Everyone Regrets It After My Death - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Star of Tomorrow

Su Mingran spent half a month meticulously revising his song. He transcribed the final version and tucked it inside the pages of a book before packing his things for the coffee shop.

As he stood up, he moved too quickly. The world suddenly spun, and he collapsed back into his seat as his vision went pitch black. He had woken up feeling unwell, but he’d dismissed it as exhaustion. Now, with his shift approaching, the symptoms were worsening. After a long recovery, he tried to stand again, finding himself drenched in a cold sweat.

He swallowed a pill from the clinic and headed to work anyway.

The moment he left, Qi Xinghe slipped into the back unit. Su Mo had asked for a song, and only a fool would actually sit down to write one from scratch. Qi Xinghe had been watching Su Mingran’s movements; he knew the composition was finished.

He ordered a servant to pick the lock and entered the room alone. Covering his nose against the damp, musty smell, he rifled through Su Mingran’s belongings until he found the manuscript hidden in the book. It was newly finished and, even to his eyes, impressively written.

Satisfied, Qi Xinghe took photos of the sheet music with his phone and called Su Mo.

“Xinghe, what is it?” Su Mo sounded busy. “I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you back.”

“Brother!” Qi Xinghe cut in quickly. “You said if I wrote a song, you’d let me debut!”

There was a pause. Su Mo whispered a “one moment” to his colleagues. A minute later, the background noise faded. “Go on. Why are you calling?”

“I wrote an amazing song! I’m coming to the office right now to show you!”

Qi Xinghe then had the family driver rush him to the company. He didn’t just bring the photos; he took the physical manuscript from Su Mingran’s book and handed it over to Su Mo.

Su Mo didn’t know much about music, so he called in the company’s head composer. The composer studied it for a long time before exclaiming, “This is a hit! With the right packaging, it’ll blow up!”

Qi Xinghe beamed. “Well, Brother? What do you think?”

Su Mo remained silent, but his assistant leaned in to whisper, “President Su, since Young Master Qi is so talented, why not have both brothers debut? We can use Su Mingran as a ‘tool’ to lure in high-level investors while focusing our real training on Young Master Qi. We use Su Mingran to pave the road.”

The implication was clear: Su Mingran would handle the “dirty” side of the industry—the forced social calls and compromises—and the resources gained would be funneled to Qi Xinghe. Su Mingran was a disposable pawn.

Su Mo frowned. “I already promised Su Mingran the debut. If he finds out I’m pushing Xinghe with his work, he’ll back out. That makes things difficult.”

“Leave that to me,” the assistant smirked. “I’ll handle it.”

…

The coffee shop was reopening today, and the morning rush was relentless. Su Mingran worked through a haze of dizziness. The medicine had helped briefly, but he couldn’t handle the high-intensity labor.

Li An noticed his pallor and forced him into a chair. “Rest. I can handle it. I’ll call you if I’m drowning.”

By afternoon, Su Mingran’s face was as white as wallpaper. The manager, fearing he’d collapse on the floor, gave him the rest of the day off and told him to go to the hospital.

Su Mingran intended to head home, but the pain in his head was so bizarre and intense that he decided to splurge on a visit to a major hospital. By the time he reached the hospital lobby, his back was soaked in cold sweat. He rested for a moment before queuing for a registration number.

Midway through, his phone rang. It was Su Mo’s assistant.

“Master Su, where are you? Get to the office immediately!”

Su Mingran froze. “What happened?”

“President Su has worked so hard for your debut, but the company’s cash flow is tight. He’s managed to bring in an investor. You’re an adult; you know how the world works. The investor wants to see if you have potential before he writes the check. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes, and he hates tardiness.”

Su Mingran turned back toward the exit. “I’ll come. I finished the song, but it’s at home. I won’t have time to go back.”

“No need. Just come and sing for him, or play the piano. Just hurry!”

Su Mingran rushed to the street to hail a taxi. But in his haste and physical distress, his breath hitched, and his vision failed him again. He didn’t even realize he had stumbled into the middle of the road.

The blare of a horn snapped him back to reality. A black Maybach was bearing down on him. Panicked, he lunged out of the way, tumbling onto the asphalt. His knees and wrists were shredded by the pavement.

The Maybach screeched to a halt. A man in his forties—Gao Sheng, the driver—rushed out. “Are you alright?”

Su Mingran was in agony—not just from the scrapes, but from the pounding in his skull. Gao Sheng helped him up. “Should we call the police or settle this privately?”

Su Mingran glanced at the car. It was pristine; not a scratch. It was his fault for not looking at the road. “I’m so sorry. It was my fault. Do you need my contact info? If there’s any damage I missed, you can call me.”

“No, the car is fine.” Seeing Su Mingran limping, Gao Sheng felt uneasy. “Let me take you to the hospital, or home.”

Su Mingran looked at him pleadingly. “Could you take me to a specific address? I’m in a hurry.”

…

Gao Sheng was the personal driver for Yang Lingxuan. Since Yang Lingxuan had taken over the Yang Group, he had become known as a man far more decisive and difficult to please than his father.

Yang Lingxuan was currently reading a monthly report in the back seat. Without looking up, he had told Gao Sheng to “handle it.”

When Gao Sheng returned to the car to ask permission to give the stranger a ride, Yang Lingxuan glanced out the window at the injured young man. He looked familiar. After a brief second, he looked back at his report. “Drop him off first. We aren’t in a rush.”

Su Mingran sat in the passenger seat, keeping his eyes down and touching nothing. He bowed slightly toward the man in the back whose face was obscured by shadows. “Thank you so much. Could we please hurry? I’m quite late.”

When they arrived at the Su Group building, Su Mingran apologized again. Before getting out, he looked into the rearview mirror and said sincerely to the man in the back, “Sir, thank you very much.”

Yang Lingxuan didn’t look up or respond.

…

Su Mingran was three minutes late. He limped into the building, his knees throbbing with every step. When he reached Su Mo’s floor, he found the office door wide open and the lobby crowded. The sofas had been moved to make room for a grand piano.

Someone was playing. The melody was hauntingly familiar.

Su Mingran pushed through the crowd. His heart sank.

Qi Xinghe was sitting at the piano, playing with practiced focus. Propped up on the music stand was a piece of paper—the physical manuscript Su Mingran had transcribed by hand.

Su Mingran’s hands began to shake.

As the final note echoed, the room erupted in applause. Su Mo stepped forward, introducing the performer to a man in a sharp suit.

“President Cheng, you see? My brother is incredibly talented. He spent a long time writing this piece. I believe that with your investment, he will be the Star of Tomorrow.”