By the time Shao Mingyin had listened to the two beats, the rice in his bowl was no longer as warm as it had been before. He frowned slightly, but there was still a smile on his face. He shook his head at Liang Zhen, somewhat skeptical, and asked, “Are you sure these were cut from that day?”

Liang Zhen nodded confidently.

“It’s different from what I imagined,” Shao Mingyin paused, “completely different. I thought it would be…”

“How to put it,” Liang Zhen scratched his head, “I felt a big gap when I listened back, not in terms of technique or musicality, just… just that I thought it would be very excited and intense, but actually, after the first ten minutes, the melody was very…”

“Very gentle.”

They almost spoke in unison, describing the two beats and the accordion and guitar from that day as very gentle.

Liang Zhen felt a bit embarrassed: “You were very gentle. I couldn’t come up with that kind of melody myself. It was you who played gently, and I followed the rhythm.”

“Some of it was what my mom used to play for me. I still remember a bit of it…” Shao Mingyin slightly turned his head, lowered his eyes, and licked his lower lip, “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Then we won’t,” Liang Zhen tactfully replied, “But if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”

Shao Mingyin smiled and, looking at him earnestly, said a long “Okay.”

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Liang Zhen had almost finished eating by now, “I’ll definitely add lyrics to these two beats, and if I have performances, I’ll sing them.”

“Why are you specifically telling me this?”

“Without you, there wouldn’t be that recording for me to sample. These two beats are also your hard work,” Liang Zhen said righteously, “It’s the 21st century. We need to talk about copyright.”

Shao Mingyin laughed: “What? Do I get royalties?”

“You could actually name a price, and I could buy the rights directly. But if you’re okay with it, or if you believe in me, when I make money in the future, I’ll give you a big red envelope!”

Shao Mingyin hadn’t thought that far ahead. He tapped Liang Zhen’s forehead with his chopsticks and said, “Then let’s wait until you make money.”

“I’ll definitely make money, and then I’ll throw it all in my dad’s face.”

“Are you sure your dad will care about the money you make from rapping?”

“Why wouldn’t he care? I earned it myself. Anyway, I care!” Liang Zhen started muttering, “Do you not believe in me? Do you think I’m bragging?”

Shao Mingyin didn’t answer directly but picked up some shredded pork for him: “Eat first, eat first.”

Liang Zhen got a bit serious: “Do you really…”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in you. You need to eat to have the strength to make money,” Shao Mingyin reasoned, “I’m waiting for the day you release an album, go on a nationwide tour, and participate in various music festivals, making enough money to buy a GT4 and a house in Zhongrui Manhattan Green City Plaza.”

Hearing Shao Mingyin’s words, Liang Zhen’s mouth almost curved up to the sky: “So you really care about and believe in me, huh.”

Shao Mingyin: …

Liang Zhen proudly continued: “You care about my future, Shao Mingyin. You care about me.”

If it had been before, Shao Mingyin would have argued with him for saying something so self-congratulatory, but seeing Liang Zhen so spirited, he couldn’t bring himself to dampen his enthusiasm.

“Fine— I care about you— kiddo—” Shao Mingyin dragged out the words, not exactly perfunctory, but rather helplessly accepting.

Since Shao Mingyin had said that, Liang Zhen didn’t mind being called a kid. Thinking about it now, he found that being called kid was quite endearing and affectionate. He really was a kid; his thoughts changed so quickly, how delightful!

Liang Zhen didn’t bring his guitar that day but did bring paper and pen. After washing up, he lay on the small bed, pensively writing. Since he was lying on his stomach, he kicked his legs up and wiggled them from time to time, really treating this place like home without any regard for his image. Shao Mingyin, who always slept early, had left a small battery-operated lamp for him. After writing for a while, Liang Zhen planned to lie down, but seeing Shao Mingyin’s blanket only covering him up to his stomach, he turned off the lamp and tiptoed towards the large bed by the window.

Shao Mingyin never fully closed the curtains when he slept, preferring to leave a meter-wide gap to let the moonlight in. On the first day, he had asked Liang Zhen if such a wide-open curtain would affect his rest, and Liang Zhen had said it wouldn’t, so Shao Mingyin didn’t close them all the way. Liang Zhen never asked, but he had a hunch that Shao Mingyin didn’t like too dark environments; otherwise, he wouldn’t always face the window before sleeping.

Shao Mingyin was a light sleeper, which was evident a few days ago when Liang Zhen got up at night to use the bathroom. Despite his careful movements, Shao Mingyin had turned on the bedside lamp. Liang Zhen felt very apologetic and asked if he had disturbed him. Shao Mingyin said no, but his voice was clear, without any trace of sleepiness.

So now, as soon as Liang Zhen sat on the floor by Shao Mingyin’s window, Shao Mingyin opened his eyes, his brows and eyes soft like a calm lake in the moonlight, tranquil without any ripples.

Shao Mingyin asked: “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Liang Zhen leaned forward: “I want to look at you.”

Shao Mingyin pulled the quilt up to his shoulders and asked him, “What’s there to look at? Haven’t you seen enough since you moved in?”

Liang Zhen shook his head: “Not enough.”

Shao Mingyin laughed. He was about to turn over to end the conversation, but then he heard Liang Zhen say, “I haven’t sung for you today.”

Shao Mingyin didn’t turn over. The person in front of him was very close, backlit. If it were someone else, he would be very wary and feel offended.

But that person was just sitting obediently on the floor, probably scared from being kicked a few times before. He didn’t stubbornly try to climb onto the bed like occupying territory. That person was Liang Zhen. Shao Mingyin remained silent and then made a sound from his nose, “Mm.”

Liang Zhen, having received permission, said softly: “Then I’ll sing for you. You’ll fall asleep listening.”

Shao Mingyin didn’t say anything more, instead closing his eyes and rubbing his face against the pillow, looking like he intended to sleep. Liang Zhen didn’t even dare to clear his throat for fear that the slight frown on Shao Mingyin’s face would deepen. When he started singing, his voice was deliberately thin, making it sound like someone counting sheep, perfectly poised between wakefulness and sleep.

He hummed:

“I look northward

Playing old songs on the piano

No one sees me

How sad I feel inside”

He was originally sitting casually, one leg flat on the ground, the other bent, his arm resting on his knee. As he sang, he gradually put down his bent leg, placing his elbow only on the edge of the bed so the sheet wouldn’t crease. With his eyes closed, Shao Mingyin might not notice his small movements.

“I sit in the old place

I look up at the sky

Can’t find the Big Dipper

I only see the moon”

He rested his chin on the back of his hand on the bed edge, bringing him even closer to Shao Mingyin. Close enough to study the curve of his brow, count his eyelashes in the moonlight, and notice the slight tremor of his eyelids. From this angle, Shao Mingyin’s nose wasn’t as prominent as from the side, but the connection between his nose and upper lip had a tiny shadow.

In the moonlight, he could see Shao Mingyin clearly, not missing even that tiny shadow.

“I walked through the village

Alone on the road

I walked over the hills

I couldn’t express my desolation”

Liang Zhen suddenly felt a bit down. He should be happy; he had many reasons to be. For instance, he finally broke through his creative bottleneck, making the beats himself, singing the hooks. Once the verses were recorded, the release was just around the corner.

He planned to release only one song, the first one he let Shao Mingyin hear, though that beat wasn’t his favorite as it sampled someone else’s work. His favorites were the two they played together, barely altered after sampling, maintaining their original form. If he had to make major changes, Liang Zhen would be reluctant, for every frame had Shao Mingyin’s accordion sound, and he couldn’t bear to alter any of them.

And now, Shao Mingyin was right in front of him.

These days, he was the closest to Shao Mingyin, who hadn’t pushed him away. He should be happy.

“I walked through the city

I lost my way

I walked through life

I heard no singing”

Originally, he intended to sing Shao Mingyin to sleep, but instead, he grew more melancholic as he sang. Perhaps over-excitement leads to sadness, with some negative emotions and worries surfacing in his mind.

For example, what if the song’s reception was mediocre? It probably wouldn’t be ignored, given he’d helped many people with their hooks, gaining some minor fame. But if people’s only comment was “the hook is good,” that would be too embarrassing.

What if he couldn’t make money? Liang Zhen’s goal for the year was to earn at least enough for his senior year tuition, tens of thousands of yuan. In the past, he’d spend more than that on a single meal for friends, but now the road ahead was uncertain. He was indeed worried, facing a deadline. If he hadn’t achieved anything by then, he’d have to concede to his father.

This was the scenario Liang Zhen feared the most. For instance, ten or twenty years from now, he might take over his father’s job and become the type of person he never wanted to be.

He might stop singing, just like the lyrics say, “I’ve walked through life, but I haven’t heard singing, and no one has heard me sing.” The gap between dreams and reality had finally hit Liang Zhen. Despite all his advantages and hopes, he still felt fear.

His first nineteen years were smooth sailing, with material wealth preventing him from ever considering such issues. But now he faced a sudden depletion of savings and no income. Everything was so real that he didn’t know whether moving forward would lead to vast open skies or complete failure, forcing him back to the predetermined path others have set for him.

But things weren’t all that bad, nor should they be. He needed to plan ahead but shouldn’t be paralyzed by fear of the future, even if he was alone, even if no one heard him sing…

“I can hear you sing.”

In the silence after Liang Zhen’s song, Shao Mingyin said, “I can hear you sing.”

Shao Mingyin said this while nudging his pillow and lifting his head slightly, so half of his face was still buried in the pillow. His first words were a bit muffled, sounding like a dream mutter. After opening his eyes and meeting Liang Zhen’s gaze, he repeated, “I can hear you sing.”

After saying this, he closed his eyes again, as if not wanting Liang Zhen to see his emotions, and buried his face even deeper. Liang Zhen stayed in his position, chin resting on his arm, while his other hand, compelled by Shao Mingyin’s words, adjusted the corner of the blanket.

He told himself to pull his hand back, but even after trying to restrain himself, he slowly moved his hand up. He was about to touch Shao Mingyin’s hair when he pulled his fingers back, ultimately not touching it.

He withdrew his hand instead of disturbing Shao Mingyin, who was on the verge of sleep and defenseless. His nose stung a bit, but looking at Shao Mingyin, he couldn’t help but smile.

He had considered so many “what ifs” but never thought about what would have happened if he hadn’t met Shao Mingyin on that rainy day. He had decided that if no one listened or cared, he would go back and stop singing. Whether this meant not singing that day or ever again, he wasn’t sure.

Because before this “what if” happened, he had already met Shao Mingyin.

And now, Shao Mingyin was right in front of him.

Liang Zhen’s favorite folk band was Wild Child. The lead singer, Zhang Weiwei, sang a song that deeply touched him, almost causing him to cry during their Beijing concert. A friend next to him kept reassuring him, saying everything would be okay.

Such a utopia also existed in Shijiazhuang. The name “Shijiazhuang” itself was utopian—rock hometown, literally translating to the hometown of rock. It was the birthplace of the band Omnipotent Youth Society.

Liang Zhen had always done trap-style rap, a genre born in Atlanta, USA. Later, a fan from Guizhou gave high praise after seeing a local label’s live performance in Chongqing, saying it was so explosive that the city should be called “Chong-tlanta.” As this label rose from underground to mainstream fame, “Chong-tlanta” became a term to describe the city’s unique magic. But initially, “Chong-tlanta” was just a small recording studio, a utopia for rappers.

And now, right in front of him was Shao Mingyin. Liang Zhen was in his own utopia.

He looked around, taking in every corner of this small apartment by the moonlight. He had played guitar on the bed, drummed on the floor, sung at the kitchen door, and written tunes on the camping bed.

And Shao Mingyin? He listened to him sing in the kitchen, at the folding dining table, while hanging clothes on the balcony, and now, in his sleep. Every moment in this small apartment, whenever music played, Shao Mingyin was listening.

Shao Mingyin would hear him sing.

From the beginning, from the song “Lanzhou, Lanzhou,” Shao Mingyin had been listening to him sing.

Liang Zhen very carefully moved closer to Shao Mingyin, silently mouthing words. First opening his mouth, then closing it, lips parting as his tongue touched the roof of his mouth—those two words were “Shao Mingyin.”

Shao Mingyin, Liang Zhen mouthed silently, I will keep singing.

As long as you are still listening, as long as Shao Mingyin was listening, Liang Zhen would keep singing.

He quietly returned to his small bed, and lying there, looking at Shao Mingyin’s silhouette, he realized why he kept coming back. This small apartment of less than forty square meters was his rock hometown, his Chong-tlanta.

Here, with Shao Mingyin, was Liang Zhen’s utopia.