Drunk On The Night Breeze - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The surroundings were noisy, but surprisingly, Ruan Lingfeng heard every word Tao Zhi said with crystal clarity.

He had never expected that Tao Zhi would be the first to lower his head.

Seeing that Ruan Lingfeng still didn’t budge, Tao Zhi pulled out his phone in the next second, scrolled through his contacts, and dialed a number. At first, Ruan Lingfeng didn’t know what he was doing until his own phone screen lit up. The caller ID still read “Tao Zhi.”

Ruan Lingfeng looked at him in shock. “What are you doing now?”

Tao Zhi replied, “Interfering with you.”

Ruan Lingfeng: “?”

Tao Zhi maintained that grumbling, sulky demeanor. “Don’t hail a ride.”

He added, “…We’re already here.”

A moment ago, Ruan Lingfeng felt like an expanding balloon, filled to the brim with anger and ready to burst at any second. Now, because of a few sentences from Tao Zhi, he felt like that angry balloon was slowly deflating.

He couldn’t even help but let out a small laugh.

Technically, Tao Zhi hadn’t given a proper, formal apology, and it would have been perfectly reasonable for Ruan Lingfeng to stay angry. But suddenly, he didn’t know what there was to be angry about anymore.

He didn’t know how this guy had developed such a terrible personality—every word out of his mouth was enough to choke someone—but in reality, his true intentions and what he actually expressed seemed to be worlds apart.

Ruan Lingfeng took the offered olive branch. “Fine, since we’re already here… let’s not pull and push out here. Someone might recognize you.”

Hearing this, Tao Zhi put back on his “top star” airs. “So you do know. I’m very famous right now, you know.”

“Speak of the devil” might actually be a real phenomenon. Not long after Ruan Lingfeng warned him about being recognized, just as they had sat down and ordered—and before they could even pick up their chopsticks for the two bowls of seafood noodles—someone approached their table.

It was a group of young people dressed like college students, both men and women. They all looked incredibly excited. The one leading the group was red-faced and stuttering slightly: “Is it… is it really Tao Zhi? We’ve been listening to your songs lately and were just wondering when we could hear you live.”

The others began chiming in all at once.

“I didn’t expect to see you in person here!”

“I absolutely love your song Loser!”

“…Can we get an autograph?”

“Do you have any performance plans coming up?”

It was a chaotic scene. Ruan Lingfeng expected Tao Zhi to lose his temper, but Tao Zhi was unexpectedly gentle with his fans. “Thanks. A performance is in the works; it should be officially announced soon. You’re welcome to come then.”

“I feel like I won’t be able to grab a ticket.”

“Well, getting a ticket really depends on your luck,” Tao Zhi said with a shrug. He noticed one of the people talking to him was carrying a guitar bag, so he asked, “Play guitar?”

“Ah, yes,” the person replied shyly, pointing to his companions. “I just started learning. They said they wanted to start a band and needed a guitarist, so they made me learn.”

Tao Zhi didn’t respond immediately. Ruan Lingfeng noticed him dazing off for a second.

The silence made the fans even more awkward. After a moment, the one with the guitar said, “Then we won’t bother you—”

“It’s good. Keep the band going,” Tao Zhi interrupted, then asked, “If you just started, is that an acoustic guitar you’ve got there?”

“…Yes.”

“Can I borrow it?” Tao Zhi asked.

“Eh?”

Tao Zhi said, “Didn’t you say you didn’t know when you’d hear me live? You can hear me right now.”

After a brief silence, the group let out a small cheer, drawing the attention of other confused diners in the shop. Things became a bit frantic; they had come here to eat, but they had hit the jackpot by meeting their favorite singer, who now seemed to be in high spirits and offered an impromptu unplugged performance. They quickly moved chairs over, waiting for the unexpected show to begin.

Ruan Lingfeng really should have stopped it. Although he wasn’t the manager, he considered himself a reliable partner. He knew Tao Zhi was currently at the peak of his popularity; a sudden public performance in the age of the internet was risky. If someone posted a video with a location tag on Weibo, even at midnight, a crowd of bored night owls could swarm the place.

If trouble broke out, it would be hard to manage.

But seeing Tao Zhi seriously cradling the guitar and testing the strings, Ruan Lingfeng found it hard to be a killjoy.

In the end, he just stood up quietly and went to talk to the shop owner. He wasn’t sure what he said, but the owner closed the front door, preventing more people from gathering in the short term.

Doing this didn’t take much time. Ruan Lingfeng ran back to sit beside Tao Zhi, thinking the kid would probably only sing half a song or so—five minutes at most. If the little brat sang for too long, it wouldn’t be too late to interrupt then.

Tao Zhi seemed to be waiting for Ruan Lingfeng. He shot him a glance before finally gripping the plectrum and strumming the strings.

“A disclaimer first: I won’t do anything too difficult,” Tao Zhi said as a disclaimer before starting. “I was a drummer in my old band. I know a bit of other instruments, but I’m not an expert.”

Public information only mentioned that Tao Zhi had studied piano since childhood and was raised on classical music. Later, his tastes broadened; he listened to everything and collected records from the great singers of the last century, often attending live shows of emerging artists. He had never mentioned playing in a band before. But before anyone could digest this extra information, Tao Zhi strummed a $1-6-4-5$ chord progression.

A peaceful, serene melody began to flow, and the once-noisy shop suddenly fell silent. After a simple intro, Tao Zhi began to sing. His voice, slightly deep yet still carrying a youthful edge, rang out:

“Traversing through the night wind / It brushes past my face / Pushing me to the edge of the sky / Pulling me back to the world”

It had to be admitted—Tao Zhi’s voice was highly recognizable. The timbre hit the perfect sweet spot between refreshing and rich. Even without fancy accompaniment, just a few lines sung a cappella over simple chords were enough to instantly immerse the listeners in the melody.

At this moment, Ruan Lingfeng was as focused as the other listeners. However, while he could practically sing all of Tao Zhi’s officially released songs backward, this one felt unfamiliar.

Was it a cover or something?

He had thought Tao Zhi would sing one of his more popular hits.

There were only these few lines of lyrics; the rest was just “la-la-la.”

But Ruan Lingfeng was different from the other fans. This wasn’t the first time he had heard Tao Zhi sing live.

Lately, they spent almost every day together. Ruan Lingfeng had many opportunities to hear him sing, usually in the rehearsal room or recording studio.

However, during those times, Tao Zhi was in “work mode,” practicing repeatedly. You couldn’t hear much else in his voice then.

This was the first time Ruan Lingfeng saw Tao Zhi singing in such a relaxed state—in a random little shop where anything could happen, with only a few listeners, holding a basic entry-level acoustic guitar with mediocre sound quality. Tao Zhi was usually critical of everything to an extreme, yet here, he was perfectly content with the present.

And… Tao Zhi sat with his long legs crossed, cradling the guitar and strumming, humming randomly. Occasionally, his gaze would shift toward Ruan Lingfeng, and their eyes would meet in the air for a second before darting away.

This made Ruan Lingfeng feel, quite inappropriately, that Tao Zhi was singing a song for him.

It was definitely a total delusion, but regardless, the atmosphere was excellent. Ruan Lingfeng was a music lover at heart—otherwise, he wouldn’t have dived into this industry—and hearing such a live performance made him very happy.

Before long, the singing and music stopped together. The circle of listeners instinctively began to clap, and someone let out a whistle.

Someone asked the question on Ruan Lingfeng’s mind: “I haven’t heard this song before.”

Tao Zhi handed the guitar back to its owner, responding as he did: “Yeah, I just made it up on the fly.”

“That’s amazing!”

“It was an improvisation?! Besides the lyrics, the rest of it felt so complete.”

Tao Zhi habitually ran his hand through his red hair, brushing it back. “Can’t be helped. I’m uneducated; I can’t just write lyrics on the spot… I’ll polish it when I get the chance.”

“Are you done singing?”

Tao Zhi waved his hand. “No more. I’ll have to charge for any more… besides, my noodles are getting soggy.”

Everyone laughed and offered their thanks, which Tao Zhi dismissed as being “too awkward.” One person finally worked up the courage to ask for a photo, and Tao Zhi, in a rare display of good temper, agreed. After the brief interlude ended, the others returned to their seats, and the shop owner reopened the door.

Ruan Lingfeng glanced outside. He had seen someone recording a video earlier, but since Tao Zhi didn’t seem to object—and had even smiled at the lens—he didn’t want to overstep and stop them. Now, he was worried that once these videos hit the internet, if they spread quickly, people might rush here to corner Tao Zhi.

But Tao Zhi called out to him: “Hey… what are you doing?”

Ruan Lingfeng retracted his gaze and looked at Tao Zhi. “Hmm?”

Tao Zhi’s voice carried a hint of dissatisfaction. “You’re not eating properly… I put so much effort into that performance just now, and you didn’t even give me a review.”

Ruan Lingfeng didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “It sounded good.”

“That’s it? So perfunctory?” Tao Zhi began talking to himself. “I’m serious, that melody was a flash of inspiration I just came up with. I’m a goddamn genius.”

Ruan Lingfeng didn’t deny it.

Tao Zhi continued, “I’ll call the song Joyride. Those few lines of lyrics too—I got the inspiration while I was driving you just now. It’s a pity I only thought of those few lines.”

Tao Zhi casually hummed those lines again: “Traversing through the night wind / It brushes past my face / Pushing me to the edge of the sky / Pulling me back to the world…”

“Not bad, right?” After humming, Tao Zhi looked at Ruan Lingfeng, seemingly seeking confirmation.

Instead, he saw Ruan Lingfeng lower his head, focusing silently on his food.

As Ruan Lingfeng bowed his head, his hair, which usually covered his neck, fell forward to either side, revealing a patch of fair skin. Tao Zhi wasn’t sure if he was seeing things, but he thought that the exposed nape of the neck was tinged with a slight flush of red.