Chapter Seventeen: Refusing to Accept a Solo Challenge

Cheng Xiaoyu had no idea about the complicated thoughts swirling inside Wang Ou. He greeted Xia Shamo and invited her to sit, choosing a seat beside Chen Haoran, while Xia Shamo sat across from him.

Without beating around the bush, Cheng Xiaoyu addressed Chen Haoran directly, “Chen Haoran, I really need your help. The practice won’t take up much of your time. If you have any requests, just say them. I’ll do whatever I can to meet them.”

Chen Haoran’s face remained expressionless as ever. “Just don’t bother me. Besides, I can’t help you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu showed no sign of impatience. “Why don’t you look at the score first? I’ve already written out the drum parts, and they’re not exactly easy. Take a look; maybe you’ll be interested.”

“I don’t need to look. My skills aren’t good enough for what you want,” Chen Haoran replied flatly.

This response was within Cheng Xiaoyu’s expectations. He smiled and said, “Anyone who plays rock has a burning, unyielding heart. I’ve played in bands before, and in America, I was fortunate enough to be guided by the jazz drumming master, Mike German. Have you heard of him? He’s the drummer for Sonic Death. If you help me, I’ll copy down for you his handwritten advanced jazz drumming techniques.” Of course, Cheng Xiaoyu had never met Mike German; he’d found the name online the night before. Mike German was reputed to be the world’s top jazz drummer. As for those so-called “advanced jazz drumming techniques,” they were pure fiction, but Cheng Xiaoyu was confident that with the skills he’d mastered in his previous life, he could guide Chen Haoran easily enough. The handwritten notes could be anything he scribbled down later—he doubted Chen Haoran would know the difference.

Sure enough, when Chen Haoran heard the name “Mike German,” his chopsticks paused mid-air. He was silent for a long moment, then lowered his head to eat.

Seeing this reaction, Cheng Xiaoyu knew he’d struck a nerve and smiled again. “And I have a pair of drumsticks signed by Mike German himself.” As an unrepentant grown man, tricking a youngster didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, he felt a certain satisfaction, as if his tricks had bested the other’s intelligence.

But Cheng Xiaoyu underestimated the wits of a top student. For the first time, Chen Haoran looked at Cheng Xiaoyu directly and said, “I do like Mike German. And I’d love to have what you mentioned.” Cheng Xiaoyu wore a brilliant, knowing smile. But Chen Haoran continued, “But you think I’m that easy to fool? Your hands don’t even have any calluses—how could you play jazz drums?” Before the smile could even become awkward, Chen Haoran, face as impassive as ever, stood up and walked away.

Wang Ou burst out laughing. “See? Your bluff got called.”

Cheng Xiaoyu looked at his own hands and, in mock self-pity, lamented, “Having such beautiful pianist’s hands really is a mistake!” Even Xia Shamo couldn’t help but laugh. Cheng Xiaoyu, however, wasn’t discouraged. As long as he’d found Chen Haoran’s weak spot, there was no way he’d escape his grasp.

Back in the classroom, Cheng Xiaoyu had Xia Shamo take out the score and painstakingly wrote a Chinese translation beneath each line, matching it to the pinyin pronunciation. For some of the more difficult traditional characters, he even asked Xia Shamo for help. She didn’t find it odd—after all, Cheng Xiaoyu had only been back from overseas for less than a year. But when she saw his elegant handwriting, she was truly astonished. When he finished, Cheng Xiaoyu made a special note at the end emphasizing passion and explosiveness, telling Xia Shamo that he needed her to sing with that emotion. She nodded thoughtfully.

As he returned to his seat, Cheng Xiaoyu added, “Sr, practice hard. Let me know when you think you can sing it. Once I’ve convinced Chen Haoran, we’ll need to find a place to rehearse.”

Xia Shamo simply replied, “Mm.” She didn’t doubt for a second that Cheng Xiaoyu could get Chen Haoran to join, as long as Chen Haoran truly loved music.

The two afternoon classes flew by. As soon as the dismissal bell rang, Chen Haoran was always the first to stand and head for the door. But this time, someone beat him to it.

Cheng Xiaoyu blocked his way. With his nearly two-hundred-pound frame planted in the doorway, it was nearly impossible for anyone to get out. Suddenly, the two of them, facing off like duelists, became the focus of the entire class.

With his usual impassive expression, Chen Haoran said, “Move.”

But Cheng Xiaoyu ignored him. “Didn’t you say I can’t play drums?”

Chen Haoran’s tone remained flat, as if being blocked was just a minor annoyance. “Whether you can or can’t has nothing to do with me. Don’t make me late for my tutoring class.”

Cheng Xiaoyu stared calmly into Chen Haoran’s emotionless eyes and said slowly, “If you’ve got the guts, have a drum battle with me. If I lose, I’ll never bother you again—and I’ll give you a pair of real, signed Mike German drumsticks. If you lose, you’ll be my drummer.”

Chen Haoran clearly had no interest in this and turned to leave through the back door.

Cheng Xiaoyu called after him, “I can play double bass drum, you know. It’s the latest technique in America—aren’t you curious?” In this world, because rock music was somewhat behind the times and Black music hadn’t developed much (and let’s be honest, without Black musicians, there would be no modern bands—jazz drums were invented by Black people), the revolutionary innovation of double pedal hadn’t yet appeared. (For clarity: double pedal and double bass drum are different techniques. Double pedal allows a drummer to use both feet on one kick drum, while the double bass drum setup uses two kick drums and two sets of pedals, resulting in a much more powerful sound but also demanding greater skill.)

Sure enough, Chen Haoran stopped, stared hard at Cheng Xiaoyu, and said, “Don’t try to fool me.”

Cheng Xiaoyu saw a burning passion in his eyes and replied, “You’ll know if you try.”

“Then come with me.” Chen Haoran didn’t waste another word, turning to leave the classroom.

The whole class watched as the top student and the lowest-ranked student clashed. The previously quiet classroom erupted into chatter as the two of them left, one after the other, like a single drop of water tossed into a pot of boiling oil—after a brief sizzle, calm returned. The class monitor, Li Liwei, glanced thoughtfully in the direction they had gone, a sense of unease rising inside him.

Cheng Xiaoyu silently followed behind the poker-faced Chen Haoran. Two socially awkward people, neither inclined to make small talk, gave off an atmosphere that felt both tense and suffocating. Yet both of them found it perfectly normal.

Cheng Xiaoyu quickly realized they were heading toward the south gate of Fudan University, which was quite close to Jiaotong University. Between the two campuses was a bar street, a favorite hangout of students from both schools. With so many students, it had also become a hotspot for successful alumni and white-collar professionals, all hoping to meet some beautiful underclassmen. As a result, the street was full of bars of every kind: quiet lounges, dance clubs, slow-beat bars, and music bars dedicated to live performances.

They walked in silence for over twenty minutes until they reached the bar street. Most of the bars weren’t open yet; only a few had their doors unlocked for cleaning. The street was fairly quiet, though a few coffee shops were doing brisk business.

They finally stopped in front of a bar called “Forest of Lights.” Without hesitation, Chen Haoran pushed open the door and went inside, with Cheng Xiaoyu following.

The bar was empty except for a young man behind the counter, sporting an earring and a T-shirt, polishing glasses.

He greeted Chen Haoran without surprise, “You’re here!” Noticing the heavyset stranger behind him, he looked at Cheng Xiaoyu with some curiosity. “And you are?”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled at him, “A classmate of his,” he said, gesturing toward Chen Haoran.

The earringed man grinned. “First time Haoran’s brought a classmate here! Want something to drink?”

Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t stand on ceremony. “A Coke, please. With ice.”

At this, Chen Haoran spoke up. “Don’t bother. He’ll be leaving soon.”

Chen Haoran led Cheng Xiaoyu down to a basement lined with soundproofing foam. In the far corner stood an electric guitar, electric bass, keyboard, and a full drum kit.

Shutting the door behind them, Chen Haoran asked, “How do you want to do this?”

Cheng Xiaoyu thought for a moment. “You play a solo first. If I think I can’t match you, I’ll admit defeat. If I think I’m better, you listen to my solo.”

“And if I listen to yours and think you’re not as good as me?” Chen Haoran fixed him with a stare.

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled. “Then I lose.”

For the first time, a hint of expression flickered across Chen Haoran’s face—a cold smile. “I like your confidence.”

Cheng Xiaoyu shook his head. “No, I trust you. People who love rock aren’t bad people.” He couldn’t help but smile at Chen Haoran.

Chen Haoran wasted no time, sitting at the drum kit, left foot on the hi-hat, right foot on the bass drum pedal. He tapped his sticks together three times to set the tempo, then began a light hi-hat rhythm, launching into an intense solo.

Many who don’t understand rock think the guitar is the most expressive instrument in a solo battle. But those with experience know that a jazz drum solo can be just as electrifying. In terms of pure musical expression, the drum kit may not convey complex emotions, but it’s the instrument most likely to set hearts ablaze. To make a drum solo sound good takes a lot of skill. Poor technique can’t even begin to show the instrument’s charm. But on the other end, top-tier drum masters often prioritize speed and showiness over listenability, sometimes producing rhythms that are impressive but not enjoyable for most people. Instead, it’s usually the mid-tier experts who can play rhythms that really captivate a general audience. In his previous life, Cheng Xiaoyu could judge a drummer’s skill just by looking at his kit—if there were so many drums and cymbals that the drummer was nearly hidden, that usually signaled a frighteningly high level, while a sparse kit suggested the opposite.

Chen Haoran was clearly on the path of pursuing speed and flashy technique. In reality, a band drummer’s most important qualities are rhythm and stability; speed and tricks are secondary. But in a solo duel, speed and technique take precedence.

Since there was no double bass drum in this era, most jazz drumming techniques focused on the snare. Chen Haoran was now displaying snare flourishes: double-stroke rolls, alternating single-stroke rolls, accented displacements, and then moving into multi-bounce rolls.

The multi-bounce roll relies on a combination of wrist control and rebound from the drumhead. This technique looks simple, but it’s actually a very advanced skill. A dazzling multi-bounce roll isn’t just about letting the sticks bounce repeatedly; each stroke must be even, and the drummer has to master a range of connected techniques—far from as simple as it seems. From a technical standpoint, the multi-bounce roll demands that each strike allows the stick to rebound fully off the drumhead, controlling the height of the bounce until it stops. This requires incredible control and vast amounts of tedious practice. Clearly, Chen Haoran had mastered it.

A pure drum solo is something insiders appreciate for its subtleties, while outsiders just enjoy the spectacle. Most people assume that flashy stick tricks and a driving beat mean someone is a great drummer. In truth, real masters often look disheveled when they play, even a bit crazed; to the uninitiated, it might seem like they’re just spasming at the kit.

Listening now, Cheng Xiaoyu had sized up Chen Haoran’s drumming skills. He saw that Chen Haoran was a drum fanatic, obsessed with speed and showmanship. This meant it would be difficult to impress him with his own solo, since speed was not his forte—especially since he hadn’t practiced drums at all in this world yet. If he couldn’t best him with speed, he’d have to win with understanding; and in that, Cheng Xiaoyu was leagues ahead of this era.