Chapter 4: The Metamorphosis of a Genius

When Huang Guolun regained consciousness, it was already midday. The moment he opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the school infirmary. As his senses cleared, he still felt an unusual torrent surging through his mind. Every sound around him fell into his ears with extraordinary clarity.

His hearing had become so acute it was as if his ears had mutated; he could distinctly catch the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock, even the subtle vibration each tick produced! Such refined hearing was utterly terrifying!

All manner of noise from outside the window rushed into his ears like a tornado, making his head throb as if it would explode.

"What on earth is happening? Is this an illusion? Why has the noise become so loud?"

Huang Guolun, startled to the core by the overstimulation, lay on the hospital bed, pressing his hands tightly over his ears, yet he could still hear many sounds he would never have noticed before.

"How did my ears become so sharp? Could that lunchbox that hit me have stimulated my auditory system? This is too much of a joke!"

But it wasn’t just his hearing that had changed. During the time he was unconscious, his mind had erupted with a torrent of novel inspirations.

It was as if he had traveled to a parallel world closely resembling his own, where he received an abundance of new and wondrous things.

What shocked Huang Guolun most was that, in that parallel world, there existed countless musical works he had never heard before!

Many artists in that world had composed and performed “new songs.”

For example, Old Cui—not only had he sung works familiar in Huang Guolun’s world, such as “Nothing to My Name” and “Rock on the Long March,” but also songs Huang Guolun had never encountered, like “Girl in the Flower Room” and “A Piece of Red Cloth”!

Li Zongsheng, in that world, had written equally classic songs such as “Hill,” “Song of the Ordinary Man,” and “When Love Has Become the Past,” but also many touching “new works” that left a deep impression, like “I Am a Small Bird” and “A Song for Myself.”

Luo Dayou, besides creating classics like “Orphan of Asia,” “Love Song 1990,” and “Queen’s Road East,” had also composed “Childhood,” “The Story of Time,” and “Even Wild Lilies Have Spring,” all equally timeless.

Eason Chan had performed many meaningful pop classics Huang Guolun knew, such as “Mount Fuji Below,” “Exaggerated,” and “Years Like Song,” but also numerous hits he had never heard, like “Ten Years,” “Your Backpack,” and “Steady Happiness”!

And then there was Jay Chou. In Huang Guolun’s world, this gentle-voiced singer of “Simple Love” and “Tornado” was not especially famous. But in that parallel world, he was a superstar of legendary status—a titan of 21st-century Chinese music!

As melodies like “Nunchucks,” “In the Name of the Father,” “Blue and White Porcelain,” and “East Wind Breaks”—songs he had never heard before—reverberated in his mind, Huang Guolun could hardly believe it.

So this is what Chinese music could be!

It was the same for Western music; that world was filled with pop classics that were utterly new to him.

Yet, just one listen, and these songs stamped themselves into his memory like dreams, unforgettable for a lifetime!

Even timeless classical works in that world were unknown to him—like Brahms’ “Hungarian Dances.” The first time he heard it, he was so moved he could have knelt in awe!

Though that world brimmed with fresh musical works, it wasn’t all-encompassing. Many pieces familiar in Huang Guolun’s world did not exist there.

For instance, Old Cui’s epic “Red,” “White,” and “Black” rock trilogy, Lin Xi’s Rainbow series of love songs—none of these were present in that parallel world.

Li Zongsheng’s series of songs about life’s insights was incomplete there as well.

In summary, the two worlds were seventy percent alike and thirty percent different.

Yet it was this thirty percent difference that made Huang Guolun feel as though he were in a dream—so astounded he was lost to himself!

As the storm of intricate noises still raged in his ears, Huang Guolun, striving to calm his mind and savor the ten thousand gigabytes of otherworldly music now in his head, was nearly overtaken by a delirious joy.

“What in the world happened? Why is my mind filled with so many miraculous musical compositions? Could this be the legendary enlightenment? Has my mind been enlightened?”

The more Huang Guolun thought about it, the more surreal it seemed. At first, he believed he had traveled in spirit to a parallel world, which was why he now remembered so many classic works he had never heard.

But on further reflection, something didn’t add up. If he had truly traveled there, why did he remember nothing else?

He began to suspect: could it be that his head was “enlightened” by that lunchbox blow? That these musical works were flashes of inspiration unleashed by the stimulation to his brain?

He was familiar with music, passionate about it, and well-versed in the creative and vocal styles of mainstream musicians. After his head was “enlightened” by Bai Yao’s lunchbox, he had, in the style of those artists, freely composed “new songs” for them!

“Yes, that must be it! These works that I’ve never heard before—they’re all my own compositions! I’m amazing!”

The more he thought, the more excited he became. Suddenly, he felt he had done something extraordinary! This was the path from ordinary to genius!

For years, Huang Guolun had been troubled by his mediocre musical talent.

He didn’t care for fame or fortune, but after studying music for over twenty years and loving all its forms, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t create excellent works of his own like those famous musicians.

That unfulfilled longing had always weighed on him.

Now, after a blow from a lunchbox, his mind had suddenly opened—a transformation from an ordinary man into a musical genius!

This mysterious joy was almost too much to believe.

“Am I dreaming?” he wondered.

Imitating scenes from television dramas, he bit his wrist hard. It hurt.

This was no dream—it was real!

“So this is the legendary epiphany! In an instant, I have seen through the world’s music—how miraculous!”

Huang Guolun suddenly felt deep gratitude toward the hapless student Zhang Liang, who had set his transformation in motion, and toward Bai Yao, who had thrown the lunchbox.

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside the infirmary.

Through a single door, and at a distance of ten or twenty meters, most people would have been impressed to hear footsteps at all. Huang Guolun, however, could discern the weight, pace, and rhythm of each step with perfect clarity. It was truly godlike hearing!

With a slight effort, he determined there were four people approaching the infirmary.

Someone spoke: “There’s nothing seriously wrong with Mr. Huang. He’s just fatigued and needs to rest. A good sleep will do him good. He’s not unconscious, just sleeping.”

Huang Guolun immediately recognized the voice—it was Dr. Zheng Ren from the infirmary.

A forty-year-old, experienced resident school physician, his mature, magnetic voice inspired confidence.

“I told you, Mr. Huang is fine. That lunchbox only grazed his head; there’s no way he was knocked out by it,” said Zhang Liang, his gruff, distinctive voice unmistakable to Huang Guolun.

“You have some nerve! If anything happens to Mr. Huang, it’s on your head, you hear me? And you’ve dragged Bai Yao into this mess too!” scolded Chen Shufen, the sharp female homeroom teacher of Class 5, Grade 11.

Zheng Ren chuckled, “Don’t worry, Ms. Chen. Mr. Huang truly is fine. All his symptoms point to fatigue, nothing more. There’s not even a bump on his head. That lunchbox did him no harm. If you’re still concerned, once he wakes up this afternoon, have him get a head CT at the hospital for a full checkup. But with nearly twenty years of medical experience, I can assure you: he simply passed out from exhaustion—nothing else.”

Hearing Zheng Ren’s words, Huang Guolun felt much more at ease.

He rubbed the spot on his left temple where the lunchbox had struck—astonishingly, it didn’t hurt at all.

At the moment of impact, it had felt as though his skull were splitting open, his brain churning in agony.

Looking back, that pain wasn’t from a hard blow, but rather the sign of a “miraculous transformation”!

The moment a caterpillar breaks free and becomes a butterfly is the most excruciating; when a seed breaks the earth, it endures the greatest pressure.

He, too, had to bear such pain in the moment he transformed from an ordinary man into a genius.

Zheng Ren said he fainted from exhaustion—perhaps it was the mental shock of his miraculous change.

Still, Chen Shufen, approaching the infirmary, was worried. After all, it was her class that had caused the incident, and should anything go wrong, she would be held responsible as homeroom teacher.

She pressed Zheng Ren, “If Mr. Huang doesn’t wake up today, does that mean something is seriously wrong?”

“He should wake up. If not, then it’s more complicated. Let him get a good rest. I’ll check on him around three or four this afternoon, and if he’s still not awake, we’ll send him to the hospital.”

“Dr. Zheng, what are the chances Mr. Huang becomes a vegetable?” This was a mature, husky female voice.

At first, Huang Guolun thought it was some world-weary older woman, perhaps smoking as she spoke.

He quickly realized otherwise—this was not some middle-aged smoker, but rather Bai Yao, the distinctive, maverick top student in Class 5, Grade 11.

Earlier, in the ill-fated music class before the flying lunchbox, Bai Yao had scolded Zhang Liang in that very raspy voice—an impression that stuck with Huang Guolun.

Zheng Ren reassured her, “There’s a 99.99% chance Mr. Huang won’t become a vegetable. His bodily responses are all perfectly normal. He even turns over in his sleep and snores deeply. Have you ever seen a comatose patient roll over on their own?”

Relieved, Zhang Liang laughed, “Ha! Mr. Huang’s hilarious—knocked out by a lunchbox!”

Chen Shufen snapped, “How can you be so shameless? Still joking at a time like this? If you love acting so much, go home and join a troupe! This afternoon I’m calling your father to discuss your expulsion.”

“Please, Ms. Chen, don’t scare me!” Zhang Liang panicked instantly. “I’m timid—I’m weak at the knees! I don’t love acting, I love studying! I swear I wasn’t trying to cause trouble today.”

Bai Yao’s husky voice dripped with scorn: “You didn’t do it on purpose—you did it intentionally.”

“Bai, stop pouring oil on the fire, will you? …Ms. Chen, I’m sorry, I admit my mistake, just please don’t call my father! I beg you!”

“Don’t beg me, it’s useless. Pray that Mr. Huang is fine. If anything happens, you’ll be in real trouble! It’s bad enough you have to get yourself in trouble, but you had to drag Bai Yao with you. I regret not expelling you last semester!”

“Ms. Chen, I’ll bear all responsibility for this! If anything happens to Mr. Huang, I’ll take the blame myself. Don’t involve Bai Yao—it’s all my fault, I admit it! Just please don’t call my father unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Hmph!”

Chen Shufen’s heavy snort made it clear how furious she was.

And understandably so—if any homeroom teacher had a mischievous student like Zhang Liang dragging their star pupil down, they would be livid.

“Bang!”

The sound of Dr. Zheng opening the infirmary door hit Huang Guolun’s ears like an exploding bomb, jolting him upright in bed.