Chapter 25: Hiding the Steamed Bun

Inside the studio—

Huang Guolun had reached the most frenzied part of the chorus in “The Beautiful People”:

“…Hey! You! What do you see?
Something beautiful, something free?
Hey! You! Are you trying to be mean?
If you live with apes, man, it’s hard to be clean!
…”

The tearing soundwaves blasting through Bai Yao’s monitoring headphones felt like ten thousand chainsaws rampaging inside her body, as if they were about to rip her apart!

In order to find her footing in Houhai, Bai Yao had listened to plenty of rock music—live in bars, and online as well. She’d heard many performances that were mind-blowingly good, yet none had ever shaken or torn at her so fiercely as this one.

It was only now that Bai Yao truly understood the immense power music has to transform people.

Usually a model teacher, Mr. Huang, donned in the dark armor of rock, was like a dictator wielding an electric chainsaw—every note he struck was explosive, shaking Bai Yao to her core, setting her blood ablaze!

So electrified, Bai Yao wanted to scream alongside Huang Guolun, to bury this filthy, decaying world with their voices!

This was Huang Guolun’s first time singing a song like this, and his first time shouting with such abandon. It felt as if he were riding a runaway train speeding toward hell, his long-suppressed anguish pouring out at last.

Back when Chen Jia lay gravely ill, it was as if his sky had collapsed—he wished the world’s end would come early. The pain he felt then defied all words and means of release.

Now, shouting out “The Beautiful People,” he seemed to have finally found an outlet. Like a thunderbolt striking tinder, it was irrepressible.

He was like the protagonist in “Dictatorship of the Undead,” who ultimately becomes a zombie herself—pouring all his pain and rage into the song.

With the pounding rhythm of the drums, he finished the song, drenched in a sweat born of wild exhilaration!

It was only after the final note faded that he realized he’d let his emotions go too far—he hadn’t reined them in when he should have, and even at the end, he hadn’t pulled back. The song’s message wasn’t to destroy the world, but to obliterate cowardice and ignorance in people’s minds, to shatter the rot of autocratic rule.

Yet in his rendition, Huang Guolun had destroyed the entire world—a version steeped in tragedy. As exhilarating as it was, it wasn’t the effect he’d intended.

After that performance, he felt his throat was nearly gone.

Coughing, he left the studio and, seeing Bai Yao’s stunned expression, took a sip of water and said awkwardly, “Did I scare you?”

Bai Yao shook her head and sighed, “You didn’t scare me, you shook me to the core. I never imagined you could do rock like that!”

“I went a bit overboard—my voice is nearly done for. Don’t you dare sing it like that.”

“But I thought you sang it amazingly. ‘Fiery’ doesn’t even begin to describe it!” Even now, the blood-pumping rhythm was echoing in Bai Yao’s mind.

“Fiery, is it?” Huang Guolun smiled at her.

“Fiery!” Bai Yao nodded emphatically.

“Heh, you need to bring out that burning feeling too—that’s the only way to elevate the ending of the film. But you must keep your emotions in check. Don’t go overboard like I did.”

It was clear Huang Guolun wasn’t completely satisfied with his demo.

But to Bai Yao, it was one of the rare rock performances that could make a listener’s blood boil from the very first note.

She could say with certainty that she’d never be able to reach Huang Guolun’s level.

“Teacher, I think your version could go straight into the film as the ending song. My singing isn’t nearly as good—you should just sing the ending yourself.” Bai Yao was so shaken by Huang Guolun’s performance that she felt a little stage fright. People always say every field has its experts; when it comes to singing, Bai Yao really couldn’t have much confidence in herself.

In truth, Huang Guolun hadn’t expected his own performance to have such an effect. He’d never sung like that before, but with a few more takes, he was sure he could produce an even better version.

Still, for the ending of “Dictatorship of the Undead,” he felt Bai Yao’s voice was more suitable.

“Your voice has a unique, androgynous ferocity—exactly why I want you to sing this. Only your voice suits the heroine at the film’s end.”

Bai Yao smiled wryly and teased, “So you mean my voice sounds like a female zombie?”

“Of course not! There’s just something special in your voice—I can’t quite describe it—but if you do this song justice, it’ll be even more powerful and stirring than my version. You have to trust your teacher’s professional judgment.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try.”

With Huang Guolun’s encouragement, Bai Yao had no reason to shrink back. She gathered her courage and started learning “The Beautiful People” from him.

Huang Guolun knew Bai Yao’s musical foundation was weak, so he patiently taught her every word and phrase.

Fortunately, Bai Yao was intelligent and had an excellent ear for music. In less than ten minutes, she’d memorized the entire melody and was able to infuse her own understanding and emotion into her singing.

Standing outside the studio, Huang Guolun kept time for her by hand. After listening to her sing the whole song a cappella, he praised her enthusiastically: “You have real musical talent! You’ve never studied an instrument, yet your pitch is spot on and your sense of rhythm is superb. You’re a natural-born singer, rivaling my own son.”

Bai Yao’s confidence soared at his praise. She took a sip of water to soothe her voice and chatted with Huang Guolun: “Your son is a good singer too?”

“Yes, he has a great ear for music. Not only does he learn songs quickly, he picks up all kinds of instruments at lightning speed.”

After a moment’s thought, Huang Guolun added, “He seems to learn anything quickly. Whatever he wants to pick up, he figures out by himself, even if no one teaches him.”

“He must be really smart.”

“Smart doesn’t even begin to cover it—he’s too smart for his own good. Sigh!”

Thinking of Huang Tao’s history of mischief, Huang Guolun could only sigh with both amusement and resignation.

“Ding—”

From outside came the sound of the elevator doors opening.

Huang Guolun’s ears were sharp. “Speak of the devil, my son’s back.”

Bai Yao, who hadn’t heard a thing, looked slightly bewildered at his words.

“Come on, let’s take a break from practice and go eat. Once we’re fed and rested, we’ll practice hard this afternoon.”

“Mm.” Bai Yao, only half understanding, followed Huang Guolun out of the studio. There they saw Huang Guokun, with his slicked-back hair and stylish demeanor, leading Huang Tao and Dudu inside.

Huang Guokun’s features strongly resembled Huang Guolun’s, but their face shapes and builds were entirely different. Huang Guolun had the ordinary build of a typical middle-aged cadre, while Huang Guokun was tall and strapping—at least 1.85 meters—with a classic square face, thick brows, and piercing eyes. Just standing there, he exuded a bold, distinctive charisma unlike anyone else.

Huang Tao was even more striking. Plump and round like a little ball, he favored black-and-green-striped shirts that made him look like a walking watermelon—utterly adorable. Holding onto Dudu, who was twice his own size, Huang Tao was whistling his way to the living room when he suddenly spotted a clean-cut, handsome boy standing beside Huang Guolun. Huang Tao froze in place.

By now, Bai Yao had changed out of her rebellious stage attire. She wore the blue-collared, white long-sleeved sports shirt of the Experimental Middle School on top, and skinny black jeans below. She was actually quite slender, but had filled out in all the right places. Over the past year, she’d grown rapidly, making her top look a bit small and her chest rather pronounced.

Seeing Bai Yao like this, Huang Tao was completely baffled—he couldn’t tell if she was a boy or a girl.

Huang Guolun led Bai Yao over to Huang Guokun and Huang Tao. While Dudu was sniffing Bai Yao’s legs, he introduced her to Huang Guokun: “This is the student I told you about, Bai Yao. She’ll be singing the ending song I wrote. …Bai Yao, this is my brother, Huang Guokun. Just call him Mr. Huang.”

Knowing that Huang Guokun preferred to be addressed that way, Huang Guolun made the introduction accordingly.

“Hello, Mr. Huang.”

Bai Yao greeted Huang Guokun politely. After shouting in the studio, her voice had grown even hoarser—thick and gravelly, sounding just like a mature man with a rough voice, which startled Huang Guokun.

Huang Tao was even more confused, his mouth agape, finally deciding that this must be an older brother.

He asked Huang Guolun in puzzlement, “Dad, why is this brother hiding two buns under his shirt? Is he afraid someone’s going to steal them?”

Huang Guolun was mortified by Huang Tao’s question.

Three black lines seemed to appear on Bai Yao’s forehead.

Huang Guolun quickly pulled Huang Tao aside and whispered sternly, “Don’t talk nonsense—she’s your big sister. …This is my son, Huang Tao—‘Tao’ as in ‘peach,’ but also as in ‘naughty.’ Call her Sister Bai Yao.”

“Sis…Sister?” Huang Tao simply couldn’t make sense of it and pressed on, “Does this sister use a voice changer when she talks? Her voice is so powerful!”

“Ahem.”

Bai Yao, mortified, coughed in embarrassment, trying to soften her voice. But her throat was simply too hoarse—her words still came out rough and deep: “This is just how I talk, no voice changer.”

Huang Guokun was utterly bewildered and asked Huang Guolun bluntly, “Can she even sing with that voice?”

“Of course she can—she’s the lead singer in a rock band,” Huang Guolun replied.

That explanation satisfied Huang Guokun, who nodded with interest. “Intriguing.”

As they spoke, the smart entry system sounded—the community’s senior butler had come to deliver their lunch.

This complex was like a hotel, offering top-tier private chef services. Any resident who didn’t want to cook could simply call their dedicated property butler, who would arrange for a private chef to prepare their meal. The butler would then personally deliver the meal to their door.

Huang Guolun had anticipated the time of Huang Guokun’s arrival and had already ordered a sumptuous lunch in advance, so the butler was now bringing it in.

The butler’s service was impeccable: he wheeled the cart in, set the dishes on the table, and wished them an enjoyable meal before leaving.

While the butler set the table, Huang Guolun told Huang Guokun that he’d already redone all the music for “Dictatorship of the Undead”—everything was finished except for the last theme song.

Upon hearing that the score was complete, Huang Guokun couldn’t wait. He dashed to the studio computer to watch the film and see for himself just how good the soundtrack that Huang Guolun had created overnight truly was.