As the plane began its descent, Old Zhao turned over, mumbled something, and tightened his grip on the trophy case.

The seatbelt sign turned on.

Lu Zhixian reached out and poked him: "Wake up, we're about to land."

Old Zhao opened his eyes abruptly, looked down to touch the case, and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming it was still there.

"You care more about this case than you do about me," Lu Zhixian said.

"This case is valuable." Old Zhao sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Two-thirty in the afternoon."

Old Zhao took out his phone to turn it on. Before he could even check the time, his screen was flooded with WeChat messages. He scrolled through them, his eyes widening with each swipe.

"You're still trending. Six of the top ten are about you."

Lu Zhixian gave a hum of acknowledgment and continued scrolling through his own phone.

He had already checked the trending topics. The top spot was still "Lu Zhixian Xiao Hua Competition Champion," followed by "Andre Koval speaks Chinese after the match," "Ballade becomes legendary," "Perfect score with unanimous votes," and "Lu Zhixian's identity defined."

There was also "Lu Zhixian in a black shirt," which he read twice, failing to understand why the clothes he wore could also trend.

He flipped through a few pages of the comments section, all of them praise.

It was praised to the point that he felt tired of it.

Lu Zhixian locked his screen, leaned back against his seat, and began to seriously consider a question.

What's the first meal after getting off the plane: hot pot or barbecue?

After thinking for half a minute, he made a decision.

Hot pot. Tripe is a must.

His phone vibrated.

A WeChat message.

Lin Shiya.

It was a voice message.

He tapped it and held the phone to his ear.

"Congratulations, Great Musician Lu."

Her voice carried a smile, the kind that could not be held back.

"I did the math; it's only been a little over a month since we last met, right? What have you been doing this past month? Singer, producer, guitarist, piano competition champion—you've collected them all. Are you collecting stamps? Or are your titles buy-one-get-one-free, being sold wholesale?"

The voice message ended there.

After listening, Lu Zhixian paused for a second, then laughed out loud.

The sound wasn't loud, but Old Zhao heard it and turned to look at him.

"Who is it?"

"Lin Shiya."

Old Zhao gave an "Oh" and went back to looking at his own phone.

Lu Zhixian tapped the voice input. "Low profile, low profile. The thing is, these titles just keep throwing themselves at me; I can't control it. What do you expect me to do? I'm very distressed about it, too."

He sent it.

Three seconds later, Lin Shiya replied with an emoji.

An eye-roll.

Immediately following was a text message: "The extent of your distress is probably about the same as the extent to which you went to eat a sandwich right after winning the championship."

Lu Zhixian raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know I ate a sandwich?"

"Do you think that with over ten million people nationwide watching your live stream, no one backstage filmed you going back to eat a sandwich?"

Lu Zhixian scrolled through Weibo. Sure enough, there was a topic called "Lu Zhixian eats a sandwich after the match," which had quite high traffic. The accompanying image was a side shot of him sitting in a chair eating a sandwich.

"..."

"So," Lin Shiya sent another message, "Teacher Lu, exactly how many more titles do you have that you haven't revealed yet? Give us a number in advance so everyone can be mentally prepared."

Lu Zhixian thought for a moment and replied with four words.

"It's hard to say."

Lin Shiya didn't reply with text again but sent a voice message. It was only two seconds long, just one word.

"Tch."

But the end of that word curled upward slightly, and Lu Zhixian could tell she was smiling.

He put his phone down and looked at the ground, which was becoming clearer outside the window, a smile still on his lips.

During those days in Vienna, he remembered everything He Zhiyuan, Old Zhao, the competition organizing committee, and the media said, but not a single sentence made him laugh like this.

Old Zhao leaned over to glance at his screen, saw the chat interface, and retracted his head, humming something under his breath—it was unclear what he meant.

The moment the plane landed, the sound of the tires scraping the runway came through. Old Zhao instinctively hugged the case tighter again.

Lu Zhixian patted his shoulder: "Relax, that trophy won't grow legs and run away."

"What if it does?"

"If it runs away, I'll just go get another one."

Old Zhao rolled his eyes at him and decided not to respond to that.

After exiting the terminal passageway, Lu Zhixian knew he was in trouble.

People picking him up blocked half the hall.

Fans were holding up light boards and banners, the light from their phone screens connecting into a sea. Two rows of media cameras were set up, and security personnel pulled up temporary barriers to maintain order, but the effect was limited; the crowd kept pushing forward.

"Zhixian! Zhixian!"

"Godfather!!!"

"Champion!!!"

The roar of voices surged from all directions.

Old Zhao's expression changed. He turned sideways to block in front of Lu Zhixian, one hand protecting the trophy case, the other pulling the luggage.

Lu Zhixian patted the back of his hand to signal that it was okay.

He smiled and waved to the crowd.

As soon as that smile appeared, the screaming at the scene doubled instantly.

"Teacher Lu! How do you feel about winning the championship this time?"

"Lu Zhixian! What is the first thing you want to do after returning home?"

"May I ask if you will be holding a solo piano tour next?"

Microphones were shoved forward one after another. Lu Zhixian didn't stop walking, but he answered every question.

"As for feelings, the piano at the Golden Hall was quite nice to play; the timbre was even cleaner than I imagined."

"The first thing after returning home: eat hot pot."

Regarding the last question, he tilted his head slightly and smiled: "I haven't thought about the tour yet; let me adjust to the jet lag first."

The reporters still wanted to ask more questions, but security had already cleared the path, and Old Zhao pushed the luggage and led him out.

Once they got into the business van and the door closed, the roar outside was blocked off to the other side of the glass.

It was suddenly very quiet in the car.

Old Zhao fastened his seatbelt in the passenger seat, and the driver started the car and slowly drove out of the airport.

Lu Zhixian sat in the back row, watching the buildings receding outside the window.

He was silent for about two minutes.

"Old Zhao."

"Hmm?"

"What do you think I should do next?"

Old Zhao looked at him through the rearview mirror, a bit caught off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." Lu Zhixian's tone was flat. "The competition is over, the trophy is taken, and I've trended. What now?"

Old Zhao turned around, his expression becoming serious.

"There's plenty." He counted on his fingers. "First, at least three satellite TV stations in the country are looking for you to appear on programs, and there are several invitations from variety shows. Then, with your identity as a piano champion, you can definitely hold a solo recital; the box office won't be a problem at all. And albums—you haven't released any new songs in a long time; you should take advantage of this wave of popularity."

"Wait." Lu Zhixian interrupted him.

Old Zhao stopped.

Lu Zhixian leaned against the back of the seat, his gaze resting on the streetlights constantly receding outside the car window.

"These can all be done," he said, "but I feel like something is missing."

"Missing what?"

Lu Zhixian didn't answer.

He opened an interface that Old Zhao couldn't see.

System Homepage.

The balance of popularity points at the top of the panel was jumping, the number so large it was a bit exaggerated—the championship effect of the Xiao Hua Competition was still fermenting, and the popularity points jumped up a notch almost every few seconds.

His gaze moved from the popularity points to the functional area below.

[Designated Category Track Exchange]

[Skill Mall]

[Random Draw]

He was too familiar with these buttons. "dispelling sorrow" came from here, "La Campanella" came from here, and "Ballade No. 1 in G Minor" also came from here.

Every time he opened this interface, something interesting would happen afterward.

Lu Zhixian stared at the screen for a few seconds.

The corners of his mouth slowly curled up.

"Old Zhao."

"What is it now?"

"Variety shows, recitals, albums—put them on hold for now."

Old Zhao frowned: "Then what do you want to do?"

Lu Zhixian flipped his phone over onto his lap and tilted his head to look out the window. His eyes held that special light unique to Lu Zhixian. Old Zhao had seen it several times; every time this light appeared, nothing good ever followed.

No, wait, it meant something big was about to happen.

"How about," Lu Zhixian said, his tone as casual as if he were deciding what to have for dinner, "I switch tracks and try something else?"

"Switch to what track?"

"You don't need to worry about it; it's my own business." Lu Zhixian smiled. "You'll know when the time comes anyway."

Old Zhao opened his mouth, wanting to ask but not knowing how.

Having been partners with Lu Zhixian for so long, he was already used to this rhythm. Every time Lu Zhixian said "You'll know when the time comes," whatever happened next was guaranteed to exceed his imagination.