Love Variety Show: The despised me exploded in popularity

Xu Qingyan couldn't be sure whether the person on WeChat was Lin Wanzhou or not; there were simply too many uncertain factors, so he chose not to bother about it anymore.

After watching an online class for a while, as time slowly passed, a message popped up on WeChat.

Pei Muchan, "Are you free?"

"Yes, the door is open."

Xu Qingyan replied, and after putting down his phone, he couldn't help but take a deep breath, getting up to serve the fruit slices he had prepared earlier, along with some steaming hot tea.

The living room was very quiet; footsteps could be heard from the corridor, light ones.

He looked up toward the door where Pei Muchan paused for two seconds before gently knocking.

"Come in."

He stood up to welcome her, and for some reason, he felt Pei Muchan seemed to be in low spirits. He was already nervous, and now he became even more unsettled.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Pei Muchan walked to the couch, leaned against the armrest, and sat down lightly before answering his question with another question.

"You want to watch classes, are you saying I'm not teaching well?"

"What?" He was momentarily bewildered, "No, that's not it. It just so happened that Shen Jinyue asked, and I thought, why not take advantage of the opportunity, so..."

"Oh." She glanced at Xu Qingyan.

Upon hearing this, Xu Qingyan was even more confused. What did her 'oh' mean? It wasn't like he was doing anything wrong; he was just taking advantage of Shen Jinyue's online class.

"Then why didn't you ask me for it?" Pei Muchan asked softly.

"You have it?" he ventured.

"Yeah, how would I know you needed it if you didn't ask me?" Pei Muchan turned to look at him, her fingers sliding back and forth on the edge of the sofa's back, her voice distant.

The conversation seemed to be veering off in a bizarre direction, and Xu Qingyan had actually prepared himself for singing. He even wrote down the lyrics on his phone, revising several versions; it counted as leaving a trace.

He pretended the lyrics of "Qing Tian" had gone through several edits before finalization, not just conjured out of thin air.

"Can I ask now?" he carefully inquired, "Do you have any online classes on music theory that I could borrow to watch? Is that okay?"

"Hmm." Pei Muchan nodded, stretching out her hand, "Give me your phone."

After all, she was too embarrassed to reach into his pocket to fish it out herself; she just asked him for it. Xu Qingyan cooperated and handed it over, and as for the lock screen code, she had remembered it after hearing it just once.

4399.

The two online classes weren't on the same app, and Pei Muchan didn't even glance up, directly closing the teaching app from Shen Jinyue. She refrained from deleting it.

She downloaded a new app in a flash, tapping swiftly to log into her account.

"Here." She handed the phone back to him.

Xu Qingyan took the phone and clicked around, discovering that this account had been recently created, and the music theory class had been purchased just an hour ago. His eyelids twitched wildly, yet he had to pretend as though he was oblivious.

It's better not to meddle in too many things; "Qing Tian" was the priority.

"Thank you. I'll use your class; you've been a huge help." Xu Qingyan carefully chose his words, incessantly and subtly praising Pei Muchan.

"I'll complement Teacher Pei's lessons, and in my spare time, I'll watch more online classes to build a better foundation."

Pei Muchan felt her face heat up for a moment and cleared her throat.

"It's just that her class isn't quite suitable for beginners like you; you'll encounter many problems. This one will be better for you. Anyway, I've already bought it, and it would just sit unused otherwise."

"Hmm." He nodded, struggling to maintain his composure.

An hour before, the course purchase record still hadn't been deleted. Could it be that Pei Muchan, this woman, had a teaching obsession, enjoyed lecturing others, and hated having her students snatched away?

He shook his head, casting those messy thoughts out of his mind.

"Can we start transcribing the music now?"

Upon hearing this, Pei Muchan realized she was here to help him with the transcription. Although she didn't have much hope, it was, after all, something she had promised to do.

As a professionally trained musician, listening to a song and transcribing its music wasn't difficult for Pei Muchan. So she sat down and found a pen from the living room cabinet.

But after searching for a while without finding paper, she had to write on a napkin.

"Okay, do you want to play the guitar?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm not very good," Xu Qingyan waved his hand, refusing. He knew his own limits.

Thanks to being a time-traveller, he had exploded a lot of Gold Coins. His mind had gained a music library, a film library, and even more absurdly, his singing ability had been optimized.

But that was all there was to it; his knowledge had not increased by a hair.

Indeed, he couldn't escape the torment of learning in this lifetime.

"Then you can just sing a cappella, that's fine," Pei Muchan pursed her lips, already holding the bottom of the pen. The tip dabbed onto the pristine napkin, leaving an ink blotch.

"Okay." Xu Qingyan cleared his throat and prepared very amateurishly. Once he started, a languid melody emerged, "The little yellow flower of stories, has been drifting since the year of birth~"

To Pei Muchan's surprise, first, Xu Qingyan's singing was very good, and second, this song was highly finished.

"Re So So Si Do Si La,....."

When she heard this humming part, the first thought that flashed through Pei Muchan's mind was that he hadn't figured out what lyrics to fill in, and the second was that this didn't seem to affect the song's completeness.

"The day I skipped class for you, the day the flowers fell, that one classroom....."

The rhythm in this segment was significantly faster. Pei Muchan's gaze lowered as she swiftly wrote and sketched on the paper. Images were beginning to form clearly in her mind along with the lyrics.
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A rainy day, naive boys and girls hiding under the same roof. Pretending to be indifferent, their solemn demeanor, and the nonchalant shifting of gazes.

At the moment when eyes met, eyes drenched, the heartbeats accelerating.

The happiest yet the most bitter thing about youth was the daily undulations following that person's silhouette and the trivial sadness involving an unrequited crush.

Passing by that person's location thirty times in one day. Each time, with a heartbeat quickening like opening a mystery box, even without speaking, walking shoulder to shoulder with a space for just one person in between would make her happy all day!

"On this windy day, I tried holding your hand, but just my luck, the rain gradually...."

Pei Muchan paused with the tip of her pen, starting to realize that this was a complete song, from the melody to the lyrics, it was nearly perfect!

Scenes beautifully reflecting each step of the story, which began with a single small yellow flower. The heart in love flutters up and down, like Feng Ling hanging from the seventh floor of a high tower.

As the wind passes through, the sounds rise and fall, tumbling one after another, knocking on someone's name.

"But in the story's end, you seem to say still~ goodbye."

An unrequited crush, after all, is knowing someone's silhouette better than their eyes. Youth is a poem, the end of the story brimming with regrets, but that person would never fade away.

He would never age, never become worldly.

The young man would always be bright and passionate, wearing a clean school uniform fragrant with lavender detergent, lanky and standing in the sunlight-filled corridor.

Standing at the pinnacle of her heart, imprinted on her fourteen or fifteen-year-old self.

She would never be touched by the mundane, always young and beautiful, wearing a white cotton dress. Standing in that twilight afternoon, forever vivid in his memories.

The end of the story is the naive youth.

Click, Pei Muchan snapped back to reality. There was an ink blot smeared across the napkin, blurring the writing.