30: Chapter 30 You're just the last dish.

6:30 PM, Xu Qingya's private apartment.

When Jiang Fan opened the door and entered, a rich aroma of garlic drifted from the kitchen, mixed with the sizzling sound of hot oil hitting the pan.

Changing out of his shoes, he walked straight across the living room.

The kitchen sliding door was half-open.

Xu Qingya had her back to the door, wearing a light gray apron.

Her long hair, usually styled meticulously, was casually tied into a ponytail, revealing a stretch of fair neck.

The oil in the pan had just reached the right temperature, and she was adding garlic slices.

Jiang Fan leaned against the doorframe and watched for a few seconds.

One of The Four Heavenly Queens of the Chinese music scene was currently standing on tiptoe, trying to reach a seasoning bottle on top of the range hood.

Her fingertips barely grazed the edge of the bottle.

Jiang Fan didn't make a sound; he walked straight over and reached over her head to take the seasoning bottle down.

Xu Qingya was startled by the figure that suddenly appeared behind her, and she nearly dropped the spatula.

"What time did you come in? You walk without making a sound?"

"Just arrived."

Jiang Fan's gaze swept over the three dishes and one soup on the stove; they looked good, at least a 70-point standard.

"Just one more dish and it'll be ready." Xu Qingya reached out to take the seasoning bottle.

Jiang Fan didn't give it to her; with a flick of his wrist, he placed the bottle on the counter beside them.

He took a step forward, his breath brushing against her ear.

"The final dish, isn't it right here?"

The spatula in Xu Qingya's hand froze.

Before she could turn around, a pair of hands were already on her waist.

Jiang Fan circled her from behind, his chin resting naturally in the hollow of her shoulder.

His chest pressed tightly against her back, and his body heat was transmitted through the thin fabric of her loungewear dress.

"Jiang Fan—"

The bow behind the apron was deftly untied by one hand.

The gray apron slid down her body and piled at her feet.

Xu Qingya was wearing a goose-yellow loungewear dress, the neckline loose and sagging, revealing half of her collarbone.

Jiang Fan's fingers hooked around her waist, while his other hand pressed down on her shoulder as she tried to turn back.

"Don't move."

"You—"

The hem of her nightdress was lifted up.

Xu Qingya's body suddenly tensed, and she reached back to press against his wrist.

"The food is burning!"

The pot on the stove let out a protesting sizzling sound.

Jiang Fan freed one hand and slapped the gas stove off.

— —

The two moved from the kitchen to the dining table.

The bowls and chopsticks on the table clattered.

And then from the dining table to the bedroom.

By the time Xu Qingya reappeared in the dining room wearing her nightdress, nearly an hour had passed.

The meal had completely cooled down.

She shoved the dishes into the microwave, heated them up, and set them back on the table.

The two sat down.

Xu Qingya picked up a piece of pork tenderloin with her chopsticks and glanced at him.

"No more in the kitchen from now on."

"Okay."

He agreed too readily.

Xu Qingya glared at him again.

After eating, the two curled up on the sofa.

Xu Qingya rested her feet on Jiang Fan's lap, and while he scrolled through his phone, he casually kneaded her ankles.

The TV was on, playing a rerun of a music variety show.

On the screen, a popular idol was roaring out a rock song, veins popping, his expression ferocious.

Jiang Fan grabbed the remote and turned it off.

"Can't listen to this. Let's sleep."

He stood up, leaned over, and scooped Xu Qingya up from the sofa.

"I can walk myself—"

Protest ineffective; Jiang Fan carried her straight toward the bedroom.

Xu Qingya struggled twice, then simply gave up.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and quieted down.

"Jiang Fan."

"Hm."

"Leaving tomorrow?"

"Three days left of recording, the Arrangement is complex, and the band needs time to gel."

Xu Qingya didn't say anything more, but the arms wrapped around his neck tightened slightly.

— —

Late at night.

The system notification sound rang deep in his consciousness.

[Deep communication (multiple times) with a high-compatibility target, Lifespan Value +4000 points.]

[Current Lifespan Value: 8000 points. Remaining lifespan: 7 days.]

Jiang Fan kept his eyes open; Xu Qingya beside him was already fast asleep.

Her hand rested on his chest, her breathing even and long; she was sleeping very deeply.

The insomnia that had plagued her for three years had been cured without treatment while by his side.

Jiang Fan pulled the corner of the quilt over to cover her exposed shoulder.

Xu Qingya stirred and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

— —

The next morning at 7:00 AM.

Xu Qingya drove Jiang Fan to Hongqiao Airport.

"Message me when you land." She held the steering wheel with one hand and turned to look at him.

"Okay."

Jiang Fan grabbed his guitar case and pushed the car door open.

The Porsche merged into the morning rush hour traffic and quickly disappeared at the end of his line of sight.

— —

2:00 PM. Pengcheng.

Deep in an industrial zone stood an old factory building with its corrugated iron doors half-open, from which intermittent instrumental music drifted out.

This place was originally a garment processing workshop, but after it went bankrupt, it was converted into a rehearsal hall.

Jiang Fan pushed the door open and entered; seven people were scattered around the rehearsal hall.

The guzheng player was a woman in her early thirties with short hair, currently looking down and tuning her strings.

The bamboo flute player was sitting in a corner wiping the flute membrane; he looked to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, and one look told you he wasn't easy to talk to.

The erhu player was the oldest, in his forties, holding the neck of his instrument with his eyes closed to rest.

The electric guitarist and the electronic drummer were huddled together looking at a phone; on the screen was playing that Douyin video of "sorrow relief".

The percussionist was the youngest, in his early twenties, chewing gum, with two drumsticks dancing between his fingers.

The pianist was a tall, thin person wearing glasses, sitting in front of an electric piano in the corner, boredly playing half an etude.

Li Cheng was leaning against the wall smoking; seeing Jiang Fan enter, he gestured toward him with his chin.

"Everyone's here. Let me introduce—"

"No need for introductions."

Jiang Fan placed the guitar case on the ground and pulled a stack of A4 paper from his backpack.

Seven scores.

Each one was marked with the corresponding instrument's part, tempo, dynamic markings, and emotional cues.

"One for each person, look at the score first. If you have questions, ask now."

The seven people looked at each other.

The guzheng player took the score first, opened it, and scanned it for a moment.

Then her hand stopped.

She brought the score closer, her fingertips tracing the melodic line of the guzheng part all the way down to the transition section before the chorus, where her fingertips stopped moving.

"This guzheng arpeggio in the intro... B-flat major pentatonic scale?"

"Correct." Jiang Fan pulled over a folding chair and sat down.

"But when it transitions to the chorus here, the tonality changes." The guzheng player looked up at him. "You're having the guzheng do a chromatic descending glissando transition here, leading into the electric guitar's distortion tone?"

"You noticed?"

"I noticed. But I've never seen it written this way." She frowned, her tone not one of questioning, but the instinctive confusion of a professional player encountering a problem beyond the syllabus.

"The pentatonic mode of folk music and the harmonic system of electronic sound, if forced together, should logically clash. But this Arrangement direction of yours..."

She looked at it again.

Her finger stopped on a certain measure.

"No, that's not right. It won't clash. You added a passing tone here as a buffer."

She looked up, and the way she looked at Jiang Fan had changed.

The bamboo flute player also stood up, walked over to look at the guzheng player's score, and then flipped back to his own.

"For the flute solo in the interlude, you wrote it as the lowest note being 2?"

"Correct."

"This isn't standard fingering."

"That's why it sounds good."

The bamboo flute player opened his mouth, then swallowed back his rebuttal.

He held the score, his fingers pressing vaguely on the hole positions.

Following this fingering not only required extremely high breath control but could also give the tone a kind of ethereal, piercing quality.

The rehearsal hall was quiet for nearly two minutes.

Seven people were all reading the score, and there was only the sound of paper turning.

The erhu player opened his eyes, finished reading his part, placed the score on his knees, and said nothing.

But his right hand picked up the bow and mimed the melodic direction of the chorus in the air.

The electronic drummer spoke first.

"Bro, what's this song called?"

Jiang Fan pulled out the last score and spread it out on the music stand.

"blue and white porcelain》."

He raised his hand and checked the time.

"Three days. We only have three days to rehearse."

The guzheng player had already lowered her head, her left hand pressing the strings, her right hand plucking the first note of the intro.

Li Cheng leaned against the wall, cigarette in mouth, looking at Jiang Fan's back.

He had managed artists for twenty years, and not one could make seven musicians with different temperaments all shut up and read the score within two minutes.

He stubbed out the cigarette, took out his phone, and swiped to a chat box.

The message sent by Shen Nian was still hanging on the screen.

[Once this episode of the show finishes recording, I will arrange for you to meet.]

Li Cheng looked at this line of text, then looked up again at Jiang Fan, who was explaining the harmonic progression to the musicians.

He suddenly had an intuition.

The things that would happen to this young man would be far greater than a talent show.