Chapter Fifty-Two: The Dragon Gate Inn’s Musical Duel

Xu Qinning felt a pang of anxiety from her seat below the stage. She had never seen Cheng Xiaoyu play the guitar and truly had no idea of his skill. After witnessing Du Xing’s performance, she couldn’t help but worry for him. Still, as long as the gap between the two wasn’t too large, the number of flowers thrown by the audience wouldn’t matter much. Her real fear lay in the possibility that the difference in ability was too great—no matter how many flowers were given to Cheng Xiaoyu, it would only invite the audience’s ridicule. Fairness was a cherished value among the people of China.

Yet Xia Shamo had unshakable faith in Cheng Xiaoyu, albeit a blind and unreasoning kind.

Cheng Xiaoyu was oblivious to how many people in the audience were concerned about him. Sitting beneath the spotlight, the guitar cradled in his arms, he felt dazed and distant. The song he wanted to play was a classic from his previous life, a piece every guitarist was compelled to learn.

That’s right—“Hotel California.”

Cheng Xiaoyu’s thoughts drifted far away. He was intimately familiar with this song; it was a sacred ground for every guitar enthusiast. This peerless, world-class hit was one of the most renowned pop songs of the century, spawning a legion of devoted fans. The song’s fame even overshadowed its creators, “The Eagles.”

Listen to the guitar in “Hotel California”—the number one guitar solo in history!

Cheng Xiaoyu’s unfocused gaze swept over the dim and hazy bar, taking in the raucous crowd, the hands raised in toasts, the faces shrouded in smoke, the dreamy eyes—all of it swirling in his mind like a hallucination. He felt as if he were truly inside that metaphorical asylum that was “Hotel California.”

As he stood on stage, lost in thought, the audience below grew restless. Some jeered, others applauded, and most assumed Cheng Xiaoyu was paralyzed by stage fright. None realized that a godly performance was about to begin.

The heat of the spotlight pricked at Cheng Xiaoyu’s skin. A bead of sweat fell onto the guitar strings, exploding in his mind and jolting him from his reverie. In his sudden awakening, he accidentally kicked the microphone stand, causing a shrill screech to blare from the speakers—so piercing that the entire bar fell silent.

Ignoring the startled and uncomfortable looks from the crowd, Cheng Xiaoyu leaned toward the microphone and spoke in a mellow, resonant voice: “A song called ‘Dragon Gate Inn,’ dedicated to everyone present.”

The original prelude and coda of “Hotel California” were performed by two guitars, making it quite challenging to adapt for a solo guitarist, especially the ending. But the highlight was always the introduction, particularly the echoing phrase that required repeated plucking with the index and pinky fingers—a real test of finger strength and flexibility. The coda demanded similar techniques. The accompaniment could be improvised in any key. The song’s arrangement, which used two classical guitars for melody and accompaniment and included folk guitar parts, was a classic in the history of pop music guitar—perhaps the most widely recognized. There was even a rock version, but it never achieved the popularity of the acoustic guitar arrangement.

For his performance at the Forest of Lights bar, Cheng Xiaoyu employed a technique not yet known in this world—a virtuoso skill called “fingerstyle.”

In the music director’s timeline, fingerstyle had developed relatively late in China, so if you were simply a music lover, you might never have heard of it. Its English name is “fingerstyle guitar.”

As the name suggests, fingerstyle highlights the role of the fingers in guitar playing.

In the 1970s, a wave of American folk guitarists began to emerge. Most of them performed alone, without the support of drums or bass. To make their playing more varied, they began to use or invent new techniques. For example, you might listen to the following classic song...

This song, completed in the ’70s, already shows subtle differences from ordinary accompaniment. When arranging it, the composer intentionally staggered the bass and treble parts and used a thumb pick (a pick worn on the thumb) to amplify the bass, making the guitar sound as if two guitars were playing—one strumming chords, the other controlling the bass line. Yet, in reality, it was all played on a single guitar. This is a hallmark of modern fingerstyle—the guitarist aims to create the illusion of multiple guitars or instruments playing together, all with just one instrument.

At the same time, amplifiers for acoustic guitars appeared, and many listeners began to favor the natural sound of the instrument over effects and post-production reverb. Acoustic guitar playing found renewed life, and new techniques evolved to suit modern audiences. Fingerstyle emerged from this environment.

An acoustic guitar, with its wooden body, can be seen as having an extra drum compared to an electric guitar. With the right techniques, a fingerstyle guitarist can mimic the effect of having a jazz drum accompanying the guitar—by striking different parts of the guitar body, they can produce drum sounds of various pitches.

A key aspect of fingerstyle is the use of both hands to generate sound. This reduces the interval between notes, making it seem as if more than one guitar is playing. The left hand can use hammer-ons to create bass notes, while the right hand is fully liberated to play techniques like tapping, pull-offs, plucking, strumming, and even drumming, making the guitar’s sound rich and diverse—a feast for the ears.

What did this mean? It meant that while Du Xing was playing with a single guitar, Cheng Xiaoyu was performing as if he were an entire band. From the outset, this was a battle where the outcome could be determined in a single round—the real difference was how much shock Cheng Xiaoyu could bring to the audience.

Cheng Xiaoyu began by gently strumming, like ripples across a placid lake, breaking the stillness of time and space. He followed with smooth picking, filling the silence with beautiful notes—the repeated motif opening like the curtain of an old film. Then came the languid, decadent rhythm of fingerstyle, immersing every listener in the scene: the vast, empty desert highway at dusk. Everyone could see it—the blood-red sunset on the horizon, and the lonely man speeding down the road in a battered car. As the words “Dragon Gate Inn” appeared before their eyes, the guitar strings began to leap and pulse with urgency, as if foreshadowing imminent danger. The long introduction built a mysterious, elegant, chilling atmosphere to its peak, and Cheng Xiaoyu’s weathered, desolate voice seemed to cast a spell, leading everyone into the heart of Dragon Gate Inn. The entire audience became like worshipers bound in chains at a religious ceremony.

...

The dark moon hangs over the vast desert road, the wind howls cold as travelers long for home,
Eyes weary, sleep overcoming, suddenly the scent of incense and a glimmer of lights,
A graceful woman stands before me, bells ringing sweetly in my ears,
Heaven and hell alike forgotten, as if no longer of this world,
By candlelight she leads me through painted halls, the noise of guests greeting me:
The California Inn welcomes its guests, empty seats awaiting the wanderer’s return.

...

Fragrant clothes, fine hair, beauty’s intent,
The jade gentleman comes always for her,
Songs and dances fill the front courtyard, sweat and passion not yet exhausted:
Even if the music could intoxicate the moon, how could I forget my heart?
I ask the steward for fine wine, but years of neglect leave the cup empty.

...

At midnight, dreaming of the old inn,
Every sound a summons in my ears,
A tired bird lingers in the deep forest,
Content in this joy, with no wish to fly.

...

The precious mirror reflects the wavering candlelight,
Chilled ice glints red with wine,
Guests gather for a grand feast, beauty and wine both shining,
A soft word from her lips stuns the hall, cups and chopsticks pause mid-air:
Steel knives and silver forks in our hands, inner demons not yet dispelled,
Imprisoned by ourselves, we’re captives unaware.
Startled, I search for my old path,
All around, boundless and lost,
Where will I go at dawn?
My companion gently says, "Let us rest a while."
Though we may part for long years, life cannot be abandoned,
The road ahead winds back to old journeys, in this endless cycle.

As the performance entered the magnificent and mournful coda, it was as if Cheng Xiaoyu was guiding every listener through a bizarre and surreal tale—watching as the grand inn rose, entertained its guests, and then collapsed before their eyes. In the bar, everyone could see Dragon Gate Inn withering at the mercy of time, its once-vivid inhabitants aging, dying, their bodies turning to dust and bone. Until all things faded to nothing, and a host of black-robed priests prayed beneath the boundless stars.

The ethereal music turned each note into a shimmering star, and as these stars became the final, fleeting glimmer, the music faded, darkness fell.

The world was destroyed.