One week, ten songs.

When Old Zhou finished recording the last track of 《Wang Chunfeng》, he took off his headphones, sat blankly in front of the mixing console, and didn't make a sound for a long time.

Lu Zhixian came out of the recording booth, unscrewed a bottle of mineral water, and took a gulp: "Brother Zhou, what's wrong?"

Old Zhou turned his head, his expression complex.

"Teacher Lu, I've been in this business for a long time, and I've seen singers of all levels." He paused. "But a 'monster' level talent like you... I'll probably never run into a second one in my life."

Lu Zhixian smiled and didn't respond to that.

He confirmed the schedule with Old Zhou for mixing and mastering after the New Year, then packed his bag to leave.

When he reached the door, Old Zhou shouted from behind.

"Teacher Lu, when that album comes out after the New Year, remember to save me a signed copy."

"No problem."

Lu Zhixian waved his hand and pushed the door open to leave.

After leaving Echo Workshop, he didn't go straight back to the hotel but detoured to the mall.

It was the 27th day of the twelfth lunar month; red lanterns were hung everywhere in the mall, and the atmosphere of the New Year was so thick it felt like it was seeping out of the cracks in the walls.

He stood in front of the scarf counter for twenty minutes.

After picking and choosing, he finally selected a wine-red cashmere scarf. It wasn't flashy, the color was rich, and it felt soft—suitable for a middle-aged woman.

He went to the tea set section. After looking at purple clay teapots and white porcelain gaiwans, he finally chose a set of celadon kung fu tea ware.

He had once flipped through an old photo on his phone taken by the original owner, showing Lu Jianguo sitting on the balcony drinking tea, still using a chipped enamel mug.

Neither item was expensive, but he spent nearly an hour in the shop before making up his mind.

When the clerk asked if he wanted it gift-wrapped, he nodded: "Wrap it nicely, it's for my parents."

The 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, Jingzhou Station.

The train station during the Spring Festival rush was like a dumpling pot—crowded with people, the sound of suitcase wheels clattering incessantly.

The broadcast repeatedly announced ticket checking information for various trains, noisy enough to make one's head ache.

Lu Zhixian wore a mask and a baseball cap, carrying a backpack, with a shopping bag in each hand, queuing for ticket inspection amidst the crowd.

Dressed like this, he was no different from any other young person heading home for the New Year.

After finding his seat and sitting down, he took off his baseball cap and rubbed his hair, which had been messed up by the cap.

Just as he tucked the shopping bags under his seat, the young girl in the seat next to him suddenly leaned over, her eyes wide.

"Are you... the real Lu Zhixian?!"

Her voice wasn't loud, but the heads of several passengers nearby whipped around.

Lu Zhixian smiled helplessly under his mask and put his index finger to his lips: "Shh, keep it low-key, give me a way to live."

The girl's face flushed with excitement as she tremblingly took out her phone: "Can, can I have an autograph? You went absolutely wild on stage on New Year's Eve, you totally mesmerized me!"

Lu Zhixian took her phone case and signed his name with the marker he carried.

He chatted with her for a moment, reminding her not to post his location.

The girl nodded repeatedly, hugged her phone case, and sat back, sneaking glances at him at least ten times along the way.

Lu Zhixian leaned back in his chair, put on his headphones, and opened his phone gallery.

He was flipping through the things the original owner had left behind.

With the fragments of memory and the scattered chat logs and photos on the phone, he had roughly pieced together the outline of a "home."

Dad, Lu Jianguo, had a small business in Quan'an City. He was taciturn but steady and reliable—a typical Chinese father who didn't say much but remembered everything.

Mom, Song Min, was a high school Chinese teacher before she retired. She loved to worry and nag, wanting to manage everything.

Home was in Quan'an, a small third-tier city.

Their living conditions were already better than many others, and the original owner was an only child.

The scenery outside the window began to change.

High-rise buildings disappeared bit by bit, replaced by increasingly vast fields and scattered small towns.

In some places, spring couplets were already pasted on the doors of houses, a vibrant red.

Lu Zhixian took off his headphones and quietly watched the scenery the whole way.

More than three hours later, he arrived.

As he walked out of the ticket gate carrying his bags, the crowd parted, and the square in front of the station was packed with people waiting to pick up arrivals.

Then he saw them.

Song Min was wearing a bright red down jacket, standing on tiptoe and peering intently into the crowd, wearing a slightly worn scarf around her neck.

Lu Jianguo stood next to her. He was tall, wearing a dark gray cotton coat, his hands behind his back, face stern.

But his gaze was fixed on the exit, never shifting away.

Lu Zhixian's footsteps faltered.

It was a strange feeling.

He had never met these two people, but the moment he saw them, his heart skipped a beat.

Song Min spotted him first.

Her face lit up instantly, and she waved her hands vigorously, shouting at him: "Xiaoxian! Over here!"

The voice was clear and eager, cutting through the noisy crowd and hitting his ears squarely.

Lu Zhixian gripped the straps of the shopping bags tightly.

He took a deep breath and started walking toward them.

Song Min jogged up to meet him, grabbed his arm, and looked him up and down.

"You've lost weight! Didn't you eat well out there? Why is your face so sharp?"

Before she finished, she had already snatched the shopping bag from his left hand.

Lu Jianguo walked over, reached out, and patted his shoulder twice.

He didn't speak. He just patted him twice.

The force wasn't light, carrying an old father's unique clumsiness and steadiness.

Lu Zhixian's nose suddenly felt sore.

He blinked hard, forcing back the moisture, and grinned at them.

"Dad, Mom, I'm home."

When these five words were spoken, his voice trembled slightly.

Song Min didn't notice, already walking toward the parking lot with the bag, still muttering: "The car is over there, let's go, let's go, it's freezing."

Lu Jianguo looked at him a bit longer. He didn't ask anything.

Walking beside him, he reached out and took the shopping bag from his right hand as well.

On the way home, Song Min sat in the back, her mouth barely stopping.

"Your New Year's Eve performance, Mom watched it three times! The first time on TV, and the next two times were replays your dad found on his phone; we watched it in the living room until after one in the morning."

"Your Uncle Zhang next door knew you were on TV and specially ran over to ask if that was our Xiaoxian. The way your dad was showing off then."

"Nonsense." Lu Jianguo interrupted sullenly from the front.

"Oh, you're not admitting it? Who forwarded that video to the 'Loving Family' group and spammed the screen?"

Lu Jianguo stopped talking and focused on driving.

Lu Zhixian sat in the passenger seat, turning his head to look out the window.

The streets of Quan'an were not wide, the branches of the street trees were bare, and the storefronts on both sides of the road were hung with bright red spring couplets and lanterns.

Some children were setting off firecrackers on the side of the road, popping loudly, scaring a stray dog into running far away.

Lu Jianguo was driving a somewhat expensive sedan, steadily.

During the whole trip, he only spoke one sentence: "Were you hungry on the way?"

Lu Zhixian shook his head: "Not hungry, Mom said she stewed pork rib soup, I was saving room for that."

In the rearview mirror, the corners of Lu Jianguo's mouth moved.

They arrived home.

A three-bedroom apartment in an old residential complex, not big, but kept clean and tidy.

As soon as the door was pushed open, the aroma of pork rib soup rushed towards them.

A pair of brand-new cotton slippers were placed at the entryway, gray-blue, with the tags still on the soles.

When Lu Zhixian squatted down to change his shoes, his peripheral vision swept across the wall above the shoe cabinet.

A row of photos was hanging there.

From left to right, the original owner's kindergarten, elementary school, junior high, high school, and university graduation, arranged all the way along.

The last one.

It was a news screenshot of the Golden Song Awards ceremony, printed out and put into a mismatched floral photo frame.

Lu Zhixian looked at that row of photos, his throat feeling tight.

He lowered his head and slowly put on the slippers.

Song Min urged him to wash his hands and eat.

She was busy in the kitchen, running back and forth to bring dishes to the table.

Pork rib soup, braised fish, garlic broccoli, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and a plate of dark pickled vegetables.

The table was full.

Just as Lu Zhixian picked up his chopsticks, Song Min's chopsticks had already reached over.

The most tender piece of meat from the fish belly was precisely placed into his bowl.

"Eat, eat more, look how thin you've gotten."

Immediately after, she added a piece of pork rib and two chopsticks of broccoli, his bowl almost overflowing.

Lu Zhixian lowered his head and took a sip of the pork rib soup.

It was a little salty.

In his previous life of over twenty years, he had eaten all kinds of takeout and fast food, but no one had ever made him a bowl of pork rib soup.

He drank two bowls, head down, and finished every bit of food in his bowl.

Lu Jianguo didn't say much the whole time, but he poured water for him twice.

After the meal, Lu Zhixian stood up to collect the bowls.

Song Min reached out to stop him: "Leave it there, Mom will wash them."

"I'll do it." Lu Zhixian stacked the bowls and carried them: "I ate so much, I need to move around to digest."

Song Min couldn't win against him, so she stood at the kitchen door, leaning against the doorframe watching him wash the dishes.

The faucet splashed loudly.

When he was washing the third bowl, Song Min suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.

"Xiaoxian, Mom knows you're busy now and your work is getting better and better."

She paused.

"But with you alone out there, Mom is always worried. Watching you sing on stage on New Year's Eve, Mom was happy all night, but also heartbroken all night."

Lu Zhixian, with his back to her, paused his movements.

The water flowed over his fingers, lukewarm.

He didn't turn around.

"Mom, think big, your son is now number one on all platforms, I've totally won, what's there to be heartbroken about."

His tone was deliberately relaxed.

Song Min didn't respond. She stood there for a while, then turned and went back to the living room.

Passing the dining table, she lowered her head and quickly wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

At night.

Lu Zhixian lay in his small bedroom.

The room wasn't big. On the desk were the original owner's college textbooks and some music theory notes.

Two faded band posters were stuck on the wall, their corners already peeling.

The wardrobe was pulled open a crack, with some old hoodies he had never worn hanging inside.

The bedsheets were freshly changed, the sunny scent of detergent still lingering.

He lay on the bed, covering his eyes with the back of his hand.

In his previous life, he only spent a few years with his grandmother, and then she passed away. Since then, there had been no one in the world waiting for him to come home.

Staying up with red eyes in the recording studio alone, eating cold takeout alone, carrying equipment on the subway alone.

He was used to it. He was truly used to it.

But today.

Someone was standing on tiptoe at the exit looking for him, someone had put his news screenshot into a floral photo frame and hung it on the wall.

He turned on his side and buried his face in the pillow.

Outside the window, sporadic firecracker sounds came from afar, one here, one there.

In the living room outside the door, Song Min's lowered voice could be heard faintly: "Old Lu, tell me quietly, did Xiaoxian lose a lot of weight?"

Lu Jianguo gave a vague hum.

"I'll stew some chicken soup for him tomorrow..."

The voice grew farther and farther away, becoming more and more blurred.

Lu Zhixian closed his eyes and gripped the corner of the quilt.

He slept very soundly that night.