A Minor Sensation

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With these conditions in place, once Yang Tang’s certification is approved, at the very least he can sell those quality songs, accumulating a modest bit of capital to kickstart his career. Although directly selling songs is the most shortsighted, penny-wise-pound-foolish method—one that might not bring in much money—Yang Tang’s current assets amount to less than two thousand yuan, five hundred of which is leftover meal money. In other words, he is nearly penniless. So even if he saw a single yuan on the ground, he would stoop to pick it up, let alone sell a song, which would certainly bring in more than a yuan.

Having made up his mind, Yang Tang sprang into action. He first created a new account on the Distribution Bureau’s website, choosing the nickname “Yi Meng”—“Yi” representing “Mu Yi Yang,” and “Meng” from “Sleeping Begonia in Spring”—and linked it to his social security number.

Since the Bureau’s registration fee was twice as expensive, Yang Tang, with his new account in hand, decided instead to register through Tianyin Entertainment Network, the most popular platform recognized by the Distribution Bureau.

He wrote out, one by one, the songs whose melodies and lyrics he could still recall perfectly on manuscript paper. After confirming the lyrics and music were correct, he copied them into his computer and finally uploaded them to the Tianyin Entertainment Network’s backend.

He hadn’t thought much of it while writing them from memory, but when the website’s voice prompt requested payment, Yang Tang realized he had entered seven songs in total—classics like “Where Has the Time Gone,” “Old Boys,” “Kiss Goodbye,” and “Those Blossoms,” among others.

“I thought I could only remember five or six songs, but I actually managed seven.”

Everyone has moments of greed, and Yang Tang was no exception. He tried hard to recall an eighth song’s complete lyrics and melody, but aside from a headache, he gained nothing.

With no other choice, he straightforwardly transferred the payment.

Before long, “Yi Meng” received seven similar authentication notifications: “Hello, Yi Meng. Social security number: 20 digits. Your authentication is underway. Bar code: 15 digits. You may check the status on the Distribution Bureau’s website at any time!”

Afterward, Yang Tang entered thirteen familiar Tang and Song poems, though he forgot the two he’d written in his language class by Li Shangyin and Pi Rixiu. The main reason was his thin wallet—he only had half of Li Shangyin’s poem, and Pi Rixiu’s peony poem was only average among many tributes to the peony. Spending money on them felt wasteful, so in total, he spent only four hundred yuan for two years of certification—thirteen poems and seven songs.

Once the excitement of entering and authenticating his works faded, Yang Tang felt a wave of regret. The purchasing power of the local currency was on par with the pound or the dollar, and his parents’ combined monthly income was only thirty-five hundred, so he had just spent an eighth of their after-tax income in one go—truly extravagant.

The only consolation was that the review process for poems and songs was almost entirely computerized, checking only for rhyme and meter, and for songs, violations or vulgarity—basic requirements. As for the quality itself, it was not judged, virtually eliminating the risk of staff appropriating good works, as often happened in the days of manual registration.

Of course, any process involving humans is prone to mistakes, unless it’s entirely run by artificial intelligence. But the government in this world had already done its utmost to ensure integrity, and with legal protection once certification was granted, many of Yang Tang’s worries were unnecessary.

As for the idea of selling some poems and songs after certification, Yang Tang did not intend to act before the college entrance exams. He hadn’t even considered whether he’d become famous.

Knock, knock!

“Who is it?”

“It’s me!” His mother’s voice came from outside the door. “Xiaohong, it’s already dark—come out for dinner!”

“Oh.”

Yang Tang then noticed that the city lights glowed beyond the curtains. He stretched and was about to leave when he happened to see his stack of lyric and music manuscripts. He encrypted the drafts stored on his computer, grabbed his manuscripts, and left the room.

“Mom, where’s the brazier?”

“On the balcony. Why?”

“No reason, I’ll be there in a moment.”

He went to the balcony, lit a fire, and watched the manuscripts turn to ash before finally breathing easy—“A secret unkept is the root of harm.” The brazier was a common tool for his father, Yang Jixue, an associate researcher at Mist City University, who occasionally participated in classified projects and often needed to dispose of documents immediately. So, they kept a brazier at home.

Meanwhile, as Yang Tang and his mother enjoyed a warm dinner, Lü Qin, just home from school, hurried straight to her room and turned on her computer.

“Qin Qin, what are you doing? Wash your hands and eat first!” her mother called.

“Just a minute, I’ll be right there!”

Lü Qin responded while changing her profile signature to include the four lines of poetry Yang Tang had written: “Hearts are in resonance, understanding with a single point.”

Next, she went to the dining room. Seeing a table full of dishes, she glanced around, took a large bowl from the cupboard, filled it with rice and her favorite foods, and brought it back to her room.

She had barely sat down and eaten a few bites when she noticed the “Previous Mist City Graduates’ Girls Chat Group,” which she had recently joined, was suddenly buzzing with activity.

“Hey everyone, listen up, our darling has a crush!”

“Where, where?”

“What do they look like?”

“Photo! Photo!”

Instantly, a group of keen, veteran “she-wolves” surfaced.

“Where’s our darling?”

“Hurry up and show yourself!”

“Fess up, or we’ll spank you!”

At her computer, Lü Qin found it all amusing and didn’t reply, watching the ladies howl and banter as she ate.

Sure enough, after a while, the focus shifted.

“Hey, class beauty, come out and explain!”

“Yeah, where’s the evidence of a crush?”

“There has to be one!” The class beauty spoke up, “If you don’t believe me, check her signature.”

“Last night, the stars and wind,”

“West of the music hall, east of the auditorium.”

“No twin wings of a colorful phoenix,”

“But hearts are in resonance, understanding with a single point.”

The group chat fell silent.

Then, a chorus of wailing erupted.

“Oh my, what’s this?”

“A love poem!”

“No twin wings of a colorful phoenix, but hearts are in resonance, understanding with a single point.”

“Wow, I want to change my signature too.”

“Me too!”

“1”

“This must be the best love poem of the year!”

“This poem is superb!”

“It’s not just superb, it’s ambiguous—so ambiguous!”

“I want to steal it.”

“1”

Lü Qin nearly choked with laughter.

“Darling, who wrote this poem?”

“It can’t be you, can it?”

“Come on, say something!”

Unable to help herself, Lü Qin replied, “Guess!” and then giggled, thoroughly delighted in front of her computer.

At the same time, at the Bai family residence.

Bai Keqing was also online.

However, while opening Shenghua Entertainment’s website, she picked up her phone and dialed a rarely-used number.

Ring, ring, ring.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Uncle Chen, it’s me!”

There was a pause, then a hearty laugh. “So it’s our little princess! What’s up?”

“It’s nothing major, Uncle Chen—I just wanted to ask you to check someone’s social security number for me.”

“Why do you want to check a social security number?”

“It’s nothing, just—” Bai Keqing began, but Uncle Chen interrupted, “Just the social security number? Not the national bank account?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Then just tell me the name—I want to see who’s caught our little princess’s eye!”

“He’s called Yang Tang—‘Mu Yi’ Yang, ‘Tang’ as in ‘Begonia Blossom.’ He’s a boy, about my age, a local from Mist City!”

“Alright, I’ve got the details. Give me five minutes—I’ll definitely find him.”

Five minutes later.

“Heh, Princess, I’ve found your Yang Tang. He seems to—”

“That’s right, Uncle Chen—he’s my classmate!”

“Oh, in that case, I’m relieved! Here’s the social security number—write it down.”

“Thanks, Uncle Chen.” Having gotten Yang Tang’s social security number, Bai Keqing hung up quickly, not giving him a chance to tease her further.

She then logged into her Shenghua account and calmly entered the two poems Yang Tang had recited in language class into the site. For the author’s name, she entered “Yang Tang” without embellishment, linking his social security number. As for the registration fee, it was deducted from her own account.

In Jade Capital, at the Qin family’s courtyard:

Halfway through their freshly made noodles, Yang Jixue finally brought up the purpose of his visit.

“Entrusted training, is it?” The Qin couple exchanged glances, momentarily silent.

Seeing this, Yang Jixue said, “Xuwu, I’m not asking you two to handle it directly—just to introduce me to someone in that field. The rest, you needn’t worry about.”

“No way!” Qin Xuwu didn’t hesitate to refuse. “Jixue, it’s rare for you to come to the capital; I’ll make sure this gets done.”

“I don’t want to trouble you—just an introduction is enough.”

“Don’t say that, Jixue. Even introductions require favors—it’s better to go straight to the source.” With that, Qin Xuwu glanced at Cao Wei.

Cao Wei said, “Don’t worry, Jixue. My eldest cousin works at the Railway Bureau. I’ll ask him right now!” With that, she stepped into the next room and called her aunt’s house.

“Hello, who is this?”

Cao Wei immediately recognized her cousin and retorted, “No caller ID at your place? What are you playing at?”

“Hey, cousin, you’re a busy lady—what brings you to call today?”

“Cut the nonsense, I have a question!”

“Go ahead.”

“Does your bureau still have entrusted training slots this year?”

“Entrusted training? I’m not sure—I don’t handle that, but I suppose there should be some. You know what our bureau is like—who really wants an office job these days?”

As the saying goes, “Those with the connections rely on them.” The children of railway employees with real contacts don’t care much for a nine-to-five, let alone shift work.