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The afternoon sun shone down on the street, dispelling the chill of the black street.
Shop owner Yue Qing had moved a recliner to lie in front of the door, basking in the sun as he slept. His shop usually did not have much business during the day. The black street was most lively at night, so he rarely slept at night and used the day to catch up on sleep. This was also the schedule of most of the big shop owners on the black street.
Fang Zhao gobbled down two compressed cakes and glanced at the dog lying at his feet. The compressed cake had already been eaten, and the dog was licking the crumbs on the floor. These experienced roaming animals seemed to know what was edible and what wasn't. You wouldn't have survived on the black street until now if you didn't have any survival skills.
After eating his fill, Fang Zhao enjoyed every minute and second. He sat on the black street and looked up at the sky. The sky above was like a bright blue ribbon. The dazzling sun hung unbridledly in the sky, overlooking the land. There was no trace of the murkiness or blood of the end of days.
"How nice."
The end of days had not brought an end.
What they had once called the end of days had become what people of the New Era called the "Period of Destruction." The world had gone through a long period of large-scale slaughter and extinction. After that, all living things had welcomed a new lease of life. It was like a nirvana. Humans still ruled the planet.
The world had finally welcomed prosperity once again.
It had been too long since it had been this peaceful. Fang Zhao's creative inspiration had begun to spin uncontrollably.
Fang Zhao's fingers, resting casually on his lap, were tapping lightly. Few people would pay attention to this. Even if they did, they wouldn't understand what it meant.
Yue Qing stared at it for a long time but couldn't figure it out. As a retired military veteran, he had carried out many missions and learned many different kinds of codes, but Fang Zhao's finger movements did not belong to any of the codes he was familiar with.
After staring at it in confusion for a while, Yue Qing gave up and went back to basking in the sun.
Some people would subconsciously tap their fingers when they were thinking, but only people who knew Fang Zhao well knew that this behavior of Fang Zhao was actually composing. When inspiration struck, Fang Zhao would start composing. It was just that during the end of days, there was simply no time or space for him to compose in peace. Pen and paper were out of the question, so Fang Zhao had created his own composing method. Coupled with his outstanding memory, he had his own unique composing style. 【Love ↑ Go △ Small ↓ Say △ Net
qu
Come to think of it, it was actually a type of password that only Fang Zhao himself understood.
The sunlight only stayed on Black Street for a short time, less than an hour. Then, it gradually withdrew from Black Street.
Without sunlight, the temperature in Black Street dropped by a few degrees. However, it was already the end of May, and Yanzhou's weather was still mild. Therefore, some of the elderly did not return immediately after sunbathing. Instead, they stayed and chatted with old acquaintances. This was the busiest time of the day.
Fang Zhao had no intention of staying here any longer. He returned the plate, cup, and chair to the shop.
At that moment, the chatter on Black Street suddenly grew louder. There was also the sound of a flying object approaching.
Yue Qing looked up and smiled meaningfully. He pointed to the sky and said to Fang Zhao, "Your friend has made a name for himself."
Fang Zhao saw it too.
Descending from the sky was a flying car.
Flying cars were considered a luxury for the black street dwellers living on the bottom floor of the mass housing complex. Not everyone could use a flying car, and the energy they used was expensive.
Every time a flying car arrived, it was either related to a black street big shot or someone was about to strike it rich.
Black street elders were very interested in this sort of thing. Therefore, when they heard the noise, they stopped talking and looked at the descending flying car. They wanted to know who was about to strike it rich, if they knew who it was, and if they did, they could brag about it for 10 days.
The people who had been sitting at the landing spot had long ago picked up their chairs and stools and moved away, making an empty space.
The flying car was emblazoned with a gaudy rainbow logo. It was famous not only in Qi'an City, but even in all of Yanzhou.
"A Neon Culture car?!"
"Someone was signed by Neon Culture?"
"Hit it rich, hit it rich! Neon Culture is rich!"
"I remember there used to be a guy on our street who was signed by one of the Big Three. He even became a star. What was his name again? I can't remember. Anyway, he's rich!"
Qi'an City's Big Three: Silver Wing Media, Neon Culture, and Tongshan True Entertainment. Although the car was clearly a company car and not a private one, this was the famous Neon Culture, one of the Big Three. Once you signed with Neon Culture, do you have to worry about money in the future?
The entertainment industry was a gold mine. That was the public's impression.
Signing with Neon Culture = having a change of fortune = rolling in money. That was what most black street dwellers thought.
The original owner of this body had been signed by Silver Wing Media as an intern half a year before graduation. As for this friend who had grown up with him, because his school was not as good as Qi 'an Academy of Music and he did not have outstanding results, he had not signed a contract. But things were different now. People changed.
Fang Zhao looked at the person stepping out of the flying car. The memories in his head told him everything about this person. Fang Sheng, a childhood friend of the original owner of this body. The original owner had even planned to recruit him after the new talent contest. If he couldn't become an artist, he could start as an assistant. At least he wouldn't be unable to find a job. But in the end, this person had stabbed him in the back.
Now, Fang Sheng had changed out of his cheap clothes. He was picked up and dropped off in a flying car. It wasn't high-end, but it was still a flying car, and a Neon Culture car at that. It was enough to draw attention on a black street.
Fang Sheng had taken all the hard work of the original owner of this body for himself and traded it for benefits. He had successfully signed with Neon Culture. It looked like Neon Culture was satisfied with Fang Sheng's work. Otherwise, they wouldn't have sent him the car. Fang Zhao had seen his fair share of people with no talent but tricks up their sleeves.
When Fang Sheng stepped out of the flying car, he enjoyed the envious stares from all around him. The feeling of being the center of attention made him feel like he had become a star. When he got out of the car, Fang Sheng felt like he was on cloud nine. When he saw Fang Zhao standing in front of the store, his high spirits sank.
Fang Sheng was also surprised to see Fang Zhao there. Based on what he knew about Fang Zhao and what he'd heard from a black street thug the day before, Fang Zhao should have committed suicide at home. Even if he hadn't, he would have been holed up in his room, racking his brains for a solution to the new talent contest or giving up on himself. He hadn't expected Fang Zhao to be in the mood to come out and bask in the sun.
Had this idiot gone crazy from composing?
What was even more surprising was Fang Zhao's current state of mind. He was not dispirited and listless, nor was he remorseful. He did not show the craziness of being pushed to the brink of despair. On the contrary, he looked as if nothing had happened. His research results had not been stolen, and he was not in a predicament. It made Fang Sheng panic.
What had happened to Fang Zhao?
Fang Sheng's gaze didn't linger for long. He didn't dare meet Fang Zhao's eyes. Fang Zhao's gaze was eerily calm. It gave Fang Sheng the feeling that he was staring into a bottomless ocean, as if a monster could emerge at any moment. It made Fang Sheng's hair stand on end.
But Fang Sheng didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Who didn't do it for themselves? Why not use the opportunity? He had grown up with Fang Zhao, but it was nothing compared to the huge profits he could reap. At least, that was what he thought.
"Why are you looking at them? Pack up and go back to the office. Don't waste time here, "the driver urged Fang Sheng as he got out of the car and scanned the crowd on the black street with disdain.
"Oh... OK!" Fang Sheng didn't waste any more time. He hurried toward the elevator. His silhouette looked disheveled, like he was running away.
After stealing Fang Zhao's three songs, Fang Sheng submitted them to Neon Culture. Neon Culture's recruiter took a liking to him and he signed a contract. Neon Culture was satisfied with the scores Fang Sheng had submitted. They paid him a portion of the fee in advance and arranged accommodations for him. Fang Sheng had come to move today. He lived on the fifth floor. Although it was a little better than Fang Zhao's second floor, it was still on the bottom floor of the black street block. It was still dirty and messy. Knowing he could move out, Fang Sheng couldn't wait to borrow a company car and help move.
Fang Sheng was preoccupied with his own thoughts. When he finished packing and left the building, Fang Sheng glanced at the store again. Fang Zhao was nowhere to be seen. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he realized he'd been too much of a coward. There was no need to be so afraid of Fang Zhao.
He'd been worried Fang Zhao would spill the beans about his theft, but as he packed his things, he gave it some thought and decided there was no need to be alarmed. He'd uploaded the three songs first and registered them under his name. The copyright had already been determined to belong to him.
Even if Fang Zhao wanted to file a lawsuit, he wasn't afraid. When Fang Zhao was immersed in composing, he'd already arranged everything. Fang Zhao had no proof. How could he sue?
Besides, Fang Zhao didn't have the money to sue him. He couldn't even put food on the table. He might not even be able to pay next month's rent. How could he sue him? Borrow from Zeng Huang and Wan Yue?
Pfft —
Fang Sheng scoffed. Those two were also poor bums, nothing to worry about. No matter what, as long as Fang Zhao insisted the three songs were his originals, that was enough.
In the car, Fang Sheng glanced at the black street again. His gaze swept over the second-floor window of Fang Zhao's apartment. The window was shut tight. There was no light coming from inside. He couldn't tell if anyone was inside.
Fang Sheng took a deep breath and got into the car. Starting today, he could finally leave the seedy black street. Get out of poverty and get rich! Reach the pinnacle of life!
Fang Zhao? Black street? He wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. After all, he already had a ticket to the rookie season. His future lay in the star-studded new talent chart.
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