"To be honest," Chen Limin said, pausing thoughtfully, "I've watched the footage of your piano performance over and over. Your hands aren't particularly large, and you don't have the raw strength of a professional pianist. Your technique is strong, yes, but nothing extraordinary. And yet… the effect of your performance is—honestly—astounding."
He glanced at Jing Yu again.
"Compared to the professional pianists I brought in—friends of mine, no less—your music has a stronger emotional pull. They've admitted it themselves: your musical level isn't below theirs."
Chen Limin couldn't explain why. All he could chalk it up to was raw talent.
It was like cooking fried rice—same ingredients, same tools. Yet somehow, a top chef could still produce a flavor that took everyone by surprise.
Jing Yu's pieces weren't particularly complex in terms of technical difficulty. But the emotional power behind his playing was perfect for a drama. Absolutely made for it.
If Chen hadn't heard Jing Yu's version, he would've thought the recordings from the hired pianists were good enough. But now…
"So I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to help us with the official piano recordings for Kousei's character in the show," Chen said a bit sheepishly.
"You're already the screenwriter, the male lead… and now we're asking you to do the soundtrack too. I realize it's asking a lot."
Jing Yu lowered his head, thinking.
To be honest, even with the skills he'd acquired through the panel, he'd always seen himself as just "exceptional among ordinary people"—probably on par with mid-tier professional musicians, but still far from the global elite.
What he failed to consider was that the panel's abilities couldn't be judged by common logic.
Sure, maybe his raw piano skill wasn't superhuman. But the panel-added boost—especially to the emotional resonance of his music—wasn't something normal training could replicate.
And that's exactly what mattered for a drama.
This wasn't a concert hall. If the music didn't grip the viewer emotionally, they'd change the channel in seconds.
"I get it now," Jing Yu nodded.
"So you're saying the effect of my playing is better suited for the drama, right? It hits harder emotionally than your current recordings?"
"Without a doubt. If you could take over Kousei's piano performances, the musicians we hired could focus on other characters. Overall, our musical production level would rise by an entire tier." Chen Limin nodded firmly.
"What about the budget?" Jing Yu looked toward Producer Liu Neng.
"Don't worry," Liu immediately replied.
"You'll be paid according to standard music production rates."
He knew Jing Yu well by now. The man wasn't greedy—well, a little—but only for what he'd rightfully earned. Unlike other writers Liu had worked with, Jing Yu had never abused his position to sneak in shady subcontractors or overcharge for team services.
If anything, Jing Yu was the most fair-minded and principled writer he'd ever dealt with. Whatever Jing Yu earned, Liu was happy to pay him fairly for it.
"Alright, then it's settled," Jing Yu agreed.
"I'll make time to come into the studio for the recordings."
But just as he was about to leave for the next scene…
"Wait—one more thing," Chen Limin called after him.
"The other day, you told Yu Youqing that your violin skills are on par with your piano skills, right?"
Liu Neng blinked in surprise.
"I said I 'know a little,'" Jing Yu replied, already sensing what Chen was getting at.
"So… same level as piano, right?" Chen grinned.
With Jing Yu's indirect confirmation, Chen's expression brightened.
They began to talk more seriously.
'Your Lie in April' was, at its core, a music romance. But structurally, the piano held a greater presence in the script—after all, the story was told from Kousei's point of view, and Kousei played piano.
The violin appeared mostly in scenes with Kaoru. So when the crew hired musicians for recording, they had focused their budget on pianists. The violinists, though decent, weren't quite top-tier.
Now that even the high-tier pianists paled in comparison to Jing Yu's performance… the violinists? Forget it.
"I actually brought a violin with me," Chen said, reaching into his equipment case.
"Could you try playing the same piece you performed on piano the other day? I just want to hear it live."
Sure, Jing Yu claimed his violin skills were also "decent," but Chen needed to hear it firsthand before making any decisions.
Jing Yu looked at Chen, then at Liu Neng, who was watching with wide-eyed curiosity.
Well, it was his own drama. Helping himself was just good business.
He unzipped the violin case and carefully pulled out an instrument that radiated history—clearly no cheap prop.
This violin alone had to be worth six figures at least.
Jing Yu took a deep breath.
Inside the makeshift writer's office, the room quickly filled with soft, graceful violin music.
Outside, on the soundstage where the crew was still filming interior scenes, everyone instinctively turned their heads toward the source of the sound.
"Is that… a violin?"
"What the hell?"
"Who's playing?"
"It's beautiful."
"Wait—that's the same piece Jing Yu played on the piano."
"And it's just as moving. I don't get it… I looked up other versions of that piece online, but none of them gave me chills like his did."
"Did we bring in another maestro for this?"
Same melody. Same emotional impact.
Yu Youqing's eyes widened as she remembered their conversation from days ago.
He wasn't lying.
Inside the room, Liu Neng stood frozen in shock. Chen Limin had his eyes closed, fully immersed in the music.
When Jing Yu finally drew the last note, the room settled into silence, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythms.
"Jing Yu," Chen began slowly,
"I may be the music director for this show, but I graduated from a classical conservatory. I've worked in Lancheng's film and TV music scene for years. This is the first time… I've ever had to say I've been convinced."
These pieces weren't hard enough to truly showcase technical skill—but even master-level musicians often struggled to convey the emotional depth Jing Yu poured into them.
A screenwriter. A lead actor.
Now also the piano and violin performer for the drama's OST?
Chen Limin had too much pride to ask, but he had to say it anyway.
"Jing Yu, your violin is on par with your piano. So I have another… shameless request."
"I get it," Jing Yu sighed.
He mentally tallied up all the musical scenes in the script featuring both Kousei and Kaoru.
Great. I'm gonna become a full-time workhorse.
"Producer Liu," he turned back to Liu Neng.
"Relax, I'll make sure you're paid for the violin tracks too," Liu promised immediately.
He took a few seconds to recover from the sheer whiplash of it all.
He looked at Jing Yu with a complex expression.
This guy… why was he never famous at the station before?
As a screenwriter, he was elite.
As a musician, he was world-class.
And as an actor, he wasn't bad at all.
If Lan Province had more action dramas, Liu Neng was half-convinced Jing Yu would step up as a stunt coordinator, too.
It was like this man had been born for the film industry.
So how the hell did the station downgrade his contract from permanent staff to temp?
Liu Neng sighed.
He didn't know the full story—but over the years, Jin Hui TV had lost more than a few talents. Some left for Modu and the capital, where they ended up making big names for themselves.
Hopefully, the station would learn its lesson—and start treating Jing Yu right.
December 30.
With just eight days left before 'Your Lie in April's first episode aired, Jing Yu officially joined the drama's music team.
And just like that…
He became the production's undisputed model worker.