Chapter Fifty-One: The Great Master Guides Me

Username: Asdfghj Following: 0 Followers: 13,600 Views: 172,200. Uploaded videos: 2

Zheng Lan looked at the numbers in front of him and breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, it wasn’t as outrageous as he’d feared. For a newcomer, these figures were certainly impressive, but compared to the famous content creators on J-Station, they were at best average. Take Zheng Lan himself, for example—under his “Live Cannon” alias, his followers were about to surpass half a million. Although there was still a gap between him and renowned creators like “Lisianthus” or “Angry Sunflower,” he was already considered a pillar of the music community. Given time and growing fame, he could well become a prominent figure in the music section of J-Station.

He’d started later than most, and since his debut, he’d only released fifty-seven videos—a far cry from those with hundreds or even thousands. Yet, even with so few videos, his total views had already exceeded twenty million. Compared to this so-called “Uncle A,” Zheng Lan’s numbers were almost a hundred times higher.

Against “Live Cannon,” the current stats for “Asdfghj” were hardly worth mentioning. Still, for a newcomer to rack up hundreds of thousands of views, this user clearly had the potential to become a sensation.

Zheng Lan composed himself, clicked on the submissions page, and began listening to Asdfghj’s first uploaded video.

The piece was titled “unravel”—a word that could mean to break apart or come undone. Though he admired this newcomer, Zheng Lan found the title rather unappealing. It didn’t seem like the kind of name that would catch on.

“Ding ding ding ding—”

As soon as he clicked play, Zheng Lan froze. The clear, crystalline sound of the piano echoed from his speakers, and he immediately sensed something remarkable. Leaning closer to the computer, he scrutinized the piano in the video.

After a moment, he wiped the drool from his mouth, exclaiming in shock, “What the—? An S-277 Steinway? Who is this person?”

As one of Steinway’s top limited-edition models, there were fewer than a hundred S-277s worldwide. It wasn’t simply a matter of money—one couldn’t just buy an S-277. Even Zheng Lan, with his years of savings totaling several million, wasn’t qualified to purchase one. Steinway only sold such limited editions to a select, elite clientele—wealthy, influential, or both.

Just seeing that piano made Zheng Lan respect “Uncle A” immensely. In his eyes, this was no mere newcomer—this was a rare, enigmatic virtuoso!

Otherwise, how could anyone get their hands on an S-277? Most people could only dream of touching one, let alone owning it.

With this realization, Zheng Lan perked up, listening intently to “unravel” while browsing the barrage of viewer comments.

“Welcome back, tenth time watching—leaving my mark.”
“Ripping up my Jiangnan Province Math League First Prize certificate in tribute!”
“I’m back again, see you at the opening in a bit!”
“Listen closely—that’s the sound of money!”
“Not just a high point ahead, it’s mind-blowing from start to finish!”
“I practiced this piece for days before giving up—the hand speed is just inhuman, no way a normal person can play it...”
“Every time I listen I get goosebumps all over—”
“Farewell, afterimage series!”
“What do we call the creator? God A, or Uncle A?”
“My mom asked me why I’m kneeling...”
“Comrades, why won’t my legs stop shaking?”

The comments were dense to the point of absurdity. Zheng Lan tried to lose himself in the music, but the constant flood of comments kept distracting him. Instinctively, he glanced at the upper right corner of the screen, where the info read: “1,854 people watching, 1,987 comments.”

Something felt off to Zheng Lan. How could the number of comments match the number of viewers? Was the system malfunctioning?

Thinking it over, he suddenly jolted, quickly scrolling down to check the video details. What he saw made him yell, “No way—this video’s only been up for two hours?”

Two hours, nearly two thousand comments? And over seventy thousand views?

Zheng Lan’s heart raced. He clicked on Asdfghj’s other upload, titled “The Reality of Your Departure.”

“The Reality of Your Departure”
Views: 102,200
Comments: 4,214
Current viewers: 2,154
Upload date: three days ago

Zheng Lan nearly wanted to cry. Three days—registered for just three days and already these numbers?

Is this what a newcomer looks like?

“Stay calm, stay calm...” Zheng Lan muttered the phrase over a dozen times before his emotions finally settled. He turned off the comments and settled in to quietly enjoy “unravel.”

Uncle A’s hand speed was already otherworldly, but if it was just about fast fingers, the music section did have a few top players who could rival him. The real marvel was being able to play every chord of this piano piece with flawless accuracy—across the entire platform, few could match this newcomer.

Beyond sheer speed, “unravel” was also an outstanding composition, masterfully stirring emotions. Listening to it, Zheng Lan unconsciously tapped his fingers on the desk, his legs bouncing non-stop—all side effects of the music’s infectious energy.

What amazed Zheng Lan even more was “The Reality of Your Departure.” As Uncle A’s first upload, though its melody was far simpler than “unravel,” it was even more captivating and musical. Simply put, “unravel” was a showpiece for dazzling friends at gatherings, suitable as a signature work. But “The Reality of Your Departure,” with its simple yet charming melody and immense potential for circulation, could quickly make its creator famous.

Moreover, when Zheng Lan learned that this piece was an original, he immediately understood why Asdfghj had so many devoted fans—fans so loyal they even promoted him frantically in the comment sections of others’ videos.

If he were in their shoes, he’d probably be obsessed with a powerhouse so talented, wealthy, and shrouded in mystery.

“Ding!”

You have a new message.

Zheng Lan clicked the inbox icon in the upper right and saw a message from the J-Station verified creator “Lisianthus”: “Fatty, are you watching Uncle A’s video too?”

Whenever friends watched the same video, J-Station’s social system would notify them. Zheng Lan wasn’t surprised. He replied, “Yes—a very impressive player.”

“Impressive? He’s more than that! If Uncle A joins the Piano Grandmasters Tournament, he’ll be this year’s dark horse!” Lisianthus wrote. “Do you know him? I’ve sent several messages and haven’t heard back. If you do, could you help me get in touch?”

“What are you up to?” Zheng Lan asked, puzzled.

Lisianthus replied, “I want to team up with him, if he’s entering the contest.”

Zheng Lan immediately understood. Based on previous years, the Piano Grandmasters Tournament had too many participants, so to improve efficiency, the organizers ran elimination rounds in the form of group duets in the preliminaries—two players per team, playing four hands on one piano. The winning teams advanced, and this continued until the top ten teams in the region were decided. After that, the group phase ended, and the tournament became a solo elimination until a champion emerged.

In other words, if you could latch onto a powerful partner, even if your own skills weren’t enough for the top ten, you might still get carried into the finals.

Seeing Lisianthus’s question mark, Zheng Lan glanced at the dazzling display of afterimages in “unravel” where the hands were almost too fast to see, and smirked coldly.

The next moment, he opened Asdfghj’s inbox, typed a message, and sent it: “Take me with you, Master!”