But there was nothing to be done; Liu Da had indeed been on TV twice, and the tour guide hyped them up, causing the tourists to feel like they would be missing out on a great show if they didn’t watch a lesser-known act. However, cursing wouldn’t fix the situation; saving the show was what mattered. Boss Wu scanned the backstage, considering who could hold down the fort.
“Boss Wu, why don’t I come and sing a song?” Xia Yiwei suddenly smiled and suggested.
Boss Wu looked at her in astonishment; Xia Yiwei was a real star. But because of that, he had never dreamed of having her save his small venue!
“This… You’re being too kind; I can just find an old actor to cover,” Boss Wu quickly replied.
Though finding someone else might take some effort, it was better than making a joke of the situation—regardless of whether it was Liu Da’s fault or not, failing to handle the matter would reflect his incompetence as the owner.
However, Xia Yiwei said, “Sorry for bothering you tonight; we’re friends, it’s no trouble.”
Seeing her sincerity, Boss Wu was convinced.
They hadn’t developed a deep relationship, but with Xia Yiwei’s temperament, it was no wonder she had managed to stay in the industry as a pretty face for so many years without any major mishaps.
The manager and other actors beside them listened to Boss Wu expressing gratitude, feeling quite curious. It wasn’t until Xia Yiwei took off her sunglasses that they suddenly came to their senses, feeling a bit excited. Did that mean they had shared a stage with a celebrity today?
Since they were in a teahouse, Xia Yiwei looked at Qi Shejiang, and it crossed her mind to invite him to duet “He Bi Xi Xiang” with her. Boss Wu didn’t pay much attention to entertainment news, but Xia Yiwei could bring a son along or even ten or eight sons; it was all fine.
Qi Shejiang also scanned the backstage and smiled, “Then I’ll borrow a string from you to accompany you.”
In the private room, an old man and a young man were sipping tea while coldly watching the scene below. The young man, around seventeen or eighteen, stretched his neck to take a look, saying, “Grandfather, that storyteller was driven off the stage.”
The old man said lightly, “Go find out if those two you mentioned are coming back.”
The young man nodded and left the private room. Shortly after, he returned, saying, “They probably won’t come back, alas.”
If Liu Da were here, he would definitely regret to the bone.
The old man, known by the stage name Liu Quan Hai, was a veteran in the crosstalk circle who had been active on television for decades, with a big disciple who was the vice president of the Beijing Crosstalk Association. Although he hadn’t performed much in recent years, his status mattered. What he said was far more effective than Liu Da running around.
Liu Da had unconsciously become acquainted with Liu Quan Hai through his disciple, who had hinted countless times in front of him, wanting to establish a connection with the old master Liu.
But he never expected that the young man’s spontaneous nature would lead him to casually invite his grandfather to watch his friend’s performance on a whim, praising that his friend performed quite well.
Liu Quan Hai had promoted many younger talents and had a genuine love for talented individuals, so he readily agreed. Who knew they would run into Liu Da and his crew acting all high-and-mighty?
Although the young man said nothing, Liu Quan Hai could guess a bit from the details.
Liu Quan Hai had already made up his mind to leave when suddenly applause and cheers erupted from below. They looked up and saw that there were now two additional people on stage.
The young man focused his gaze and exclaimed, “Hey, they actually invited celebrities? Isn’t that Xia Yiwei and her son, what’s his name, Qi something?
“
At this point, the audience was not just stunned; it was practically about to explode.
Xia Yiwei smoothly calmed the audience and introduced that she would be singing a song derived from the big drum performance “He Bi Xi Xiang” with her son.
With such commotion below, Liu Quan Hai had already started thinking about leaving. He had attended too many evening event performances, and he had seen Xia Yiwei before; it didn’t impress him much.
“Well then, let’s go, what are we still watching the excitement for?” Liu Quan Hai said drearily, getting up to leave. He had no interest in the songs sung by Xia Yiwei with her loud voice.
Just then, the sound of the sanxian began to play.
If it’s mastered finely, its biggest flaw becomes its greatest asset—because it has no set pitch, its high and low variations can be free and flexible, able to be soft or strong.
In northern singing and storytelling, the large sanxian is mostly used.
At this moment, the sound of the large sanxian was clear and round, quite unique.
“He Bi Xi Xiang” tells a love story, and Qi Shejiang’s live accompaniment added a lighter touch to the strings, giving it an extra layer of gentle and lingering feeling that was more fitting.
Liu Quan Hai’s eyes lit up; he stopped in his tracks and genuinely praised, “This string… it’s so smooth and flavorful!”
But Liu Quan Hai wasn’t done; he took two steps back and upon closer inspection, he realized that the person playing the strings was not a musician, but Xia Yiwei’s son.
The young man was caught off guard; he had no idea Qi Shejiang could play the sanxian, muttering, “Not bad, I guess.”
However, in the next moment, when Xia Yiwei sang the chorus, “It’s not dreaming of feelings in the world, waking to desolation,” the song’s emotion reached a climax, and the sanxian produced several sliding middle string notes that surprisingly mimicked the soft calls of wild geese.
Liu Quan Hai couldn’t hide his admiration and turned to the young man, “Skilled transformation of string sounds conveys emotion with objects, expressing forms through sounds; can such skill still be out of tune?”
The young man was also bewildered, a little embarrassed, and replied, “…You should listen to the big drum at the back!”
Who says that just because the strings are played well, the singing must be good?”
That made a certain sense, and Liu Quan Hai settled back down, no longer wanting to leave.
Just then, Xia Yiwei finished the chorus, and it was Qi Shejiang’s turn to sing: “Paper window, Mei shadow, the moon is just rising—”
In the second performance, Qi Shejiang was even more familiar with the routine, starting in a low tone, with a melodious pitch. The ending note was gently drawn out yet still retained tension.
This was a type of singing style in zidi shu, known as “quewei,” which is often used in scenic descriptions or emotional segments.
The singing method in zidi shu is divided into two factions, with the Eastern City tone being spirited and flamboyant, while the Western City tone is gentle and winding. The teacher who taught Qi Shejiang zidi shu mainly focused on the Western City tone, making it particularly suitable for singing “He Bi Xi Xiang.”
The young man was delighted, “This is it, this is it, listen up, what does this sound like?”
It can’t be blamed on him that people in the know are speaking in layman’s terms. Otherwise, just based on his singing skills, it’s clear it has nothing to do with being off-key.
