A Spoonful of Stew

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Just as Fang Yuhua was asking Yang Tang for the sheet music of "Flight of the Bumblebee," the applause around them grew from sparse to thunderous, finally fading after a long while. Clearly, the guests in the restaurant felt they'd witnessed a brilliant piano performance.

Yang Tang applauded not so much out of a pianist's courtesy, but rather out of the politeness expected of an "uncle." He raised his hand modestly to the surrounding guests, then quietly stepped down from the piano stage.

Returning to the table where his parents sat, Yang's mother shot him a look promising trouble later, then continued eating breakfast with Yang's father as though nothing had happened. With the elders present, Fang Yuhua and He Jianni struggled to contain their excitement, occasionally whispering and pretending to be reserved as they peppered Yang Tang with gossip.

At that moment, the hotel’s deputy general manager approached with the lobby manager, subtly expressing a wish for Yang Tang to become the hotel’s resident pianist. Unfortunately, Yang Tang was only there as a tourist—how could he stay permanently? He was about to decline outright, but before he could, Yang’s father interjected, “How much does your pianist get paid per month?”

The deputy general manager paused, then replied, “At least three thousand. Here, we pay weekly.” He added, “As for tips from guests, as long as they don’t disrupt the performance, we don’t usually interfere.”

“So much?” Yang’s father was startled.

Though the deputy general manager kept a straight face, the lobby manager's lips curled in a faintly contemptuous smile, noticed by Yang Tang, Fang Yuhua, and He Jianni.

Before Yang Tang could respond, Fang Yuhua sprang up, pointing at the lobby manager and scolding, “What are you laughing at? My Uncle Yang is a university professor with students everywhere. If he wanted, he could easily send someone to deal with you, you little brat—do you believe it?” With that, she raised her hand as if to slap the lobby manager.

He Jianni quickly stopped her, whispering, “Yuhua, Tang is watching you!” Fang Yuhua had promised Yang Tang she wouldn’t cause trouble before joining him, so she immediately restrained herself.

Meanwhile, the deputy general manager noticed Fang Yuhua’s wristwatch: a Mangiallo, a brand as renowned as Patek Philippe, and not just any Mangiallo, but one of the most expensive models from the Nostalgia series. Although Mangiallo didn’t make “ordinary” or “low-end” watches—any Mangiallo cost at least a hundred thousand euros—her watch was clearly top-tier. The deputy general manager didn’t immediately recognize the specific model, but had no doubt about Fang Yuhua’s background. Without waiting for an explanation from the lobby manager, he sharply ordered, “Get out!”

“Huh?” The lobby manager was baffled, but facing the deputy’s piercing gaze, he retreated at once, expressionless.

Afterward, the deputy general manager politely took responsibility for his subordinate’s error, had the restaurant manager bring several signature teas as an apology, and the matter of the lobby manager’s sneer at Yang’s father was thus settled. As for recruiting Yang Tang as a pianist, that was left unresolved.

Once the deputy general manager left, Fang Yuhua grumbled, “Just letting that brat off so easily?”

Yang Tang rolled his eyes. Only a noblewoman like Fang Yuhua, who traveled with bodyguards and carriages, would refuse to let minor annoyances go. For ordinary people, enduring small grievances for peace was a necessity.

At Yang Tang’s hotel room door.

Just as Fang Yuhua was about to part ways, she suddenly asked, “Oh, by the way, is your ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ a new piece, or has it already been registered?”

Yang Tang sighed. He wanted to say it was a century-old piece, but he’d already half-admitted in the restaurant that he composed it himself, so he continued the fabrication: “Of course it’s new. I just wrote it last night.”

“What? That’s terrible!” Fang Yuhua exclaimed anxiously.

Not only her—He Jianni also looked worried.

“What’s so terrible about it?” Yang Tang asked, perplexed.

“So many people heard your piece in the restaurant just now. What if someone unscrupulous registers it first?” Fang Yuhua said. “That lobby manager looked shifty, and dared to mock Uncle Yang—he can’t be a good person! If he snatches the rights, wouldn’t that disgust us?”

Yang Tang was speechless, but went along, “So what should we do?”

“Register it in the publishing bureau’s database right away!”

“Alright, I’ll handle it soon.”

“Don’t wait, I’ll help you!” Fang Yuhua volunteered, dragging He Jianni into Yang Tang’s room.

The wealthy are indeed different. Fang Yuhua logged into the publishing bureau’s website backend using an account called “Six Suns and Three Moons,” swiftly entered Yang Tang’s handwritten sheet music into the computer, then paid five times the normal fee for a search. In under two minutes, the sheet music for “Flight of the Bumblebee” was marked as “pre-approved.”

“All done!” Fang Yuhua clapped her hands in delight.

“What does ‘pre-approved’ mean?” Yang Tang asked.

He Jianni explained, “Pre-approval is a privilege of very few accounts. Simply put, if the database finds no similar or identical scores, after a review to ensure the piece follows musical theory—like checking poetry for proper structure—it can be officially approved.”

Yang Tang was astonished. “So it’s basically already approved?”

“Not necessarily,” Fang Yuhua shook her head. “There was once a case where a pre-approved piece didn’t pass, because another person submitted the same sheet music. The one who succeeded became a famous composer, the other ended up singing on street corners for over a decade.”

“The sheet music was identical? Not a single note different?” Yang Tang was amazed.

“Yes, not a single note.”

“Then surely one copied the other!” Yang Tang lamented.

Collaborative composing happens, but usually a famous piece has a core idea or ‘musical soul,’ making it difficult for multiple composers, with their different backgrounds, ear for music, and perspectives, to perfectly merge into one soul.

“Who copied whom, after so many years, who can say?”

“Ding-dong!”

At that moment, the computer chimed—a notice from the publishing bureau’s website: “Flight of the Bumblebee” had passed the review.

Yang Tang was speechless.

Fang Yuhua picked up Yang Tang’s handwritten score, waved it before him, “Can I keep this?”

“Sure,” Yang Tang nodded.

He Jianni said, “I want to copy one, too.”

Fang Yuhua objected, “Why not just download it online?”

“It costs money, madam!”

“You don’t have money?”

Seeing the two women about to argue, Yang Tang changed the subject, “By the way, Fang Yuhua—”

“Just call me Yuhua, can’t you?”

“Uh, Yuhua, I wanted to ask, did your foreign friend really say she wants to buy my software?”

Fang Yuhua was somewhat surprised. “What, you’ve come around?”

“I haven’t come around at all!” Yang Tang was annoyed, but since things were as they were, he had to look for solutions instead of blaming others.

“No need to be angry. I’m telling the truth—my friend really wants to buy your software, for no less than one million dollars!”

Yang Tang was noncommittal. “One million dollars—that’s the quoted price?”

“Yes!”

“So her actual budget is higher than a million,” He Jianni said.

Fang Yuhua tilted her head, “I know, but I didn’t bother to ask. Anyway, Tang isn’t planning to raise the price, right?”

“Who wouldn’t want to raise the price?” Yang Tang glared at her. “But I don’t know your friend’s bottom line, so I can’t risk it. If I scare her off, I won’t be able to squeeze more from Chenxun and Qiandu.”

“So you’re not planning to sell Power Saver to my friend?” Fang Yuhua was shocked.

“Of course not!” Yang Tang said. “Why does your friend want my software? To make money. Chenxun and Qiandu want the same thing! I might not plan to build Power Saver into a big brand, but I still don’t want to let outsiders profit!”

“What?!” Fang Yuhua and He Jianni were both stunned.

There was no doubt about the strength of modern China, but Fang Yuhua and He Jianni, as young people, lacked the sense of national urgency carried over from Yang Tang’s previous life. They didn’t see selling software to foreigners as letting domestic resources flow abroad, only as a commercial transaction.

“By the way, can you find out when your friend’s representative is arriving?”

“No need, I know—they’ll arrive the morning after tomorrow. She even asked me to help pick them up!” Fang Yuhua said.

Yang Tang thought for a moment. “In that case, I’ll need to reschedule my meeting with Chenxun and Qiandu.”

In the blink of an eye, it was the afternoon of the third day.

Three o’clock, in a city center office building in Shenhai, Yang Tang’s temporarily rented small conference room.

The representative from Chenxun was still He Ming; Qiandu had sent a woman named Zhang Ying, whose features were so masculine she could play Mulan without makeup.

And, as Yang Tang had suspected, Feng Guangliang did not come.

“Sorry, Mr. Yang, it’s already three-oh-one. What are we waiting for?” Zhang Ying demanded in a gruff voice.

Yang Tang glanced at his watch, about to answer, when the conference room door swung open.

Fang Yuhua entered first, followed by two blond, blue-eyed foreign men. “Sorry, everyone, hope we’re not late?”

He Ming and Zhang Ying both changed expressions. Zhang Ying’s brows shot up. “Mr. Yang, Qiandu needs an explanation!”

Fang Yuhua interjected, “What explanation? Whoever offers the highest price gets the deal. These two are the commercial representatives of Blue Stone Group in China, fully authorized to negotiate the acquisition of Power Saver on behalf of Blue Stone’s subsidiary, Lezhi Software.”

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