Chapter Eighteen: Shall We Play Big?

After hanging up the phone, Old Wang looked at Lin Ze and Su Zitan with a peculiar expression.

Is he really a celebrity?

Why does my daughter like these middle-aged stars? How strange.

“Now you can rest assured, right?” Lin Ze said with a smile.

“Just barely,” Old Wang replied, then asked, “How much do you charge for your songs?”

“Not a cent!” Lin Ze waved his hand grandly.

“We’re here solely to promote our cultural heritage,” Su Zitan nodded in agreement.

[Hey, are you really not just here for a free band?]

[What! The person above is a troll! Moderator, mute them!]

[Old Wang: Can you put down the guitar on your back before you say that?]

They found a quieter spot, and the uncles and aunties from the folk music group set down their instruments.

The group had come together out of shared interest, and some of the members had only learned their instruments later in life.

Old Wang distributed the sheet music Lin Ze had given him and went around helping those who weren’t too familiar with the notes.

Meanwhile, Lin Ze taught Su Zitan some vocal techniques.

“No, no, you’re still too tense,” Lin Ze observed.

Su Zitan was no more than a karaoke queen; her singing was all about what felt natural, never formally trained.

Lin Ze stroked his chin thoughtfully, then reached his arm around Su Zitan’s waist, placing his hand on her lower abdomen.

“Hey!” Su Zitan slapped his hand.

“Don’t move. Just follow the pressure of my hand, and remember how you felt when you recited poetry in middle school.”

“Poetry recitation?” Su Zitan couldn’t help but recall the school talent show from those days.

She’d performed a modern poem, her cheeks painted bright red, reciting passionately on stage. Lin Ze had teased her about it all the way until she graduated middle school.

[What’s going on here?]

[Guys, I have it—I’ll go look for it and call you when I find it.]

“Now, use your diaphragm to slowly send out your breath, and watch your mouth shape,” Lin Ze instructed, pressing lightly on her stomach to help her adjust her breath.

“Enunciation matters too—open your mouth when you sing.”

“How do I open it?” Su Zitan pouted.

Lin Ze glanced around, and seeing the older folks still busy practicing, he suddenly stole a kiss from Su Zitan’s lips.

Old Wang looked over, squinting at them.

Strange. Nearing forty, and still so attached to each other?

After a moment, Lin Ze let go of Su Zitan.

“Did you get it?”

Su Zitan caught her breath, her eyes soft as water. “It always feels strange, kissing a face like yours.”

“Did you?” Lin Ze gazed into her eyes. “Looking into those eyes where the stars flow, I’ve forgotten how you look in the mortal world.”

[Here we go again, huh?]

[Xiao Qian: Do you all think I don’t exist?]

[Poor Xiao Qian! I’m dying of jealousy, my mouth stuffed with dog food, and still has to keep filming for us.]

“Huh? Xiao Qian?” Su Zitan suddenly noticed Xiao Qian nearby.

[Haha, really didn’t see her?]

[Xiao Qian: ?]

“All right, enough. Practice, quickly!” Su Zitan shoved Lin Ze’s face away.

“Ah, these young-at-heart old folks,” Old Wang shook his head.

The song wasn’t difficult, and Su Zitan soon got the hang of it.

Old Wang went out and bought a bag of bottled water, handing a couple to Lin Ze and Su Zitan.

“Uncle, when does our competition start?” Lin Ze asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Old Wang replied, sipping from his thermos.

“...But didn’t I hear you say you hadn’t even picked a song yet?”

“That’s right. We’ve practiced two or three songs, but none of them felt right,” Old Wang admitted.

“And now you’re changing songs—will you have enough time?”

“We’re not worried. Why should you be?” Old Wang shrugged. “We’ll see how it goes today. If it doesn’t work, we’ll pick another.”

He closed the lid of his thermos. “By the way, do you know ‘The Wild Colt on the Prairie’?”

Lin Ze hesitated.

“Why don’t we just invite the original singer, Lin Chunshui, to come perform?”

“Ha, just admit you can’t sing it! Stop boasting,” Old Wang rolled his eyes and walked away with his hands behind his back.

“Sister Lin really is a goddess to middle-aged fans,” Su Zitan remarked.

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be one too.”

…

“Boss! Dry-fried pork intestines, twice-cooked pork, and a bowl of rice!”

“Eh? Why does the food taste different today?”

“Right? It’s even better than before.”

On a street beside Tong County’s commercial plaza, there was a small restaurant, once run by an elderly couple, but today it seemed new people were in charge.

The prices here were low, the most expensive dish only thirteen yuan.

Two dishes and a bowl of rice for two, costing less than twenty all together, and the food was delicious.

The place was busier than ever. In the kitchen, the chef’s spatula was practically sparking.

“Maybe you should just take off your makeup. No one can see you in the kitchen anyway,” Pei Xue said to Zhao Funing with concern.

“Let me finish this dish first,” Zhao Funing replied, so tired her hands were trembling.

She wondered how the old man had managed this every day.

When the dish was done, the elderly couple’s daughter helped serve it.

Moments later, the daughter hurried over, phone in hand.

“There’s a big delivery order—ten dishes!”

“Oh, all right!” Zhao Funing shook out her arms.

…

“It’s all ordered!” an aunt cheerfully waved her phone, then walked over to Lin Ze.

“Teacher Zhou, what was that fingering you just showed us?”

Lin Ze patiently taught the group.

“Use the pad of your finger to slide to this note, and keep the rhythm steady.”

“You know this too?” Old Wang asked, surprised.

After finishing the lesson, Lin Ze stretched. “Of course. I’m a high-quality idol, after all.”

“Aren’t you going home to rest at noon?” he asked curiously.

“Rest? What for?”

Before Old Wang could answer, the aunt who ordered lunch spoke up.

“The oldest of us is just over sixty. We’re still young! We don’t nap at noon.”

“Barely sixty—we’re middle-aged,” Old Wang said, swirling his thermos. “We just want to have some real fun while we still can.”

Looking at the uncles and aunties in the folk music ensemble, Lin Ze thought of the ones in the Western orchestra as well.

“How about we do something big?”

Old Wang looked at Lin Ze doubtfully. “How big?”

“Maybe not world famous, but at least famous across the country.”

“Ha! You sure know how to talk big.”

Lin Ze watched the group’s earnest faces as they handled their instruments.

He chuckled softly.

“Don’t believe me, Uncle Wang?”

“Not a word,” Old Wang replied, spitting a goji berry into the flowerbed.

“Then let’s make a little name for ourselves tomorrow morning.”