Chapter 46: Midnight Singing?

"Life has split us onto two paths..."

"One, following a predestined track, living silently, dying silently, with its end visible from the start..."

"The other, rising step by step from barren soil, facing the blazing sun, facing the howling wind, growing strong, blooming brilliant petals..."

"We cannot choose our past, but we can choose our future..."

"..."

On a park bench.

Crowds flowed endlessly.

Zhang Jiali silently watched the three songs, whose titles were "Jiu Er," "The Stage," and another unnamed one, with only sheet music and lyrics...

A breeze blew, and she looked up at Zhou Yang.

When the sunlight painted the white pagoda a pale gold, Zhou Yang leaned against the ornate iron railing, his left hand loosely resting on his removed suit jacket.

The rustling pine needles from the camphor trees brushed against his crisp shirt, sending fine ripples across the lake’s surface...

Zhou Yang’s gaze was gentle and sincere, yet deep within his profound eyes, as if a burning flame blazed.

"But I—I have very little education, I can’t perform, I... I..."

The flame’s sparks ignited deep within Zhang Jiali, illuminating a glow, briefly letting her dream of her future.

But then, that flame gradually faded, and she quietly lowered her head.

Since childhood, she had lived in the role of an overlooked family sacrifice, always cautious, living humbly.

No matter what she did or said, she had never received recognition from anyone; she had grown accustomed to watching distant sunlight from hidden corners.

"Every singer begins with babbling..."

"Every champion runner starts with a tentative, stumbling step..."

"In this world, education matters, and good schools matter..."

"But compared to these, what matters most is a person who keeps learning!"

"..."

"As long as you’re willing to learn!"

"As long as you’re willing to try the second possibility in life..."

"As long as you still remember your dream, and have never given up!"

"What matters is that you believe in me!"

"Then, everything is possible!"

"I’ll give you half a day to think it over. Here’s my contact information—if you decide, reach out anytime..."

"..."

Zhang Jiali, head lowered, raised it again.

She saw Zhou Yang smile, pat her shoulder, and look at her with the gentlest, most sincere gaze.

In a daze, Zhou Yang’s figure shimmered in the sunlight, blinding her for a moment.

Then she saw him turn and walk quietly into the distance.

As he was about to vanish from sight, Zhang Jiali instinctively stood up from the bench and chased after Zhou Yang.

"Zhou Zong, I—I really can do this?"

Zhou Yang stopped.

He turned his head.

His gaze fixed on her, serious.

"Remember—you can!"

She trembled slightly!

For some reason, her nose turned sour.

"Alright, then—I’ll follow you!"

"..."

Recording studio.

So silent it was unsettling.

Shen Hu sang "Jiu Er" with a heart-rending cry.

The lonely, hollow, eerie melody wrapped around Zhang Jiali’s ears through Shen Hu’s voice.

Zhang Jiali, hearing such explosive music for the first time, felt her scalp prickle.

The studio staff stared in stunned silence.

They had never recorded music quite so "unconventional."

The song ended.

Shen Hu stepped out of the studio, his mood electric; seeing Zhang Jiali’s shocked expression, he couldn’t hide his pride.

"This song, 'Jiu Er,' I wrote in the rain..."

"This song represents passionate devotion to dreams, and defiance against fate..."

"When you record, you must sing out that emotion with your voice..."

"..."

"Also, the song I just sang you, 'The Stage,' was written in the rain too..."

"Many people long to step onto a stage..."

"But those who truly stand upon it, seen by all, and receive applause and flowers—those 'roles' are always few and far between..."

"This song is the yearning to reach a grand stage—you must sing that yearning."

"..."

"The third song—I’m sure Zhou Zong told you—it was composed by me on my sickbed, when I was extremely weak..."

"When you sing it, you must convey the struggle: even as your life burns, even as you fall again and again, you rise once more..."

"Let’s name this song 'Hunger.'"

"..."

Shen Hu looked at Zhang Jiali.

He feared this amateur, this young girl with no prior performance experience, wouldn’t understand the meaning behind his songs.

So he repeatedly emphasized the emotions and intentions behind composing them.

Zhang Jiali glanced at the lyrics, then at Shen Hu, uncertain.

Finally, her gaze turned to Zhou Yang.

Zhou Yang smiled: "Don’t carry any psychological burden! Just try—like you’re singing in the bathroom..."

"I..."

"Try—it’s fine..."

"Alright!"

Seeing Zhou Yang’s expression grow increasingly serious, Zhang Jiali nodded, took a deep breath under his gaze, and walked into the recording studio.

When the studio door closed, she looked out at the staff and Zhou Yang...

Seeing them nod at her...

She closed her eyes.

Then, as if singing in the bathroom, she began to sing "Jiu Er."

But...

The song ended!

When she stepped out, she saw Shen Hu’s face had darkened.

"Jiu Er needs that loneliness—you didn’t convey it. Let me show you again. Here, you should sing it like this, like this..."

"..."

Shen Hu kept stressing the vocal technique and demonstrated it for Zhang Jiali.

Zhang Jiali nodded, her face flushed, and walked back into the studio to sing again...

But after this second attempt...

Shen Hu’s expression grew increasingly strange.

"Not that way—it’s that loneliness, absolute loneliness. Loneliness is a feeling..."

"You must truly feel it before you can sing it right..."

"..."

Evening.

The sun set.

Outside the recording studio.

Shen Hu, guitar slung over his back, trudged out in a foul mood.

"Zhou Zong, no matter how I tell her to sing, it still feels wrong... Zhou Zong, maybe we should find someone else?"

"Hu Zi, go rest first."

"But look at her—she sings with zero feeling, like a typewriter reciting words, like a walking corpse..."

“Hu Zi, you go rest first. I’ll handle her—I’ll talk to her slowly…”

“Alright, Zhou Zong, I’ll go get some sleep. Listening to her sing is like a disaster…”

“Good.”

Shen Hu slung his guitar over his back and finally left the recording studio.

Behind him…

Zhang Jiali huddled in the corner of the stairs, her eyes red, continuously wiping away tears.

Her spirit had been utterly broken.

“Zhou Zong, I… I’m sorry, I, I…”

“I really tried singing, but maybe… maybe I should just give up. I can’t do this. I probably really can’t…”

“I can’t sing such professional songs…”

“Zhou Zong, I really can’t find the feeling. No matter how I sing, it feels wrong…”

“Zhou Zong, maybe I should just do manual labor around the set… I won’t sing anymore, I…”

“…”

When she saw Zhou Yang walking over…

Zhang Jiali looked up at Zhou Yang, tears streaming down harder.

But Zhou Yang showed no sign of blame; instead, he sat down beside her.

“What do you feel about these three songs?”

“I, I… I don’t know, I… Zhou Zong, I really have no talent or gift. Maybe I should…”

“Say whatever you want. It’s fine—tell me your thoughts…”

“I…” After seeing Zhou Yang’s serious expression, she spoke through sobs: “The more I sing, the more it feels like I’m at a funeral. I can’t enter that lonely, dream-chasing feeling… and I’m getting more afraid with every note…”

“Your feeling is right.”

“Huh?”

“Also, I remember you sing opera-style well. Don’t sing in Mandarin—sing in opera-style.”

“My opera-style isn’t standard, I…”

“That’s exactly why you should use non-standard opera-style!”

“???”

“Also, let’s go eat first. After eating, rest well. I’ve contacted the staff here—we’ll record at midnight.”

“Huh?”