"See? I hit the mark!" Shen Mengxue laughed, deftly dodging. The two tumbled into playful chaos, becoming a unique, beautiful scene.

Beside them, Fan Ziming still simmered with indignation. He couldn't understand why he was so thoroughly ignored. Lin Qihua couldn't be bothered to argue with him; Shen Mengxue had lost her temper with him several times, and even the usually gentle Ma Xiaoqian now looked at him with a murderous glare—all for Lin Qihua, a man who'd only been in their class for a year and whom they hadn't seen in four? A fallen phoenix is less than a chicken, so the saying goes, and Lin Qihua had once been above him, truly out of reach. But now he had fallen from grace—no one dared sign him, and who knew if he'd ever get another break. So why was he still being protected by Shen Mengxue and the others? Why was he still overshadowed? If Lin Qihua knew what he was thinking, he would have told him: Even fallen, a phoenix remains a phoenix, retaining its nobility and pride. Its pause on the ground is only to gather strength—the sky is its true domain.

But Fan Ziming did not understand this. Remembering Shen Mengxue's Spring Festival gathering idea, and glancing at the voluptuous Ma Xiaoqian, a sly smile crept over his lips. Perhaps this was a piece of news worth sharing with a certain someone.

Lin Qihua, oblivious to Fan Ziming's thoughts, was riding the excitement of having confirmed his suspicions. Once home, he quickly composed and wrote lyrics for the songs that had come to him, gradually calming down.

Last night, his father had urged him to carefully consider his future. He truly had been lost, unsure of the path ahead. A year's absence is a heavy blow for an artist—falling from C-list status was inevitable. Most importantly, who would dare sign him after a year? Who would give him another chance? Was he even up to the task? These were real, pressing questions. More crucially, what did he have to stage a comeback? For a singer, it always comes down to the music—this is where true strength lies. Lin Qihua was confident in his vocal ability, but what about great songs to sing? Overnight sensations were rare now; most stars made it through years of hard work. But there was no denying that a single outstanding song could catapult a singer to fame, popularity, and fortune, providing a solid foundation for the future—especially if the song was tailor-made.

These days, talented songwriters were highly sought after. Most had established partnerships with entertainment agencies or top studios, working seamlessly with superstars; this left few good songs for newcomers, especially those without company backing. This, a year from now, would be Lin Qihua's greatest obstacle to a comeback. Yet, after confirming his newfound ability, it had become his greatest strength. With this shift in fortune, Lin Qihua needed a new plan for his future.

Undoubtedly, he had to continue down this path. Otherwise, what a waste it would be to have all these classic, beautiful songs in his mind. Waste is disgraceful; to squander a gift from the heavens is to court disaster.

First, he had to guard his secret. No one, not even his closest family, could know. Lack of understanding was one thing, but once the secret was out, trouble would surely follow. He needed a plausible cover for the sudden appearance of so many original songs. The media was relentless—he had to prepare. Fortunately, he had a year of obscurity ahead, time in which the world would pay him little heed. After a year of reflection and dramatic change, his transformation would be easily explained: struck by adversity, he had found clarity and immersed himself in learning and growth, allowing him to write these songs. What's more, the songs were all somewhat related to his own experiences—there would be no incongruity, like a young man writing lyrics that pierced the heart of a woman. If he released the two songs he had now, either uploading them online or selling them to other singers, he could make a fortune. But that would put him right back in the spotlight, and who could say how others would react? The Huayi company, not to mention that Guo Shaoke, would hardly be pleased to see him rise again so quickly. It would disrupt his plans. Patience was required; caution was paramount.

Next, his choice a year from now would be critical. There’s a saying: "The small temple burns the best incense; big shops bully customers." Surviving in a major company was hard. Without corporate support, progress was slow, and he’d be just another drifter. Big companies offered more opportunities and protection, but the cons were greater. Resources were reserved for the stars; there was little left for newcomers, and competition was fierce. The effort alone was draining and the pressure immense. For a typical newcomer, this might be manageable, but for Lin Qihua, it was a major problem—more harm than good. Small companies had fewer resources, but they were desperate to cultivate their own stars, some even specializing in nurturing fresh talent to sell at a high price to bigger firms. Each had its own methods. Finding a small company that suited him, one that offered a measure of freedom and full support, was the direction he needed to pursue.

Third, he had to begin intensive training. From what he could tell, the songs emerging in his mind spanned more than one style. The two he had now were evidence enough—one fresh and emotional, the other rugged and passionate. The second was already a challenge for him to handle. Would there be more styles in the future? Rock? Soul? Jazz? Rap? Anything was possible. Some songs even required special vocal techniques for unique effects. His voice did have its own character, broad range, and strong high notes, but mastering different styles would require diverse training and experimentation. Whereas most singers established their personal style at the start and only later branched out, he would take a different path, embracing versatility from the beginning.

Fourth, he couldn't isolate himself. He had to get out, experience life, and savor its myriad flavors—only then could he inspire new songs and enrich his repertoire. This would be his foundation and greatest asset over the coming year. He couldn't wait for inspiration to come to him; he had to seek it out. Today's encounter with Ma Xiaoqian and the others on campus was a perfect example—reminiscing about their school days had stirred memories of youth and campus life, which in turn gave rise to new music. This proved that he needed to get out and experience the joys and sorrows of life, to meet more people.

As he pondered, a plan gradually took shape. The first step was to persuade his parents to let him continue down this road. Without solid reasons, that would be difficult. His father had always hoped he would inherit his scholarly mantle and carry on the family’s traditional culture, while his mother had nurtured his love for classical music, teaching him to master every instrument. Yet he had chosen pop music instead. Now, after a setback, he had returned home, still determined to pursue this path. Without compelling justification, they would never agree.