A Gong-Perspective Collection of Short Stories - Chapter 4

You Xingge came out after his shower that evening and turned on the computer on his desk.

When he came to Qicheng, the two most valuable things he brought were his computer and his guitar.

Opening the interface, the screen slid smoothly into a blue coding website. Line by line, You Xingge scrolled the mouse without a change in expression.

Water dripped from his damp hair. The green plants in the room drooped their heads in the misty humidity. It was pitch black, with only the desk lamp and the blue light of the computer glowing, illuminating his face.

He was currently coding a version of ‘Angry Birds’.

Unfortunately, the internet wasn’t very developed in this era, and many games hadn’t launched yet. For the ones he wanted to play, he had to code them himself. He was still capable of creating some simple running scripts.

“By the time I finish my roleplay mission, the era should have developed to a fairly cutting-edge stage, right?”

You Xingge clicked the mouse, accurately launching a bird, thinking to himself.

When he traveled into this book, he was told that he only needed to complete the single mission of playing the male lead’s good brother; no one would care about what happened afterward.

His hair was still dripping. He took a towel to wipe it. The messy black curls tried to protest against their owner—if he wiped them so haphazardly, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his handsome image tomorrow—but they were heartlessly suppressed by You Xingge.

The curly-haired youth, wearing pajamas, tossed the towel casually over the back of the chair, took a can of fruit juice from the fridge, and walked toward the balcony.

Time to go see his lead singer.

He and Cheng Jiye had separate rooms, each with their own living room and bedroom, but the balconies were connected, forming a ninety-degree angle. There were flowers and plants on the balcony; when he went out to hang clothes in the afternoon, he had seen the other man facing the sun, holding a watering can and watering the flowers.

“This Qidian male lead actually has quite a refined leisure taste. I suppose this really is a relatively relaxed period in his life.”

In a few years, when he became famous across the country, Cheng Jiye might never have this kind of mood to water a flower again.

An image shop downstairs was playing records, the sound drifting up lazily—a blurry voice, like an album of a famous Taiwanese singer from the 1980s. There were also the noisy sounds of children running and playing, mixed with the rustling of trees blown by the evening wind.

Being near the center of the old city district, the night still carried the bustle of heavy traffic. The air was thick with a stagnant, sweltering heat.

As soon as You Xingge stepped onto the balcony, he saw the person he was looking for leaning against the edge of his own balcony. Arms crossed, he was smoking. His profile looked superior against the pale blue evening sky, with only a single spark on the cigarette flickering in the gloom.

Cheng Jiye was very tall. When he caught a glimpse of him, he subconsciously moved to stub out the cigarette.

You Xingge made a gesture to stop him and, with extremely fluid movements, pulled a cigarette out of Cheng Jiye’s pack. The movement was so fast that Cheng Jiye didn’t even have time to react.

“Borrow a light?” You Xingge dangled the cigarette in his mouth properly and smiled. The cigarette in Cheng Jiye’s hand was reflected in his eyes, the spark making them look very bright.

Cheng Jiye was about to say “kids shouldn’t smoke,” but then remembered that You Xingge was actually twenty-one. Even in the United States with its smoking age limits, he’d be of age. However, his mouth still offered a rejection: “I didn’t bring a lighter.”

He reached out to take the cigarette from You Xingge’s mouth.

You Xingge didn’t let him. He leaned down, bringing his cigarette close to the one held between Cheng Jiye’s fingers. Like the sound of a match being struck, the spark ignited with a soft “tseng.”

He blinked his eyes somewhat triumphantly.

Cheng Jiye didn’t say anything, some ash falling from his fingers.

“Rehearsal is tomorrow. Have you memorized all the songs?” After a while, Cheng Jiye asked as if just remembering.

“Of course,” You Xingge said. He also leaned against the balcony railing, holding his cigarette in one hand. The music from the shop downstairs drifted in the wind, carrying a sense of nostalgia, like the yellow of old film.

He began to hum along, just the melody.

Cheng Jiye smoked beside him, remaining silent the whole time.

The most popular songs these days were all either very sentimental or the kind that were crazy and rebellious, claiming to promote the spirit of youth. The pop songs blasting from the speakers of street night markets and roadside stalls were also decadent and painful; after listening to a round of them, one could only remember how many relationships the singer had been in and how they broke up. They didn’t feel out of place even when mixed with the blaring sounds of roadside advertisements.

He stopped humming after finishing one song.

Two sparks moved in the pale blue, silent evening, leaving faint, subtle trails of fire in their path.

As the cigarette gradually faded to the end, You Xingge finally noticed it was a Marlboro.

When this brand was born in the 20th century, it was a cigarette for ladies.

He paused for a moment, then looked with total indifference as a grey layer of the cigarette climbed toward his fingertips, only crushing it out right before it was about to burn his hand.

Cheng Jiye had stubbed out his cigarette long ago. He looked up at him now, only just noticing: “You didn’t dry your hair.”

It was a statement of fact.

You Xingge shook his head: “It’s fine. I won’t catch a cold from this.”

Cheng Jiye looked away.

This little curly-head is quite thick-skinned.

The evening breeze in Qicheng was very cool. Cheng Jiye chatted with him intermittently about the band’s situation, the bar, and the layout of the Qicheng city districts. Most of it was common knowledge; as he spoke, he wandered ten thousand miles away from the original topic.

You Xingge listened beside him, interjecting a few words occasionally. He didn’t talk much.

Cheerful, brilliant, and with a good sense of boundaries—aside from the simple self-familiarity typical of young people his age, he had no other flaws.

That was the impression the curly-haired youth gave Cheng Jiye.

…One more thing could be added: to some extent, their tastes coincided perfectly.

He was referring to music.

As the night grew deeper, You Xingge was the first to give in. He let out a yawn and prepared to head back, carrying his unfinished fruit juice, and said goodnight to Cheng Jiye.

“By the way,” You Xingge snapped his fingers, remembering something, and turned back to say: “I think I’m going to be a good guitarist.”

His chestnut eyes were filled with bright things, like the lights of Qicheng pouring down.

Cheng Jiye looked into his eyes and then nodded.

After You Xingge left, he continued to lean against the balcony, looking out at the lights of the South City District beyond the residential building.

The cigarette butt between his fingers hadn’t been put down. He touched the pocket of his coat, where a lighter was sitting quietly.

Cheng Jiye thought, this little curly-head is quite likable.

A new guitarist had arrived at Huracán Bar—black curly hair, very beautiful features, deep chestnut eyes, and a smile as warm as the sun.

The regulars at the bar were initially surprised by this new guitarist. After all, his looks didn’t really seem like someone who played rock music. However, once this young man—who looked polite enough to appear in a high school “outstanding graduate” exhibition—took the stage, they silently withdrew their doubts.

…If nothing else, this new guitarist got quite “crazy” when he was high, becoming so dazzlingly brilliant it was hard to look away.

This was even more true when he played the guitar. No one could help but like those bright, beautiful eyes.

Another talent naturally born for music.

Charles liked their new guitarist very much. During the rehearsals so far, he had been joyfully declaring in his Mandarin—which he’d been practicing for god-knows-how-many years in China—that this was his ‘destined good brother’ who had finally arrived, and that he was their best guitarist yet.

The piece that had been missing since the day ONE was born had now been filled.

He and You Xingge bumped fists, a look of admiration in his eyes.

A band can never lack a good guitarist, and the same applies to the other members.

Although Charles’s words always carried a bit of Western exaggeration, praising people without limits, he truly did hope the band would get better.

Music is something that needs to be made with focused breath; finding compatible musicians is always rare because what they communicate is their own hearts.

Among the gazes fixed on ONE, besides pursuit and worship, there had always been more.

Though not everyone came for the rock music, it didn’t stop them from giving their all to every performance.

So, having a guitarist whose musical philosophy and creative concepts were compatible was naturally something to be happy about.

Cheng Jiye thought so too.

Today was a weekend, the second weekend of You Xingge’s appearances.

The sky outside had turned black. In the backstage, he had just taken down his instrument bag. It was a very beautiful guitar with a dark gold finish and strings that sounded lovely; even Cheng Jiye had praised the tone of this guitar.

Cheng Jiye was currently adjusting the equipment. This wasn’t originally his job, but the bar’s sound engineer had taken a leave of absence today, and Chen Qing was helping him out.

The bar was gradually being dragged into the deep night. By the time they took the stage, the guests in the bar were waiting frantically under the spray of cold fog and the glare of the lights.

Huracán was the largest bar in Nanping Alley. At night, it was filled with neon lights and swaying crowds; most people, after dancing, could even directly hook up with someone to go out for an even crazier night.

Of course, it wasn’t that no one tried to hook up with the lead singer of this resident band, but Cheng Jiye basically left immediately after singing. The probability of running into him at a backstreet barbecue stall was higher than this.

The stage lighting tonight wasn’t very bright. The figures below the stage flickered, mottled and blurred.

The music exploded like a roar. Last time You Xingge had been watching from the bar counter; now he was standing on the stage.

The band’s coordination was seamless. Just their appearance caused screams from below. The drumbeats exploded in people’s hearts. No matter where music labeled with “freedom” and “rebellion” since the last century played, it would attract the attention of the youth.

The lead singer had a uniquely gifted voice; he was practically born to do this. Cheng Jiye was the type of protagonist popular in “Qidian” novels years ago—on stage, he completely shed his laziness, becoming as sharp as a sword drawn from its sheath.

The music was, of course, beautiful, playing a song that had been a huge hit many years ago, from a somewhat distant era. Some newcomers didn’t recognize the new guitarist, but he was proud and flying, his curls tossing under the flamboyant lights, the stage bringing out intoxicating music together.

The people below swayed and screamed. You Xingge, who was rarely dressed like a member of a rock band today, blew a kiss to the crowd.

Now, he was as cool as his music. The musician was in high spirits, making him hard to forget.

However, someone was still sitting steadily in the corner, not far from where You Xingge had sat last time. A teardrop mole by the corner of his eye emerged in the shadows, and a thin tie brought out an air of “refined scum.”

The people nearby were talking about the new music and the new guitarist, their voices drowned out by the surrounding noise.

The man with the teardrop mole acted as if he didn’t hear them. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on the new guitarist appearing pensive.

If You Xingge could match the contents of the book, he would know who this person was the first time he saw him.

The color like cold glaze at the corner of his mouth belonged to a half-villain from the original book—a dandy who took up several pages of description in the early stages: Shen Zhi.