This primordial world is not serious!

Chapter 977 - 479: Destiny Can't Be Changed, But You Can Change Fate_2

"Great! Great!"

The children immediately responded joyfully, sweeping away the gloomy atmosphere.

So, Li Yuan cleared his throat earnestly, like a little conductor, waving his arms and leading the singing.

His pronunciation wasn't perfect, marked by a strong childlike tone, but it was filled with infectious joy.

"You carry the eggs, I sign the flax, welcoming the day cook, sending porridge and shrimp."

"Flatten the bumps, orange reaches the fall, beans stir-fry fresh, oil touches rice, squid kitchen turns."

"Spicy spicy spicy spicy spicy spicy spicy spicy spicy~~"

"Wing rice, spring loach frozen shrimp."

"A taste of intestines, sour sweet bitter spicy."

"Where is the marinade? The marinade is pouring over shrimp."

Soon, this wildly modified version, full of various food aromas of "Where is the Road," spread quickly throughout the entire settlement area as if it had grown wings.

All the kids cheerfully learned this song.

Their pure and joyful emotions seemed like rays of warm sunshine, penetrating the dark clouds brought by the disaster, diluting the sorrow and anxiety lingering in the air.

Even the adults, who were once filled with anxiety, couldn't help but smile when they heard the song, momentarily forgetting the troubles of their homes being flooded.

Sometimes when they had nothing to do, they would hum a line or two along with the children.

On the second day after the disaster in Linzhou, a journalist with a heavy camera on his shoulder and a work badge came to interview the old director.

During a break in the interview, he happened to see Li Yuan, who was focused on copying something on a small makeshift table built from relief material boxes.

Curious, he walked over to see what the child was doing.

On the slightly rough sheet of paper, lines of text were written with a short pencil.

Although the handwriting wasn't neat, it was very clear.

It was the complete lyrics of that modified version of "Where is the Road."

The journalist named Luo Chuan, looking at the strange yet familiar lyrics, felt a considerable impact.

Li Yuan sensed someone beside him staring constantly, so he shyly looked up.

When he saw Luo Chuan's focused and complex gaze, his little face blushed like a ripe apple.

He quickly stretched out his small hand, covering the paper with the lyrics as if protecting a treasure.

He spoke softly, somewhat embarrassed, "I... I know my writing isn't pretty, don't... don't film me."

He glanced at the camera on Luo Chuan's shoulder, becoming more nervous, "If this gets on TV, the whole nation will laugh at me."

Luo Chuan looked at the shy and adorable little boy in front of him and couldn't help but smile warmly.

He put down the camera he was about to use and said gently, "Alright, I won't film you. I promise."

"Then... let's make a pinky promise." Li Yuan still felt a bit uneasy as he bravely stuck out his chubby little pinky.

"Okay, let's make a pinky promise." Luo Chuan found it quite amusing and smilingly extended his pinky to hook with the small one.

"Pinky promise, hang it high, a hundred years, never change! Whoever breaks it is a little doggy!"

After receiving this ceremonious promise, Li Yuan finally sighed in relief.

Feeling assured, he continued to bury himself, writing more earnestly.

"Did you write these interesting lyrics yourself?" Luo Chuan asked, looking at him curiously.

Li Yuan shook his head without hesitation and answered crisply, "I didn't write them; our director did."

Hearing this, Luo Chuan nodded knowingly.

Indeed, how could such a young child come up with such lyrics?

After carefully writing out the lyrics once more, Li Yuan blew off the pencil dust with satisfaction.

He looked up to see that the journalist hadn't left yet, so he curiously blinked his bright eyes and asked:

"Our director said that journalists are storytellers. Is that true?"

Luo Chuan heard this and replied with a smile, "Yes, it is true."

He crouched down to make eye contact with Li Yuan.

"Your director tells stories to you lovely children."

"And we tell stories to everyone in the world."

Li Yuan asked again, "Are the stories you tell the same as the ones our director tells?"

Luo Chuan, having just interviewed the old director, clearly knew what kind of mythical stories he usually told.

He thought for a moment and then answered patiently and solemnly in a way he hoped the child would understand:

"There are similarities and differences."

"The stories we tell and the ones your director tells share the same lessons of 'punishing evil and promoting good' and 'pursuing light.'"

"The difference, however, is that mythical stories can be fictional and filled with beautiful imagination, while the stories we journalists write must be true events."

Luo Chuan worried Li Yuan might not understand.

So he pointed at the busy rescue workers around and the displaced people living temporarily in tents, using them as examples:

"For instance, right now, my colleagues and I are truthfully recording how severe the disaster in Linzhou City is."

"And, I'm currently interviewing your orphanage to faithfully document your stories."