Author’s Note:

Little Theater 1:

What exactly did Henry Clark end up editing? Please watch the VCR:

[Huh? It’s not that bad, I don’t think he’s as scheming as you say. If he really wanted to approach me for popularity, at the very least he’d offer me some tempting conditions, right? You don’t know that guy, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps urging me to watch their rehearsals, doesn’t mention any other benefits at all. Do I look like someone who’s easy to fool?]

After sending it, Henry Clark glanced at it himself.

Seems like I really am easy to fool, he even tricked me back to school. Might as well just let me go study with him in the library.

Delete, delete.

[Huh? It’s not that bad, I think he’s pretty stubborn, just a kid, just started college, what could he possibly know? At most, he could fool a few little girls.]

Look again.

No, he could probably fool a whole bunch of little girls.

No, that’s not the point either.

Delete, delete.

[It’s not that bad, I don’t think he’s as bad as you say. I have my own judgment.]

Just this line, that should be normal enough.

But the mere 20 characters look more and more awkward.

Delete, delete.

Five minutes later, Henry Clark sent out the last sentence of Chapter 2 of the main text, then happily lay down to sleep.

:

Little Theater 2:

The next day, the sanitation uncle brought over a small sign and set it up.

[Please do not lie down anywhere at will, thank you!]

Chapter 3: Stellar Moment

“Teacher, when I grow up I want to form a band. Do you think I can?”

There were still five minutes left in class when the student in front suddenly asked this question.

Henry Clark was a bit puzzled.

Ever since Edith Parker appeared, [band]—a word he hadn’t heard in ages—had suddenly become a high-frequency term in his life again.

It felt like disaster was looming.

Seeing he didn’t answer, the little girl tugged on Henry Clark’s sleeve: “Teacher Xiaoyu? Did you hear me?”

This was the alias he used for teaching here. At first, Henry Clark wanted to go by “Dayu,” but whether it was the boss or the students, everyone called him “Xiaoyu,” so he couldn’t be bothered to argue.

“I heard you, I heard you, both fish ears heard you.”

“Form a band, huh…” He swallowed the instinctive “no, you can’t,” and with a smile, patted the child’s head. “Teacher thinks when you grow up, you should first work hard to make money.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because being in a band is expensive.”

“How do you know, teacher?”

“You’ll understand when you grow up.”

He worked part-time at a very small and remote children’s vocal training classroom. There were only three employees in total, including the boss Brian Smith, who also taught violin.

Half a year ago, Henry Clark had just returned from Yunnan, feeling down. He wandered along the Second Ring Road for seven kilometers, got hungry, and randomly walked into a Lanzhou beef noodle shop, where he happened to share a table with Brian Smith. The other was on the phone, sighing about needing a music theory teacher for kids, but couldn’t find anyone.

Henry Clark listened, then pointed at himself with his chopsticks.

“How about me?”

Given his mental state, he couldn’t get along with adults, but elementary school kids? Just right.

Most importantly, he needed money.

It’s just that Henry Clark was still haunted by old memories and didn’t want anyone to know about his messy band days, so he only left a nickname.

“Teacher Xiaoyu, you sing so well, why don’t you go compete? There’s a lot of money in competitions, right? You could buy lots of candy!”

The child’s whimsical question pulled Henry Clark back to reality.

Why is everyone pushing him to compete, like it’s a matter of life and death.

He propped his elbow on the table, chin resting on his palm, and lazily said, “Do you know what three things teacher dislikes the most?”

The child shook her head innocently. “Which three?”

Unlike others, when counting, he raised his middle finger first. “One, singing.”

Then came the index finger.

“Two, competitions.”

The child oh-ed in understanding. “And the last one?”

Finally, Henry Clark raised his ring finger.

“Three, talkative little brats.”

Well, that worked—the kid stopped talking and suddenly started crying. Henry Clark grabbed a tissue and messily wiped her nose. Seeing she wouldn’t calm down, he simply imitated her and wailed loudly.

That did the trick.

After class, Henry Clark led her downstairs. There was a small stall selling candied hawthorn at the entrance. He bought a skewer with glutinous rice filling and a big green grape on top.

After paying, Henry Clark handed it to the student.

“Thank you, teacher!” The child wanted to grab the whole skewer with both hands, but Henry Clark didn’t let go, so she couldn’t pull it away.

“Who said you could have the whole thing? Take the one on top.” Henry Clark lifted his chin. “Teacher doesn’t like grapes.”

The child almost cried again, stomped her foot, and said angrily, “Teacher, you’re so annoying!”

Henry Clark bit off a piece of the candied hawthorn and mumbled, “Aren’t I? I’m a super annoying teacher.”

The child was picked up by her parents, and the snack was finished. Henry Clark took the bus back to David Morgan’s shop.

There had been a lot of customers these days, and David Morgan was too busy to spare a hand. With sticky hands, Henry Clark went in to wash up, then grabbed a small stool to sit in front of them and watch, not saying a word, but staring with utmost seriousness.