Jingzhou SMEG International Cineplex, midnight.

The late autumn night wind was quite chilly, but the cinema lobby was as hot as a steamer.

The long queue at the ticket gate turned three corners, stretching out of sight.

The crowd was a mix of film critics in black-rimmed glasses, college students with canvas bags, and many young couples in matching outfits.

Everyone was whispering, and the topic of discussion was surprisingly consistent.

"Who are you betting on? I'll bet a pack of spicy strips that it was outsourced to a Hollywood team."

"Stop it. With Director Zhang's temper, could he stand assembly-line work? I'm siding with Professor Chen; that organ sound is so authentic."

"Who cares who it is? I'm here for a pilgrimage tonight. I've had that BGM from the trailer on loop for half a month; every day on the subway, I feel like I'm off to save the galaxy."

In the crowd, the music critic "Music Judge" pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, a confident smile playing on his lips.

Several colleagues stood beside him, exchanging insider information.

"Old Liu, is your ten-thousand-word essay ready?" a colleague teased.

"The framework is set. I'm just waiting to watch the film and fill in the details." Music Judge patted the leather notebook he carried with him.

"As long as it's proven to be Professor Chen's work, my analysis is a shoo-in for the internet-wide first release. These young domestic musicians are still too flighty; they can't write anything with that kind of depth."

Ticket checking began. The three-hundred-seat IMAX theater was packed.

The lights dimmed. The Dragon Seal flashed by. The minimalist logo of Zhang Ji Studio faded away.

The giant screen plunged into absolute darkness.

No intro, no buildup.

A low-frequency hum swept across the floor.

The sound didn't travel through the air; instead, it penetrated the leather seats directly, causing the audience's chests to resonate.

In the front row, a fat man about to drink his Coke flinched, spilling the cold liquid all over his crotch, but he didn't even bother to wipe it.

Then, the sound of the pipe organ crashed down.

It wasn't heard with the ears; it was felt in the bones.

The screen lit up.

A ruggedly designed starship, as tiny as a speck of dust, floated lonely against the backdrop of infinite deep space.

The theater was deathly silent.

Music Judge was holding his pen, ready to record the direction of the main melody.

But now, his pen tip hovered over the paper, unable to write a single word for a long time.

His proud professional music theory knowledge shattered into pieces before this unreasonably grand wall of sound.

This wasn't just a soundtrack; this was building a universe with sound.

The three-hour movie had a plot full of ups and downs.

Zhang Ji's directing prowess combined with this god-tier score was a total dimensionality reduction strike. With every twist and emotional progression, the music was like an invisible thread, tightly pulling at everyone's nerves.

The highlight arrived.

The giant waves of the Water Planet receded. The male lead and his teammates escaped by the skin of their teeth, retreating to the main ship in disarray.

To them, a few hours on the Water Planet meant twenty-three years had passed on Earth.

The male lead sat in the dim cabin, a flickering screen before him.

He opened the video messages accumulated over twenty-three years.

The first video: his son's high school graduation.

The high-spirited youth on the screen said, "Dad, I'll take good care of my sister."

The second video: his son's wedding.

Wearing a cheap suit with red-rimmed eyes, he said, "Dad, I'm not waiting for you anymore."

The scene shifted.

His daughter appeared.

The little girl who once cried and begged him not to leave, her hair in pigtails, now had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and graying hair. She looked at the camera, her voice hoarse.

"Today is my birthday, and also the day you left. I've reached the age you were when you left..."

The piano music cut in at this moment.

No grand orchestral swell, no sentimental string buildup.

Just the simplest piano. Pure and clean.

The piano music didn't show off; there were no complex chords.

It just struck single notes, one by one.

One, two. Like the second hand of time passing, or like the male lead's long-riddled heart beating slowly.

With every strike, the audience's hearts twitched.

A simple combination of notes, yet it possessed a soul-piercing power.

On the big screen, the male lead covered his face, making no sound, his shoulders shaking violently.

Tears streamed through his fingers, dripping onto the cold metal deck.

In the theater outside the screen, all defenses crumbled.

Sobbing filled the air. Some rummaged frantically in their bags for tissues, while others simply wiped their tears with their sleeves.

A tough-looking man sitting next to Music Judge cried louder than anyone, cursing as he wiped his tears.

"Damn you, Zhang Ji... Give me back my tears..."

Music Judge took off his glasses and secretly wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.

He had written countless music reviews analyzing emotional rendering, but when this extreme emotion actually hit him in the face, all theories seemed pale and weak.

The movie finally ended.

The starship sailed toward an unknown galaxy, and the frame froze.

The ending theme began to play.

It was a wordless vocal chant—ethereal and distant, like a sigh from the end of the universe.

The theater lights came on.

Normally, the audience should have stood up to leave by now.

The cleaning lady at the door held a broom and dustpan, ready to come in and sweep up the popcorn and empty water bottles scattered on the floor.

But she froze at the door.

Of the three hundred people in the theater, not a single one moved.

With red eyes, everyone stared at the big screen.

They were waiting.

Waiting for that name.

Music Judge stared intently at the screen, his mind racing through various domestic and international names.

Professor Chen? No, Professor Chen's style was more academic; he couldn't write such wild electronic synthesis.

Hans? No, Hans's pipe organ didn't have such heavy religious divinity. Could it really be some hidden master?

The credits rolled slowly.

Director: Zhang Ji. Screenwriter... Starring... Special Effects Team...

Finally, the section reached the "Music" column.

Everyone sat up straight.

Music Judge even wiped his glasses spotless and put them back on, not even daring to blink.

In the center of the big screen, the first line appeared.

[Original Music/Composer: Lu Zhixian]

The theater fell silent for two seconds.

Then, someone in a corner couldn't help but swear.

"Holy shit? Who?"

This curse was like a switch, instantly detonating the theater.

"Lu Zhixian? Which Lu Zhixian? The one who wrote 'love you'?"

"Must be someone with the same name, right? Definitely the same name! How the hell is this possible!"

"Is Zhang Ji crazy, or am I? This score was written by that idol who was just getting bashed by the entire internet?"

The discussions boiled over like boiling water. No one wanted to believe it.

The contrast was too great—so great it defied the common sense of carbon-based lifeforms.

A traffic star who wrote trashy sweet songs suddenly wrote a space epic? This was more ridiculous than saying aliens actually came to Earth to take civil service exams.

But the credits on the big screen didn't stop rolling because of their shock.

It even sped up, as if conducting a one-sided slaughter.

[Arrangement: Lu Zhixian]

The noise from the audience quieted down a bit.

People began rubbing their eyes, wondering if they were seeing things.

[Orchestration: Lu Zhixian]

The chatter stopped.

Only heavy breathing remained in the theater.

[Mixing/Mastering: Lu Zhixian]

The leather notebook in Music Judge's hand fell to the floor with a thud.

His mouth hung open, and meaningless rasping sounds came from his throat.

Then came the most ridiculous part.

[Piano Solo: Lu Zhixian]

[Violin Solo: Lu Zhixian]

[Cello Solo: Lu Zhixian]

[Synthesizer Programming: Lu Zhixian]

[Pipe Organ: Lu Zhixian]

[Vocal Chant: Lu Zhixian]

A long list of names, dense and packed, occupied the entire screen.

And the names were all those same three characters.

Lu Zhixian. Lu Zhixian. Lu Zhixian.

The cleaning lady at the door was stunned.

She didn't understand what these young people were looking at, why they all had their mouths open like they'd lost their souls.

The whole world went quiet.

It was a state of total system crash caused by severe brain CPU overload.

One person. He did everything.

How was this a soundtrack credit list? This was clearly a display of Lu Zhixian's personal family tree!

"Motherfucker..." the tough guy who had been crying like a dog managed to squeeze out after a long while, "Did this kid possess an alien or something?"