Chapter 73: Seventy-Third Day of Being a Salted Fish

In other words, Lu Yuan felt that Nan Mu harbored goodwill toward the Desolate Planet.

Goudan considered this. When it came to such matters, Lu Yuan’s intuition was worth trusting. More importantly, Siming also believed that Nan Mu’s actions were beneficial for the long-term development of the Desolation Band, which aligned with Lu Yuan’s judgment.

Thus, Goudan felt somewhat relieved.

However, Lu Yuan was not quite as optimistic.

If Nan Mu had truly discovered the connection between the Desolation Band and the Desolate Planet on his own, then it was possible that others with knowledge of the Desolate Planet might discover it as well.

If that were the case, the time left for the Desolate Planet to develop was likely running short.

Had the decision to register the Desolation Band and release songs ahead of schedule been a bit reckless? Lu Yuan didn’t know. But things had already reached this point; regardless of whether the choice was flawed, they could only actively face the consequences it created.

But for the time being, Lu Yuan did not share these thoughts with Goudan.

It wasn’t that he felt it was unnecessary to speak up. Rather…

He kept feeling that his own deduction wasn’t quite right. It was as if he had missed something, something that he himself should be very clear about.

It was strange. Lu Yuan didn’t consider himself someone with a poor memory, and he had always been sharp. This situation, where he knew something was wrong but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, was extremely rare.

But in any case, since he realized his conclusion wasn’t entirely correct, Lu Yuan decided not to offer any additional warnings or suggestions to avoid misleading Goudan and the others.

Instead, he even emphasized several times that he really didn’t have much interaction with Nan Mu. As for the specifics of the situation and what to do next, they would have to judge for themselves.

Goudan didn’t seem to care at all.

Lu Yuan felt helpless.

Fortunately, when it came to many things—especially analyzing situations, determining the direction of development, and controlling the pace—Goudan might lack experience, but Siming certainly had it. Moreover, Siming was a more cautious person. Lu Yuan believed Siming would make calm, rational choices.

Watching Goudan finish his dinner in a hurry and leave, Lu Yuan slowly pulled out his tablet to search online for reviews of the Desolation Band’s tracks.

He didn’t intend to show these comments directly to Er Ya and the others.

The StarNet usually amplified malice—or rather, it exposed more of the suppressed, hidden malice in the depths of people’s hearts than reality did. Consequently, the comment section for the Desolation Band at this moment was truly unpleasant to look at.

There were positive, or at least objective, evaluations, of course. Tiezhu’s arrangements couldn’t be called masterful, and his performance on the xun¹ wasn’t exactly skilled, but it was by no means a bad song. It might have been naive and unpolished, but it didn’t lack highlights. As long as people were willing to quiet their hearts and listen, even if they didn’t like it, they at least wouldn’t hate it or feel their ears had been insulted.

However, there were also many negative, unfair, and biased reviews. These were things that Tiezhu, Er Ya, and the others didn’t need to see. At least, not yet.

Still, Lu Yuan knew very well that the evaluations and feedback from listeners were very important for Er Ya and the rest.

Or rather, for anyone, the evaluations of others were important. They served as a vital reference. A person could choose not to be easily swayed by external comments, but they couldn’t completely shut their eyes and ears or become obstinate and self-opinionated.

And for Er Ya and the others, certain evaluations were even more precious.

They weren’t mature enough yet. They hadn’t fully established their own musical aesthetics, nor could they truly evaluate themselves objectively, rationally, and fairly. At a time like this, external evaluations could help them reflect and improve.

Therefore, Lu Yuan had already planned to tell the children about this and show them a selection of the beneficial comments.

The only problem was…

To show them only the beneficial reviews, he first needed to perform a screening.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t find someone to help. However, there were very few people who could calmly read through unkind words and find the merit within them.

Besides, it was currently early summer, and everyone had their own work to do. Recently, Goudan had also assigned study tasks to everyone…

It seemed the only person truly idle was himself.

So, Lu Yuan chose to do the screening himself.

It was a bit of a hassle, but it was just a way to kill time anyway, and he had plenty of time.

There was another benefit to this:

He could look not only at the comments on the Gehui platform but also search other platforms and the personal websites of certain musicians for their evaluations of these tracks. On the Desolate Planet, he was the only one capable of doing that.

Lu Yuan thought to himself as he curled back into the sofa, slowly searching for the homepages of several music critics he knew to see if they had offered any commentary on the children’s songs.

–

As it happened, Siming and Geshu Qing were also browsing the StarNet at that very moment.

However, they weren’t looking at music reviews.

Having received a reply from Goudan, curiosity had gotten the better of them. In an attempt to understand more about this person named Nan Mu, the two of them quickly opened the StarNet to search for his paintings.

It wasn’t particularly easy to find what they were looking for.

It wasn’t that Nan Mu’s paintings were hard to find, but rather that the specific paintings they wanted to see – those concerning the Desolate Planet – were extremely elusive.

Nan Mu’s body of work was quite extensive. The StarNet provided a very comprehensive collection of his pieces, ranging from his childhood works at seven or eight years old to his imitations and practice sketches of famous masters during his youth. It was a vast, dizzying assortment.

Siming and Geshu Qing were forced to settle in and patiently look through them one by one.

It wasn’t so bad.

After all, they weren’t in much of a hurry. Although it was already quite late, Zhu Rong had not yet emerged from the game.

Geshu Qing was still grumbling, “Why is Zhu Rong coming out so late today? Normally she should have been out an hour ago, right?”

Siming flipped through the images page by page, offering a perfunctory reply. “Maybe she ran into some difficult monster today?”

Geshu Qing was speechless. “What kind of monster is worth an hour of her time?”

“Uh…” Siming hesitated, then suggested, “Then maybe she ran into someone?”

“Who could she possibly meet that would keep her for an hour?” Geshu Qing still looked skeptical. “Zhu Rong isn’t the type of person to easily break her own schedule.”

“If you’re that worried, why don’t you go in and check?” Siming teased. He could tell Geshu Qing was likely bored with looking at paintings and was just looking for a topic to chat about.

“To be honest, I am curious about what’s actually in there,” Geshu Qing laughed. “But I’ll pass for now. Maybe in a while-“

He suddenly cut himself off. “Wait a second.”

“Hmm?” Siming blinked, stopping his scrolling.

“The previous one,” Geshu Qing said.

Siming was even more confused. That painting was labeled “Mu, age 14, practice sketch.” It depicted… something like a primitive sacrificial scene, with a group of people draped in leaves and animal skins surrounding a bonfire, beating gongs and drums.

While it was well-painted…

It didn’t exactly look like a scene one would find on the Desolate Planet, did it?

Geshu Qing stared at the painting for a moment, then said in a strange tone, “You might not believe me, but in my memories of the Desolate Planet, I’ve seen a scene similar to this.”

Translator’s Notes