Chapter Fifty-Eight: Childhood

The underground mall was bustling with people during the midday hours, most of them young men and women. My guitar case gradually filled up as well. Though it looked shabby, I was content. Relying on my own hands to make a living and doing what I truly wanted brought me a light heart and genuine happiness.

After singing for a while, I grew tired and bought a boxed meal from an elderly woman nearby. I squatted by the wall to eat, feeling a sense of security as I looked at my guitar case lying quietly in front of me. Perhaps my nature is to loathe constraints and yearn for freedom. In a city like this, where wealthy tycoons are countless, my nearly beggarly lifestyle is bound to be despised by most. But when faced with the hardships of life, does anyone truly have the right to look down on me?

I lowered my head and took big bites of the meal. In truth, this was the first time I had ever ended up in such a situation. Maybe I’d been crazy before, maybe I’d worked hard for my dreams, but actually standing at the entrance of an underground mall, singing for change, was a feeling I found hard to describe. There was happiness and vexation, freedom and disappointment, a jumble of emotions flooding my heart as I acted, bittersweet and complex.

"Yang... Brother Yang?" A clear female voice called out to me.

I instinctively put down my meal and looked up. It was her, and I felt a bit awkward.

"Tongtong, are you shopping?" I quickly adjusted my mood and smiled.

"Why are you eating takeout here? Waiting for someone?" Zhang Tongtong looked beautiful today: a pale yellow short skirt, white sneakers, her long legs accentuated. Standing before me, she seemed especially noble and lovely.

I smiled without answering, not out of embarrassment but because I didn’t know where to begin. In her eyes, I’d once been the theme planner at the Other Shore Bar. Now, in the blink of an eye, I was a street performer eating takeout in a corner. The drastic change in identity made explaining pointless.

Tongtong glanced at the guitar case, now half-filled with coins, and seemed to realize something. She crouched beside me and whispered, "Brother Yang, are you here to experience life?"

Her sudden remark made me burst out laughing, drawing frowns from passing pedestrians as if my laughter had sullied their sacred ears.

"In fact, this is my daily job. I make a living this way," I said, wanting to reach out and pinch her cheek as before, but then remembered my hands were greasy from the food and quickly pulled back.

Unexpectedly, Zhang Tongtong showed no obvious change in expression. She simply gave a knowing "oh," then, with a mischievous glint, squatted next to me, picked up my guitar, and strummed a few chords.

"Go enjoy your shopping. If your classmates see you here, it’ll be embarrassing," I said, putting my meal into the plastic bag the elderly woman had given me. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes—one after a meal, and life feels divine.

But as I stared at the pack, I fell silent. Then, with force, I threw the unopened cigarettes away. Luo Qing had bought them for me, and now I didn’t want anything related to her. I needed to escape this whirlpool I was drowning in.

Tongtong watched my actions with curiosity. "They're still new, aren't they? Why toss them?"

"Because they bring back bad memories," I replied, leaning against the warm wall and gazing blankly at the stream of passersby.

"Brother Yang, do you always come here to sing?" she asked, cradling the guitar and plucking at the strings.

I shook my head, saying nothing.

"Let’s sing something together?" Tongtong looked at me with excitement.

I looked at her youthful face, aglow with a brilliant smile, and stood up to take the guitar, nodding. "I don’t mind. The real question is whether you’re afraid of being embarrassed."

"If I sing so badly that everyone leaves, will you go hungry tonight?" she teased, sticking out her tongue and pulling out her phone.

"I won’t starve, but I’ll probably be a bit upset," I joked back. To be honest, I didn’t care how much money I made. At this point, who was I to worry about quality of life?

"What do you want to sing? Something popular, or you’ll have to sing a cappella," I said, noticing she was fiddling with her phone for a while without speaking. "Still interested?"

"Of course! Let me check the lyrics. It’s my first time singing in public—I'm a little nervous!" she replied, nodding vigorously.

She was already braver than most. Singing in front of a crowd isn’t about vocal skill, but about confidence and courage.

"No worries, what song will you sing?"

"‘Childhood’," she replied.

I nodded. "Childhood" isn’t exactly a current pop song, but it’s a classic from a certain era. Nowadays, few students know it, but back when I was in school, everyone could at least hum along if not sing it outright.

"I might not play the chords perfectly, so do your best," I said with a smile, trying out the intro.

"Don’t talk, Brother Yang! You’re making me even more nervous!" Tongtong’s cheeks flushed crimson.

"Alright, just have fun. Don’t stress, you’re amazing." I cheered her on. Honestly, I had no expectations for her singing. She had a solid background in dance, but I had no idea about her vocals. As long as she enjoyed it, she was a kindred spirit, and I had to support her—especially here, singing alongside me.

Tongtong cleared her throat and began to sing. To my surprise, her musical sense was excellent. She hit all the right notes, and her crisp, slightly coquettish voice suited the song perfectly.

"Only at bedtime do you realize you’ve done so little homework. Only after the exam do you realize you haven’t studied enough," she sang. As she went on, she unconsciously swayed to the rhythm, following her own melody.

I found myself infected by her energy, tapping my foot in time as I played.

Maybe because a young, beautiful girl had joined, the once quiet entrance was now surrounded by a sizable crowd.

As Tongtong sang, she eventually switched to humming "la la la" along with the guitar—a clear sign she’d forgotten the lyrics. Still, the audience didn’t seem to mind. A few people started tossing money into my case, and some even gave her friendly hugs. Luckily, none tried to take advantage; otherwise, it would have been awkward.

"Youth is truly wonderful," I thought as I played. "Such a vibrant time, unburdened by indulgence or messy entanglements, yet so fulfilling and beautiful."

When the song ended, the crowd applauded. Tongtong blushed and bowed in thanks. I looked at this confident, brave girl and smiled. Maybe her singing wasn’t extraordinary, but her rendition of "Childhood" captured that tender nostalgia and innocence of the past.

People continued to step up, dropping coins into the guitar case. After waiting a bit, seeing that Tongtong didn’t intend to sing more, the crowd dispersed.

I gave her a thumbs up. "Amazing! You earned my dinner for the next few days with just one song!"

"No way," she said, her fair cheeks flushed red, clutching her chest as she tried to steady her breath. "I was so scared my heart was about to leap out!"

I leaned my guitar against the wall and gently hugged her. Tongtong was full of youthful energy; being with her made me feel that vitality and drive. Seeing her, I couldn’t help but think of Tao Yueran from the past—she, too, was a breath of fresh air in university.

"Hey, Tongtong!" someone called.

Tongtong turned, cheeks still red, and saw two young women approaching. They looked like her classmates.

"Who’s this handsome guy?" one of them, who appeared a bit more mature, asked with a smile.

"He’s my big brother," Tongtong replied, walking toward her friends.

"Big brother?" The girl looked surprised, sizing me up and glancing at the guitar case half-filled with coins. She smiled, though it seemed a little forced.

I ignored her, simply waved at Tongtong.

"Brother Yang, can I come sing with you again sometime?" she asked expectantly.

"Of course, you’re always welcome," I replied.

"Yay! I’ll head off now. Bye, Brother Yang!" Tongtong grabbed her friend’s hand and waved at me with the other.

"Bye." I smiled, slung the guitar over my back, and packed up the case. Today’s harvest wasn’t bad, thanks to Tongtong’s unexpected participation. If every day could be like this, singing and being happy, it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

In the past, when I saw street performers, I’d always listened to their music with respect. But now that I was in their shoes, I realized how hard it really was—exhausting, even. Singing and playing guitar while facing an indifferent crowd, bearing those scornful glances and smiles, that’s where the real hardship lies.

Those who pursue their dreams are never wrong. What’s wrong is the arrogance of others, the contempt and mockery, the hypocrisy of the so-called noble and the extravagance of empty dreams.

Ideals are the driving force; freedom is the nourishment. In truth, we are all on the road to our dreams—some journeys longer, some shorter, but all searching nonetheless.