The song ended, and the sound of the tide rose again.
The audience applauded them; in an era dominated by rap and electronic music, seeing such a group of rock teenagers was truly a refreshing sight.
"Su Huai Feixing! Su Huai Feixing!"
In the darkness, the neon lights of the distant city illuminated the dark horizon. Bright, tall buildings rose like colorful gem crystals from the earth, like short cones piercing the sky. Before him was a vast square, where countless people waved green glow sticks, like fireflies filling the summer night pond. Simon looked down from the stage, the strong light from the projection screen and spotlights behind him illuminating the faces of the nearby people. One by one, young men and women held up their hands, and everyone was smiling.
Is this happiness?
He somewhat liked this feeling, but also felt a little apprehensive.
The other members of the band must feel the same way, right?
They liked these moments of glory, but also felt apprehensive facing the overwhelming crowd.
Simon touched his throat. His voice had cracked just now. Although this was a characteristic part of "Chasing Dreams with a Pure Heart," the consequence was that his throat hurt very much.
He looked back at his teammates, who gave him a thumbs-up. Everyone was in good spirits.
Lou Xundiao always said he couldn't do it, but at the critical moment, he didn't mess up. He was truly a good brother.
Life has so many unexpected turns. It always seems like it's the last moment, but he always manages to turn things around, and this time was no exception. Lu Xuefeng walked out from backstage and hugged his great-grandson.
"Good boy."
The people below the stage shouted in surprise, "Who's that old man?" "Is he the host?" "Sing! Don't just stand there!"
Simon tightly hugged his Great-Grandfather. "Great-Grandfather, this song is for you. I'll give you the guitar."
"I can't do it anymore. I can't sing." Lu Xuefeng said this, but his eyes were fixed on the crowd in the square, thinking to himself: This is wonderful.
Simon took off the guitar and hung it around his Great-Grandfather's neck. "Great-Grandfather, 'Kill the Shijiazhuang People' and 'West Lake' are both fine."
"Then West Lake it is. Will you sing?"
"My voice is hoarse."
"Alright then, I'll sing." A glimmer flickered in Lu Xuefeng's eyes. "Kill that Shijiazhuang person."
Simon pulled out a harmonica, pressed the teleprompter by his ear, and asked for a new microphone.
The boy explained to the puzzled people, "Hello everyone, the current lead singer is my Great-Grandfather. He was also a rock musician back in the day. Because my throat hurts a lot and I can't continue singing, I'm going to let my Great-Grandfather take over as lead singer."
The crowd quieted down again.
The other bands backstage were shaking their heads. Some sharp-eyed people noticed, "That looks like someone from Long Live. That old man, the pattern on the back of his clothes."
"Which Long Live?"
"That Long Live, Romaqin Long Live. The one from '48, when the mechanical police came during a performance, *ka ka ka*, and arrested everyone, from the lead singer to the bassist. They rounded them all up."
"What, is he a fugitive?"
"Not really, we don't know the specifics. Just send a message up to ask."
The instructor and host whispered behind the curtain. A camera focused on them, so the host explained the current situation to the citizens watching the live broadcast.
"This is the second time Su Huai Feixing Band has invited outside help. Last time was a very cool girl," the host said, raising her phone to project a scene of Bai Fengjiu wearing a mask and playing the drums, her long hair flying like willows in the wind. "This time, it's an old gentleman, said to be the lead singer's Great-Grandfather. He looks quite old. I wonder what surprise he'll bring us? Let's wait and see."
After the commotion subsided, Simon finally began to play a low, lingering harmonica tune. He had only learned this skill through his insight points to replace the saxophone, but unexpectedly, the harmonica skill brought him a very interesting special ability.
[Wind Traveler (Epic)]: There are many stories in your harmonica. When you play the harmonica, boys will envy, girls will adore. A wanderer at the ends of the earth, returning home from thousands of miles away.
Effect: Emotional Infectious greatly increased, personal charm greatly increased when using harmonica, probability of human empathy experience increased, lung capacity greatly increased, saliva cleanliness slightly improved, beard growth rate slightly improved, possibility of oily hair increased.
If Simon learned one skill a day, then achievements related to his hair would also increase. It was foreseeable that in the future, he would be a Viking savage with hair growing on his face.
The harmonica melody was transmitted through the microphone, somewhat blurred and distorted, but every listener was deeply immersed in a sense of confusion. They now felt that the boy on stage was glowing, not with a brilliant white light, nor with colorful splendor, but with an old, muted, orange glow like an orange peel.
They saw substantial musical notes floating around the boy. For individuals, it might be different; the more emotional one was, the more they would be moved. But everyone was immersed in their own illusions, a hallucination caused by Simon, stories from old photographs, glimpses of the last century, that anxious era, a society filled with both joy and sorrow.
This was just an illusion, but there was not a sound at the scene. People forgot to wave, their glow sticks frozen. Those watching the live broadcast felt a jolt of electricity rise from their spines upon hearing the sound, trembling all over.
"What show is this?"
"A music festival, over in Luoshan."
"The quality is so high, I really want to go."
...
"It sounds good, who's playing the harmonica? Oh, it's a live broadcast. Why are you playing the sound out loud?"
"Then I'll wear headphones."
"No, play it out loud, it sounds really good."
Bai Fengjiu sat in the staff lounge, expressionlessly drinking tea. Colleagues were playing on their phones and chatting. A small projection screen on the wall was broadcasting scenes from the music festival.
As the harmonica melody began, Bai Fengjiu felt a deep sense of nostalgia rise from within. It was music. She smiled slightly, put down her teacup, and decided to watch the show properly to relax her tired body and mind.
In the live broadcast, the old man held a white electric guitar, clumsily strumming the strings, but soon, he became proficient. The harmonica sound faded, and Lu Xuefeng softly sang: "Leaving the pharmaceutical factory at six in the evening, changing out of my uniform, my wife is making porridge, I'm going for a few beers. Thirty years of such a life, until the mansion collapsed. The darkness deep in the clouds, submerging the landscape in my heart..."
The synthesizer played a sorrowful cello sound. Finally, the old man's voice rang out once more, heavy like a lump of iron, like hail mixed with rain, each falling with a thud. Everyone closed their eyes, some already close to tears.
"At the octagonal counter, in the crazy People's Department Store"
"With a fake bill, buy a fake gun"
"To protect her life, until the mansion collapsed"
"Night covers the North China Plain, sorrow soaks her face..."
Mu Huai pressed the synthesizer button, and a trumpet sounded, its high-flying melody like an arrow shooting into the clouds. Once again, a crash of the suspended cymbal, then a despondent fall.
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