Chapter 0106: First Love Is a One-Person Chaos

The only person who could make Zhao Fusheng complain about having princess syndrome was undoubtedly Mu Qingqing.

His feelings toward this girl were complicated. The goddess he once could only look up to now frequently appeared before him—such a change often felt bizarre.

Sometimes, Zhao Fusheng would recall his college days. Back then, he wasn't as mature and sensible as he was now; instead of thinking about how to become stronger, he seemed to waste most of his time.

Those days had both beautiful and disappointing moments—some people were making a fuss, others were laughing.

Leaving the studio, Zhao Fusheng arrived at the female dormitory building in the fourth academic district. After greeting the dorm matron, Mu Qingqing soon appeared in his sight.

"I always feel you're avoiding me," Mu Qingqing said, looking at Zhao Fusheng. Her first words made him force a bitter smile.

"Is it that obvious?" Zhao Fusheng blinked, smiling innocently.

"Very obvious."

Mu Qingqing nodded, her expression serious. Clearly, this was a big deal in her mind. After all, since childhood, few people had ever disliked her as much as Zhao Fusheng did.

"Hahaha, well, let's talk business," Zhao Fusheng quickly changed the subject. No way was he going to be resented by a woman, especially a beautiful one.

Beautiful women were creatures that typically represented both beauty and danger—there was no doubt about that.

"How rare, you actually have moments like this," Mu Qingqing said, covering her mouth with a laugh. It was the first time she had seen Zhao Fusheng like this, and she found it quite amusing.

Zhao Fusheng was speechless, so he simply ignored her.

After a few teasing remarks, seeing that Zhao Fusheng wasn't taking the bait, Mu Qingqing naturally lost interest.

"What exactly do you want to see me about?"

After some small talk, Zhao Fusheng asked Mu Qingqing.

Earlier, Tan Kaixuan had told him that Mu Qingqing insisted on meeting him, even going so far as to ask Hu Xia to put in a word. He was genuinely puzzled—since when had Mu Qingqing become so interested in him?

In Zhao Fusheng's view, since he had already sold that song to Mu Qingwan, it had nothing to do with him anymore. Naturally, there was no need for further contact between him and Mu Qingqing.

He didn't like trouble. Business was business, and friends were friends.

Moreover, to Zhao Fusheng, Mu Qingqing was at best just a classmate with whom he had a decent relationship. The word "friend" wasn't so easily spoken.

"It's like this: my aunt has already recorded that song, but when I listen to it, I always feel something's off," Mu Qingqing said to Zhao Fusheng.

"Off?" Zhao Fusheng looked completely bewildered, unable to grasp Mu Qingqing's meaning. "What do you mean by 'off'?"

"It just doesn't have the same feeling as when you sang it that day," Mu Qingqing said helplessly.

Zhao Fusheng was taken aback. He seemed to understand what Mu Qingqing meant. It appeared that the composer Mu Qingwan had hired had rearranged the melody.

Thinking of this, he shrugged and laughed: "I guess you were biased after hearing me sing it. After all, your aunt is a professional, and the people she finds are definitely more professional."

In his view, since the song had been sold to Mu Qingwan, how she composed it was her own business. Whether the song became a hit or not, what did it have to do with him?

This way of thinking might be somewhat irresponsible, but in Zhao Fusheng's eyes, that was exactly the case. Mu Qingwan had paid, so the song was hers. How she composed it was her affair, none of his concern.

Of course, if Mu Qingwan was willing to pay, Zhao Fusheng wouldn't mind giving her a hand.

In a realistic society, it's not wrong to be a bit realistic.

"I don't know about professional or not, but I'm sure that song shouldn't be sung that way." Mu Qingqing shook her head stubbornly, her face serious, as if she didn't accept Zhao Fusheng's explanation.

Zhao Fusheng sighed: "Then what exactly do you mean?"

For someone like Mu Qingqing, he really had no way. This girl wasn't a bad person, but her ideas were always too naive. In Zhao Fusheng's words, she was purely too well-protected, living in a fairy tale.

"I want to invite you to Beijing." Mu Qingqing looked at Zhao Fusheng and said word by word.

"Pfft!"

Zhao Fusheng looked at Mu Qingqing in shock: "Are you kidding me?"

"Do I look like someone who jokes?" Mu Qingqing replied.

"Miss, I'm a layman. I just made up a song by myself. Your aunt bought it, fine. Now you're dissatisfied with the composition and want me to go to Beijing to guide those professional composers and singers? Are you planning to watch me get beaten out of the capital?" Zhao Fusheng said with an absurd look, complaining helplessly to Mu Qingqing: "There is an order to learning, and specialization in skills. Some people are suited for certain things. We're not professionals, so let's not meddle."

He meant what he said. Once, when he first started working, he argued with a client over an advertising design issue. Zhao Fusheng angrily went to his supervisor to seek justice. That veteran, who had been in the industry for years, gave him two suggestions: First, apologize to the client, because they were the paying customer and deserved respect. Second, self-reflect—as a professional, arguing with a layman over professional matters itself seemed amateurish.

He still remembered the joke the senior told to comfort him: "Believe it or not, if I told a rocket scientist that launching a rocket requires lighting newspaper with a match, then adding kindling and then coal, if he even glanced at me, he'd lose."

From then on, Zhao Fusheng knew that no matter how capable he was, he must maintain sufficient respect for those outside his professional field.

This was not only respect for others but also respect for knowledge.

So, although he knew that the composer Mu Qingwan had found might not have written a very good tune for "The Prose Poem Written by Father," in Zhao Fusheng's view, there are a thousand Hamlets in a thousand people's eyes. Even Shakespeare couldn't achieve that, so why should he force it?

But unfortunately, that's how he thought, but Mu Qingqing didn't see it that way.

"Regardless, I feel this song shouldn't be the way it is now." Mu Qingqing looked at Zhao Fusheng seriously: "I haven't met your parents, and I don't know how you feel about your father, but I believe that since you can sing this song, you must have your own understanding of the word 'father.' Don't you want this song to be buried because of this reason?"

Zhao Fusheng's eyes were complex. He sighed softly, as if looking at a stubborn child.

Experience often changes a person's character as they age. Many times people are unwilling to admit it, but the truth is, the younger we are, the more naive and pure we tend to be.

What time washes away is not only our impatience but also our fearless pursuits and earnest hearts.

"Though I'm reluctant to admit it, you've convinced me." Zhao Fusheng nodded helplessly and gave a wry smile.

Zhao Fusheng hadn't really taken in most of what Mu Qingqing said, but one sentence struck a chord: he felt guilty toward his father.

Without this feeling, he wouldn't be working so hard now.