Later in the night, a few of MOIO’s subordinates began to coax Xie Jia Yi into singing for entertainment. He waved them off, but then Zhou Yuqian’s men joined in, choosing a popular, easy-to-sing song from the playlist and thrusting a wireless microphone into his hand. One could ignore their own colleagues’ requests, but not those from a partner company. Fortunately, Xie Jia Yi had sung in his dorm room during his school days, so singing a song was not beyond him.
However, when the song’s name appeared on the big screen and the familiar tune began, Xie Jia Yi froze. It was a melancholic love song he knew well, one he could sing without looking at the lyrics. He brought the microphone to his lips, and the lyrics rolled out naturally from his throat:
“Missing you, day by day, my loneliness remains unchanged…”
The low male voice, like an autumn leaf gently falling from a branch, carried a cool breeze, brushing past, laden with deep affection and struggle, weighing heavily on the heart. It then became a sharp axe, slicing through the flow of time, falling back to years ago –
The end of high school, the boys in his class gathered in a shabby karaoke hall to celebrate the end of their college entrance exams. No luxurious private rooms, no expensive wines, no pretty girls, just a bunch of broke students, holding 750ml bottles of Tsingtao beer, clinking bottles with great gusto. With a bit of drunkenness, he sang:
“The autumn wind, blowing one gust after another, reminds me of this time last year…”
Last autumn, his Lai Hui, under the moonlight on the playground, told him:
“I like you, I like Xie Jia Yi!”
