Chapter 12
On a reader forum, Lin Zhe was logged into his account and going full scorched-earth against hordes of trolls who hated *Love Execution Handbook*.
Out on the drill ground, the atmosphere was also starting to boil.
Cross-legged beside him, the instructor glanced at Lin Zhe’s blur of thumbs and asked,
“Lin Zhe, you’re up in a minute. Figured out what you’re doing yet? If nothing else, get up there and belt out *Two Tigers*.”
At the reminder, Lin Zhe pocketed the phone, nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and rose from the grass.
Fine. He’d stroll up and sing whatever.
Yang Zhen, the dormitory head, gave him a fist-pump. “Go get ’em, Xiao Linzi.”
Lin Zhe looked unruffled, as if performing for the whole camp were no more stressful than fetching water.
At 9:34 sharp, it was Third Company’s turn. Because the order followed the sign-up sheet, Lin Zhe naturally went first.
One hand in his pocket, chin lifted, he studied the flood-lit stage at the center of the field, then slipped off his glasses and threaded through the crowd toward the wings.
Ye Zi, the senior sister running stage logistics, saw him approach.
“Freshman, what are you performing? Let know so we can cue it.”
Lin Zhe simply pulled out his phone, opened a file, and handed it over with a polite smile.
“Nothing special—just a song. Here’s the backing track.”
Ye Zi glanced at the title: *rcury Records*. Her brows pinched; she’d never heard of it. As band captain she’d mined every obscure corner of the internet for tracks—yet this one was new. Usually people picked crowd-pleasers.
After the final act from First Company wrapped—an uproarious crosstalk routine that proved Hai University’s freshn were scarily talented—the emcee announced:
“Next up, from Third Company First Platoon: Lin Zhe, with *rcury Records*.”
The mont the na left the speakers, Ye Zi and the rest of the sound crew froze. They all thought of Yunxiao, who’d been asking around for soone nad Lin Zhe.
No telling how many male freshn shared the na, but Ye Zi filed this one away for later. Apart from a faint lancholy in his eyes, he seed utterly ordinary.
Maybe it was the unfamiliar song title, or maybe the high from the crosstalk was wearing off, but the crowd cooled. So freshn already had their phones out, half-watching.
Unbothered, Lin Zhe stepped to the mic and adjusted it an inch.
Through his earpiece the stage manager checked: “Lin Zhe, ready?”
Ye Zi stood dead center in front of the stage. At his nod she waved the cue to Buou backstage.
A slow piano intro trickled out, soft as water.
During the four-count, Lin Zhe raked the fringe from his forehead, revealing eyes steeped in quiet sorrow.
Ye Zi lifted her own phone and hit record—whether or not he was the Lin Zie Yunxiao wanted, she’d catch this.
As the intro flowed, he leaned into the mic and opened his mouth:
“Lost in the galaxy of your eyes—
a trail the Milky Way can’t disguise.
Through every crack that ti allows
your gravity still drags down...
This single flash, this shortest space,
the closest distance face to face...”
The first syllable landed—clear, magnetic—and both freshn on the field and seniors onstage snapped to attention. Anyone with an ear could tell: this “ordinary” guy had serious chops, and they ran deep.
Unlike the earlier pretty voices that skimd the surface, he inhabited the song. Phones that had been pulled out slipped quietly back into pockets.
His rich, resonant tone, the effortless control, the thread of lancholy threading every note—it felt good just to listen.
The opening verse stayed steady, almost polite; people thought, *Sha, with this skill he should’ve picked a hit.*
Then the first lift arrived:
“Wait till your silver light floods every mile,
wait till the seasons themselves lose their na—
only then will I dare say I’m drowned.
How much further to reach your heart?
How much longer till I’m even allowed?
Planets revolve, yet the one standing here
still can’t close the distance to you...”
His voice rolled across the drill ground like slow thunder. The crowd stilled, caught.
The boy who’d looked forgettable minutes ago now carried a different aura entirely. That deep, magnetic line wrapped around them like a spell; those sorrow-laden eyes made people wonder what heartbreaks he’d collected.
*You’d need to be dumped a dozen tis to sing like that,* soone muttered.
When the lyric cycled back for the second pass, every listener was already drifting in the current of his ache and longing.
“How much farther till I reach your heart, how much longer till I’m finally close? The one who’s near enough to touch yet still out of reach...”
As the song slipped into its final bars, the emotion it carried swelled to a crest.
Girls in the front rows pressed fingertips to their lips, staring at the boy onstage who seed carved from dusk and longing.
They drowned—quietly, willingly—in the undertow of Lin Zhe’s presence.
“How do I search, how lucky must I be, before you realize you’re not alone? If I could still fly with you, even a pointless orbit would be worth it—at least I’d be beside you...”
The last word faded; a soft piano cadence guided “rcury Records” to its gentle close.
Even after Lin Zhe turned and walked off, loose-haired and unhurried, the hall stayed subrged in the afterglow, every listener pinned to their seat by the ache and tenderness still echoing in their ribs.
Ye Zi, standing closest to the stage, was frozen mid-record, phone raised and forgotten.
All anyone could say later was that the song hit too hard—and Lin Zhe’s voice made sure no one surfaced anyti soon.
Reviews
All reviews (0)