After listening to Lin Weiguo’s account, Lin Wanwan felt deeply moved. Even in her final moments, her grandmother had been thinking of her.
She sat by the bed, looking at the note. The handwriting on the note was her grandmother’s, each character written with great care.
Then, she lowered her gaze to the bank card in her hand, thinking about how it contained three hundred and eighty thousand yuan. That money was what her grandmother had painstakingly saved over a lifetime, unwilling to spend even on medical treatment in the end, all to leave it for her.
Finally, remembering something, she carefully folded the note, placed it in her pocket, and looked up at Lin Weiguo. “Who was the person the leader mentioned earlier, the one ‘keeping an eye from above’?”
Lin Weiguo shook his head. “I don’t know either.”
“I don’t know much about your grandmother’s affairs.”
He walked back to the table and sat down, instinctively reaching into his pocket for a cigarette. Halfway through the motion, he glanced at Lin Wanwan, withdrew his hand, and continued, “She never told me about her own past.”
“All I know is that she used to be in a cultural troupe and could write lyrics and compose music.”
“After she left the military, she never mentioned it again.”
Lin Wanwan was taken aback.
“Grandma could write lyrics and compose music?”
In the original owner’s memories, there was no trace of this.
In her impression, her grandmother was just an ordinary elderly woman—cooking, gardening, occasionally humming a few lines of a song, but she had never seen her write anything.
Lin Weiguo looked at her and suddenly remembered something. “Oh, there’s one more thing in that cloth bag.”
Lin Wanwan looked down at the cloth bag. Inside a hidden layer, there was indeed another piece of paper.
Earlier, she had been too focused on the bank card and the note to notice this paper.
She pulled it out—it turned out to be a contract.
The yellowed contract was slightly smaller than A4 paper, its edges somewhat worn, with creases so deep they were almost torn, but the writing was still legible.
The title read: Song Copyright Transfer Agreement
Signing Date: March 12, 1996
Transferor: Jiang Min
Transferee: Starlight Audio-Visual Publishing House
Song Title: “The Person in the Dream”
Lin Wanwan’s breath caught for a moment.
“Jiang Min—that was Grandma’s name.”
She read line by line.
The contract terms were simple, printed in standard format. The gist of it was: The transferor permanently transferred all copyrights of the song “The Person in the Dream” to the transferee.
Transfer Fee: Three Thousand Yuan.
In the signature section, there was her grandmother’s signature written in pen, the characters neat and tidy.
There was also a red stamp from the publishing house, now somewhat blurred.
The contract appeared to be an ordinary copyright transfer agreement.
But Lin Wanwan noticed one detail. At the end of the contract, there was a handwritten supplementary clause in handwriting identical to her grandmother’s, but each character was written with great force: “If this song generates subsequent income, Party A (the transferor) is entitled to a share of the profits, but the specific proportion is subject to separate negotiation.”
The supplementary clause mentioned profit sharing but did not specify a proportion or any negotiation results—only this single line.
Lin Wanwan looked up at Lin Weiguo and asked, “Did my grandmother ever receive any money later?”
Lin Weiguo shook his head. “I never heard her mention it.”
“I’ve never even seen this contract. She hid it well.”
He leaned over to look at the handwritten line, his brow furrowing. “I recognize this handwriting—it’s your grandmother’s.”
“But she never told me about this.”
Xu Jia, having heard about the contract, also came in to see what was going on. She had been silent until now, using her phone to look something up.
Suddenly, she looked up, her expression changing. “Lin Wanwan.”
“Hmm?”
“Do you know the song ‘The Person in the Dream’?”
Lin Wanwan thought for a moment, then shook her head.
Xu Jia handed her phone over. “Look.”
On the screen was the search page for the song.
“The Person in the Dream”
Performed by: Zhou Haoran
Release Date: 1996
Album Sales: Over a million copies
Awards: Golden Melody Award for Song of the Year, Best Lyrics, Best Composition
Lin Wanwan froze.
“Zhou Haoran. She knew this name.”
A legendary figure in the Chinese music industry, he had been famous for over thirty years. He performed at Jiangcheng’s annual galas every year and was always the closing act for various events.
His breakthrough song was “The Person in the Dream.”
She scrolled further down the search page.
Lyrics: Zhou Haoran
Composition: Zhou Haoran
Arrangement: Wang Wei
Performed by: Zhou Haoran
From start to finish, there was no mention of Jiang Min.
Xu Jia spoke beside her. “I listened to this song when I was a kid. It was incredibly popular.”
“Zhou Haoran rose to fame because of this song, and his career took off from there, eventually making him a legend.”
“I always thought he wrote it himself.”
She paused, looking at Lin Wanwan. “But if the contract was signed by your grandmother…”
Lin Wanwan didn’t respond, continuing to flip through the contract.
In the corner of the last page, there was a line of fine print, almost illegible, as if stamped on later: “The transferee has the right to determine the song’s attribution.”
She stared at the words, her fingers slowly tightening.
“Having the right to determine attribution means they could credit the lyrics and composition to anyone.”
Lin Weiguo watched from the side, his expression growing darker.
He suddenly spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. “Your grandmother was indeed part of a cultural troupe when she was young.”
“She wrote many songs, and everyone in the troupe praised her talent.”
“Later, she left the troupe, saying she wanted to watch you grow up, so she put all those things away.”
He paused, as if reminiscing. “I remember one year, she was suddenly very happy, saying she had sold a song for money.”
“Three thousand yuan—that was a huge sum back then.”
“She bought you new clothes, bought me cigarettes, and saved the rest.”
“She said she’d use it for you when you grew up.”
Lin Wanwan looked at him. “What happened after that?”
Lin Weiguo shook his head. “She never mentioned it again.”
“I asked her how the song was doing.”
“She said it was fine, someone was singing it.”
“I thought that was the end of it.”
Xu Jia continued searching for information.
Her fingers swiped across the screen, her frown deepening.
A few minutes later, she looked up, her voice tense. “Lin Wanwan, do you know how much money this song has made over the years?”
Lin Wanwan looked at her.
Xu Jia handed her the phone. “Just the streaming numbers on digital music platforms exceed five billion.”
“According to industry standards, the copyright earnings would be at least…”
She paused, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself. “Thirty million yuan.”
The room fell so quiet you could hear a heartbeat.
Lin Weiguo stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. “How much?!”
Xu Jia nodded. “That’s just a conservative estimate.”
“There are also concerts, covers, adaptations, film and TV soundtracks, KTV, ringtones… All combined, it could amount to hundreds of millions.”
Lin Weiguo’s hand was trembling.
He stared at the yellowed contract, his eyes rimmed red:
“Your grandmother… your grandmother saved money until the day she died.”
“Three hundred and eighty thousand yuan—she saved it her whole life.”
“But she never knew… that song of hers was worth tens of millions.”
Lin Wanwan remained silent.
At that moment, she lowered her head and looked at the contract, at her grandmother’s crooked handwriting.
“Three thousand yuan—that’s all it took to buy out a lifetime of her hard work.”
She remembered how her grandmother would occasionally hum a tune while she was alive. The melody was beautiful, and the lyrics were lovely.
She had once asked her grandmother, “What song is that?”
Her grandmother smiled and said, “I don’t remember. Just humming something.”
Now she knew—it was her grandmother’s own song, but the name on the published record belonged to someone else.
Lin Wanwan stared at the contract, and with a thought, she activated the Eye of Truth.
At that moment, she saw a faint glow appear on the contract, and some of the words lit up.
“Subsequent earnings,” “to be negotiated separately,” “has the right to determine the attribution of authorship”—these key phrases were highlighted.
Beside the contract, a line of small text appeared: Legally questionable, unfair terms, can be contested.
Lin Wanwan narrowed her eyes slightly.
“This contract can be contested!”
“Grandma’s handwritten line is the weapon to contest it.”
Xu Jia looked at her. “What do you plan to do?”
Lin Wanwan didn’t answer. Instead, she asked, “Where is Zhou Haoran now?”
Xu Jia was taken aback for a moment before lowering her head to search.
A few seconds later, she looked up, her expression complicated. “Tonight, he…”
She paused, then said, “He’s performing at the Jiangcheng Gala tonight.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Lin Wanwan stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, fans were still keeping watch.
Old Zhou was patrolling with his team, flashlights sweeping back and forth, occasional static voices crackling from the walkie-talkies.
In the distance, the city’s night sky was illuminated by lights, and fireworks shot up from time to time, bursting open against the dark curtain of night.
Tonight was Jiangcheng’s annual gala night.
Zhou Haoran would be on the city’s biggest stage, singing his hit song—the song that originally belonged to her grandmother.
Lin Weiguo walked over and stood beside her.
He looked out the window at the fans keeping vigil, silent for a long time before finally speaking. “What do you plan to do?”
Lin Wanwan remained silent for a long time.
Outside the window, fireworks continued to light up the sky—red and green, painting the night in vibrant colors.
She thought of her grandmother humming the tune, of the crooked handwriting on that piece of paper, of the line “subsequent earnings to be negotiated separately.” Then she turned around, looked at the contract, and looked at her grandmother’s signature.
She said, “I want her to know…”
“That the song she created was never forgotten.”
Lin Weiguo and Xu Jia were both stunned.
Lin Wanwan picked up her phone.
Xu Jia instinctively tried to stop her. “Are you sure?”
Lin Wanwan glanced at her.
Xu Jia’s hand froze mid-air, then dropped.
“Alright,” she said. “We’ve already gone this far anyway.”
Lin Wanwan started the livestream.
Within seconds, millions of viewers flooded into the stream.
Comments flooded the screen:
“Sis, why are you streaming at this hour?”
“What happened?”
“Not asleep yet?”
Lin Wanwan faced the camera and held up the yellowed contract.
She said, “This is my grandmother’s contract.”
“Her name was Jiang Min.”
“Thirty years ago, she wrote a song.”
“It was sold for just three thousand yuan.”
She paused, flipped the contract to the last page, and aimed it at the camera: “Right now, this song is playing at the Jiangcheng Evening Gala.”
“The person singing it is named Zhou Haoran.”
“The credit is also his.”
She pointed at that handwritten supplementary clause:
“It says here, ‘Subsequent earnings to be negotiated separately.'”
“But for thirty years, no one came to negotiate with her.”
“Because she passed away three years ago.”
She looked at the camera, her expression calm: “I want to ask Teacher Zhou Haoran…”
“You’ve been singing my grandmother’s song for thirty years.”
“Do you know what her name was?”
The livestream exploded instantly, immediately flooding the trending topics:
#Lin Wanwan’s Grandmother Jiang Min!# (Explosive)
#Who Owns the Copyright to “The Person in the Dream”?# (Explosive)
#Zhou Haoran’s Talent Exposed as Fake!# (Explosive)
#My Grandmother’s Song Is on the Spring Festival Gala!# (Explosive)
The entire internet erupted, with the topic’s view count surpassing ten billion in half an hour.
Comments under the topic:
“What does this mean?! ‘The Person in the Dream’ wasn’t written by Zhou Haoran?!”
“Her grandmother wrote it?! Sold for three thousand yuan?!”
“This song must have earned hundreds of millions, right?!”
“Zhou Haoran sang it for thirty years and didn’t pay a single cent?!”
“The Jiangcheng Evening Gala! It’s still playing right now!”
“The gala program list! Zhou Haoran is up next!”
Lin Wanwan turned on the TV.
The old house wasn’t equipped with cable, so only a few channels were available, but the signal for the Jiangcheng Evening Gala channel was decent.
On the screen, the host was announcing the next act:
“Next, let’s give a warm round of applause to welcome…”
“Teacher Zhou Haoran, performing his hit song, ‘The Person in the Dream’!”
Applause filled the venue.
Zhou Haoran walked out from the side of the stage.
His suit was impeccably tailored, his hair neatly combed, and he wore a gentle smile.
He walked to the center of the stage, the spotlight shining on him.
The music began, the familiar melody playing once again.
He started singing: “The person in the dream, where are you…”
Lin Wanwan stared at the TV, motionless.
That melody—she had heard her grandmother hum it countless times.
When she was little, her grandmother would hold her and hum this song to lull her to sleep.
She once asked her grandmother, “What song is this?”
Her grandmother replied, “Just something I made up.”
Now, this song was being performed at the Spring Festival Gala, heard by the people of Jiangcheng, yet no one knew it was her grandmother’s creation.
Lin Wanwan kept her livestream running, aiming the camera at the TV.
In the livestream, millions of people watched the Spring Festival Gala broadcast simultaneously.
Comments flooded the screen:
“This is it! ‘The Person in the Dream’!”
“Zhou Haoran is still singing it!”
“The song Lin Wanwan’s grandmother wrote!”
“The lyricist and composer credit is his!”
“How can he have the nerve?!”
“I can’t listen to this anymore!”
But there were also skeptics:
“How can you prove her grandmother wrote it?”
“What can a contract really prove?”
“What if it’s fake?”
“Who can verify something from thirty years ago?”
Lin Wanwan looked at the skeptical comments but said nothing.
She simply held up the contract again, aiming it at the camera: “Whether this contract is real or fake can be verified.”
“My grandmother’s handwriting can be compared.”
“If you don’t believe me…”
She paused: “Then let Zhou Haoran speak for himself.”
Zhou Haoran finished the song, bowed, smiled, and exited the stage, his routine smooth and practiced.
The host walked onstage, offering some festive greetings and lavishing praise on Zhou Haoran.
At that moment, Lin Wanwan turned off the TV, and the room fell silent.
Xu Jia looked at her: “What’s the next step?”
Lin Wanwan didn’t answer, lowering her head to look at her phone. Her private messages were flooded: some from fans, some from passersby, and some from journalists.
There was also one message from an account called “Zhou Haoran Studio,” with just one sentence: “Hello, Ms. Lin. Regarding the situation you mentioned, we hope to communicate with you. Please provide your contact information via private message.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the words, her finger hovering over the screen.
Lin Weiguo asked from beside her, “Who is it?”
She handed him the phone.
Lin Weiguo glanced at it and frowned. “Are you going to reply?”
Lin Wanwan remained silent for a few seconds before closing the private messages and putting her phone away.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They want to communicate, not apologize.”
“What they want is for me to shut up, not to give my grandmother an explanation.”
She stood up and walked to the window.
The fans were still gathered outside. Some were packing up their tents, while others were boiling a fresh pot of instant noodles.
Lin Wanwan watched them for a long time in silence before saying softly, “I’ll wait for them to speak publicly.”
“To speak in front of the people of Jiangcheng.”
“My grandmother’s name isn’t something to be written in a private message.”
At that moment, Xu Jia brought over three bowls of instant noodles, one for each of them.
Lin Weiguo took his and ate quickly, as if he were still in the military.
Lin Wanwan held her bowl, her appetite gone. Her phone vibrated again—a text message from an unknown number with just one sentence: “The song your grandmother wrote runs deeper than you think. If you want to know the truth, meet me at the old place in an hour.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the text.
“The old place? Which old place?”
As she was thinking, a second message came in: “The old place where you first got the USB drive. Come alone.”