Li Mu had made peace with his moral ledger. If fate handed him rebirth, he'd wield its spoils—no guilt, just pragmatism. Compared to the plagiarizing hacks of his past life, he'd at least credit his "inspirations."
"Another original," he announced, silencing the room. "When You're Old. Folk ballad."
The title drew blank stares until his fingers brushed the Martin's strings. A simple arpeggio unfolded, then—a hummed melody that coiled around the studio like smoke.
"When you're old, hair silvered, drowsing by the fire…"
Vivian Chen's tears fell before the first verse ended. The drummer—Mr. Overcompensation—sniffled into his sleeve. Even Zack Kexuan, whose idea of deep lyrics was Mom, Rescue Me From This Party, blinked rapidly.
"Lyrics are adapted from Yeats," Li Mu explained post-performance, savoring their awe. "When You Are Old."
Zack leaned forward, starstruck. "These tracks—you could sell albums!"
Li Mu smirked. "Who buys albums anymore?"
The question hung, unanswered. His mind raced ahead—to the golden age of MP3 piracy, to search giants' future copyright plunder. A plan crystallized: build a music streaming site now, harvest users, then negotiate with the titans.
But he needed pawns.
"Got a high-energy track too," Li Mu dropped casually. "Not my style. Perfect for your band competition."
Four trust-fund jaws hit the floor.
"Maestro!" Zack abandoned pretense. "Name your price!"
The drummer groveled. "Forget the gear—you're the real deal!"
Li Mu let them squirm. "Two grand for the song. Plus…" He paused, baiting the hook. "Help me launch a music platform. Nail it, and I'll hand you three more tracks. Enough for an EP."
Vivian watched, equal parts smitten and unnerved. This wasn't the bloodied boy she'd hit with her car. This was a strategist, cold and gleaming as a fresh-honed blade.