PNB Chapter 22 The You of the Past
Chapter 22 The You of the Past
Wang Bo's voice, carried through the speakers, was like a gust of wind carrying sand, reaching the ears of everyone in the provincial gymnasium.
"I once dreamed of wandering the world with a sword—"
When the first sentence was uttered, the entire room fell silent for at least three seconds.
It wasn't the polite kind of quiet; it was a quiet that came from being so captivated by the sound that one forgot to speak.
The sense of vicissitude in that voice, the quality of "I've been through it all, I understand it, but I still choose to move forward," formed a strange contradiction with that young face, yet it was also damnably harmonious.
In the VIP area, Chen Mingyuan's wine glass, which he had brought to his lips, stopped in mid-air.
Lin Wan's mouth was slightly open, without her even realizing it.
Su Xiaoxiao clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, but she felt no pain.
On stage, Wang Bo closed his eyes slightly, his fingers skillfully sliding across the guitar strings. As his emotions progressed, he became completely immersed in the music.
"Take a look at the world's splendor—"
The second line begins with a drumbeat, a soft but steady "thump," like a heartbeat.
The bass followed closely behind, deep and rhythmic, providing the foundation for the entire song.
"A young heart is always a little impetuous—"
Upon hearing this, a senior male student in a plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses, standing in a corner of the audience, suddenly froze.
His name is Li Hang, he is a computer science major, and he broke up with his girlfriend of three years a month ago.
The reason is very practical—he received an offer from a large company in Shenzhen, while she was admitted to a graduate program in Beijing.
"I'm going to Yenching University for graduate studies, for three years."
"I have to go to Shenzhen; that company pays better. My family..."
"So? Three years of long-distance relationship?"
"I can fly over to see you often..."
"Li Hang, stop lying to yourself. You have to scrimp and save to afford even a round-trip plane ticket."
On the day they broke up, they sat by the school's small lake for an entire afternoon. Neither of them cried; they simply watched the lake quietly, like two elderly people who had prematurely entered middle age, calmly accepting a destined separation.
But now, upon hearing the line "Young hearts are always a little reckless," Li Hang suddenly felt a lump in his throat.
He remembered that year in college, when he held her hand and ran laps around the track. She said, "Li Hang, slow down," and he said, "No, I want to take you to see the whole world."
A young heart is indeed impetuous.
I thought that holding hands meant we could be together forever, and that saying "I love you" would shield me from all the storms of reality.
"Now you call the world your home—"
Wang Bo's voice rose slightly here, not as a high note to show off his skills, but as a sense of relief and composure.
The string section joins in at this point, with violins and violas weaving together to create a warm soundscape, like a pair of gentle hands that softly support the vicissitudes in the song.
Li Hang lowered his head, took off his glasses, and vigorously wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
On the stage, Wang Bo opened his eyes and gazed into the distance, as if he could see a wider sky through the roof of the stadium.
"The girl who once broke your heart—"
This sentence, like a key, suddenly unlocked the rusty lock in many people's hearts.
In the second row of the VIP section, a middle-aged man wearing a custom-made suit and a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist suddenly trembled.
His name is Ren Jianhua, an alumnus of the Civil Engineering Department of Class of '78, chairman of the Reconstruction Group, with a net worth conservatively estimated at 3 billion yuan.
Zhang Hongyuan, who sang "Nothing to My Name" on stage, is his junior. The two lived in the same dormitory building and pursued the same girl together.
The girl's name was Lin Xiaoyu. She was from the School of Literature. She wasn't particularly pretty, but she had two dimples when she smiled and a soft voice, like the rain in Jiangnan.
Ren Jianhua pursued her for a whole year, writing love letters, bringing her breakfast, and playing the guitar downstairs at her dormitory—that guitar is still in the basement of his villa, covered in dust.
In her senior year of college, Lin Xiaoyu agreed to be with him.
But after graduation, he went to the Northwest, while she stayed in the provincial capital.
After two years of long-distance relationship, she finally wrote to me saying, "Jianhua, I'm getting married. My fiancé is a local who works in a government agency and can provide me with a stable life. I'm sorry."
The day he received the letter, he drank a whole bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) in a work shed in the Northwest and vomited until he was dizzy and disoriented.
Later, he resigned from his government job and went into business. He struggled and endured countless hardships before finally becoming the enviable CEO, Mr. Ren.
He married a woman of equal social standing, had two children, lived in a mansion, drove luxury cars, and attended various high-end events.
Everyone says he's successful and that his life is fulfilling.
Only he himself knew that in all these years, he had never heard anyone call him "Jianhua" instead of "President Ren" like Lin Xiaoyu did.
I've never seen anyone smile like that again, with those two shallow dimples.
"Now they've vanished without a trace—"
Wang Bo's voice is handled exceptionally well here. There is no deliberate attempt to evoke emotion; he simply narrates calmly. But beneath that calm lies a tremendous undercurrent of emotion that has been tempered by the passage of time.
Ren Jianhua felt a surge of heat in his eyes.
He was over fifty years old and had been in the business world for thirty years. He thought he was invulnerable and hard-hearted.
But now, a single lyric reminds him of the girl with two dimples when she smiled, of the bottle of Erguotou in the construction shed in Northwest China, and of his younger self—that silly boy who could play guitar, write love poems, and believe in love.
He quietly turned to the side, pretending to adjust his posture, but actually quickly wiped away a bit of moisture from the corner of his eye with his fingertips.
Sitting next to him was his assistant, a capable young man who keenly sensed his boss's emotional fluctuations but cleverly pretended not to notice.
On stage, the song entered its interlude.
A guitar solo begins.
It's not a complicated solo that shows off technical skills, but a melodic line full of narrative, like someone telling their own story, with ups and downs, twists and turns, climaxes and troughs.
Drummer Lao Zhao was completely in the zone, his drumming was dense yet orderly, and every strike was precisely on the emotional beat.
The keyboardist closed his eyes, his body swaying gently to the rhythm.
The four students in the string section—two violins, one viola, and one cello—played with great passion; one of the girls playing the violin even had tears in her eyes.
The trumpeter, the veteran Zhou Yuji poached from a jazz bar, delivered a textbook-worthy solo.
It is weathered and ancient, with a metallic texture, yet full of human warmth.
The voice was like an invisible hand, reaching into the chest of every listener and gently grasping their heart.
The audience was in complete ecstasy.
"Wow... this song..."
"It sounds so good! And it feels so real!"
"I got goosebumps!"
Backstage, by the curtain, the disdain on Guan Lin's face had long since vanished.
She crossed her arms, but her fingers gripped her arms tightly, her knuckles turning white.
She has listened to countless songs, her own and others', popular and niche. She knows all too well what kind of song is a "good song" and what kind of performance is a "good performance".
And what's on stage now... it's not just "good," it's "absolutely amazing."
Xiao Kai stopped playing on his phone, stood up straight, and stared intently at the stage.