Mr. Thompson's brows were furrowed like terraced fields as he stood there holding the bike, not moving for a long time.

At that moment, for some reason, a thought stirred in his heart, and he suddenly recalled the conversation between father and son from that day. He vaguely remembered, as if... maybe... possibly... at that time, Little Henry had said something?

That song, "Hidden Fragrance," was it written by him?

……

Mr. Thompson was delayed outside for quite a while, and by the time he got home, Mrs. Thompson was already busy picking vegetables.

Hearing the door, and seeing it was Mr. Thompson coming back, Mrs. Thompson started complaining, "Pork prices have gone up again! This time it's up thirty cents per jin! When I was buying groceries, I heard a lot of people talking about it, saying our pork prices have now reached developed country levels ahead of schedule."

"Ah!" Mr. Thompson wasn't in the mood to respond; for every sentence Mrs. Thompson said, he just replied with an "ah."

Sitting in the living room, he lit a cigarette, looking a bit absent-minded.

Mrs. Thompson said to him, "Smoking in the living room again. I can let you smoke me out, but our son is only seventeen, still growing! Don't stunt his growth with your smoke!"

Mr. Thompson retorted, "What does smelling a bit of smoke have to do with growing taller? What kind of logic is that! Besides, he's already 1.8 meters tall, it's fine if he doesn't grow anymore!"

Mrs. Thompson glared, "What are you saying, what do you mean it's fine if he doesn't grow anymore!"

……

The two were bickering happily when the sound of keys at the door was heard.

Mr. Thompson immediately perked up, stubbed out his cigarette, and stood up.

As soon as Henry Thompson came in with his guitar on his back, Mr. Thompson said, "Little Henry, come to the study, Dad wants to ask you something."

Mrs. Thompson gave a disdainful glance at the retreating Mr. Thompson, looking every bit the victor, "Can't be bothered to argue with you!" With that, she turned and went back into the kitchen.

Henry Thompson walked into the study, looking confused.

Mr. Thompson asked, "Little Henry, I remember that day you said the song you sang... the one called 'Hidden Fragrance,' did you write it yourself?"

After the painful reflection that night, Henry Thompson's skin had grown much thicker, so he nodded without hesitation, "Yeah, I wrote it!"

"Both the lyrics and the melody...?"

"Both written by me."

"Oh..."

Mr. Thompson let out a long "oh," and fell silent.

Henry Thompson asked, "What's up? Why are you asking about this again?"

Mr. Thompson took out another cigarette, and even glanced at the door—Henry Thompson sensibly went over and closed it for him.

Mr. Thompson lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and said, "I just went to several music stores outside, and they all said they've never heard of a song called 'Hidden Fragrance.' On my way back, I happened to run into Little Olivia from next door—she's a pop star, right? So I casually asked her, and she also said... never heard of it. This song... you really wrote it yourself?"

Henry Thompson was speechless and nodded.

"Both lyrics and melody?"

Henry Thompson nodded again, affirming, "Both lyrics and melody."

Mr. Thompson suddenly fell silent again.

Chapter 9: I Love Music, and I Love You All!

The next day was Friday.

At six in the morning, Henry Thompson opened his eyes right on time.

During the years he did music, his habit was to sleep at six in the morning and get up at two or three in the afternoon. But during the years he worked on film and TV sets, his habit changed to sleeping at midnight and getting up at six in the morning. And if the job was as a prop master or assistant director, he needed to sleep at two in the morning and get up at five—no one had it harder than anyone else, because everyone had it equally tough.

As for now, he could sleep at ten at night and get up at six in the morning.

For Henry Thompson, who had lived two lives, this kind of leisure with time was already a kind of happiness.

Of course, years of life's tempering had long since rid Henry Thompson of the habit of lazing in bed.

As soon as his eyes opened, he was fully awake within seconds. Then he got dressed, got up, washed his face, and brushed his teeth.

Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Thompson usually got up at six-thirty, only sleeping in half an hour later on Saturdays and Sundays. After getting ready, Henry Thompson was about to head out. There was no movement from the master bedroom yet, so he didn't wait for them to get up and just left on his own.

After going downstairs, he started jogging.

In the past few days, he had already resumed his habit of morning exercise.

About a thousand meters from Shengshi Garden, there was a park called Mingqin Spring Park. Well, Jinan Prefecture is known for its "Seventy-Two Famous Springs," but Mingqin Spring isn't one of them, so the park wasn't big.

A little after six in the morning, there weren't many people in the park. By the time Henry Thompson reached the park, he was already warmed up all over. He deliberately did some extra stretching, loosening up all his muscles and bones before starting his boxing practice.

The boxing style he practiced wasn't some famous martial art, just a set of moves without even a name, which he learned from an Big Brother who was in charge of props in a TV crew he once worked with. According to Big Brother, the boxing style had already been passed down to the eighth generation by the time it reached him, but since he only had a daughter, he couldn't pass it on. Since Henry Thompson was sincerely willing to learn, Big Brother was willing to teach.