I Became an All-round Artist

Lin Yuan certainly didn’t need to wait for death to achieve greatness. With Earth behind him, he had access to an inexhaustible treasure trove of art. Moreover, he firmly believed that the system would eventually triumph over illness.

It’s worth mentioning that novels like The Gift of the Magi often hold deeper significance, such as reflecting social class conflicts and injustices of their time. However, Lin Yuan lived on Blue Star. So, for him, this story was just that—a story. The focus was on the narrative itself, without the weight of deep social commentary. Any discussions about those eras were merely touched upon.

At this moment, Lin Yuan was eating in the cafeteria, seated with Xia Fan and Jian Yi. Today, Xia Fan seemed somewhat distracted. Noticing this, Jian Yi waved a hand in front of her eyes.

“What’s on your mind? You’re completely zoned out,” he asked.

Lin Yuan also looked at his friend with concern.

Xia Fan glanced up, looking slightly embarrassed. “You two better not laugh at me, but I signed up for this year’s Bloom again last night.”

Upon hearing this, Jian Yi exchanged a glance with Lin Yuan before bursting into laughter.

As the most popular talent show in Qinzhou, Bloom was held annually, and many young women with dreams of a music career were eager to participate. Xia Fan was one of them. But for the past two years, she had entered the competition twice, both times getting stuck at the top 100 stage. It was a blow to her confidence, and last year, when she didn’t make it through, she even cried, vowing, “I’ll never do this show again!”

That declaration still echoed in their ears. Yet this year, as soon as Bloom opened its registration, Xia Fan hurriedly signed up again, seemingly forgetting her own words and the setbacks from the previous years.

“You two want to die, don’t you?” Xia Fan glared at them as they laughed.

Lin Yuan immediately straightened up, suppressing his smile. “I support you.”

Jian Yi, also keeping a straight face, added, “Chase your dreams.”

Xia Fan’s expression softened. But then, both Lin Yuan and Jian Yi snickered again.

“Do you find this funny?” she growled, clearly annoyed.

Fearing for their safety, the two held back their laughter. Xia Fan huffed, “This is my third time. I promise, this will be the last.”

Jian Yi muttered under his breath, “You said the same thing last year…”

He yelped as Xia Fan stepped on his foot.

Lin Yuan smiled and said, “When you compete, we’ll be there to cheer you on from the audience, just like the last two years.”

“That’s more like it,” Xia Fan said, standing up. “Since that’s the case, I need your help. I think the reason I didn’t make it to the top 100 before is that I chose the wrong songs. This year, I need to pick the perfect one, something that’ll leave the judges speechless.”

“Alright,” Lin Yuan and Jian Yi agreed.

Of course, Lin Yuan’s opinion mattered the most. Jian Yi, being tone-deaf, could only categorize songs as either “good” or “bad,” offering no meaningful feedback.

After thinking for a moment, Lin Yuan said, “The song you chose last year was actually pretty good. The main reason the judges didn’t select you was that the style was too niche.”

As her friend, Lin Yuan was well aware of Xia Fan’s talent. She had the potential to stand out on Bloom, but her issue was always with her song choices. Xia Fan had a preference for obscure tracks. In competitions, songs that could hype up the crowd were more likely to succeed, while niche songs struggled to resonate with the audience.

After they finished eating, the three of them began planning Xia Fan’s song selection for Bloom.

Xia Fan handed over her prepared playlist. “Lin Yuan, mark the songs you think I should practice more.”

“Alright.” Lin Yuan glanced at her list, noticing she still couldn’t break her habit of choosing obscure music. Besides those, he also saw two more familiar songs: Big Fish and Easily Explosive.

He looked at Xia Fan and immediately crossed off Big Fish. Her voice wouldn’t do justice to that song.

Pointing at the other track, Lin Yuan said, “You should try Easily Explosive.”

“Sure,” Xia Fan agreed. It was one of her favorites.

Lin Yuan then added, “But don’t sing this during the auditions. You’ll get through those easily. Save this song for the top 100 rounds.”

Xia Fan nodded. By the time contestants reached the top 100, most were highly skilled, and any outcome was possible. In the past, Xia Fan had been overconfident, thinking her singing alone would secure her spot, but in reality, everyone at that level was talented.

Lin Yuan offered a few more suggestions, cutting her song list by more than half. “Focus on practicing these. They all have potential for the competition.”

“Got it,” Xia Fan said, trusting Lin Yuan’s judgment, even though many of the songs he’d crossed off were ones she had really wanted to perform.

After their discussion, an hour had passed. Lin Yuan and Jian Yi had things to attend to, and with no classes that afternoon, Lin Yuan hesitated for a moment before calling upon the system.

“Can I improve my piano skills through practice?” he asked.

“Yes,” the system replied. “The system has already granted you professional-level piano skills, but with consistent practice, you can further enhance your abilities.”

“Understood,” Lin Yuan said, heading to the practice room.

Everyone loves reaping rewards without effort, and Lin Yuan was no different. Who wouldn’t enjoy effortless gains? But while he waited for the system to upgrade him, Lin Yuan wasn’t opposed to self-improvement. After all, why else would he pay attention in every college lecture?

The system could always give him new songs, right?

If he relied solely on that, Lin Yuan could have coasted through his college years—or even his entire life—but that would have been too dull. Although his own progress was slow compared to the system’s upgrades, he enjoyed the satisfaction of achieving even minor improvements through his own efforts. Humans thrive on a sense of accomplishment.

Once in the practice room, Lin Yuan played a few familiar pieces. After warming up, he moved on to Wedding in a Dream, a song he had obtained from a silver treasure chest but had yet to fully explore.

As the notes flowed from his fingers, Lin Yuan gently closed his eyes. Gradually, he began to increase the tempo, attempting to improvise on Wedding in a Dream. Many pianists try this approach, transforming the original composition into something entirely new.

However, his improvisation didn’t quite succeed. Lin Yuan felt that he still lacked the depth needed to infuse the music with more soul.

This was one of the drawbacks of the system’s upgrades. Lin Yuan had gained professional-level piano skills all at once, mastering the technique, but missing certain intangible elements that only come from years of experience.

It was like singing without emotion. Lin Yuan’s piano playing, despite its technical precision, was devoid of deep feeling. His proficiency made him feel like a heartless playing machine.

“This might be an area I need to improve,” Lin Yuan mused, slowing down the tempo and returning the piece to its original arrangement, playing while pondering the matter more deeply.

What Lin Yuan didn’t know was that as his music filled the room, a girl in the practice room next door, who had been dozing at her piano, suddenly opened her eyes and shot up from her seat.

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