Summer Sound

In another corner of Jingzhou.

A brand-new office had just been adorned with a nameplate that read "Xia Yin Era."

This was Lu Chenyan's entertainment company.

Under Ren Qian's efficient management, the company's framework had been established in record time.

The decor was modern and minimalist, with top-tier recording and office equipment from the industry.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, Lu Chenyan gazed down at the ceaseless flow of the city below, yet felt no joy.

His brows were tightly knit, his mind preoccupied with the biggest setback he had faced in recent times.

The company was ready. The money was secured. The resources provided by his elder brother, Lu Chenyuan, were impeccable.

Yet the cornerstone he desired most remained stubbornly out of reach.

Ji Yichen.

That name barely existed in mainstream music circles.

But in the indie scene, he was revered like a deity by countless fans.

His music was filled with sharp empathy for the marginalized and raw anger against social injustice.

The melodies were rough, the lyrics cut like knives—each song a bloody social report from the fringes.

Lu Chenyan knew that if "Xia Yin Era" was to be more than just an assembly line churning out profitable idols, but a cultural label with soul and conviction, Ji Yichen was the perfect choice.

To that end, he had personally visited Ji Yichen three times.

The first time, he was outright turned away.

The second time, Ji Yichen made him wait two hours before coldly stating he wasn’t interested.

The third time, Ji Yichen finally met him—in a shabby rehearsal room.

"Lu Chenyan," Ji Yichen said, wearing a threadbare old T-shirt, his gaze aloof. "I've heard your music. Sweet. Pop. Safe."

He paused, his disdain unmistakable.

"Your company is probably the same. Just another factory for neatly packaged candy."

"I don’t need safe. And my music sure as hell doesn’t need to be wrapped up like candy."

"Your world, I don’t get. Mine? You’d do best to stay out of it."

With that, Ji Yichen picked up his guitar and began playing, ignoring Lu Chenyan completely.

Lu Chenyan felt as if all his passion and grand visions had been doused in ice water.

Everything he took pride in was worthless in the other man’s eyes.

"Third Brother, why the long face? What’s on your mind?"

A bright voice snapped Lu Chenyan out of his thoughts as Lu Qianqian pushed the door open.

She was dressed in a sleek athletic outfit, her long hair tied into a high ponytail, exuding vigor.

In her hand was a fruit basket.

"I had some free time today, so I came to see your new company. And to congratulate the new boss."

"Don’t bother. It’s just an empty shell," Lu Chenyan turned around, smiling self-deprecatingly.

Then, he recounted the entire ordeal with Ji Yichen.

"...He called me candy," Lu Chenyan admitted, his tone laced with defeat.

"Ji Yichen?" A glimmer flashed in Lu Qianqian’s eyes. "I know of him."

Lu Chenyan stared at her in surprise. "How do you know him?"

"I heard his songs in a peacekeeping camp in the Middle East. A communications engineer from Xia played them on his battered phone. He said whenever he missed home, or when the injustices he saw kept him awake at night, listening to Ji Yichen’s music reminded him that the fire inside him still burned."

Lu Chenyan fell even deeper into silence.

So that man’s music had already reached places he couldn’t even imagine.

"Third Brother, you’ve been approaching this wrong from the start," Lu Qianqian set the fruit basket on the coffee table and looked at him earnestly.

"You went to him as a capitalist, trying to buy his talent."

"But people like him despise capital. You were using the very thing he hates to try and win him over."

Lu Chenyan frowned. "Then what should I do? Show up empty-handed and talk about ideals?"

"You shouldn’t go at all," Lu Qianqian’s reasoning was razor-sharp. "I should."

Lu Chenyan was stunned. "You?"

"Yes," she nodded confidently. "Not as an envoy for 'Xia Yin Era,' but as the founder of the 'Horizon' Foundation."

"I won’t talk contracts or money with him. I’ll talk collaboration."

"The kind that takes his music where it truly belongs."

Lu Chenyan studied his younger sister, realizing he might never have truly known her.

She was younger, yet at this moment, her gaze and clarity of thought far surpassed his.

Suddenly, his past doting felt embarrassingly shallow.

"Alright," he took a deep breath and nodded. "Give it a try."

The next afternoon.

An indie bookstore in the old city—the meeting place Ji Yichen and Lu Qianqian had agreed upon.

Ji Yichen deliberately arrived ten minutes late.

He wanted to put the supposedly spoiled rich girl in her place.

He’d even prepared a speech for her expected pearl-clad arrogance.

But when he pushed open the bookstore door, he saw a girl in a plain white shirt and jeans, bare-faced.

She sat by the window, quietly flipping through a photobook on war photography, her profile serene and focused in the afternoon light.

No designer labels. No heavy makeup. No impatience.

Ji Yichen’s rehearsed disdain faltered.

"You’re Lu Qianqian?" He approached the table, his tone still deliberately cold.

"Mr. Ji, please have a seat," Lu Qianqian closed the book, gestured to the chair opposite, and met his gaze.

Her eyes were clear, calm—no trace of unease or ingratiation.

"If this is about Lu Chenyan again, save your breath," Ji Yichen cut straight to the point as he sat.

"It’s not," she shook her head. "Today, I’m here as a listener, to ask you a question."

"A question?" Ji Yichen’s brow arched slightly, caught off guard.

"In one of your songs, you sang, 'Beneath high walls, human dignity is worthless,'" Lu Qianqian held his gaze, her eyes carrying a stillness beyond her years. "I want to know—what does dignity mean to you?"

The question stunned Ji Yichen.

He hadn’t expected her to use his own lyrics to begin this conversation.

It made him drop some of his guard.

"Dignity is freedom from control, from being bought. It’s the liberty of thought and soul," he answered instinctively, voicing his lifelong creed.

"Well said," Lu Qianqian nodded in agreement.

Then she pivoted.

"But if a person doesn’t know where their next meal is coming from, do they still have the right to speak of dignity?"

"If a mother must sell her body to get clean water for her feverish child, where does her dignity lie?"

"If a nation's culture is being slowly erased by war and poverty, where then can the dignity of its people find refuge?"