The moment those words were spoken, the lounge fell silent.
Lin Tian and Gan Yan Yu stared blankly at Tuoba Jianhui.
This was a conductor over sixty, a man who had spent a lifetime in glory, one of the nation's top three active conductors, a towering figure in the music world.
This was the proud, petty, contemptuous Tuoba Jianhui, who had once formed a deep grudge against Lin Tian.
And now, he was kneeling.
Kneeling before Lin Tian and Gan Yan Yu.
"I know this request may sound presumptuous, and perhaps it is too heavy a burden for the two of you, as juniors."
"But it is truly important to this old man!"
Tuoba Jianhui said emotionally.
The old man lowered his head, his pupils trembling violently without stop.
If one had to ask
why Tuoba Jianhui, already in his sixties and nearing retirement, still worked so diligently on the front lines of music,
then in Tuoba's heart,
there was only one answer—
For twenty years, he had still been running away.
From the humiliation and sorrow that had remained unchanged for decades.
When he turned around, there was already no one left by Tuoba Jianhui's side.
Yet,
the Tuoba Jianhui kneeling here was the true deserter.
Through countless days and nights,
Tuoba Jianhui had endured the torment of pain and guilt.
In his dreams,
the young faces from twenty years ago questioned the conductor with cold expressions, hoping to receive an answer from him.
—Had that period of time
truly meant anything?
Had their musical careers been worthless?
Had they done anything for the nation's classical music?
Tuoba Jianhui had been unable to give them an answer.
He had only kept running away, filling himself with seemingly diligent work, endlessly waving his baton for Pop Music performances before his