Liang Zhen’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as an unusual calm washed over him. He took two steps forward and, to everyone’s surprise, snatched the microphone from Jewish.

Even MC, who was just about to announce the champion, was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Liang Zhen to step forward again. DJ hurriedly reached for the turntable, but Liang Zhen gestured to him to hold on.

Now even MC was unsure what Liang Zhen intended to do. The confusion on stage quickly spread to the audience, and the livehouse fell silent. All eyes turned back to Liang Zhen, who didn’t keep them waiting long. His first words into the mic were, “Can I do acapella?”

“Alright, let’s do it!” MC respected Liang Zhen’s guts. Despite the immense pressure, he dared to freestyle without a beat. MC stepped back, pointing at Liang Zhen again for another introduction:

“Lanzhou!”

The room was quiet enough that this shout of “Lanzhou” was the clearest one yet. Everyone heard where Liang Zhen was from, and another voice from the audience echoed the city’s name and Liang Zhen’s name in sync with the MC.

“Lanzhou!” Shao Mingyin looked up at the person under the spotlight, “Liang Zhen!”

“Yo, I know in battle, anything goes, but not when it comes to my homeland where I come from!”

Without any accompaniment, Liang Zhen began to freestyle. Throughout the competition, he’d used standard Mandarin, but now each word came out with a distinct Lanzhou accent—recognizable but not hard to understand.

“That’s right, I come from Lanzhou, Gansu, Northwest, a beautiful part of our country.”

“I’m not here to talk about Dunhuang, the Mogao Caves, the ancient Tea Horse Road, or the Hexi Corridor.”

“Where we have Han, Hui, Manchu, and Tibetan people, Yellow River beer, Flying Sky cigarettes, and silver mines.”

“Unlike your Wenzhou, where all you sing about are the bankrupt leather factories.”

When he dropped the punchline about the leather factories, not only the audience but even Jewish laughed, nodding and giving a thumbs up, impressed with the clever jab.

“But Lanzhou doesn’t need me to speak for it, or to sing for it.”

“Lanzhou has Zhang Weiwei, Lao Lang, and Li Zhi to sing for it.”

“But I still have to tell you,”

“Even if I tell you, you wouldn’t understand.”

Liang Zhen said, filled with homesickness, firmness, and a silent roar. He looked at Jewish and said, “You don’t know!”

The DJ began to lay down a beat, and Liang Zhen’s voice fit perfectly into the rhythm:

“You don’t know what it’s like to have mountains in front and the Yellow River’s waterwheel behind.”

“You haven’t seen seeds growing endlessly, landing in dry fields with mugwort, goji berries, and dates.”

“You can’t even order a single skewer at a barbecue, let alone understand the thrill of lamb skewers and beef platters on the table.”

“Strangers don’t care for your Blue Liqun cigarettes; they would rather ask me for a Black Lanzhou to reminisce about their youth.”

Liang Zhen spoke with the determination of one who has nothing to lose, addressing everyone present: “These are things you don’t know.”

He began to walk toward Jewish, each step punctuated by a sentence:

“Because the picturesque landscape isn’t your creation.”

“The railroads and roads weren’t built by you.”

“The gold and silver mountains weren’t earned by you.”

“The factories and companies weren’t started by you.”

Liang Zhen stood directly in front of Jewish, only an arm’s length away. With his finger pointing down to the floor, he emphasized each word:

“It was your ancestors’ hardship and diligence that made Wenzhou what it is today for you to flaunt.”

Liang Zhen’s verse had no rhymes, but with each sentence, the crowd grew quieter, feeling as if his words struck at the core of every Wenzhou person, especially the younger generation.

They were the generation that enjoyed the fruits of their predecessors’ labor. When they were born, Wenzhou was no longer the fishing village of forty years ago. It hadn’t even taken forty years for Wenzhou and its people to become an unmatched symbol and representation. They seemed to forget that the Wenzhou they were proud of wasn’t built by them but by the hardship of their ancestors, as Liang Zhen pointed out.

But Liang Zhen hadn’t forgotten. He wasn’t from Wenzhou, but he hadn’t forgotten.

Because he knew, because—

“The struggles and efforts were no less than those of developing the Northwest.”

Liang Zhen pounded his chest, and Shao Mingyin could even hear the sound and see the invisible dust particles stirred up by the motion. Liang Zhen declared:

“And I am just as proud of my city.”

As that pride settled, the crowd first fell into a silence, then erupted in a burst of excitement and restlessness like never before. Shao Mingyin could feel the floor trembling, and several people beside him were ecstatic, constantly exclaiming “Wow” and “Awesome.” One person was so carried away that their memory seemed to falter, sticking out their tongue and asking the young man next to them what his name was.

“His name is Liang Zhen,” Shao Mingyin nodded to the person, his voice trembling for some unknown reason, but it was a solid pride. “He’s Liang Zhen from Lanzhou.”

The DJ’s accompaniment stopped, and Liang Zhen also stepped back. He remained calm yet carried a certain inherent pride. Pointing his finger towards the crowd, without uttering a word, he quelled the excitement that had risen for him.

“You said the people below came for Wenzhou—”

Liang Zhen had more to say, unrelated to victory or defeat, but he had something to say.

“You said your microphone in hand lets your light shine—”

Liang Zhen smiled lightly, so subtle, so imperceptible, yet Shao Mingyin caught it.

Shao Mingyin heard it too, heard Liang Zhen’s hand touching his chest again, stopping at the heart. With no accompaniment, Liang Zhen held the microphone, standing in the center of the stage, bathed in the spotlight.

Liang Zhen said, “But today, someone came just for me. That’s my treasure.”

Liang Zhen said, “Like the blood of Lanzhou, forever flowing in my heart.”

Everyone heard it too. It’s unclear who shouted first, amidst the cheers, the name “Liang Zhen” became unified repeatedly, then separated again due to the increasing frequency, then “Lanzhou,” and then Liang Zhen’s name again. Now, many people remembered Liang Zhen’s name and where he came from. This made Shao Mingyin, who hadn’t uttered a word, stand out even more. He just kept looking at Liang Zhen, the cool, silent Liang Zhen—until the necklace symbolizing the district champion was placed around his neck by his opponent, like a Jewish ritual.

Liang Zhen still caressed the pendant, lowering his head. From the moment he picked up the microphone again, it was the first time he lowered his head. His gaze fell on the foremost part of the stage, and he walked towards it, walking in front of Shao Mingyin, causing Shao Mingyin to tilt his head up even more, as if looking up at a victorious young hero returning in triumph.

With his head tilted up, Shao Mingyin smiled. Even from such a “deathly angle,” Liang Zhen, with just the curve of his lips, was still handsome, cool, and good-looking. Liang Zhen, looking very handsome and cool, slowly squatted down, not just bending his knees, his left knee touched the floor.

It was only in front of Shao Mingyin that Liang Zhen started to smile with his tiger teeth showing. He would only show the small tiger tooth on his left side without reservation, playful and green, full of youth.

Then he took the necklace medal off his own neck.

Like a proposal on one knee, he put the championship necklace around Shao Mingyin’s neck.