The Answer

Auntie Liu reflected on her mistake. If she had taken that into account beforehand, the buyout price could have risen another ten or twenty percent. In the end, she had rushed things and hadn't prepared enough. That was also why the contract had come together so quickly—the music company had been terrified she would change her mind.

"Of course, the main reason is that the Mohist School doesn't value musical composition, so our country can't produce any decent works in the field. Our music charts have always been dominated by foreign music. That's why music companies have completely different standards for locals and foreigners. As soon as they hear a work is by one of our own, they become much more enthusiastic," Auntie Liu continued.

"Against music" was one of the Mohist School's ten major doctrines. Its original purpose was to oppose extravagant musical events and promote the conservation of manpower and material resources. In essence, it was an extension of the doctrine of frugality.

That was undoubtedly correct in the age before the Industrial Revolution. After all, productivity in ancient society was underdeveloped. Ordinary people spent every day worrying about how to eat their fill, dress warmly, and get a good night's sleep. How could they have the leisure to think about musical entertainment? The only people truly capable of holding musical events were the upper classes.

The Mohist School had always advocated restraining the upper classes and liberating the lower classes, considering issues from the people's standpoint. This was the exact opposite of the Confucian School.

The Confucian School advocated restraining the lower classes and serving the upper classes. Ideas such as "distinguishing the honorable from the lowly," "punishments do not reach high officials," and "heaven, earth, ruler, parents, and teacher" all expanded and protected the rights of the upper classes.

Clearly, Mohist thought also had its historical limitations. Even someone as wise as Mozi had not foreseen that productivity in future society could become so advanced that even ordinary people could live better than the nobles of the past, freeing themselves from their busy daily labor and finding leisure to enjoy entertainment.

However, "against music" was, after all, one of the ten major doctrines. It was extremely difficult for later generations to set things right, just as it was impossible for a Confucian disciple to stand up and say, "Kong Lao'er was wrong when he said this."

Over time, this had left Su State impoverished in the field of music. Its talent was so scarce and its record so dismal that it was only a tiny bit better than China's men's soccer team in the twenty-first century.

In fact, the Mohist School did not oppose music. What it opposed was "ritual music"-extravagant musical events complete with dancing girls, banquets, and bands. At its core, it opposed wasteful, useless extravagance that drained the people and squandered resources, not music that provided relaxation and entertainment amid the demands of life.

"Music is not the means to govern the world." That was the Mohist School's view of music: music could not be used to govern a country.

That was undoubtedly true. Music really had nothing to do with state power, so relations between the Music School and the Mohist School were extremely poor. After all, the truth hurt most of all.

"By the way, that music company asked me to find out whether you'd be willing to sign with them and become one of their artists," Auntie Liu suddenly asked.

"What, an artist?"

Si Ming thought he was hearing things.

"After hearing the piece you composed, they thought highly of your potential. They're willing to spend money training you and promise to treat you well. Of course, I'll do my best to secure better terms for you too. I have to admit, your looks give you a real advantage. A musician can succeed through talent alone, even without good looks, but having both talent and looks would undoubtedly shorten the road to success."

Si Ming instinctively refused. "My dream is to become a martial arts grandmaster, not an entertainer who plays and sings for a living."

An "artist" was really just a performer. As the saying went, "A whore has no heart, and a performer has no loyalty." In this world, perhaps a pure musical creator held a respectable position, like the cultured scholars who frequented pleasure establishments in ancient times. But in the public eye, singers and stars were high-class prostitutes. People might fawn over them, but no one actually held them in any real regard.

In the Hua Kingdom of his previous life, if the "people's artists" who had come before them hadn't given those stars a veneer of gold, their social standing would have been much the same. One only had to look at how stars were treated in a certain "universe country." Ordinary people might worship them fanatically and raise them to the clouds, but in the eyes of that country's capitalists, they were basically people whose bedchamber tablets could be turned over at will each night. Even top-tier stars had no power to resist.

Auntie Liu shook her head. "A performer who can only sing and use their looks to entertain people can't be compared to a talent who can both sing and compose. The Mohist School doesn't lack martial arts grandmasters, but it does lack truly great musicians. Besides, you should understand that your inability to cultivate internal arts means your chances of becoming a martial arts grandmaster are exceedingly slim. But whether or not you have internal power makes no difference in music."

Hearing this, Si Ming couldn't help hesitating for a moment. It was true: if he wanted to rise above the crowd, he didn't necessarily have to take the path of martial arts. Taking another route might still let him save the nation by a roundabout path.

If he became a great musician, earned enough money, and got to know more important people, perhaps he could find a way to treat his severed meridians?

Seeing his reaction, Auntie Liu didn't strike while the iron was hot. Instead, she said, "In any case, don't rush into a decision. Think it over carefully. This decision could affect the rest of your life. You're still young, and you can afford to waste an opportunity."

With that, she left. As an agent, her schedule was packed. She had only spent so long talking to Si Ming because she recognized his talent and thought he was worth investing in.

The path of music... Am I really going to copy songs until I become the king of a generation of singers? Then appear on the Spring Festival Gala, sing the Olympic theme song, and plan a variety show called The Voice of Su State? Finally, lead our country's musicians in a desperate counterattack against the invasion of foreign music, holding up half of Su State's musical realm by myself, and earn the honored title of "Si Banbi"?

He had never considered anything like that before, but now that someone had opened his eyes to it, Si Ming suddenly felt that a broad highway had appeared before him, and a highly feasible one at that.

Being a star was a profession that had existed in his previous life. He knew how to follow the usual playbook and had plenty of ideas in his head. Becoming a martial arts grandmaster, on the other hand, left him completely in the dark. Not only did he not know which direction to take, he couldn't even tell whether there was a sheer cliff ahead. One wrong step could send him plunging into a bottomless abyss, smashing him to pieces.

But transmigrating to a world with supreme martial arts and choosing to sing and compose instead of training? That's aiming way too low. Only a salted fish with no dreams would do something like that... Though being a salted fish doesn't seem so bad. Long shelf life, strong flavor-maybe beautiful women all have a taste for it.

For a moment, Si Ming felt lost. Two roads lay before him: one was a broad avenue of starlight, shining with glory, clear to see, flat and straight; the other was an unknown trail shrouded in black fog, full of obstacles, rough and winding.

Reality or dreams—which should he choose?

Chapter 9: The Answer

"I heard you're going to become an artist?"

On their way home from school, Liu Qingqing asked Si Ming casually.

"You heard that from your mom, right? It's only a possibility for now. A music company is willing to train me, but I haven't decided whether to go."

Si Ming looked preoccupied. He had spent the entire day thinking about the matter, unsure which way to turn in the future.

Liu Qingqing said, "I've known you since we were little, and I never knew you had a talent for music."

"I didn't know I had that talent either. After all, I'd never seriously tried before. Actually, everyone has talents of their own. Maybe you do too, and you just haven't discovered them yet." Si Ming's answer was watertight.

Liu Qingqing asked, "Then what field do you think I could put my talents to use in?"

Si Ming was stumped. What could a talent for having a weak presence be used for? Making a beautiful-girl game? Or playing basketball?

This world had developed slowly in electronics. Although it had electronic products similar to computers, they were expensive and had not yet spread to ordinary households. As for video games, there wasn't even a trace of them. Perhaps practicing martial arts was so much more interesting than playing video games that no one had thought along those lines.

Basketball did exist, however. Because people generally had powerful physiques, and with True Qi and martial arts as well, the unscientific basketball techniques that only appeared in comics in his previous life were entirely possible here, such as shooting from extreme distances and breaking an opponent's center of gravity.

The trait of having a weak presence was of little use when the techniques of the Generation of Miracles were everywhere.

After racking his brains, Si Ming said, "The Liu School or the Chi School should welcome someone with your talents."

Liu Qingqing asked in return, "Do you want me to become a killer, or a thief?"

"Uh, forget I said anything."

The Chi School produced assassins and killers, while the Liu School produced thieves and robbers. Both had such foul reputations that they had long since become like rats at a festival, with everyone shouting for them to be beaten. They were the lowest of the low. No country would openly take them in, and they had too few disciples to establish a country of their own.

The Chi School had once enjoyed a good reputation. Historical records always set aside a volume for "Biographies of Assassins." But that was the Chi School of ancient times. They held that "a gentleman dies for one who understands him" and believed in "sacrificing one's life for righteousness," embodying the spirit of the weak resisting the strong.

Unfortunately, as the Chi School continued down to the present, its spirit had long since rotted away. Its members had become butchers who would work for money, asking nothing of right or wrong and killing anyone for the right price. Their reputation stank about as badly as gutter oil.

The Liu School was even less fit to show its face in polite society. Originally called the Thief School, it had offended the Daoist School's taboos and had been forced to change its name. Even the Historian School didn't want to write about them, for fear of dirtying their brushes.

At least the Chi School's "ancestors had once known glory," so its members could boast about the good old days. The Liu School couldn't find a single accomplishment worth boasting about. All along, they had lived like rats, sneaking around in the corners of society, and had never done anything great.