Chapter 10: Management Crisis

“This is a simple love song, singing of the twists and turns in people’s hearts. I think I am quite happy, when I have your warmth, the air at my feet begins to change...”

In order to match the mood evoked by the music of the glass, Huang Guolun sang in a gentle voice. Ever since his hearing had been enhanced, his musicality and interpretative ability had reached a transcendent level. No longer was he like before, when no matter how passionately he sang, his music moved only himself but not others. Now, there was no need to force anything—no need for flashy technique or affected emotion. He simply sang naturally, and already a subtle, effortless power radiated from him.

His voice was not as hauntingly androgynous as Wu Qingfeng’s, but instead carried the gravitas of a mature man, weathered and unadorned, possessing the innate allure of a Buddha statue eroded by the wind—the natural charm of one who has witnessed the world’s vicissitudes. Listening to him, it felt as if every pore breathed in the music, every note carried a magnetic pull, and one’s emotions were entirely drawn in, almost involuntarily.

This magnetic, almost suffocating listening experience was something Zhao Yan and her companions rarely encountered. Wang Peng, who had listened to countless songs, felt goosebumps break out all over his arms as soon as Huang Guolun began to sing.

In his heart, he silently exclaimed: Amazing! This guy has the aura of a true folk singer!

Who exactly was this man?

Wang Peng grew more and more curious to know the identity of this man who could, with just a glass and his voice, transport people to another realm. He had a vague suspicion that this must be a heavyweight in the music scene.

To encounter such a figure at SalomeCAFE—he and Jiang Lili had truly hit the jackpot tonight!

Though he didn’t look at their faces, Huang Guolun could feel the astonished and admiring gazes converging on him as soon as he started to sing.

To be honest, even he himself was amazed by the effortless magic of his voice since his transformation. Every time he recorded in the studio recently, he ended up intoxicated by his own singing. He couldn’t really explain why.

His vocal cords were still the same as ever, honed by years of practice, but the feeling of singing had undergone a miraculous, unbidden transformation. He still sang as he always had, but the quality of his voice had changed dramatically. It seemed that after gaining godlike hearing, everything related to sound in him had risen to match that level. Such an improvement was an unexpected delight.

He wondered if Chen Jia, up in heaven, could hear his now-enchanting voice. If she could, how wonderful that would be. If not, he would still dedicate this “Little Love Song” to her—

“This is a simple love song, singing of the doves in our hearts. I think I am quite suited to be a singer of praise. Youth drifts in the wind. You know, even if heavy rain turns this city upside down, I will give you my embrace. I can’t bear to see you turn your back and leave, so I write of my loneliness, these seconds that feel like years. Even if the whole world is held hostage by loneliness, I would not run away.

In the end, no one can escape growing old. I write of the castle where time and the sound of the piano entwine...”

Accompanied by the clear, delicate sound of the glass, Huang Guolun’s soulful singing overturned the entire café.

The sisters Zhao Yan and Zhao Jing were utterly entranced. Whether it was because of the closeness or the sheer charm of Huang Guolun’s voice, they felt they had never heard a live performance so intoxicating. When Huang Guolun closed his eyes, they too closed theirs, letting his voice melt their thoughts and emotions, as if they had fallen into a rainstorm of youth. The combination of the glass’s music and his singing created such a vivid atmosphere that it moved them to a state of near transcendence.

Pure-hearted and reserved, Zhao Yan could only marvel—Mr. Huang was truly remarkable! Meeting such a friend tonight was an extraordinary stroke of luck.

Zhao Jing, on the other hand, thought that if any of her many ex-boyfriends had possessed Huang Guolun’s talent, she would have gladly given them everything, rather than breaking up after a couple of months out of boredom. He was a man of unremarkable appearance but immense charm—though, to her, his appeal was confined to the musical realm.

When the song ended, Jiang Lili was ready to ask Huang Guolun for his autograph. This was perhaps the most captivating live rendition of “Little Love Song” she’d ever heard—even rivaling Qingfeng’s version.

As the last notes from the glass faded, Jiang Lili exclaimed, still unsatisfied, “Uncle, are you a professional singer? Your voice is amazing!”

Zhao Jing quickly answered for him, “He’s our resident singer at SalomeCAFE. If you want to hear him sing, come visit us more often.”

“What are you doing? Don’t be silly,” Zhao Yan scolded, kicking Zhao Jing under the table.

Unfortunately, she hit Zhao Jing’s already sprained ankle, making her grimace in pain and abandon all pretense of elegance as she bent down to rub her foot.

Zhao Jing gave Huang Guolun an apologetic look and explained to the two students, “Mr. Huang isn’t our resident singer—he’s my friend.”

Huang Guolun added, “I’m not a singer either, just a high school music teacher.”

“You’re only a high school music teacher? Really?” Wang Peng said in disbelief, “Honestly, you sing with more soul than most of the professional singers in Houhai!”

“Absolutely!” Jiang Lili nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Though he was as composed as a monk, even Huang Guolun couldn’t help but feel a flicker of delighted pride at such praise from a stranger.

Jiang Lili suggested to Zhao Yan, “Sister Yan, you really ought to hire your teacher friend as the café’s resident singer. With his mastery of playing glasses, I guarantee crowds will flock to hear him!”

Zhao Jing gave Jiang Lili a thumbs up. “Great minds think alike! That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“All right, you two, enough.” Zhao Yan, shy and reserved, could never make such a forward request of Huang Guolun on the very day they met.

Yet in her heart, she was already conquered by his musical prowess. For the first time ever, she felt the urge to invite someone to perform regularly in her café.

In truth, since opening her quiet little coffee shop, she’d never considered hiring a resident singer to drum up business. She didn’t want her café to become as noisy and chaotic as other bars in Houhai. Her dream was to create a place where people could read and converse in peace. The music she played was always soft and enchanting, perfect for coffee, never anything loud or jarring.

It was a noble intention, but running a quiet bar in Houhai was no easy task. Her shop had been open for over half a year, and she had tried every form of promotion she could think of. Still, business had never picked up. She regularly posted event threads on Douban to organize games of Werewolf or screenings of art films, and partnered with group-buying websites for discounted packages. But none of these efforts had built a reputation or a steady clientele.

In half a year, factoring in renovations, rent, and other costs, Zhao Yan had sunk over six hundred thousand yuan into the café, yet not even a splash had been made. Every month, she continued to lose money; not a single month had turned a profit, which weighed heavily on her heart.

As Zhao Jing often said, Zhao Yan simply wasn’t cut out for business—her background had nothing to do with commerce. She’d studied at a university in China, then went to the UK for a master’s degree in literature.

Thanks to her family’s wealth, she didn’t need to work right after graduation. She traveled the world for two years, until her family finally insisted she return and find a job. But Zhao Yan was too much of a romantic to endure the corporate job her father arranged; she lasted less than six months before quitting.

She then persuaded her father to invest in her dream of opening a coffee shop. With her mother’s support, her father finally agreed: he would invest a million yuan, take a fifty percent share, and if the business made money, he would claim half the profits. If it lost money, he would bear all the losses, on the condition that once the money was gone, Zhao Yan would have to join the family business.

With this agreement, Zhao Yan joyfully opened SalomeCAFE in Houhai. She never expected to get rich—she only hoped the shop could be self-sustaining, allowing her to spend her days reading and listening to music, skating on Shichahai in her free time, and living the tranquil life she dreamed of. She also hoped that in this romantic little shop of her own making, she might one day meet her soulmate; that would be a dream come true.

With all these hopes, Zhao Yan threw herself fully into running the café. But reality was harsh. The location was too remote, the café had no standout features—it was a tasteful quiet bar, but Beijing had plenty of those, some much more famous and with steady clientele, especially near Gulou. Compared with established cafés, SalomeCAFE had little competitive edge and struggled to stand out. At the current rate of monthly losses, the shop could barely survive another six months, until the first year’s lease expired. With the money left, she wouldn’t be able to afford next year’s three-hundred-thousand-yuan rent.

Zhao Jing had said the shop wouldn’t last half a year because Zhao Yan had confided in her about these difficulties, and Zhao Jing, worried for her sister, shamelessly tried all sorts of ways to bring in business.

Zhao Yan herself was anxious, but she was as slow and unflappable as Huang Guolun; she never let her worry show. Still, she sincerely wanted her first-ever café to succeed.

After witnessing Huang Guolun’s dual talents tonight, Zhao Yan felt a shock like a great bell struck in her heart—a sense of awe, as if meeting a divine being. Seeing how captivated Jiang Lili and Wang Peng were by his music, she realized that if Mr. Huang ever agreed to be their resident singer, even for a few months, their not-so-distinctive café would soon earn a stellar reputation and possibly attract a steady stream of customers.

That would be far more effective than the events she painstakingly organized, which could be held anywhere.

Huang Guolun’s talent was reminiscent of a gentle folk singer, perfectly suited to the atmosphere of her shop. If only he would agree to perform there, it might solve their business crisis in one stroke.

But this was only their first day meeting; Zhao Yan was too embarrassed to make such a request right away. She resolved to invite him over more often and, once they became friends, raise the idea then.

Zhao Jing, however, was not so reserved. Having found someone who might save SalomeCAFE from its losses, she was not about to let him go. Ignoring Zhao Yan’s repeated attempts to stop her, she kept inviting Huang Guolun to perform at the café during the conversation, even telling him about the current difficulties, hoping he would lend a hand to help her sister.

“Mr. Huang, when we first met, you said if my sister ever needed help, you’d do your best. Well, here’s your chance to make good on that promise! If you could play the glass in her café, you’d be doing her a huge favor!”

Zhao Yan felt deeply embarrassed, kicking Zhao Jing under the table several times, wondering why her sister just couldn’t hold her tongue. But inwardly, she was truly curious about Huang Guolun’s response.

Huang Guolun fiddled with the platinum band on his left ring finger, which he seldom removed, and said with a wry smile, “Playing the glass in the café feels a bit too much like child’s play. It’s not really enough for a resident singer’s performance—it’s just a bit of after-dinner entertainment. Compared to the guitar or piano, the glass doesn’t have the same musical allure. It’s a novelty, not something you can do repeatedly, or people will tire of it.”

Zhao Jing, a fan of the glass music, objected, “I don’t think so at all! I find the sound absolutely beautiful, like a music box—it’s even prettier than a guitar.”

Huang Guolun reasoned, “That’s just your opinion. If most people found the glass more pleasing than the guitar, it would have become a mainstream instrument long ago.”

“Mr. Huang makes sense,” Zhao Yan said, two dimples appearing as she smiled in agreement.

“Whatever you do, if you became the resident singer here, you’d definitely attract customers. I rarely praise a man’s singing, but I have to say, you’re the best non-professional singer I’ve ever heard—bar none!”