Forty-Eight: King of Karaoke

The next day, Lin Jie and I rose early and, as agreed, made our way to the entrance of the girls’ dormitory. People came and went in front of the dorm, but there was no sign of Huang Xin. Girls liked to dress up, and since this was her first time going out with us, being a little late was perhaps understandable.

“She’s probably on her way out already!” Seeing Lin Jie’s displeasure, I hastily tried to reassure him. But to my surprise, half an hour passed and Huang Xin still hadn’t appeared.

“Could she still be sleeping?” Under the blazing sun, Lin Jie finally lost his patience.

“Yes, that’s quite possible.” It was uncomfortable to stand in the heat, so I echoed his guess while pulling out my phone to dial Huang Xin’s number. After a long wait, a groggy voice finally answered. Lin Jie’s suspicion was spot on—Huang Xin wasn’t even awake yet! She apologized profusely, asking us to wait a while longer at the door, promising she’d be out soon, then quickly hung up.

With nothing else to do, we moved under the shade of a small sapling nearby. It wasn’t much, but its few leaves provided some relief from the sun.

Another half hour passed before Huang Xin finally emerged from the dorm, moving at a leisurely pace.

“I’m so sorry! I accidentally overslept. Have you been waiting here long?” she said, beaming apologetically as she approached us.

I wanted to tell her we’d been waiting nearly an hour, but thought better of it—after all, she was a girl. With a forced smile, I waved her off, feigning nonchalance: “It’s nothing, really. When I called you, we hadn’t even left our dorm yet.”

Even I felt my cheeks flush at the blatant lie. Today, Huang Xin left me with a less than favorable second impression; a girl who is so late meeting new friends doesn’t seem worth getting close to.

Throughout the walk, Lin Jie’s expression remained sour. Clearly, he was still upset about Huang Xin’s tardiness. We arrived at Student Street and found a number for a minibus on the wall, then called one over. After negotiating, we paid ten yuan each, and the driver took us on the winding mountain road leading to the city. After nearly an hour of bumpy travel, we country folk finally made it to town.

The city where our school is located is, by national standards, just a modest, mid-sized place. But small cities have their own charm—the streets here are quite pleasant, and compared to the metropolitan giants like Beijing or Shanghai, they possess a unique appeal.

Once in the city, the minibus took us around for a while before finally stopping at our destination: Xinhua Plaza. Despite the name, it was really just a large shopping center. In the greenbelt out front stood a huge spherical, hollow sculpture, beside which a few mischievous children played roller-skates, oblivious to the world.

Having lost much time in the morning, it was already noon. We found a reasonably clean restaurant nearby and had a quick lunch.

To the right of the Xinhua supermarket entrance was a large self-service karaoke bar. After eating, we returned to the plaza and queued for the sightseeing elevator, which carried us up to the fourth floor where the KTV was located.

“Welcome!” As soon as we stepped out of the elevator, two attendants greeted us with a warm ninety-degree bow, then ushered us into the KTV lobby.

Without much fanfare, we walked straight to the service desk. It was midday, but the place was already quite busy—small booths were all taken, and after a long wait, we finally secured a medium-sized room.

Lin Jie took the receipt and headed to the supermarket to buy snacks, while I accompanied Huang Xin as the attendant led us to our booth.

After setting up the song selection system, the attendant left, and it was just the two of us. Perhaps because we weren’t familiar, Huang Xin seemed a bit reserved; she picked one song, felt she didn’t sing well, and stopped.

To ease the awkwardness, I chose my favorite, “Breakpoint.”

Thanks to Lele, I felt a deep connection to the lyrics of “Breakpoint,” and so sang it with great emotion. Huang Xin seemed to know the song well; after just a few lines, she softly hummed along, occasionally tapping out the rhythm with her microphone hand.

As I finished “Breakpoint,” Lin Jie returned with his purchases.

Seeing neither of us singing, Lin Jie simply queued up seven or eight songs for himself and sang away. Since I was tone-deaf, I decided not to embarrass myself further and sat beside Huang Xin, shaking dice with her.

Lin Jie sang solo for some time, but with no one joining in, he soon lost interest. He set the microphone down, frustrated, and suggested that Huang Xin and I sing a duet. We exchanged glances, hesitated, then agreed.

We mentioned a few song titles, but either I couldn’t sing them, or Huang Xin couldn’t. After some deliberation, we settled on “A Night of Blossoms and Full Moon.”

This song is the theme from the film “Blossoms and Moonlight,” starring Richie Jen and Miriam Yeung. I had watched the movie in an internet café during high school, so I was familiar with its melody.

Soon, the intro played. The song began with a solo female part; Huang Xin took the microphone, stood up, and sang with heartfelt emotion:

“The spring breeze blows and blows into my heart, missing you makes my heart race, unable to sleep. Why don’t you understand the meaning of falling petals, only gazing at the bright moon outside the window…”

Watching the lyrics dance across the screen, I suddenly felt a wave of sadness, especially seeing Huang Xin standing there, her back to me, her silhouette so much like Lele’s.

“The moon hangs high, curved like your brow, missing you lets my heart only move forward, never retreat. I ask, do you know the water is not without feeling, carrying you to the palace in the sky…”

Gradually, memories of being with Lele surfaced. The more I sang, the more invested I became, and my eyes grew redder—by the end, my voice was almost choking.

“I ask, is there anyone else in this world, who can share such love, flying side by side as mandarin ducks…”

The finale was a duet, and together we brought the melody to its peak.

When we finished, the KTV’s scoring system awarded us a perfect 100—a first in my entire life.

(Chapter revised, August 29, 2010)