Need to pee

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“Oh oooh oooh oooh!”

There were no repeated lyrics this time. When Yang Tang let out his third piercing scream, the patrons in the bar had already risen to their feet, waving their arms wildly in excitement.

“That high note—uncontrollable!”

“Oh my gosh, look at that glass!”

“Ahhhhhhh!”

Many joined in the wild howling, yet none could match Yang Tang’s soaring pitch. Some even began live streaming the scene on their phones.

In the corner, Jiang Zhizhen watched Yang Tang on stage, dumbfounded. She had never imagined that the so-called “Master Yang” could reach such high notes.

Backstage.

“Neck, did you see that? You don’t have the talent for this. Maybe you should give up this path!”

“I’m not willing to!” The yellow-haired Qi Jing squeezed the words out through clenched teeth. “Huzi, it’s been over seven years. I’m not willing!”

“I know, I know, but we have to eat, right? Can the folks back home wait for us seven years? Come with me to act. I’ve already recommended you to Director Guan.”

Qi Jing fell silent for a few seconds. “How many days until filming starts?”

“Some people have joined the cast already, but filming probably won’t start for another week.”

“Give me five more days. If no one offers me a contract by then...”

“Come on, five years ago you said the same thing—encore, encore.”

The other man was about to persuade further when the hall ahead erupted with cries of “Encore!” again and again. Yang Tang, newly on stage and unsure how to refuse the audience’s enthusiasm, could only ask, “Shall I sing one more?”

Applause thundered from below.

“Uh, I need a good guitar.”

Saying this, Yang Tang scanned the backstage entrance and spotted Qi Jing. He jogged over and called out, “Hey, buddy, can I borrow your guitar?”

Qi Jing hesitated for two seconds but handed it over. “Don’t—don’t break it!”

Yang Tang glanced at the familiar yellow hair and smiled. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt yours.”

Back on stage, Yang Tang strummed a short guitar riff, feeling for the rhythm.

“Neck, see? Even with the guitar, this guy plays it deeper than you ever could.”

“Go away, stop the nonsense and listen to the song!”

Once the noise quieted, Yang Tang picked up the first chord and said, “Here’s ‘Thirty Thousand Feet’ for everyone!”

“Thirty thousand feet? That’s an odd title.”

“Sounds new.”

“Maybe it’s a new song?”

“Shhh! Quiet, everyone!”

“Climbing,

The speed pushes me into the chair,

The blurry city

Slowly drifts out of sight,

Breathing

Reminds me I’m alive,

The plane resists the Earth,

I resist you!”

As he sang, Yang Tang scanned the crowd and saw the patrons listening intently, which stirred excitement within him. After building up for two notes, he unleashed a powerful high note:

“Leaving the ground, nearly thirty thousand feet away, escaping you, I hide beneath the clouds at thirty thousand feet.”

The lyrics were simple and easy to remember, the melody straightforward and easy to follow. As Yang Tang sang the second round, many patrons, while tipping the servers with their cards, joined in the chorus. By the end, “Thirty Thousand Feet” concluded with a rousing group sing-along and playful dissonance.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, cries of “Encore! Encore!” rising even louder than before. Yellow Hair, green with envy, dashed out from backstage to ask Yang Tang for the guitar again, basking in the wave of fervent applause.

“Dude, your ‘Thirty Thousand Feet’ was great!”

“Your guitar isn’t bad either!”

Yang Tang returned the guitar to Yellow Hair, cast a glance at the patrons clamoring “Encore!” and a faint smile curled his lips. Thinking of a clever way to disperse the crowd, he sat back at the piano and called out, “Alright, since everyone’s so enthusiastic, I’ll sing one more—a song you’ll want to hear again!”

Before he finished speaking, another wave of tipping surged.

Backstage, Yellow Hair returned with the guitar, oblivious to the tipping frenzy, and teased, “That guy on stage must be new to our regulars. Otherwise, he wouldn’t say something like ‘you’ll want to hear it again.’ He’s clearly on the path to ruining his voice!”

“Maybe so.”

“Mr. Chen tipped ten thousand!”

“Mr. Zhang tipped ten thousand!”

“Miss Liu tipped twenty thousand!”

“Mr. Wang tipped as well!”

Yellow Hair and his friend stood stunned. The bar called “Freedom” only announced tips above ten thousand yuan. To see this newcomer go from zero tips to heavy tipping after just two songs, and now preparing a third—he was absolutely phenomenal!

At that moment, a waitress slipped onto the stage and whispered to Yang Tang, “Sir, after this song, the owner would like to see you.”

Yang Tang nodded, acknowledging her words, then announced loudly, “Here’s a piano version of ‘Anxious’ for everyone!”

As soon as he introduced the song, his fingers began to glide over the keys, weaving a mesmerizing melody. The opening phrase sounded chaotic but was actually a gradual deepening, evoking a sensation like a cat scratching at one’s heart.

Then Yang Tang began to sing in a strange, peculiar tone:

“Ah oh

Ah oh eh

Ah sdeh ah sdeh

Ah sdeh gluh gluh

Ah sdeh ah sdeh guhng

Ah oh

Ah oh eh

Ah sdeh ah sdeh

Ah sdeh gluh gluh

Ah sdeh ah sdeh guhng

Ah

Ah ya yo

Ah ya yo

Ah sdeh gluh deh gluh deh gluh deh

Deh gluh deh di guhng deh gluh deh gluh guhng

Deh gluh deh deh gluh deh deh gluh deh

Deh gluh deh deh gluh di deh gluh deh gluh guhng

Ai ya yo”

The lyrics paused, leaving the audience dumbfounded, nearly frantic.

When the second verse ended and the patrons realized that all the lyrics were mere onomatopoeia, many nearly lost control. This wasn’t because of too much beer or drinks—it was that the following sections continued with nonsensical sounds, increasingly rapid with the piano accompaniment. Though the crowd couldn’t understand what Yang Tang was singing, the faster it got, the more eager they became to hear what came next. The alluring rhythm was enough to make anyone desperate.

“Ah ee yo ee ah ee yo ee ah ee yo ee ah ee yo ee yo keh ya deh gluh deh gluh deh gluh deh gluh deh gluh di deh gluh deh gluh guhng”

When Yang Tang reached an extraordinarily high note at the end, the entire venue froze in stunned silence; not even a needle could drop without being heard. Seizing the moment, Yang Tang slipped offstage, grabbed Jiang Zhizhen, and fled “Freedom” bar without taking any tips or meeting the bar’s backstage manager.

As the shock wore off, the bar erupted into a mix of curses and praise. The patrons searched the room, unable to find anyone to throw rotten eggs or tomatoes at, nor the star to tip. Yang Tang had vanished without a trace.

At the backstage entrance, Yellow Hair—seeing the crowd divided into two camps fiercely debating Yang Tang’s “Anxious”—had a sudden inspiration. Slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he dashed out through the staff passage like a bolt.

“Neck, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to find my master.”

Outside, Yang Tang and Jiang Zhizhen each held a bowl of shaved ice, eating leisurely.

“Brother Yang.”

“Hm?”

“Those three songs you sang at the bar—did you write them yourself?”

“Of course!” Uncle Yang Tang’s skin was thicker than city walls; he admitted it boldly.

“Then write some songs for me too!” Jiang Zhizhen joked half-seriously.

Yang Tang sneered, “Writing songs isn’t a problem. The problem is, if I write them for myself to sing, it’s worth it. But if I write for others, it’s just a waste of time.”

“Why? You could let me sing them, or sell them to that diva. Once released, you’d gain fame and fortune!”

“How much fame? How much fortune?”

Jiang Zhizhen naively replied, “A single song wouldn’t net less than ten thousand, right?”

Yang Tang waved his hand, cutting her off. “You’ve seen my fortune-telling skills before. Do you know how much money I made from that with Boss Wan?”

Jiang Zhizhen shook her head.

“At least enough for a hundred songs, and it only took me three days!” Yang Tang half-joked. “Now, tell me, can I write a hundred high-quality songs in a few days?”

“Ah?!” Jiang Zhizhen was startled by the numbers.

Just then, someone burst out from behind the flower stand—it was the yellow-haired Qi Jing. Seeing Yang Tang, he dropped to his knees, attempting to kowtow, “Master!”

Luckily, Yang Tang was quick and caught him. “Why do you want to take me as your master?”

“Master, the three songs you sang at the bar—you wrote them all, right?” Qi Jing’s words made Jiang Zhizhen stifle a laugh.

“You want me to help you write songs too?”

“No, Master, I want you to teach me how to write songs.”

“What do you want to do once you learn? Be a singer?”

Qi Jing smiled sheepishly. “I think so.”

Yang Tang scoffed, “Huang Bo, you’re just wasting your talent on the wrong path!”

Qi Jing was stunned. “M-Master, how do you know my name is Huang Bo?”

Yang Tang calmly said, “Not only do I know your name is Huang Bo, I also know what color underwear you wore yesterday and what you have on today!”

“Ah?!” Huang Bo nearly fainted at Yang Tang’s “fortune-telling.” “Master, I—I…”

“You want to succeed and rise above, right?”

Huang Bo nodded vigorously.

“You want fame and fortune, don’t you?”

He nodded again.

“Then don’t be a singer. Switch to acting!”

Huang Bo’s face froze—he hadn’t told anyone, not even his best friend Gao Fu Fei, that he was being dragged into acting.

“Listen to me, you’ll get somewhere doing something else. Otherwise, even if you become famous for one song, you’ll at best have a career like Tai Zhengxiao’s—just muddling along for life.”

“Thank you for your guidance, Master!” Huang Bo, clearly taken in, bowed again.

Yang Tang caught him once more, calmly saying, “You’re almost ready to be my disciple. When you can guess my real name, come back and formally apprentice.”

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