Chapter Eleven: Return to Yanjing Once More

In early winter, Yanjing was suffused with a dry chill unique to the north. Had this been the south, the cold would have been damp instead, but it never quite reached the same biting intensity—unless it rained, in which case even layered clothes could not stave off the bone-deep cold. But here, the air quality was good, a testament to a century’s worth of environmental reform since the late twentieth century. Thanks to scientific advancements, clean energy had replaced polluting sources, drastically reducing contamination and bringing back fresh air. History books recalled that most world powers had endured environmental crises during industrialization—words like “Fog City,” “smog,” and “PM2.5” were relics of that era’s conflict between industry and environment. Fortunately, Lin Qihua lived in a time unmarred by such concerns.

This was not Lin Qihua’s first visit to Yanjing, but the experience felt entirely new. He remembered his first trip: he had been filled with excitement and curiosity about the city. Later, training camps and promotional events kept him too busy to savor the city’s charm behind its bustling facade.

He found a café on the busiest commercial street, settled by a window with a vanilla latte, and quietly watched the world outside. The traffic was dense but flowed smoothly—no congestion, thanks to the city’s highly developed public transportation system, far more convenient than driving oneself. The real breakthrough came when the country mastered maglev technology, building an integrated transit network with wide, elevated maglev highways overhead. Unlike Japan’s earlier maglev trains, these highways soared above the city; only vehicles equipped with maglev systems could glide along them. The rest belonged to the realm of luxury: maglev cars, public maglev trains, and expensive maglev taxis that could reach any destination via a vast, unrestricted network. On the ground, electric vehicles served as the standard mode of transport for ordinary people. In such a city, laziness toward car ownership was only natural—even those who bought cars rarely drove to work, as public transit was faster and more comfortable. Why choose discomfort?

Outside, countless people hurried by, their pace rushed as if pursued, a rhythm entirely different from Lin Qihua’s hometown. Such was the urban plight: jobs were scarce and low-paying, pressures unspoken yet overwhelming. Still, people endured, laboring daily just to survive a little better. In all ages, city life meant one thing—exhaustion.

Lin Qihua was grateful he was not one of them. He basked in the gentle winter sun, sipping his coffee, savoring the silent melodies in his heart, and observing the city and its people with new eyes. The feeling was truly different.

About an hour passed before the café door swung open and a long-haired man with dark circles under his eyes entered. Spotting Lin Qihua by the window, he waved in delight and joined him.

“Cappuccino, please,” the man ordered, then regarded Lin Qihua with a teasing smile. “Seeing you like this, I’m relieved.”

“What did you expect? That I’d look as sleep-deprived as you? Burst into tears the moment I saw you? Act pitiful?” Lin Qihua replied with a gentle smile, setting down his cup.

“Hah, now I’m sure—you’re completely unaffected.” The man leaned back, laughing heartily.

“It’s had an effect, otherwise I wouldn’t have time to sit here and enjoy coffee with you.”

At that moment, the waiter brought his coffee. The man took a sip, closed his eyes to savor it, then looked up. “Qihua, you dragged me out of bed so early, not just for old times’ sake, right? I didn’t expect even you would get kicked out by the company. Seems I was wrong in my predictions.”

“Dongzi, it was inevitable,” Lin Qihua answered with a hint of sorrow. “If not for this, then for something else. The company doesn’t care whether I’m there or not. When things go wrong, someone has to take the blame. This time, that’s me.”

Dongzi shook his head with a wry smile, as if recalling some memory. “What a shame. You were meant to sing on the grandest stage.”

Lin Qihua gazed quietly at the man before him—Han Dong, a senior from his training camp who had once been a promising star. But Han Dong’s temper had gotten the better of him; he’d hit that notorious Guo Shao and was thrown out and blacklisted ever since, now scraping by in the city, taking odd gigs wherever he could. Lin Qihua had been close to him during their training days, and upon returning to Yanjing, Han Dong was the first person he sought out.

“The grand stage—I will return to it,” Lin Qihua said softly, his voice calm and resolute.

“Oh?” Han Dong paused, then gave a helpless chuckle. “Well, a year isn’t so long. Starting over isn’t the end of the world, especially since you have the drive and the talent. So, what do you need me to do?”

“Dongzi, I need a job—a temporary, stable one, where I can sing.” Lin Qihua’s request was earnest, if a bit demanding, but he trusted that Han Dong, a veteran of Yanjing’s music scene, would have a way.

“Huh?” Han Dong scratched his head. “What’s this about?” He’d worked all over—bars, banquet shows, underground concerts, media gigs—he knew the city inside out, but he was puzzled by Lin Qihua’s request.

“What I mean is, I want to keep singing without getting too entangled in the industry. Pay doesn’t matter; what’s important is singing freely and having opportunities to perform. This is a crucial period for my growth—I can’t afford to stagnate or regress. Otherwise, even if someone wants to sign me a year from now, I’ll be finished,” Lin Qihua explained candidly.

“I get it,” Han Dong mused. “You’re right—doing what I do would ruin your future. Let me think it over.”

“Also, I don’t have a place to stay. Will you take me in?” Lin Qihua smiled.

“That’s nothing—if I have food, you won’t go hungry. As long as you don’t mind my ‘doghouse,’ you’re welcome.” Han Dong patted his chest. “I’ll ask around about work, but for now, let’s get you settled.”

“Alright.” Lin Qihua did not stand on ceremony. Han Dong’s generosity was genuine, and being overly polite would only annoy him. He would repay this kindness in time.

They headed to Han Dong’s place in Sandaowan: a one-bedroom, one-living-room apartment of just over twenty square meters. In this city where every inch was precious, the rent was over four thousand Huaxia yuan—a relative bargain since Sandaowan wasn’t downtown. The one advantage was its proximity to the city’s nightlife district, a prime spot for urban entertainment and the best place for struggling artists to make a living.

“So messy—‘doghouse’ indeed,” Lin Qihua gasped at the chaotic sight as he entered.

“Heh, I sleep by day, work by night—too lazy to tidy up, so it’s like this.” Han Dong laughed awkwardly. “I’ll clean up in a bit, but you’ll have to sleep on a floor mat in the living room. At least there’s heating, so it won’t be cold.”

“It’s fine. You go back to sleep—I’ll clean up myself.” Lin Qihua stopped him, his tone firm. “Leave it to me.”

“Alright, then I’ll catch up on some sleep.” Han Dong yawned, clearly exhausted, and didn’t protest. “When I wake up, we’ll go out for a good meal, then I’ll start asking around for work.”

“Sounds good.”

Once Han Dong had retreated to his room, Lin Qihua sighed. Having lived independently since childhood, he had learned to care for himself but also developed a flaw: a relentless obsession with cleanliness and order—what others called a cleaning compulsion. Seeing instant noodle cups, guitars, scores, and other items strewn about was unbearable. He set down his luggage, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. First, he gathered the trash into a large bag, organized the living room, then wiped down windows, sofas, furniture, and every instrument until they gleamed. Next came the broom and mop—he swept and mopped the floor twice before he was satisfied. Only when the living room was spotless did the discomfort in his heart finally subside.

He took out the garbage, disposed of it downstairs, then bought groceries at the nearby market. Back at the apartment, he dove into the kitchen, and soon the whole place was filled with the delicious aroma of cooking.

Han Dong had expected to sleep the day away. His line of work had turned his schedule upside down—he slept during the day and thrived at night, a full-fledged night owl. But today, the alluring scent in the air unsettled him, rousing his hunger, and he had no choice but to get up, dress, and open his door.

To his surprise, the apartment was now bright and tidy; the instruments were neatly arranged, and two fragrant dishes were already set on the small living room table.

“Dongzi, you’re up?” Lin Qihua emerged from the kitchen with another dish, smiling. “Perfect timing—let’s eat.”

“I thought I said I’d take you out for a meal once I woke up?”