Chapter 12: Anhe Bridge

This pretty girl really has a sharp tongue, but Huang Guolun had gradually grown accustomed to Zhao Jing’s incisive personality. He replied with confidence, “Honestly, the songs I wrote before weren’t anything to brag about; they couldn’t see the light of day. But lately, my musical creativity has opened up, and I personally feel that I’ve composed some rather good pieces.”

“‘Personally feel’? Has anyone heard them? What do they think?” Zhao Jing loved to poke holes in everything.

Zhao Yan kicked Zhao Jing under the table again, signaling her to stop being so prickly.

This time, the kick landed squarely on Zhao Jing’s injured ankle, causing her to stomp her foot in pain.

“What are you doing, sis! I’m just making sure for you! Stop messing around! If Teacher Huang’s own songs are terrible and scare away the customers, our music-themed night would be ruined. With such a great voice, it’s safer for Teacher Huang to cover mainstream hits like ‘Little Love Song’.”

From the window, Jiang Lili gave Zhao Jing a thumbs-up. “Girl, I’m with you! Teacher Huang singing ‘Little Love Song’ is amazing! Whenever he sings it again, I’ll be here to cheer him on!”

“Thank you,” Huang Guolun replied, then suddenly stood up and walked toward the entrance of the café, where a large African hand drum was placed.

“Teacher Huang, where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re mad and leaving?” Zhao Jing called after his back.

“This African drum looks interesting. Mind if I try it out?” Huang Guolun asked Zhao Yan.

“Of course, a friend gave it to me. He said he bought this animal skin drum in South Africa.”

Huang Guolun hefted the heavy African drum and set it in front of the sofa booth. Zhao Yan helped move the table aside, giving Huang more space.

Zhao Yan curiously asked, “You know how to play African drums?”

“I collect instruments as a hobby. I have several African drums at home. Sometimes I teach my son to play them.”

As he spoke, Huang Guolun relaxed the four fingers of his right hand, placing the base of his fingers at the edge of the drumhead. His left hand tapped gently on the center, producing a deep tone, followed by his right hand striking the edge for a crisp, resonant mid-tone.

With these two notes as a starting point, his hands danced rhythmically across the drumhead, creating a primitive African rhythm that immediately drew the attention of the other four in the room.

Jiang Lili praised, “Men who play instruments are so charming! Honey, you should learn from him.”

“I’d like to! But he’s a master—I doubt I could!” Wang Peng admitted with self-awareness. The difference was obvious: with his musical background, Wang Peng could instantly tell that this self-styled music teacher was no ordinary man. His skill was beyond what most could hope to achieve.

“These African drums rely most on three tones: high, middle, and low. There are other playing techniques for different sounds, but none as important as these three. By varying these, the drum brings out the full rhythm and pulse,” Huang Guolun explained, unconsciously slipping into the role of teacher, as if educating students through entertainment.

“Why did you suddenly start drumming?” Zhao Jing, slightly dazzled by his skill, swept her hair back and smiled at him.

“I’d like to use this African drum as accompaniment and sing you a song I wrote myself. Listen and see if it’s worthy of your café’s reputation.”

His announcement that he would perform an original song piqued everyone’s interest. Their faces lit up with anticipation.

Wang Peng and Jiang Lili abandoned their small spoons and tiramisu, their eyes fixed on Huang Guolun as they waited for him to perform.

“This song is called ‘Anhe Bridge,’” Huang Guolun said softly, naming the piece as the drumbeat began.

In this world, Song Dongye had released the album ‘North of Anhe Bridge,’ but its main tracks were ‘Miss Dong,’ ‘Lilian,’ ‘Dress,’ ‘Pigeon,’ ‘Capybara’s Sea,’ and so on—there was no ‘Zebra, Zebra’ or ‘Anhe Bridge.’

The melody of ‘Anhe Bridge’ and ‘Zebra, Zebra’ emerged in Huang Guolun’s mind, sung with Song Dongye’s timbre and style. He felt as if he’d been inspired by Song Dongye’s spirit to create these works himself.

As for where Anhe Bridge was or what kind of bridge it might be, Huang Guolun had no idea.

But back when Zheng Jun wrote ‘Back to Lhasa,’ he’d never been there, nor did he know the purity of Lhasa’s clouds, yet he composed an iconic song about longing for Lhasa.

So when the unfamiliar image of Anhe Bridge burst into his mind and inspired a new song, it wasn’t so hard for him to accept.

He loved ‘Anhe Bridge.’

This song made him long for family, for his beloved, for all the beautiful moments of the past.

Beautiful music evokes the deepest memories in one’s heart and allows those memories to ferment into the most intoxicating flavors, like the finest wine, letting one taste the warmth and coldness of life in a single drunken moment.

As the melody of ‘Anhe Bridge’ echoed in his mind, Huang Guolun couldn’t help but think again of Chen Jia, who was rooted deepest in his heart.

“Thump… tap… tap… thump… tap… tap…”

He played a slow, muffled prelude on the drum.

The melancholy beat seemed to strike directly into people’s hearts, resonating with their very pulse.

Soon, Zhao Yan and the others were drawn in by the waves of emotion that Huang Guolun was building in the quiet opening.

Then Huang Guolun began to sing, his voice rough yet enchanting:

"Let me look at you again
From south to north
Like eyes veiled by the Fifth Ring Road
Please tell me again
About that day
The girl cradling a box
And the man wiping sweat
..."

He sang like a wounded wandering poet, shaking rain from his bamboo hat by a warm campfire, telling a sorrowful tale to fellow travelers lost in the world.

It was the most moving, intoxicating folk song, stripped of unnecessary detail, accompanied only by the drum, each beat amplifying the magnetic power of Huang Guolun’s voice in the hearts of Zhao Yan and her friends.

Listening, the song’s emotion became their own, tinged with nostalgia, summoning the bittersweet taste of coffee on their tongues.

Zhao Yan’s heart was struck by Huang Guolun’s gentle, weathered singing. After only the opening, she was certain: this song would never tarnish their café’s reputation! It matched the café’s atmosphere more than any background music they’d ever played.

Huang Guolun had mentioned wanting to open a café like this himself, and now she believed him. She didn’t know what his other songs were like, but ‘Anhe Bridge’ seemed tailor-made for a place like this.

The song carried a lonely beauty, an unrivaled quality that conquered Zhao Yan. Some chord of memory was plucked, making her heart ache and her eyes prick with tears. She wanted to release all the pressure she’d been storing inside.

As he sang, Huang Guolun felt like crying too, for he knew that the beautiful summers he and Chen Jia had lived through, like youth itself, would never return.

But as a mature man, sadness was allowed, but tears must flow only in the heart, never linger in his eyes.

No matter how painful the past, they had to enjoy life.

Because life is, by nature, full of regrets.

Savoring every bit of sweetness, bitterness, and sorrow from his past, Huang Guolun sang with growing feeling:

"I know, those summers
Will never return, just like youth
And what replaces dreams
Is only what one can manage
I know, all the boasts
Fade away with a smile of youth
Let me be trapped in the city
To remember you
I know, those summers
Will never return, just like you
I’ll never again look forward to anyone
I know, this world
Has too many regrets every day
So hello, goodbye…"

“Thump thump thump… tap tap… thump thump thump… tap tap…”

The drum still sounded, its heavy resonance fermenting the crowd’s feelings.

Huang Guolun’s ‘Anhe Bridge’ truly won over the four young people in the café.

Though they were young and their life experience couldn’t compare to Huang Guolun’s, good music has the power to inspire boundless imagination.

Through ‘Anhe Bridge,’ Huang Guolun conveyed a deep, simplified passion that moved everyone in the room.

Even the sharp, pragmatic Zhao Jing was conquered by Huang Guolun’s voice—no shouting or roaring, just simple singing that could bring anyone to their knees.

From the side, watching Huang Guolun drumming with closed eyes, Zhao Jing suddenly found him far more attractive than she’d imagined.

She even felt that none of the handsome men she’d known before compared to this slightly aged Teacher Huang.

Only at this moment did she realize that the charm of a mature man was something that young boys could never match—their appeal lay not in youthful looks, but in the essence of years.

Suddenly, Zhao Yan’s iPhone rang, breaking the lingering echo of Huang Guolun’s drum.

She hurriedly got up, picked up her phone from the next table, glanced at the caller, and, with a helpless expression, apologized to the group before stepping into the adjacent room to take the call.

Wang Peng, as if awakening from an incredible dream, enthusiastically praised Huang Guolun, “Teacher Huang, your song is amazing! Where can I download it? I want it as my ringtone!”

Huang Guolun smiled, “I haven’t published this song. You are its very first audience.”

Jiang Lili excitedly said to Wang Peng, “We really lucked out coming here tonight! If you’d been lazy and stayed home, you’d have missed something incredible. We’re so fortunate!”

With sincere admiration, Wang Peng said, “Teacher Huang, after hearing just one song, I’m enamored with your music. In time, you’re sure to shine in the Mandarin music scene!”

The light flattery lifted Huang Guolun’s spirits, and he laughed, “I never thought about shining or anything like that. If I could have a café of my own, playing music for people who like what I do, I’d be quite content.”

Jiang Lili, excited, asked, “Teacher Huang, when will you hold your own music show? Wang Peng and I will invite all our classmates to cheer you on! When we tell them we met an amazing folk master tonight, they’ll think we’re bragging. So when you have your show, we’ll bring them all to see whether we’re bluffing or not!”