Chapter Fifty-Seven: A Life of Singing for a Living

I stared at the phone for a long time, waiting for someone to answer, and suddenly felt absurd—was I really seeking comfort from the other side just because I was hurt here? Just as I was about to hang up, the phone vibrated and the call timer began counting. Slowly, I pressed the phone to my ear, only to be met with endless silence from the other end. This was the first time I had initiated a call to Su Xuefei. It seemed easy enough when I dialed, but now that the call was connected, I found myself flustered, unable to utter even the simplest greeting.

“Yang Chen?” Her voice was as cool and gentle as ever, pleasant to the ear but betraying no emotion.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Your tone sounds off. Did something happen?” The background around Su Xuefei grew noisy, voices of men and women mingling together. I couldn’t help but marvel at her sensitivity, able to discern my subtle change despite my best efforts to act normal before calling.

“It’s nothing... You sound busy. I’ll call you when you have more time.” Suddenly, I felt as if I were committing some error, instinctively wanting to make amends... What was I doing? How was this any different from the behavior of someone toying with emotions?

“No, I’m not busy.” Su Xuefei’s voice was calm, impossible to read.

“Something’s come up on my end. I’ll contact you later.” Silence lingered, and after a moment, her indifferent voice came through again: “Alright.”

I hung up and lay back on the bed, constantly questioning myself—what was happening to me, why these absurd thoughts?

Lying there, a sudden, urgent knocking came from the door. Annoyed, I shouted, “Who is it?”

“It’s your sister!” Zhao Ke Wen called back from outside.

Hearing her voice, I quickly got up to open the door.

“Still alive, huh? I thought you’d hung yourself already!” Zhao Ke Wen teased as she walked in. “Look at this room, what a mess. Next time you feel down, just go to a boxing club and vent—either beat someone up or let them beat you!”

She walked over to the bed, picked up the pillow and quilt from the floor, and laid them back on the bed before sitting down. From her white purse, she took out a bank card and handed it to me.

I looked at the card in confusion and didn’t take it. “Sis, what’s this about?”

“Little brother, I know talking about money between us feels awkward, but you’ve put so much into the bar, and this themed event was a huge success—it’s opened doors with all sorts of groups.” She grabbed my hand and slapped the card into it. “This is what you deserve.”

I glanced at the card and smiled, telling her, “Sis, I can’t accept this. I only did what I was supposed to do—it had nothing to do with profit.”

“Then consider this money lost by me, and you happened to find it, tried to return it, but I don’t want it anymore. How’s that?” She thought for a moment, concocting a story as if she were telling a tale.

Seeing how seriously Zhao Ke Wen tried to come up with such a bizarre excuse to give me money, I couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed with me, tapped my forehead, and said, “Silly boy!”

After a while, I feigned a cough and handed the card back, shaking my head in refusal. “Sis, I appreciate your kindness, but even if you give me this money, I won’t touch it.”

Her smile vanished. She looked into my eyes, saw my resolute expression, and finally gave in, “Alright, but I’ve already paid your rent for this month. Here’s five hundred yuan in cash—take it, don’t starve, that’d be unlucky.”

I was long used to Zhao Ke Wen’s sharp tongue, knowing she was a woman whose tough exterior hid a gentle heart. No one understood my situation better than her. The rent money she gave me this morning was half-spent already on a dress, so this five hundred was truly a lifeline.

I took the cash, about to speak, but she waved the card at me, “Don’t push your luck, or I’ll hit you!”

“No... I just wanted to say, thank you...”

“Thank your sister!” She snapped, her words always laced with barbs.

“By the way, bro, how’d last night go? Did you seal the deal?” Zhao Ke Wen leaned in, curiosity in her eyes.

“Let’s not talk about her,” I waved my hand and sat back on the bed.

“Come on, tell me the details!” She sat beside me, pressing close—I could feel her warmth.

“Nothing to tell.” I pursed my lips. Normally, Ke Wen was sharp, but today she seemed intent on poking at sore spots, deliberately trying to rile me.

“Seriously...” Her tone shifted, losing its playful edge. She put an arm around my shoulder, becoming earnest and solemn, “That Luo girl isn’t ordinary. Her family’s influence is immense—neither you nor she can control everything. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

This morning, even though she knew I was with Luo Qing, she called—not to interfere for her own interest, but to warn me, to prepare me mentally. She cared for me... And I, foolishly, doubted her.

I looked in surprise at Zhao Ke Wen’s beautiful, slightly gaunt face, nodded firmly, and gently pinched her pale cheek. “Sis, don’t overwork yourself. You’ve lost weight.”

“Oh, my little brother’s grown up, knows how to care for me!” she laughed. “The bar’s fine now, management and staff are all reliable contacts—nothing to worry about. I’ll take it easy and look after myself, or you’ll start to dislike me!”

“That’ll never happen!”

“If you have any trouble, promise you’ll tell me,” she said softly, squeezing my hand.

“Sis, you’re on your way to being a strong woman—maybe soon you’ll be a rich one. Don’t you plan to get yourself a boyfriend to play around with?” I didn’t answer her, just joked.

“You rascal, got dumped and now you’re teasing me?” She pushed me, pretending to be angry. “I’m sticking with you for life—if you don’t want me, I won’t look for anyone else!”

“No, spare me, Sis! If I go with you, I’ll end up a kept man—I couldn’t do it!” I laughed, waving my hands as I ran off.

“If you really were kept, that’d be fine!” she pouted in mock annoyance.

In the playful banter with Zhao Ke Wen, time slipped quietly by. She possessed a kind of magic that soothed my spirit—whether sad or depressed, a little while with her could turn sorrow into joy.

Zhao Ke Wen had a lunch appointment to attend. Before leaving, she comforted me again, then hurried off.

I sat alone on the wooden bed, with no plans for the future. I was a tragedy—no money, no home, no job, drifting alone in this bustling city. Every day was spent idly, living on others’ charity. Was this all my life would ever be?

I rolled off the bed, took out my guitar case, picked up the guitar, tuned it, and strummed a few chords.

Honestly, I’d had enough of working for others—living like a dog every day, no proper job, one mistake and you’d be cursed and fired. This life was exhausting.

“Rushed and frantic, why does life always go this way?” I sang softly from the song “Living,” moved by its starkly realistic lyrics.

After a while, I slung the guitar over my shoulder, opened the door, and left.

I would rely on myself to live, struggle and fight like a real man, not sit at home complaining. I wasn’t empty-handed—I still had my voice, my guitar, and my dream.

If you can’t let go, you can’t pick up anything else. What’s the use of pride? When it needs to be set aside, you must let it go. Only you know if you’re living well in this world; no one else has the right to judge!

Damn it—let’s go all out!

I sat on the steps of an underground mall on Main Street, put down my guitar, opened the case, and gently strummed the strings.

I kept singing “Living”—for now, it was the only song that truly fit my feelings. In this city overloaded with dreams, what have we really pursued?

For the sake of survival, I can give up my dignity—but what do I get? Abuse, beatings?

For survival, I can give up my ideals—but what do I get? Worthlessness, garbage?

Heh...

The more I sang, the more invested I became. As the crowd around me grew, I no longer cared how they looked at me, how they listened—admiration or disdain, it didn’t matter. Their opinions belonged to them; I only needed to live the life I wanted.

I sang one song after another, ones I was good at. Some people shook their heads and left, others smiled and dropped spare change into my guitar case. A few music-loving students put their meager coins in, then came over for a gentle hug.

Was I busking?

No, I was selling my emotions. My singing wasn’t exceptional, nor did I have Youqin’s unique timbre. What I had was my life, my story, the many changes happening around me.

I believed music could convey things that words alone could never express, and my greatest reward wasn’t the scattered bills and coins in the guitar case—it was that the listeners truly immersed themselves in my music, understood my mood and the meaning, felt a different social strata and my attitude toward life.