What kind of logic is that? Qi Shejiang can play the sanxian, but that’s not related to the suona; he does know a little about the jinghu, though. However, Qi Shejiang wasn’t anxious at all; he squatted down and conversed with the old man in dialect: “I can’t play the suona, but can I sing ‘Shen Qing Yang’ for you?” The old man’s cloudy eyes brightened, “You can sing that? No one has sung it for many years!” The others, including the cameraman, were astonished, not expecting Qi Shejiang, with his mixed-race face, could speak dialect. They thought he’d just understood it well, but he actually could? “Shen Qing Yang” turned out to be a local folk song with a history of over a hundred years, originating from a certain county in this province, and later spreading to the capital, using a Tianjin tune. However, it wasn’t particularly famous, and of course, few people sang it now. The old man had listened to a troupe sing this in the countryside long ago; later, there were no such activities, and he wouldn’t search the internet, so he hadn’t heard it again. Now that Qi Shejiang said he would sing, he felt a mix of surprise and confusion—can he really sing?
Singing as he wished, Qi Shejiang casually picked up something to tap on the table as a beat and started singing, “A matter has arisen in Fuzhou City, the county magistrate sits in court to interrogate the Qing sheep. Why do they interrogate the Qing sheep? The Liu family girl and the Li family boy, the two families’ marriage did not come to fruition, Yang’s life is offered to the King of Hell. To the east, there are four houses, with a carpenter named Li Xiang, who has a son of seventeen, with celestial rewards to fill the courtyard…”
The old man was entranced, tilting his head to appreciate it, and when Qi Shejiang finished, he clapped vigorously a few times, standing up and saying, “This is the taste! Young man, you sing well, really well!”
His emotions ran high, and he casually took out the keys, “Here, this is for the harvester!”
