Chapter Nineteen: Ordinary Friendship

After school, the three of them walked out of the campus one after another, leaving Wang Ou behind with a look of deep resentment in his eyes. His expression was much like a concubine banished to the cold palace, so pitiful that one could only relieve the aching sympathy by giving him a good beating. Watching Wang Ou, dressed in a thin long-sleeved shirt, drag a tire along the track as he practiced sprints, Cheng Xiaoyu wore a knowing smile.

In early winter, Shanghai is not truly cold unless the weather turns gloomy and rainy. It is only the icy wind brushing against the cheeks that leaves a rouge-like flush. After school, students walked home in small groups, their laughter echoing along the streets. Teenage girls, wrapped in colorful scarves, lifted their skirts to reveal pale thighs and waited for buses with headphones on. Boys, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, headed toward the subway or bookstores, loudly debating whose album to buy. We lived in these ordinary moments, carrying small hopes: the expectation that a love letter would be answered, that a favorite story would have a satisfying ending, that delicious food awaited us at home, that the cap of a cola bottle would reveal the promise of another free drink.

Youth not devoured by darkness is like a torch blazing in the night sky, illuminating the shadowy steel forest. Yet, as adults, we can only quietly look back on the path we've traveled, raise our heads in search of guiding starlight. Some people wander aimlessly through this perilous forest, some sell their souls to become hunters lurking in the shadows, while others ultimately transform into dazzling morning stars, burning brightly to light the way for lost souls.

But, in the vast river of time, we are just ordinary drops of water, none of us indispensable. Yet, to those we know—family, friends, lovers—we are everything. It matters only that, in our limited years, we choose to warm each other in cold moments, comfort each other in pain, encourage each other in despair, and sincerely bless each other in happiness. Perhaps this is the reason for our existence, ordinary as we may be; even in a world full of ugliness and danger, we believe someone will bravely stand by our side. That is why we are not alone, why we must be strong. We are not solitary, but each other’s support.

At this moment, the three, not yet true friends, still maintained a slight distance as they walked toward the forest of city lights, one after another. The silent procession was bound by an unspoken understanding; no one spoke to break the quiet. Strange, yet harmonious—the oddity lay in the makeup of the group: a not-so-tall, baby-faced boy; a pale, chubby youth with dark circles under his eyes; and a tall, slender girl as delicate as a dandelion. The harmony was in their matched steps, not mechanically uniform but in sync, arms swinging at the same rhythm. In this not-so-cold winter, along a street as picturesque as an oil painting, they became a charming sight, a warm memory to be cherished over drinks years later.

When the three entered the bar, the man with the studded earring was still alone. Seeing the chubby boy behind Chen Haoran, he smiled in greeting, but when he saw Xia Shamo, he seemed instantly petrified. He could just accept Chen Haoran bringing another boy, but seeing him bring a girl felt like a nuclear bomb dropped right in front of him. In his mind, the solitary Chen Haoran was a natural insulator. Witnessing the earring man's collapsed expression, Xia Shamo—her face already flushed from the wind—looked even more like an overripe tomato. Cheng Xiaoyu turned and said, “Hey, handsome, a Coke, and don’t forget the ice.” This time, Chen Haoran did not intervene.

Down in the basement, Cheng Xiaoyu had Xia Shamo sing the song once, then corrected her pronunciation word by word, analyzing how it should be performed.

Since the song launches straight into its high notes without prelude—a rarity—there’s no time for emotional build-up. The singer must immediately convey the gradual intensity and emotion, passionately delivering every note, reinforcing as the pitch rises, making the voice more dramatic. When singing the long “ay,” a deep breath is needed to sustain the two-beat high note with enough breath and power to fully express the character’s feelings.

Cheng Xiaoyu especially emphasized to Xia Shamo that the key to this song was stable breath, powerful high notes, and pointed out every suitable breathing point. Xia Shamo’s comprehension was quite strong; by the second try, she grasped some of the feeling. However, her breath control was still unstable, and her high notes lacked the passionate surge Cheng Xiaoyu required.

Cheng Xiaoyu had Chen Haoran play the drums again. He made few mistakes, but playing solo was still very different from performing with a full band.

Cheng Xiaoyu stood in front of the keyboard, and since it was just an ordinary one, they could only try a simple rehearsal together. He asked Chen Haoran to establish the rhythm, and the three attempted a proper run-through. It was their first time collaborating, so there was no chemistry yet; the song sounded chaotic, with plenty of issues to be resolved by each. Luckily, Cheng Xiaoyu had ears like a sound engineer, precisely identifying both their errors and oversights, which finally convinced Chen Haoran—he felt his loss was justified, whereas before, he had been quite unconvinced.

The greatest shared trait among the three was their focus and persistence; time flew by unnoticed. It wasn’t until the earring man, Huang Yong, refilled their water for the third time and Xia Shamo checked the time on her phone, blushing as she said she needed to hurry home and cook dinner, that they agreed to meet again tomorrow. As Cheng Xiaoyu and Xia Shamo walked out together, Chen Haoran stayed behind to practice, clearly unwilling to accept yesterday’s defeat.

Cheng Xiaoyu accompanied Xia Shamo to retrieve her bicycle at school, continuing to analyze the song’s performance points with her along the way. In this chilly winter, both ended up sweating profusely, but Cheng Xiaoyu felt no fatigue—only a deep, heartfelt joy. Xia Shamo appeared vibrant, less shy, and more full of life. Perhaps it was a small thing to many, but to Cheng Xiaoyu, it was the first step in realizing his self-worth; he’d not only changed himself, but influenced another.

Back at the school gate, Cheng Xiaoyu bid Xia Shamo farewell. Wang Huasheng was still on his way, planning to visit a nearby bookstore. At that time, Huaxia Bookstore and audio shop were combined, selling both books and CDs. Across from the bus stop near the school stood a Fudan Bookstore, which Cheng Xiaoyu decided to browse.

It was still early, so the bookstore wasn’t crowded. Some people stood in the audio section, headphones on, sampling new CDs, while others sat in the book area reading. Though the bookstore was close to Fudan High School, most customers were university students, since high schoolers rarely had time to linger there.

Cheng Xiaoyu wandered through the book section, casually flipping through titles. He wasn’t looking for anything specific; simply strolling through a bookstore was a special pleasure for him.

He picked up the top-selling “Lonely City,” glanced through it and put it back—a typical romance. Then he picked up the second bestseller, a history book “The Rise of Empire from Late Qing to Early Republic,” which happened to cover much history he didn’t know, so he tucked a copy under his arm.

He continued to wander, eventually grabbing the latest issue of “Artist” magazine in the periodical section, planning to check out the audio area next. Though his family subscribed to “Artist,” all the copies were kept in Su Yuxi’s music room, which Cheng Xiaoyu had no intention of entering again, so he had to buy his own.

At that moment, a tall, slender young man with long hair also picked up a copy of “Artist.” In those days, Huaxia boys took pride in their flowing long hair, especially artists and intellectuals; without glossy, jet-black locks, one couldn’t claim true style. As a result, it was nearly impossible to tell men from women by their silhouettes.

There was once a post on the Shanghai Theater Academy forum, a record-breaking thread about guessing gender from the back; twenty photos of students’ backs were posted for people to guess, and the results were astonishing. Only one—who looked most like a boy—was actually a girl, a slightly chubby voice major. All the slender figures with long hair turned out to be men, illustrating the era’s aesthetic.

Cheng Xiaoyu wasn’t particularly opposed to the trend. Back in his rock days, he too felt that without long hair and a pierced ear, one couldn’t be rock’n’roll. In retrospect, it was childish, but who hasn’t been young?

As the long-haired youth passed Cheng Xiaoyu, their bodies brushed in the narrow aisle between bookshelves—Cheng Xiaoyu’s larger frame and the youth’s height making for a close encounter. As the tall young man turned to speak to his companion, his flowing hair whipped across Cheng Xiaoyu’s face. The other didn’t seem to notice, nor did Cheng Xiaoyu mind, though he glanced at the youth a few more times. He headed toward the audio section, just as the two young men did as well, overhearing them discuss a beautiful girl in the audio area. Hearing such familiar talk made Cheng Xiaoyu smile; back in university, he too had roamed with a group of friends, chasing after pretty faces wherever they went.