Henry Thompson cleared his throat excitedly, gave the strings one last test to make sure the tuning was right, and then thought, considering Old Thompson comrade’s age and his deep-rooted literary youth spirit, if he were to play something like “My Turf” or “Little Apple,” those eyebrows would probably furrow into terraced fields. But if he went too classical, like Master Liu Huan’s “Qing Yuan,” with that Beijing opera flavor, it was obvious that wasn’t something he could write at this stage.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Henry Thompson made up his mind. So, the crisp and gentle sound of the guitar began decisively, accompanied by the clanging from the kitchen and the hum of the range hood—

“When petals leave the flower, a faint fragrance lingers,

The scent fades after the wind and rain, with no one to savor it.

If love tells me to keep going,

I’ll fight until love’s very end.

If the heart dies in brilliance,

Love will be reborn from the ashes.

Unforgettable are the tender whispers,

Let your smile be my offering.

Let the heart die in brilliance,

Let love be reborn from the ashes.

Wildfire burns the grass away,

And look, it’s spring again.”

……

The song, without a doubt, was a great one—one of those masterpieces that the entire music scene might not produce even once a year. Plus, Henry Thompson’s guitar arrangement was quite skillful, and his current voice was much better than in his previous life. Even though he hadn’t trained, and his breath control was a bit weak, Henry Thompson knew how to use what he had. Some falsetto and head voice transitions came effortlessly and added just the right flavor, so the whole song felt really good.

Although with Henry Thompson’s current ability, he still couldn’t compare to the original singer’s gentle and deep emotion, it would definitely be enough to wow a whole room at KTV.

His first performance in this life was still far from perfect, but Henry Thompson was fully invested and deeply emotional. Even after the guitar faded, he kept his eyes closed for a while before finally opening them, looking a bit nervous at Old Thompson comrade, and asked, “Dad, what do you think?”

Mr. Thompson seemed to still be savoring it, and only after a moment of daze did he say, “Was this… something you wrote?”

“Yeah! I wrote it!” Henry Thompson replied.

Mr. Thompson smacked his lips, a thoughtful look slowly appearing on his face. Then, as if something occurred to him, he raised his eyebrows at Henry Thompson, looking especially conflicted.

Henry Thompson stared at him with wide eyes.

Mr. Thompson simply walked into the room, pulled over Henry Thompson’s computer chair and sat down. After thinking for a moment, he said very seriously, “Little Henry, let me tell you, son, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. What’s most important for a person? It’s to find and make use of your strengths. This principle… you know it, right?”

Henry Thompson was a bit confused. “Dad, what do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Mr. Thompson looked a little embarrassed, rubbed his hands, and said, “No, what I mean is… well… sigh, what I’m trying to say is, if you want to chase a girl, there’s no need to sing or anything!”

Henry Thompson was even more confused, staring at his dad with a blank look.

Mr. Thompson frowned and said, “What I mean is… for example, your mom was beautiful back in the day, right? In your generation’s terms, she was at the school beauty level. Don’t be fooled by her being a housewife now—she was really something back then! And not only was she good-looking, but she was also great at reciting, singing, opera, hosting—she was a star in all the school’s art events every year, really impressive! But your dad? I wasn’t ugly, just an average guy, and I barely had a trace of artistic talent. But in the end, who chased whom? Your mom chased me!”

“Wow!” This was the first time Henry Thompson had heard his dad talk about his own “revolutionary history,” and his eyes lit up. He plopped down on the bed, forgetting all about the song, and quickly asked, “So tell me, how did you attract Mom back then?”

Mr. Thompson straightened his back, his eyebrows almost flying up. “Nothing else, it was my literary talent! Anyone can hum a tune, but can just anyone write a novel? Sure, singing well isn’t easy, but can that compare to turning a novel into print and getting a big royalty check? Tell me, if I hadn’t written novels and just played guitar and sang to your mom, would she have picked me?”

Henry Thompson smacked his lips, starting to get the point. But it was a bit roundabout, so he wasn’t quite sure.

After thinking for a moment, he said, “So you mean, instead of singing, I should just focus on writing a love poem or something, right? Is that… what you mean?”

Mr. Thompson slapped his thigh, leaned in, and while pointing toward the Wang family across the way, whispered, “Actually, singing isn’t a problem, but the thing is, both of those sisters next door do this for a living. If you pass off a song as your own and sing it to them, how long before they see through it? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

As expected!

The old man had gone to all this trouble, beating around the bush, and it all came down to this!

He thought the song was plagiarized!