Chapter 129: You Actually Do Not Understand My Heart

Seeing that Hu Xuefang was utterly entranced by Huang Guolun’s singing, Shen Yumeng switched to a more intimate form of address and asked her smugly, “Sister Fang, what do you think? Teacher Huang can sing, can’t he?”

“Ab-so-lute-ly a-maz-ing.” Hu Xuefang blurted out the four words without even looking at Shen Yumeng. She held the coffee cup in both hands for warmth, her face alight with intoxicated admiration. Her praise for Huang Guolun could hardly have been more obvious.

Shen Yumeng secretly rejoiced. Judging by the way Hu Xuefang worshipped Huang Guolun, there was surely a good chance that their invitation to have him appear as a guest on their show would succeed!

After two songs, Huang Guolun had already set the entire café buzzing.

The students cheered and applauded him.

Feng Zheng and several others who liked Zhao Lei continued requesting songs, all talking at once as they asked Huang Guolun to sing more of Zhao Lei’s music.

Jiang Lili, Wang Peng, and the others, however, wanted to hear Huang Guolun’s original compositions, so they suggested that he sing one of his own songs.

Seeing everyone so enthusiastic, Huang Guolun wore a broad smile. He did not mind what he sang, so long as everybody was happy.

At a table near the small stage, a middle-aged man who had seen a few decades come and go hesitated several times before finally speaking to Huang Guolun.

“Teacher Huang, could you sing an old song for fans from our generation?”

The guests at that table were all estimated to be over fifty, clearly belonging to a different world from the young, energetic university students.

Huang Guolun smiled at the man. “What old song would you like to hear?”

The man gave a bashful little laugh. “Do you know Tong Ange’s ‘Actually, You Don’t Understand My Heart’?”

“I do.”

Huang Guolun tapped the body of his guitar, bringing everyone to silence. Then he said, “The next song—‘Actually, You Don’t Understand My Heart.’ This one is for you.”

Wang Peng was the first to exclaim, “Damn, that song is ancient!”

Jiang Lili had never heard it before. “Who sings it? Have you heard it?”

“I have, but I doubt any of you have. It’s a song by Tong Ange.”

The university students sitting nearby were completely baffled.

“Who’s Tong Ange?”

Wang Peng could not be bothered to explain it to those born after 1998. “Just listen to the song.”

On the small stage, Huang Guolun ran through the melody of “Actually, You Don’t Understand My Heart” in his mind.

Then he began playing the accompaniment he had arranged himself. With a voice steeped in boundless sorrow, he sang the heartfelt old song:

...

“You say I’m like a cloud,
Impossible to read;
But truly, you don’t understand my heart.”

“You say I’m like a dream,
Now distant, now near;
But truly, you don’t understand my heart.”

“You say I’m like a mystery,
Always impossible to see through;
But I have never cared to hide what I truly feel.”

...

The older guests listened as Huang Guolun unearthed this old song, released more than twenty years ago, almost thirty, from beneath the dust of history—and sang it with such deep feeling that they were all profoundly moved.

The moment an older woman heard Huang Guolun begin, tears nearly flashed in her eyes.

There was something in Huang Guolun’s voice that seemed capable of carving time itself into memory. Singing such a classic old song only intensified that effect. In an instant, the older guests were transported back to days long gone, reliving the youth that belonged to them as Huang Guolun’s passionate voice carried on.

For new-generation listeners like Zhao Jing, born after 1995, an old song like this did not stir quite the same feelings.

Even though Huang Guolun sang with such conviction that listeners’ ears seemed to sway involuntarily to his music—and perhaps even become pregnant with it—Zhao Jing was not especially moved by a song this sentimental.

Her attention was focused mainly on the live-stream chat.

There were simply too many messages, so Zhao Jing usually turned off the scrolling barrage and read viewers’ comments in the discussion section instead.

By the time Huang Guolun began singing this old song, nearly three thousand people had already crowded into the live-stream room.

It was not yet half past seven in the evening, prime dinner time and not even the peak period for watching live streams.

Zhao Jing was not a contracted streamer with Clear Sky, so there were no inflated numbers in her room. More than three thousand genuine, active viewers had come to watch her broadcast.

Most of them were longtime fans. They had not seen Zhao Jing’s face properly in a very long time.

She had promised to show her face during tonight’s broadcast, but after entering, they discovered that they still could not see the legendary beauty of Brother Jing. They were on the verge of revolt.

The discussion section was already close to exploding, with countless people flooding it with questions:

“Where’s Brother Jing? Is this really Brother Jing’s live stream? Who the hell is this blind uncle? Someone with a big enough dick, explain!”

“He isn’t a blind uncle. He’s the music producer of China’s greatest biochemical film, ‘You Were Meant to Be a Corpse’! Brother Jing mentioned him in the stream before. Anyone who hasn’t seen ‘You Were Meant to Be a Corpse,’ go watch it immediately. It’s amazing!”

“Brother Jing, can you show your face first? I’ve been waiting for six months! Do you have any idea how tragic it feels to listen to Uncle Huang sing tragic songs while waiting to see you? Don’t be so cruel!”

“The lesser hermit hides in misty poetry; the greater hermit hides in a live-stream room... Brother Jing, stop playing invisible and reveal yourself, you little demon! Chirp like a donkey!”

“Brother Jing, just show your face. Stop torturing us. Do you know that every time we think of you, a star sheds a tear, and that is how the ocean was formed? Every time we think of you, we fart, and that is how the ozone layer was formed.”

“Brother Jing, you can see the words I type on the screen, but you can’t see the tears falling onto my keyboard! I miss you so much!”

“Brother Jing, I hear you’re an old hand at this sort of thing. I have a serious question. My girlfriend has been deceiving me lately. She always goes out with other people at night, then takes a taxi home in the middle of the night without letting it stop at the front door. I looked at her phone, and she flew into a rage. One night, after she went out, I rode my motorcycle and hid around the corner, waiting to see who would pick her up. Then I discovered that the motorcycle was leaking oil. I bought it only a year ago. Is this oil leak covered by the warranty?”

“Guy upstairs, I’ve run into the same problem. My girlfriend and I used to go out at night all the time, and afterward I’d take a taxi to drive her home. Once, around a street corner, I saw some idiot’s motorcycle leaking oil. I thought, with gas prices going up, who still rides a motorcycle? He must be a spectacular loser. The moment my girlfriend saw it, she burst into tears and said that was her boyfriend. I never realized he cared about her so much. I was stunned and felt that I could never love again. Before I could react, she jumped out of the car and ran toward the corner, so I hurried after her. Then I suddenly saw a street vendor selling spicy skewers. Is that hygienic? Will eating them make me sick?”

...

These wisecracking viewers and their ridiculous questions made Zhao Jing laugh.

Covering the microphone with her hand, she said in a low voice, “Can you all settle down and listen to Teacher Huang sing?”

The moment Zhao Jing spoke, the discussion section exploded even more.

“Wow! Brother Jing is really here!”

“That voice does sound like Brother Jing. Is it really her?”

“We don’t want to hear Uncle Huang sing! We want to hear you sing, Brother Jing!”

“Damn, there are actually people who want to hear Brother Jing sing. Is this your first time watching her stream? Listening to Brother Jing tell jokes is fine, but listening to her sing... Um, one question: Brother Jing, can you sing in tune now?”

“Don’t talk about Brother Jing like that. She can sing perfectly well. Sure, she goes badly off-key, but what beautiful woman doesn’t sing off-key? Don’t be so hard on her.”

“Stop arguing! We haven’t even established whether this is really Brother Jing! Brother Jing, reveal your true identity, sworn enemy of Little Four, the man who stole your boyfriend! Tell a Little Four joke to prove you’re the real Brother Jing!”

“Right, right! Brother Jing, tell us a joke!”

“Tell a joke! Tell a joke! Tell a joke!”

“Tell a joke!”

...

Zhao Jing was in a good mood that evening. Seeing so many viewers clamoring for a joke, she spoke softly into the microphone.

“Teacher Huang is singing, so I won’t tell one aloud. I’ll type a joke for you instead. Stop posting for a moment and read my joke.”

At once, the discussion section quieted considerably.

There were still a few people intent on stirring things up, along with others insulting Zhao Jing.

Without a word, Zhao Jing muted every one of the troublesome viewers. What she could not see could not annoy her. Then, in high spirits, she composed a Little Four joke for her fans and posted it.

The host’s message appeared in red:

“This time I’ll tell you a story about Little Four and Han Han. You all know that Little Four and Han Han love and hate each other, right? Once, I personally saw Little Four knocking on Han Han’s front door and crying as he begged, ‘Please open the door, Han. I love you! I’ve worked up the courage to knock on your door so many times. You must have heard me, right? Why do you never open the door?’ Weeping bitterly, Little Four remained outside Han Han’s house, begging him to open up. Meanwhile, Han Han once again peered through the peephole at the completely empty space outside his door. A chill ran repeatedly down his spine as he thought, ‘It’s time to get someone in here to drive out the evil spirits. This is unbelievable. I must be seeing a ghost.’”

The moment Zhao Jing posted the joke, the discussion section filled with countless messages of “666”—the online equivalent of calling something hilarious. Those viewers who had not disabled the scrolling chat could barely see Huang Guolun singing anymore; the entire screen was covered in “666.”

The discussion section nearly laughed itself apart:

“Hahaha! It really is Brother Jing! The sworn enemy of Little Four!”

“Brother Jing, did you really see that with your own eyes? Were you inside Han Han’s house or outside? Don’t tell me you and Han Han have something going on!”

“I’ll imitate Brother Jing and tell a Little Four joke too. This one is also about Little Four and Han Han loving and hating each other. Once, Little Four and Han Han got into an argument. Little Four pointed up at Han Han’s nose and shouted, ‘Why are you so stubborn? Can’t you look at the problem from my point of view?!’ Han Han nodded, then knelt down. Hahaha!”

“Brother Jing, you should tell these jokes aloud. It’s funnier listening to you than reading them.”

“Brother Jing, are you still not going to show your face? Do you have obsessive-compulsive disorder? You said the stream would start at eight, so you’re determined not to reveal yourself until exactly eight?”

...

While the discussion section was in open revolt, Huang Guolun continued singing “Actually, You Don’t Understand My Heart,” utterly lost in the music.

With the deepest feeling in his voice, he brought the classic old song to its close:

“I fear I cannot bear
The depth of what I feel for you,
So I dare not come too close.”

“You say you are going away,
While secretly nursing your sorrow,
Never letting me see your tearful eyes...”