Chapter 351: A Solo Performance at the Spring Festival Gala? You Want to Send Off the Whole Nation?!
Three days later, at the Capital International Airport.
Jiang Ci had just appeared in the arrivals hall when he was enveloped by a bizarre wave of fervor.
The signs held high by the crowd were so uniquely bizarre they were downright outrageous.
"China's Number One Suona King! One song shatters the heart, where in the world can one find a soulmate!"
"Miraculous Hands That Restore Spring, Master of Bone Setting! I beg Master Jiang to press my dog head!"
Amidst the shouts of "Suona King!" and "Divine Doctor Jiang!"
Jiang Ci, expressionless, navigated through the crowd and was practically dragged and stuffed into the entourage van by his assistant, Sun Zhou.
The van door closed, cutting off the clamor from outside.
Lin Wan was already waiting inside, clutching a docunt tightly in her hand.
"See that?" She pointed weakly out the window. "Your fanbase composition is getting more and more... complex."
Jiang Ci fastened his seatbelt, unconcerned.
Lin Wan didn't dwell on it further and handed him the docunt she was holding.
The red letterhead at the top of the docunt was solemn and eye-catching.
"The National Intangible Cultural Heritage Protection Association, in conjunction with the Spring Festival Gala program crew, formally extends an invitation to you."
"To serve as the 'Chinese Suona Horn Promotion Ambassador'."
Lin Wan's voice sounded sowhat unreal.
"And, they hope you will perform a solo of 'Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix' on this year's Spring Festival Gala stage."
A solo performance at the Spring Festival Gala—the highest honor countless veteran artists dream of.
Jiang Ci took the weighty red-headed docunt, but his mind automatically conjured the note beneath that golden icon in his system skill panel.
[Instrunt Proficiency: Suona Horn (Special Edition for Weddings and Funerals)]
[Note: Among all instrunts, the suona reigns supre. It either sends you to heaven or to the wedding hall.]
He could almost foresee it: Lunar New Year's Eve, Chinese people worldwide gathered together.
He stands at the center of the stage, halfway through an impassioned rendition of 'Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix,' when the lody automatically veers into 'Crying Through the Seven Passes.'
The hundreds of millions of viewers in front of their TVs, in the midst of eating dumplings, would all pause their actions.
Then, holding their loved ones close, they would watch the Gala while collectively reminiscing about life's hardships, crying into a vast sea of tears.
That wouldn't be a cultural performance; it would be an unprecedented, nationwide live broadcast disaster.
Spark dia, top-floor conference room.
Two leaders from the Association sat at the head of the table. One was a white-haired old expert, surnad Zhou; the other was a middle-aged cadre from the Ministry of Culture.
Both were filled with anticipation and admiration for having unearthed a treasure.
"Comrade Jiang Ci," Expert Zhou began amiably,
"We have studied your performance on the program repeatedly. The technique is secondary; what's most rare is the 'vital spirit' within it!"
"So we unanimously decided that you are the most suitable person to serve as this Promotion Ambassador!"
Lin Wan sat beside them, palms sweating, yet still maintaining a proper smile, a bellyful of diplomatic pleasantries prepared.
Jiang Ci set down the teacup in his hand, producing a soft clink.
He looked up, his expression one of profound sorrow and desolation, incongruous with his age.
"Leaders, thank you for your great esteem."
"But I cannot accept this ambassadorship."
The conference room instantly fell silent.
Lin Wan's smile froze on her face.
Expert Zhou and the cadre exchanged a glance, thinking the young man might have so concerns.
"Comrade Xiao Jiang, are there any difficulties? Compensation, these are not issues."
Jiang Ci shook his head. His voice was soft, yet carried a sense of vicissitude that was very persuasive.
"This skill was passed down to in my youth by a reclusive master who road the world."
Jiang Ci's deanor was so serious that even Lin Wan almost believed him.
"When my master transmitted this skill to , he made swear a solemn oath."
"This sound should only exist in heaven; how many tis can it be heard in the mortal world?"
"This craft cannot be shown lightly. Playing it too much shortens one's lifespan. And..."
He paused, lowering his voice to create a mysterious atmosphere, "...it easily attracts so... 'friendly brethren'."
"Nonsense!" The young assistant beside Expert Zhou couldn't help but mutter a rebuttal. "Feudal superstition!"
Expert Zhou waved a hand, adjusted his reading glasses, clearly not buying this story.
He looked stubbornly at Jiang Ci. "Comrade Xiao Jiang, art must be based on science. I don't believe in any 'spirit-channeling sound'."
"Here's what we'll do. Play a short piece for us right now. Let us hear with our own ears just how 'freakish' it is."
Lin Wan's heart leaped into her throat.
Jiang Ci wore a look of extre difficulty, seemingly engaged in intense internal struggle.
Finally, with an expression of 'you forced into this' resignation, he had Sun Zhou fetch that old-fashioned suona horn from the van.
The brass tube glead faintly under the lights.
Jiang Ci picked up the suona horn, his fingertips gently stroking the tube. Then he raised it to his lips, assuming a starting posture.
As the performance began, Expert Zhou initially wore a scrutinizing expression. But when the tune started,
his mind suddenly flashed to his long-departed great-grandmother.
He rembered his great-grandmother on her deathbed, trembling as she pulled a red cloth bundle from under her pillow, containing his favorite rice candy.
That candy... he never tasted that flavor again.
Expert Zhou's nose twitched, his vision beginning to blur.
"Great-grandma..."
He murmured subconsciously. Imdiately after, two lines of old tears rolled down his cheeks without warning.
The cadre and assistant beside him were dumbstruck.
Expert Zhou was completely unaware of his own loss of composure.
Jiang Ci silently lowered the suona horn.
Lin Wan sat frozen in place, not daring to move.
A full five minutes passed before Expert Zhou, with everyone's soothing, gradually cald down.
Using a tissue handed by his assistant, he dried his tears. With reddened eyes, he rushed over and tightly grasped Jiang Ci's hands.
"I believe it! I believe all of it!"
Expert Zhou was so agitated he beca incoherent.
"This is no ordinary instrunt! This is a 'spirit-channeling sound'! A ritual implent for conversing with souls!"
"Such a divine object truly... truly is unsuitable for performance at a joyous occasion like the Spring Festival Gala!"
Expert Zhou wiped his tears while pounding his chest in anguish. "I was shallow! My understanding of art was too shallow!"
Finally, he solemnly patted Jiang Ci's shoulder and announced on the spot:
"Forget the Promotion Ambassador! In my personal capacity, I bestow upon you a title—Soul Perforr!"
After seeing off the Association leaders, who left with expressions of reverence clutching the 'Soul Perforr' honorary certificate, Lin Wan collapsed into the conference room chair.
Watching Jiang Ci carefully putting the suona horn back into its case, she felt dizzy.
"Jiang Ci," Lin Wan's voice was faint, "tell , how many more surprises do you have that I don't know about?"
Jiang Ci finished putting away the suona and looked at her innocently.
"Sister Wan, I didn't do anything. I just want to act properly."
Lin Wan closed her eyes and waved a hand weakly.
"Alright, let's talk business."
She took a project progress report from her assistant and slapped it on the table.
"The 'King of Extras' project is stuck."
Lin Wan sat up straight, returning to work mode.
"The biggest problem is, no one dares to direct it."
"I contacted all the well-known cody directors in the industry. As soon as they heard you were the lead, they all politely declined."
Lin Wan mimicked the directors' tones: "'Have the "King of Tragedy" perform in a cody? Director Lin, you must be joking. I'm afraid halfway through filming, the male lead will be crying more sadly than I am, and the film will beco a monstrosity.'"
"As for those art film directors accustod to shooting tragedies, they simply look down on our script."
Jiang Ci took the list of rejected candidates that had been turned down by various directors, his finger slowly tracing over it.
His finger finally stopped on a na that was practically crossed out—Gu Zhiyuan.
Following the na was a string of glaring labels: "Washed-up", "Box Office Poison", "King of Bad Movies".
"Him," Jiang Ci said.
Lin Wan leaned over to look and frowned.
"Gu Zhiyuan? He hasn't made a film in five years. His last movie made three million at the box office; the investors almost jumped off a building. Are you sure?"
Jiang Ci nodded.
"I've seen his early works."
"Everyone says his movies are bad, but what I see is a kind of... extrely awkward, yet incredibly authentic sense of absurdity."
"That vibe of trying to make people laugh but ending up making a ss of yourself—that's exactly the essence of 'Chen San'."
At the sa ti.
On the other side of the city, on the rooftop of a dilapidated residential building.
A middle-aged man with a stubbly beard and greasy hair stood at the edge of the rooftop.
The evening breeze lifted the title page of the script in his hand, on which two large characters were scrawled in red pen—"Rejected."
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