Chapter 19: Heartstrings Tugged, Hints of Parting
Applause thundered beneath the stage, the instructor demonstrating military boxing above, looking somewhat impressive. Wang Wenbo stroked his chin and remarked, “Is this the set of military boxing that ends with fifty-six slashes?”
Laughter erupted. “Are the fifty-six slashes for real?”
Zhou Ziqing’s chest trembled as she teased, “Wang Wenbo, you’d make a fantastic comic actor. You’ve got the talent for it.”
“Miss Zhou, you have excellent taste. Next time they pick a class leader, I’ll vote for you if you vote for me.”
“Alright, it’s a deal...”
The instructor, cheeks reddened with embarrassment—fortunately hidden by the night—soldiered on through his performance. At last, he leapt down from the stage, fixing his gaze on Cheng Yao. “Your turn,” he called.
Cheng Yao sighed deeply. “I wanted to blend in as an ordinary person, but all I got was suspicion and pressure. Fine, I’ll drop the act.”
“Yeah, right—he’s pretending,” someone scoffed.
“He really is pretending. He’s terrible at basketball.”
“Ha, are both guys in your dorm clowns?”
Wang Wenbo pondered and nodded thoughtfully, “I like ‘fools.’ What’s wrong with being one?”
As Cheng Yao stepped onto the stage, whispers from the nearby girls fluttered about—mostly about his looks, which he’d grown tired of hearing.
They focused only on his face, never his substance.
Cheng Yao looked to Wang Wenbo. “Bring over a stool. I don’t want to fall.”
“Sure.”
Wang Wenbo fetched the stool. Cheng Yao sat, adjusted the microphone, and fiddled with his guitar, a crisp sound ringing out.
Ordinary guitarists can improvise within different styles, handle major and minor seventh chords, diminished chords, analyze basic harmonic links and transitions—these are foundational skills.
Cheng Yao had long since surpassed them, standing atop the mountain, his technique entirely different.
Yet, few could truly appreciate his artistry.
On such a stage, with all eyes upon him, the ability to seamlessly combine fingerpicking, tremolo, strumming, and tapping would already be impressive.
It was as if the spotlights dimmed, leaving him bathed in moonlight.
Cheng Yao coughed twice. “Let me play ‘Hints of Separation.’ I really like this song—this one’s for everyone.”
“Go for it!”
“Cheng Yao, don’t let our dorm down—give it your best!”
“Good luck!”
Wang Wenbo shouted, girls whispered, drawing curious glances.
Students from neighboring classes gathered, intrigued by Cheng Yao on stage, marveling at this lively group from Class One.
“He’s Cheng Yao from Class One, the 404 dorm, same as Wang Wenbo.”
“I know Wang Wenbo—he’s quite the character, even squared off with Class Two.”
“Don’t you know Cheng Yao? Isn’t he supposed to be the class heartthrob?”
“He really is handsome...”
The instructor raised his hand, silencing the crowd.
A gentle breeze tousled hair; Cheng Yao’s hands caressed the strings softly.
Suddenly, everyone seemed electrified—the moonlight in Cheng Yao’s eyes, his poised aura, was striking.
He’d listened to this song countless times, so he played effortlessly.
“Hints of Separation” is written in tablature, played in G with a capo on the second fret.
This song awakens emotions buried deep within, evoking the feeling of being caught in an emotional whirlpool—a true farewell isn’t always dramatic, sometimes it’s just a morning and a suitcase.
You only need to treat it sincerely; the fatigue and indifference are obvious without guessing. People come and go, but there aren’t many second chances.
Cheng Yao glanced at Liu Hanyue and the others, smiling...
His voice was clear, free of distortion.
A magnetic timbre flowed out, silencing the crowd instinctively.
The opening lines were direct:
What should be silent, forbidden, is granted permission through a glance.
In the brief moments as two look back,
The ending is subtle, lingering,
What should be a crisp conclusion is replaced by gentleness instead of hate.
His guitar mastery left no flaws; paired with his piano lessons from Zhang Ya and his habit of humming along, his singing was modest but, combined with the guitar, reached remarkable heights.
The emotions conveyed through the strings took center stage, overshadowing even his voice.
As they listened, everyone’s scalp tingled, their hearts hollowed, an indescribable feeling stirring within.
The girls, driven by emotion, fixed their gaze on Cheng Yao.
At that moment, his figure radiated brilliance.
Even on this modest stage, those present would never forget it.
Even Wang Wenbo and the others were transfixed; Liu Hanyue’s eyes sparkled, Wang Churu clenched her tiny fists as if she’d discovered a new world.
Cheng Yao was fully immersed in the song, oblivious to those around him—such is the realm of a true master.
Gradually, the emotion in the song built...
Everyone’s heart skipped a beat.
...
Accompanied by comfort, you plot the whole story;
With greed, I hope you’ll write a little more.
Yet throughout, my name is nowhere to be found.
We both inexplicably keep secrets.
When did estrangement begin to separate us?
Words left unsaid are revealed after turning away.
In a moment, many girls’ eyes reddened, overcome by the resonance of the guitar—it was as if sand had entered their eyes, tears spilling forth uncontrollably.
Especially Wang Churu and Liu Hanyue, who were close to Cheng Yao—they leaned on each other for support.
A collective unease rippled through the crowd.
Cheng Yao’s singing reached the crucial part, the guitar’s mournful notes and sorrowful voice rising...
Let me use tears to begin the ending of this story;
Why must you hint at separation with silence?
You are the central figure of the theme;
The main thread is the bittersweet obsession.
Let me use a bitter smile to translate layer upon layer of the ending;
You hint at separation through stubbornness.
I am, after all, just a nameless part of your past.
“Whoa, is he the original singer? Is he?”
“No way, the voice is different—it can’t be the original, but this guy is incredible...”
“He’s from our class—Cheng Yao!”
Hearing the praise and astonishment from the crowd, Class One students felt a surge of collective pride, a sense of glory shared.
Cheng Yao, guitar in hand, sat before the microphone, playing and singing with earnestness, occasionally illuminated by flashes from phones.
Wang Churu wiped her eyes, saying, “Hanyue, from today on, I’m a fan of Cheng Yao.”
“It really is beautiful...”
Liu Hanyue had initially wanted to find faults, but there was nothing to criticize. Even though she didn’t understand guitar, she could tell Cheng Yao’s skill was exceptional.
His command of emotion, his ability to control the stage, was impressive.
...
...