Moreover, once he decided that he was plagiarizing, the old man automatically filled in all the details: he did it to impress Grace Miller, so he copied a song and planned to claim it as his own!

Old literary types really do have complicated minds!

But the question is, am I really that dumb?

Henry Thompson opened his mouth, wanting to explain something, but... he scratched his head and suddenly didn’t know what to say.

Honestly, in this world, he could totally say with confidence that he wrote this song. But, however, but still...

Mr. Thompson was feeling especially proud at this moment, convinced that his timely and successful education of his son had filled him with fatherly love and a huge sense of accomplishment. He stood up right away, even forgetting to pull his son over to look at the manuscript, and walked out. Just before leaving, he felt like something was missing, so he turned back, “Oh right, you sang pretty well... uh, what’s the name of this song? Do you have a cassette of it?”

Henry Thompson shook his head, looking melancholy, “The song is called ‘Hidden Fragrance.’”

Mr. Thompson didn’t notice the little tangle of emotions in his son’s heart, just nodded, “That’s a good name, really fitting! Hmm, especially the lyrics—they have a lot of depth!”

...

After dinner, Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Thompson were watching TV in the living room, while Henry Thompson was alone in his room, feeling sad.

Is it really so painful to have a conscience?

When faced with his dad’s doubts, he actually felt that if he insisted the song was his own original work, he’d definitely blush... No wonder he did so badly in his previous life!

Too thin-skinned!

But then, thinking about the struggles of his past life, he suddenly felt a bit tougher inside.

“Damn it, in my last life I was struggling on the poverty line, dragging down the national statistics for over thirty years. Forget about Aston Martins, Ferraris, and Porsches—I couldn’t even afford a Ford Mustang. At the very least, in this life I should get myself a Great Wall sports car, right? Anyway, in this world, this is definitely my original work!”

With that thought, everything suddenly became clear.

He quickly took out his locked diary and started writing songs.

One after another, lyrics and melodies, and sometimes even jotting down some arrangement ideas—after all, as someone who’d spent over a decade in the music industry as a semi-professional songwriter and amateur singer, this was just too easy. No exaggeration, he could remember at least several hundred, maybe even a thousand finished songs in his head. And if something triggered a memory, he could think of even more at any time.

He was writing furiously when suddenly his phone vibrated twice.

He glanced at it—it was a text message from Grace Miller. Sure enough, when he opened it, it was blank again.

Henry Thompson put down his pen, thinking of that delicate little face, and his emotions suddenly became complicated.

...

In the living room, seeing their son say he was going out for a walk and then leave, as soon as the door closed, Mr. Thompson proudly nudged Mrs. Thompson with his elbow, “I just saved our son! Otherwise, he would’ve embarrassed himself big time, maybe even had a falling out!”

Mrs. Thompson, busy watching TV, glanced back at him. She hadn’t really heard what Mr. Thompson said, just saw his animated expression, and pushed him away, “Stop it, I’m watching TV. Later, when it’s midnight, what if our son comes back halfway? Don’t you have any shame?”

Mr. Thompson’s face instantly took on a constipated expression.

Chapter 4: The Concubine Chronicles

It was a little after eight in the evening, when every home was brightly lit.

On the rooftop, Grace Miller was wearing a school uniform shirt on top and a floral pleated long skirt on the bottom, comfortably leaning over the one-meter-high safety wall, looking at the distant buildings, the lit-up windows, the trees in the shadows below, and the stream of cars weaving through the gaps between buildings far away.

Thud, thud, thud.

When Henry Thompson came out of the stairwell, she happened to turn her head.

Neither of them said a word. Grace Miller kept leaning on the safety wall, turning back to continue watching everything near and far, while Henry Thompson walked over and, imitating her, leaned on the wall too.

More than a minute passed in silence. Just as Henry Thompson was about to break the ice, suddenly, a loud crash came from the fifth floor across the way.

“I can’t live like this anymore!”

“Then don’t!”

Bang!

Crash!

Henry Thompson immediately got excited, his eyes wide as he scanned the fifth floor, “Whoa, are they about to start fighting?”

Grace Miller gave him a light kick on the foot, her face a mix of amusement and exasperation, “Why are you so happy about other people’s arguments?”

Henry Thompson didn’t bother responding to her, blurting out, “Hey, wasn’t it the couple on the fifth floor last month who started making out in the middle of a fight, tearing each other’s clothes off while kissing? I remember the woman was pretty fair-skinned... Hey, did you see where they are? I can hear them, but I just can’t spot them!”

The buildings in Shengshi Garden were all six stories high, and since they were on the rooftop, it was like being on the seventh floor, about twenty meters away from the fifth floor across. Unless the couple was standing right by the window like last time, it was really hard to see them.