"A concert for fifty thousand people… the roar of the crowd is insane. We can hear the cheers from the dressing room," Lin Xia said calmly. He wasn't nervous at all. After all, he had years of experience in the industry.
"Looking at the setlist, Zheng-ge is opening. Want to come watch together?" Chu Zhi asked.
"Of course. Zheng Huo is a rock legend. I've always wondered how someone can scream like that on stage for decades and still have a voice at sixty. He really is a living legend," Lin Xia replied.
Singing correctly helps preserve your vocal cords. Chu Zhi thought of Alan Tam and Jacky Cheung—both were still performing at 55 without missing a beat.
"Your vocal cords are precious, too, Jiu-ge. If you ever lose your voice, that would be a real shame," Lin Xia added, clearly concerned.
He secretly popped a lozenge to protect his throat. Even in death, a singer might still protect their voice like a duck keeping its bill firm after dying. Outwardly, Chu Zhi nodded with gratitude.
"Losing your voice" was originally a theatrical term for when a voice loses its clarity. In modern usage, it refers to vocal damage—like not being able to control vocal cord closure, as seen with Qi Qin. Or when singers can no longer sing at the edges of their vocal range, and their voice becomes muddy, like David Tao. Or when high notes are unreachable and even mid-lows sound shaky—Pang Lun was one such case.
"Xiao Zhu, do you want to watch the live show?" Chu Zhi asked his assistant.
"Wait, really? I didn't expect you'd ask me," she said, surprised.
"Of course. We get to enjoy a concert for free," he smiled.
Lin Xia and Chu Zhi weren't the only ones with assistants tagging along. Many of the other performers had theirs nearby. A good assistant knows how to stay invisible, so neither Xiao Zhu nor Lin Xia's assistant spoke much.
They made their way to the tunnel leading out to the arena. Four metal towers loomed overhead, with spotlights, strobes, and mood lighting turning the stage into a giant steel octagon under the gaze of thousands.
Having Zheng Huo open the show was a smart move. He could instantly ignite the atmosphere and, more importantly, he was the most deserving person to kick off Rock Night.
"Been a while since I stood on a stage like this. Did you all miss me?" Zheng Huo asked, dressed simply in jeans and a plain t-shirt, a bass slung over his shoulder. Despite the casual look, the rebellious spirit of old-school rock clung to him like a second skin.
"We missed you! Sing for five hundred more years!"
"Life is like a pile of mud, and we still gotta roll in it!"
"Wave that flag!"
"My darling watched you leave, running off to some distant land, love love love—I just can't say it!"
"Uncle Zheng is forever a god!"
The response was thunderous. Some fans sang along with his hits, others simply shouted their support. The cheers of fifty thousand fans could lift a singer to the heavens.
"Surviving is just part of life. But I hope you don't live only to survive," Zheng said into the mic stand. "Tonight is your night. Rock Night is your feast. One, two, three—let's go! Here's Flag for all of you."
A drum set, two guitars, and a few of his old bandmates stood behind him. All of the rock pioneers had bands they had played with for years.
Zheng Huo's music blended post-Britpop and world rock. A strange thing about post-Britpop was that it could sound like folk at times, but it always knew when to crank things up and carry a solid rhythm. It made people want to jump in and sing along.
"Everyone's judging someone else's filth. Everyone thinks they've been wronged. We're all falling apart, but we still have to wave the flag in our hands…"
Fans held up red glowsticks. As the line "we still have to wave the flag" came up, the whole venue swayed in unison, singing along with him.
"You've really been tamed, dancing for applause in the circus. Life wants you to kneel and beg, but I just want to laugh…"
"You say all these reckless things like they're nothing. The shameless are the freest. Do you still want to keep running?"
Flag, Rolling in the Mud, Keep Running—Zheng performed three songs back to back, pacing the stage and interacting with the audience without missing a beat. He didn't even sound winded. The man had fire.
By the time he stepped off stage, the crowd was still screaming for an encore. Rock Night had temporarily become a Zheng Huo solo concert.
Each of his songs ran four to five minutes, and with the talking in between, his segment took nearly twenty minutes. But there were still twenty-something performers and bands to go. He couldn't hog the whole night.
Zheng knew it, too. Chinese rock couldn't thrive with just one superstar. More fans, more players, and more passionate performers were the only way to grow the scene.
"I know you all missed me. I missed you, too. But I gotta admit, I'm not as young as I used to be. Can't hit the notes like before," he said. The crowd's chant for an encore gradually faded.
"Now, let's give a big welcome to Painflower Band for the next performance!" Zheng said, leading the applause.
The audience responded enthusiastically. Painflower was pretty popular in their own right.
"That was incredible. Rock really is about the human spirit—emphasizing the person, not just the genre," Chu Zhi clapped. "Zheng-ge's life experience shines through."
"He's still fierce as ever. He just set a crazy high bar for the rest of us," Lin Xia shivered. He now fully understood: no matter how high you climb, there's always someone higher.
He'd prepared a hardcore rock track for tonight, but compared to what Zheng just did… yeah, he was starting to second-guess himself.
Wait, no, no. Why compare with Uncle Zheng? That man's a veteran war machine. If he could just outshine Liao Yiwu, that'd be enough.
The second act took the stage. Standard rock bands usually had four or five members—lead vocals, guitar, bass, drums, maybe a keyboardist or second guitarist.
Bands like Shin, Mayday, and Black Panther had five members. New Pants, Escape Plan, and Beyond were four-member groups.
Painflower Band had five, but instead of a keyboardist or rhythm guitarist, they had a violinist. They played art rock—basically classical music fused into rock. Not many bands dared to go there, even overseas.
As the saying goes, rock is just a frame—you can stuff anything into it.
Painflower played two of their signature songs. The vibe was great, but still… something about it didn't match the raw energy Zheng brought.
Each guest performer sang two songs, which kept the momentum rolling. Most of the audience were at least casual rock fans, if not die-hards. The atmosphere kept peaking. People even pulled out their best material thanks to the warm-up from the older generation. Sure, a few singers cracked or went off-key, but hey, some bands made that their thing.
Indie rock, C86, alt-pop rock, hardcore—every style was on full display. Chu Zhi hadn't expected domestic rock to be this diverse.
According to the program, Wu Xi was up next.
As he walked down the corridor toward the stage, he passed by Chu Zhi and Lin Xia sitting in the VIP area and offered a cold nod.
"There's a road to heaven, but you don't take it. There's silence in hell, but you choose to sing. Don't think you can just show up at Rock Night, sing two pop-rock songs, and call it a day. Fake rocker. Let me show you what real live performance is," Wu Xi said, still bitter over being eliminated from that show and having his album release delayed.
He probably knew deep down that this might be the only chance he'd ever have to teach Chu Zhi a "lesson."
===
Zheng Huo's character is inspired by real-life musician Zheng Jun. The lyrics in this chapter are adapted from his song Keep Waving the Flag.