Chapter Sixteen: Let Us Raise a Generous Toast

Bowing to the crowd around him, he was met with a tidal wave of applause—a return gift from everyone present.

“He’s quite the handsome guy!” Chang Yan exclaimed excitedly. “Fresh meat, my absolute favorite.”

“Why don’t you rush up and give him a hug later?” He Yanlin teased, amused. “Good looks are one thing, but let’s see about his singing. The guests here are notoriously picky.”

“Haha, if he sings well, I’ll send him flowers,” Chang Yan declared, clearly thrilled. By “sending flowers,” she meant the bar’s unique tradition: if a guest truly enjoyed a performer, they could send “flowers” via the staff—not real flowers, but a special drink purchased for the singer. The expense would be credited to the singer’s account, and the bar would grant them a higher commission—a supreme mark of recognition. The singer would know who sent the support and, circumstances permitting, would come to the table to express their thanks, offering a chance for closer interaction.

He Yanlin and the others could only shake their heads. This was just like Chang Yan—she adored handsome men, especially young ones, and when chasing celebrities, she almost always preferred this type, spending quite a bit in the process.

Lin Qihua smiled and nodded gratefully to those around him, took his seat at the microphone, plugged in his electric guitar, and drew a deep breath before signaling for the performance to begin. Singing in a bar was different from being on a stage; there was no in-ear monitor, an essential tool for singers. Everything depended on real-time adjustment—a true test for Lin Qihua.

The lights suddenly went out, leaving a single beam shining on Lin Qihua. His black-and-white stage outfit cast a solitary shadow beneath the spotlight, transforming the stage into a realm of quiet loneliness.

“This song is for all those struggling in the city,” Lin Qihua announced. “Since ancient times, sages have been lonely, but only the drinkers are remembered. When you’re lonely, raise a glass. Here’s ‘Has Anyone Ever Told You’ for everyone.”

“Wow,” Chang Yan voiced her approval instantly. A low buzz spread through the crowd; it seemed Lin Qihua’s words had struck a chord.

“He’s got quite the silver tongue,” Ying Mei muttered, pouting.

He Yanlin twirled the glass in her hand and smiled faintly. “I never expected such an odd character in this bar.” Indeed, he seemed out of place, yet there was something unexpectedly intriguing about him.

Lin Qihua exhaled softly, lowered his head, and let his fingers brush the strings. Familiar electric notes rang out, and Liu Xing began tapping the cymbals, setting a rhythmic accompaniment. Lin Qihua had asked him to do this just that evening; with the music sheets, such a simple collaboration was no problem.

Lin Qihua glanced around, and his slightly hoarse, magnetic voice filled the air:

“When the train enters this unfamiliar city,
And I see neon lights I’ve never known,
I open the letter you gave me at parting,
And suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with longing.”

He Yanlin’s hand trembled. A powerful wave of loneliness swept over her. She recalled the day she decided to leave home for work—the first time she entered Beijing by train, feeling exactly as the song described: at odds with the city, belonging nowhere. Even now, having bought a home and settled down, she still felt that she didn’t truly belong. Her roots were in that distant mountain village, with her parents, siblings, a big family, and—almost forgotten—a silly boy who used to smile at her and bring her wildflowers. Compared to the bouquets she now received daily, those wildflowers seemed insignificant, yet they were so real, so precious.

Lin Qihua continued:

“A winter without snow, a city that never sleeps,
I hear cheers and quiet weeping,
Used to wandering through tempting nights,
But your face, I cannot forget.”

“Hmm?” He Yanlin suddenly heard a muffled sob next to her. Turning, she was surprised to see tears streaming down the usually strong Ying Mei’s face.

“Remembering the past?” He Yanlin, too, felt a sense of melancholy. Damn this singer, stirring up so many memories.

“Yes, we’ve all gotten used to drifting through these tempting nights,” Chang Yan murmured. “I don’t even dare to go back to my apartment—it’s just me there, and it’s so lonely.”

Li Zixuan silently took a sip of her drink.

No one spoke.

On stage, Lin Qihua took a slight breath and launched into the chorus:

“Has anyone ever told you
That I love you so?
Has anyone ever wept for you in their diary?
Has anyone ever told you
That I care so much?
I care about the distance between us in this city.”

By now, many guests silently raised their glasses in a toast to the singer, grateful for such a moving song. Tonight was well worth it.

As the music entered the bridge, the lights came back up. Lin Qihua stood, raised his hands, and signaled the crowd to move with him, lifting the key as he belted out the second verse. The higher pitch filled the room with an even deeper sense of longing and nostalgia. As he waved his arms, the audience followed, raising their hands and swaying side to side. For a moment, it felt like a small concert.

“HO...HO...HO...
HO...HO...HO...
HO...HO...HO...
HO...HO...HO...”

The song ended with a series of single-syllable chants, but the rise and fall of his voice pushed the song’s sense of desolation and helplessness to its peak. The crowd grew even more excited; many stood up, moving with the beat.

When the music finally ended, Lin Qihua bowed slightly and said, “This song is dedicated to all who leave home in pursuit of their dreams. Don’t let loneliness or solitude trouble you. No matter when, in the coldest winter night, someone is thinking of you, missing you. Right now, raise your glass—toast your solitude, toast your friends.”

“Cheers!” A group of people stood and shouted, exhilarated.

“One more song!” Chang Yan leapt up, shouting, tears still glistening in her eyes.

“One more!” a man in glasses stood up from the corner. “It’s been so long since a song moved me to tears—let’s drink!”

“One more!” “One more!” “One more!” “One more!” The chant swept through the room.

The bar was now boiling over. With few exceptions, everyone was on their feet, shouting. The power of music was limitless. Through the song, they had heard so many emotions, recalled so many memories. Bittersweet, joyous or painful, things they thought they had forgotten surfaced anew. They realized, because of this song, that nothing had truly been forgotten—it was only waiting quietly in some corner, reminding them of the struggles and hopes of when they first left home to chase their dreams. All of it converged into a single phrase: they wanted the singer to perform again.

Watching the enthusiastic crowd, Lin Qihua was deeply moved. This was the highest recognition a performer could receive. However, he had only been scheduled for one song—singing again would break the rules.

Fortunately, Sister Mei appeared quickly, nodding for him to go ahead and sing another, resolving the issue.

So the guitar strings sounded once more, and his voice filled the room again. The audience rose as one, waving their arms to the music and rhythm. Lin Qihua was swept up in the moment, singing with even more passion than before, and the effect was even better.

“It seems we’ve all underestimated him.” Off to the side of the stage, Sister Yu and her companions stared in awe at the radiant Lin Qihua, their eyes dazed. “Hellfire is truly lucky to have found a lead singer of this caliber.”

“This young man has got it,” the burly man from the Standard Band laughed. They were scheduled to perform next, their slot now delayed by Lin Qihua, but he didn’t mind at all, grinning wide. “He’s turning this into a full-blown concert. This kid didn’t just come up by luck.”

“I heard he’s professionally trained—the kind of polish you get from a training camp,” Ah Hui chimed in, having wandered over at some point.

“You’ve struck gold.” The burly man chuckled. “That kind of vocal skill and stage presence? We self-taught types can’t compare.”

“But I doubt he’ll stay long—he’ll be back on the big stage soon enough. The kid’s got ambition and clear goals,” Ah Hui shook his head. “Maybe we should be grateful for the time we get to spend with him.”

“Oh, quit acting like you’re not thrilled,” Sister Yu said sternly. “You’re up first tomorrow—don’t disappoint me, or don’t expect any leniency in the future.”

“Haha, even you—?”

“I just want to see how he fits with the Hellfire Band. Today’s song will probably become a bar classic, but it’s not that technically challenging—the songwriting is just excellent. Whether he can handle other material is still up in the air.”

Meanwhile, Li Zixuan had been busy on her smart device. She showed the screen to her three friends. “I’ve found the biggest problem: this song can’t be found in the Huaxia music library. I searched both the title and the lyrics—nothing.”

“You mean, it’s a new song?” Chang Yan blurted out. “Or original?”

“Maybe,” Li Zixuan replied coolly. “If it’s not in the database, there are two possibilities: first, it hasn’t been uploaded yet; second, it was just uploaded and hasn’t passed review.”

“Oh, I’m getting more excited by the minute!” Chang Yan called over a server, “I want to send a bouquet to this singer. What’s his name?”

The server thought for a moment, recalling the manager’s message from earlier. “I believe his name is Lin Qihua.”

“Yes, that’s him. Send a bouquet from Table 15, and let him know we’d like him to come over if he can.”

“Certainly. The wine you ordered will be right out, and I’ll notify him right away.” The server was delighted too; these “flower” orders were lucrative, and she’d get a cut of the proceeds.