Seeing that Zhang Yue often surfed the internet, he decided to ask him and truly got an answer. Qi Shejiang seriously nodded, “Thank you.” Zhang Yue: “……” He fell silent for a moment, suddenly turning his head and covering his cold face with the quilt, shaking it silently a few times.
The next morning, Zhang Yue got up early, preparing to warm up his voice, but he found that someone was up even earlier than him: Qi Shejiang. By the time Zhang Yue went outside, Qi Shejiang was already outside strumming his instrument. He had finished practicing the basic skills for crosstalk and was now onto the “zidi shu,” with the sanxian serving as its accompaniment, a practice he couldn’t slack off on throughout the day. Upon hearing Zhang Yue’s movements, Qi Shejiang glanced back at him. “Morning.” Zhang Yue, a bit surprised, walked over with his hands in his pockets. “…Are you practicing?” “Got to work during the day, so I’m taking this time to practice a bit,” Qi Shejiang replied calmly. Zhang Yue, while surprised, also felt somewhat unsurprised.
Having heard Qi Shejiang sing, he should have realized that the outcome couldn’t be the result of half-hearted effort. Qi Shejiang looked at him again, suddenly smiled, and plucked the strings. In just a few notes, Zhang Yue recognized the melody — it was his own song, the one Qi Shejiang had praised in the restroom before, his signature piece “Autumn Water.” “I’ve only heard it once, so I’m not playing it very accurately,” Qi Shejiang commented.
Zhang Yue was a bit taken aback, “You’ve only heard it once?” If it weren’t for the sincerity written all over Qi Shejiang’s face, Zhang Yue would have thought he was lying to him; his original piece wasn’t even a sanxian piece. And if Qi Shejiang really had only heard it once, did that mean his comments in the restroom weren’t meant to provoke him?
Zhang Yue looked at Qi Shejiang, but Qi Shejiang was focused on pressing the strings.
Qi Shejiang remembered that time when audiences loved novelty and enjoyed various cross-dressing plays and comedic acts.
His father, who didn’t know how to read or follow sheet music, was told by the musicians that staging it was tough. Yet, after only asking them to play twice, he flawlessly performed it, earning their deep admiration.
Qi Shejiang’s fingers lightly plucked the strings, and in a daze, it felt like time had never changed; even his body seemed to recall muscle memory, and every contact with the strings brought a familiar tactile sensation.
Zhang Yue couldn’t help but hum along with Qi Shejiang, his voice flowed like a lake rippling beneath the ice, both piercing and transparent, bearing nuanced and complex emotions, along with a sense of distance and space.
“…Autumn water flows from spring to winter, the sea surface seems to have no difference…” You’ve counted the thirty-nine planed paulownia trees, all just with the wine’s red face.”
Qi Shejiang turned to look at Zhang Yue, the strings matching his tune.
The lingering sound faded, and Zhang Yue and Qi Shejiang gazed at each other for three seconds before simultaneously exclaiming, “You look really good!”
The two then burst into laughter.
Qi Shejiang casually set down the sanxian. “I’ll go boil some hot water, so everyone can wash up later.”
Zhang Yue responded with a “mm,” still squatting in place, and after a moment found it amusing, lowering his head to chuckle a couple of times.
The photographer thought their impromptu collaboration was quite good, but unfortunately, according to the show’s setup, they were destined to be edited to be at odds with each other; otherwise, it wouldn’t live up to the audience’s expectations.
Xie Qing got up, wearing slippers, swaying as she walked out, just in time to hear Qi Shejiang calling for her to wash her face with hot water. She walked over and saw Zhang Yue was also washing his face, while Qi Shejiang was beside him, scooping hot water with a ladle, asking, “Is it ready?” After a moment, Zhang Yue responded with an “Mm,” saying, “All set.” Qi Shejiang poured the remaining water into another basin and handed it to Xie Qing. Xie Qing held the basin, a bit dazed; why did it seem to her that these two had become much more harmonious? Shaking her head, Xie Qing thought it must be her illusion since Zhang Yue had been a bit awkward just yesterday. When it was time to eat, not just Xie Qing, but Xiao Xiaowei and Zhou Dong also sensed something was off.
They knew Zhang Yue well enough to see that while he and Qi Shejiang didn’t talk much, Zhang Yue had lost that prickly edge. “Hey, what’s going on between you two? You’ve acknowledged him as your big brother?” Zhou Dong asked Zhang Yue in a low voice. “Get lost,” Zhang Yue said, stuffing a bun into Zhou Dong’s mouth and walking away. Zhou Dong took the bun out, having chewed a bit, “Ha, I get it now. They must’ve shared a room last night; Jesse must’ve charmed him.” Xiao Xiaowei and Xie Qing chuckled, “Hahaha, isn’t that right? Online, they’re now calling him Zhang Fei.” Zhang Yue: “……” Did these guys know he could hear them??
In the evening, they went to eat open-air barbecue at one of the guest’s homes, making it quite lively on site. After they had eaten enough, some people began to stir up performances—singing, dancing, playing guitar. “Jesse, you should join in!” a guest who knew Xia Yiwei shouted, “Sing one of Yiwei’s songs!” Qi Shejiang didn’t have much of his own work, so he thought it of course had to be his mom’s song.
Xiao Xiaowei and the others, having stayed with Qi Shejiang for more than a day, remembered his joke and said, “Hey, why not tell a comedy skit? Aren’t you a comedy artist?” Hearing this, Qi Shejiang drew a circle on the ground with a stone, casually picked up a pot lid, flipped it over, and placed it on the ground, “Then I’ll tell you all a story; if you think it’s good, applaud a bit more.” Everyone burst into laughter, thinking he was joking. Later, he sold performances during the day and went to night entertainment venues, especially brothels, to perform at night. When he drew a circle on the ground, it called for “drawing a pot,” which is a kind of informal performance, done anywhere, just drawing a circle and performing; the money earned was for food, thus called drawing a pot, hoping to earn enough to fill one’s belly. During these days, Qi Shejiang had also pondered some suitable opening lines, mixing in a few light jokes while observing everyone. He had already decided to tell the story of “Mistaken Identity and Reincarnation.”
He had told this story in a teahouse before, but none of those present had heard it. Most of the audience were fellow performers who had agreed to watch the show, so they were quite focused. Qi Shejiang did not recite a prologue but went straight into the story. “… Yang Haoshan was choked up and said, ‘Isn’t this different from the muddled county magistrate? Can’t you at least arrange for me to have a male identity? But he is a little ghost; how can he contest with the king of hell? Finally, holding his nose, he thought, at least let me be a noble’s wife. County magistrate, today it’s your turn to be unlucky!’” Unknowingly, the scene grew quieter and quieter, everyone listening to Qi Shejiang telling stories. “Yang Haoshan got anxious, and he tore open his jacket, flipping the county magistrate onto the bed, crying and shouting: ‘If you have the ability, come at me! Let’s see if I don’t kill you today!’” After about twenty minutes, Qi Shejiang abruptly cut off his story, and people still wanted more. “Wait, this story isn’t over yet!” “Damn, it’s not going to be a cliffhanger, is it?
