Chapter One: Lin Jianlu

Discharged Soldier.

Lin Jianlu was very fond of his initial configuration.

In fact, in his previous life, he had always wanted to join the army, but considering various factors, he eventually chose to attend the Conservatory of Music—being a soldier certainly wouldn't make him rich, but the legends said singing might.

It turned out to be useless, barely enough to scrape by.

Who would have thought that after an unexpected car accident, he would find himself transported back to 1995, and even become a discharged soldier—at least half a dream fulfilled!

The only flaw was that when Lin Jianlu arrived in this new life, he was already on the train home after discharge.

However, his registered residence was in the capital. Tsk, it seems another part of his old dream was realized, even if just a little.

A capital city household registration! In his previous life, even after graduating from university and working hard for nearly a decade, a household registration in the capital remained out of reach—he studied ethnic music, was decent at singing pop too, but with average vocal talent and a face much too ordinary, there was simply no way to stand out.

Anyone who's tried to make it in the music scene knows how tough it is to break through.

He had been in groups, sung underground, participated in talent shows, and eventually worked as a music teacher at an elite school. Don’t believe those short videos that make it look like music teachers at elite schools just hop around cheerfully with a bunch of kids—nonsense! That’s just a bit of show; daily teaching is as grueling as ever.

And while the income wasn’t low, it was by no means high either.

Later, he took up live streaming on the side. The viewership was decent—not enough to get rich, but enough to survive. He even earned himself the title of “Live-streaming Singing Ace”—but still, he never became famous.

So you see, one really needs to travel through time.

With time travel, dreams might actually come true—in this life, he stood six foot tall, and most importantly, he was strikingly handsome. Sharp and chiseled, with a rugged, handsome air.

The moment he woke up on the train, he’d rushed to the restroom to look in the mirror.

No exaggeration—both handsome and masculine.

By his own standards, this was the most attractive kind of look.

It thrilled him to no end.

Unlike his predecessor, now whenever he saw an acquaintance, he loved to greet them proactively—he once drank a particularly bitter cup of motivational “chicken soup” that went, “A girl who smiles a lot will have good luck.” Nonsense! It should be, “A girl who’s lucky always has reason to smile”!

When you’re this damn handsome, what worries could you possibly have!

“Hey there, Grandpa Zhao, out for a walk, even in this freezing weather… You’re really energetic!”

“Ah, ahaha…”

The old man, a bit hard of hearing, caught the words and, as he looked up, only saw Lin Jianlu’s tall back striding away, white puffs of breath trailing behind him like a speeding locomotive. He sighed to himself, “You know, the army really is a good place. Two years as a soldier, and even that rascal Lin can speak politely now!”

Lin Jianlu kept running, laughing heartily all the way.

After his five-kilometer morning run, he carried back three pounds of steamed buns, a pound of fried dough sticks, six tea eggs, and three servings of tofu pudding. He ran all the way back to the courtyard house in Nanluoguxiang. Sure enough, his mother was there, pouring water for washing.

At the communal sink in the middle of the yard, neighbors were fetching water or scrubbing pots.

He greeted everyone as he passed. His mother heard him from afar, and when she caught sight of what he was carrying, she was exasperated. But with neighbors around, she couldn’t scold him outright and merely grumbled, lifted the cotton door curtain, and went back inside.

Once her son entered, however, she didn’t hold back. The warmth and affection from the first days after his return, the longing that two years apart had built up, were already spent. “You really know how to waste money! Every day, buying buns—how much money do you think you have, eating buns every single day! Lin Guodong, talk to your son! The little severance he got from the army will all end up in his stomach!”

Lin Guodong remained silent, smoking the stub of a cigarette. Only after extinguishing it did he stand up, “Alright, let him eat. Your son’s being filial, isn’t that good? Besides, it’s just some buns and fried dough sticks; you can’t go broke from eating.”

“Ha! Four buns to a pound, two yuan! Fried dough sticks, one and a half a pound, tea eggs, a yuan for three! But your son doesn’t have a small appetite! Goodness, just for breakfast, he eats and drinks ten yuan at a go! How can we not go broke? Can’t he just eat some steamed bread and porridge like the rest of us? Go ahead, waste away! Lin Guodong, ask your young master how much he makes a month!”

Grumbling aside, she still hurried to set the table, arranging all the food her son brought home. Lin Jianlu fetched a basin of cool water, took off his jacket, and despite the cold, was about to wash up bare-chested. In the end, it was his mother’s concern that won out—she shooed him aside, poured hot water from the thermos, mixed it until it was steaming, and nagged, “So what if you’re healthy? The healthier you are, the worse a cold feels. One day you’ll catch something, living like a polar bear!”

After a quick wash, he sat down to eat.

Each bun cost fifty cents—not cheap, but they were as big as his fist and packed with meat! Thirty years from now, these would cost five yuan each!

His parents had just woken up and didn’t eat much. Lin Guodong, a Chinese teacher at a middle school with little physical activity, could barely manage one bun, one fried dough stick, and a tea egg. His mother, even less—just a fried dough stick and a tea egg were enough, and they sipped tofu pudding while watching Lin Jianlu devour everything.

Crunch, crunch, crunch—eleven big buns, over half a pound of fried dough sticks, four tea eggs, all gone in no time.

The two could only watch, speechless.

“Are you going out to look for work today?”

“Of course!”

“Didn’t you say the other day that Hu’s place was hiring drivers? Don’t complain about the pay, just get a job first. Anything’s better than idling around the alley all day! It’s easier to find a better job when you’re already working.”

“Ha… Mom, three months probation at one-fifty a month, only two-eighty after being hired. I’ll starve!”

“You won’t starve. I’ll support you for three months! As long as you work, I’ll buy you buns every morning!”

“Haha, save your money, Mom! Keep it for yourself. Your son’s about to make it big!”

“Big shot my foot! You’ll be the death of me one of these days!”

A noisy, lively breakfast.

After tidying up, his parents left for work. Lin Jianlu packed his bag with a stack of manuscript paper, a box of tapes, and slung his newly purchased guitar—his discharge present—over his shoulder, ready to head out. They had two bikes at home, but since Lin Jianlu was job hunting, Lin Guodong would first take his wife to her job at the stationery factory, where she worked as an accountant.

Just as he was about to leave, he looked up under the eaves and spotted Gao Jiancheng from the east wing, pushing his bike out. “Hey, Xiaolu, off to job hunt again?”

“Yes, Grandpa Gao!”

“Well, your mother’s right, you know. Get a job first, even if the pay’s little. So many are being laid off these days. Our factory only pays temps a hundred and twenty a month! How can anyone live on that?”

Lin Jianlu just chuckled, not bothering to reply.

That old man...

Mostly because his predecessor had broken their windows a few times as a kid.

From junior high on, his second daughter had started hanging out with Lin Jianlu and almost went down the wrong path.

The old man had always held a grudge, his words laced with sarcasm and spite.

And he never let up, only getting more spirited as he spoke. “You just wouldn’t listen back then, always fighting and skipping school. Look where it got you! Look at our Wenwen, just two years older than you; she’s about to graduate from college and become a civil servant! Isn’t that great…”

He couldn’t help himself. “It’s alright, Grandpa Gao. If I really can’t find a job, I’ll just date Wenwen. Once we’re married, guess what? Her salary and yours will all be mine to spend…”

“You rascal…”

A dozen steps ahead, his mother burst out laughing and called back, “Get going! Stop teasing your Grandpa Gao; he’s too sensitive—don’t let him take it to heart!”

“Hey, Xiaolu’s mom, you…”

...

In the nearly twenty days since his discharge, Lin Jianlu hadn’t been idle at all.

Looking for work was just for show—he’d been exploring the capital at the end of 1995 in earnest.

Every day he bought several newspapers and magazines to read, and picked up tapes to listen to, trying to get a feel for the pulse of the era—more importantly, he was searching for the information he needed.

For instance, even decades later, though he’d heard many songs from this era, he never would have known that Moya Records—still a legendary name in Chinese pop music history thirty years on—didn’t even have a formal office yet!

Even now, they were operating out of guest rooms at the New Great Capital Hotel.

And Moya’s parent company, Taiwan’s Rock Records, had its Beijing branch temporarily located there as well.

Rock Records—Luo Dayou, Jonathan Lee, Sarah Chen, Emil Chau, Richie Jen, Sandy Lam, Karen Mok…

In his previous life as a streamer, every field was crowded. Lacking looks to attract fans, he had to double down on singing skills and rare songs, so he’d performed a lot of works from the eighties and nineties.

He’d sung songs by all those artists.

The New Great Capital Hotel wasn’t far—maybe seven or eight kilometers. He pedaled there in no time.

After locking up his bike, guitar on his back, he headed straight for Moya Records—the demo he’d submitted was self-recorded on a blank tape, and about ten days ago he’d sent it in. Yesterday, he’d even received a call at the alley’s convenience store: Moya Records was interested in his work and invited him for a meeting.

Following the address given over the phone, he climbed the stairs and knocked. The door was opened by a man in his thirties, slightly gaunt, eyes bloodshot, but hair meticulously combed.

On hearing his name, the man’s eyes lit up with joy, and in a lightly accented voice—possibly the man who called yesterday—he said, “Please come in! Our Director Zhang listened to your demo yesterday and immediately asked me to call you! Your song, ‘The First Tear,’ is fantastic!”

He stepped inside. As the door closed, there was a loud flush from the bathroom. Three seconds later, a bearded face poked out from the crack of the open door. “Are you Mr. Lin, the composer of ‘The First Tear’?”

“Yes, that’s me!”

“Ah!”

The man, hastily pulling up his pants, moved to shake hands, thought better of it, and with an embarrassed smile, hurried back to wash and dry his hands before coming out to greet him properly, gripping his hand with great strength.

His face, framed by a thick beard, wore a sincere and radiant smile.

“Mr. Lin, you’re truly handsome! I’m Zhang Peiren, the general manager of Moya Records.”