086 Roaring Song-Reborn to Infinite Dreams(Wu Ming)

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What was on Feng Junling’s mind?

It was simple: Yang Tang couldn’t carry a tune, and his voice was coarse and grating.

But how did Feng Junling come to know about Yang Tang’s flaw? The story actually starts with their freshman military training.

At that time, everyone was new, unfamiliar with each other, so by rights there shouldn’t have been any conflicts. But fate had other plans. Yang Tang’s entrance score to the Experimental High was one point higher than Feng Junling’s. In the drill team, Yang Tang stood in front of Feng Junling. In the barracks, they were assigned to bunk beds—Yang Tang below, Feng Junling above. Feng Junling claimed he couldn’t sleep on the top bunk and asked Yang Tang to switch. Yang Tang refused, giving the same reason.

That very night, during a late-night emergency assembly, Feng Junling, who couldn’t get used to sleeping on the top bunk, awoke to the instructor’s shouts. Half-asleep, he swung himself down, landed with a thud, nearly injuring himself badly, and suffered pain for quite a while. All of it, Feng Junling blamed on Yang Tang.

So at night, instead of sleeping properly, Feng Junling would deliberately move and shake on the top bunk, disturbing Yang Tang’s rest. Yang Tang, who had entered Experimental High ranked third at his previous school and was used to having his way, wouldn’t take it lying down. He frequently kicked the underside of the top bunk with his “rocket foot,” making Feng Junling’s nights even more miserable.

In contrast, during daytime lineup drills, Feng Junling, standing behind Yang Tang, would occasionally kick him or try to trip him. Yang Tang, furious, nearly came to blows with Feng Junling several times, had it not been for others intervening.

One day, their conflict escalated, causing a scene. The instructor punished them by sending them to stand at attention for an hour beside the shaded water ditch at the south end of the field—a spot notorious for its mosquitoes. Of course, the instructor didn’t explicitly say they were there to feed mosquitoes, but the intent was clear.

Once there, Yang Tang dutifully stood at attention. Feng Junling started out doing the same, but after being bitten several times, he sat down, lying back and watching Yang Tang stand, mocking him: “You idiot, still standing? No one’s watching. I bet those big-headed soldiers have drilled the sense out of you.”

Little did he know, the instructor and their company commander were watching through binoculars. The commander, a reconnaissance soldier by training, could read lips. Understanding Feng Junling’s comments, the commander was infuriated, sneaked up behind him, and gave him a thorough beating—targeting only the soft spots. Feng Junling wasn’t left with broken bones or torn muscles, but his body was covered in bruises, some spots even bleeding internally; wherever he touched, it hurt. He couldn’t participate in further drills and was confined to the barracks to recover.

Later, before the end of training, a school leader from Experimental High inquired about Feng Junling’s injuries. The camp replied, “All injuries are superficial, nothing broken or torn. If needed, your student may remain here to recover until fully healed.”

Recovering in the camp—Feng Junling wouldn’t dare, not in a hundred lifetimes. Yang Tang insisted he had no idea how Feng Junling was hurt, so the matter faded away.

But a bitter feud between Yang and Feng was forged.

As for Yang Tang’s grating voice, it was exposed during the first group meal and military song session in their barracks. The others didn’t pay much attention at the time and soon forgot, but Feng Junling remembered it for three years.

That’s why, when Feng Junling heard Yang Tang was about to sing with piano accompaniment, he couldn’t help but snicker. And what’s more? He was going to sing an original song—his own composition?!

Yang Tang, oh Yang Tang, you fool—do you really think creating a song is like buying cabbage at the market, just a matter of picking up a pen? And being called “Poetry King”—that’s just flattery; do you really believe you are? Even if you are, singing is a whole different skill from writing poetry. Do you really think you can pull it off?

If you had written a poem, at worst you’d ruin the atmosphere and leave everyone with a rebellious impression. But at least you had the sense to see that was a trap and didn’t fall for it. Why must you sing—and an original song, no less? Are you hoping to perform a classic “dig your own grave” act?

If you don’t court disaster, you won’t die!

Yang Tang cared little for Feng Junling’s thoughts. He had already begun playing, starting with deep, low notes—a string of syncopated rhythms, interspersed with bass, the lively tune tinged with sorrow.

The murmurs around him faded; classmates exchanged glances, unsure. The melody seemed promising, but there was a thread of melancholy woven in, unsettling their hearts.

Bai Keqing was also savoring the prelude Yang Tang played. The tune was simple, easy to remember, but undeniably “sad.”

Could Tang Tang have hidden musical talent as well? The thought startled Bai Keqing herself.

As the classmates speculated, Yang Tang’s rough, dusky voice rang out again, “The song is called Sailor, dedicated to everyone!”

Sailor?!

What in the world?

Is he referring to a seaman?

“The bitter sand
Stings my face
Like my father’s scolding,
My mother’s weeping,

Forever unforgettable
When I was young,
I loved being alone by the sea,
Rolling up my pants, barefoot on the beach.”

The catchy melody evoked childhood memories. Even those who, like Yang Tang’s classmates, lived in the inland city of Mist City could relate to the song’s resonance. Perhaps they hadn’t walked barefoot on a beach, but the “father’s scolding, mother’s crying” were scenes familiar from their own memories.

This is why Uncle Yang Tang’s song Sailor has a place among the seven he registered online. Who hasn’t made mistakes as a child? Who hasn’t been scolded by their parents, chased by a father wielding a bamboo stick?

As Yang Tang played and sang, classmates couldn’t help but recall their own childhood moments. With the college entrance exam recently finished, the hardships of more than a decade of study surged from deep within their minds, unstoppable.

“Always dreaming that at the end of the ocean is another world,
Always believing brave sailors are true men,
Always looking weak and cowardly,
When bullied, always hearing the sailor say”

It must be admitted, these four lines struck a chord with most classmates. Throughout their school years, no one could guarantee they’d never been bullied. Fantasizing about heroes, or imagining themselves as martial artists with explosive strength, was only natural.

“He said, ‘What’s a little pain in the wind and rain?
Wipe your tears, don’t be afraid,
At least we still have dreams.’
He said, ‘What’s a little pain in the wind and rain?
Wipe your tears, don’t ask
Why.’”

For dreams, don’t ask about hardship. Many classmates, after hearing Yang Tang’s first verse, couldn’t help but feel this sentiment rise within them.

“After growing up,
Working hard for ideals,
Always fooling myself with small achievements,
Always feeling inexplicably empty,
Always needing a little alcohol to sleep,
Half-awake, half-asleep, as if hearing the sailor say again—”

This second verse left classmates only vaguely touched, not as strongly as the first. Panda Li, however, teared up, smudging her eye makeup and truly becoming a panda-eyed girl.

But a good song is a good song. The simple, memorable lyrics moved classmates to join in, singing along with Yang Tang as he repeated, “He said, in the wind and rain…”

After everyone had repeated the chorus five or six times, their voices waned. Yang Tang gently stopped playing, the song finally at an end. He stood by the piano, smiling and bowing to his classmates. “Thank you all, thank you for your support!”

Clapping erupted in the room, especially from Panda Li, who applauded fiercely, looking at Yang Tang as a basketball fan would at Jordan. The others were excited, staring at Yang Tang in disbelief that the “Poetry King” could bring them such a surprise.

Only Feng Junling and Xie Yihan wore dark, gloomy expressions, almost dripping with resentment. Who would have thought that a coarse voice could sing, and with lyrics and melody so well matched?

How could this be?

“How could this be?” Bai Keqing quietly asked Yang Tang as he came down from the front.

Yang Tang replied proudly, “I simply played to my strengths and avoided my weaknesses, wrote a song that fit my dusky voice!”

“A song tailored to your voice? I don’t believe it!”

“Well, if my voice was as invincible as Teacher Han Sanshi’s, that would be amazing!” Yang Tang exclaimed.

Bai Keqing was taken aback, “Han Sanshi? Teacher? Who is that?”

Yang Tang paused, suddenly realizing that in this world, Han Sanshi didn’t exist. Just as he was about to make up an excuse, clarity dawned—what he desired was a perfect voice!

What? When did I ever say I wanted a perfect voice?

Yang Tang wanted to curse, but knew that once enlightenment made a decision, no amount of complaining would help.

“I asked you, who’s Han Sanshi?” Bai Keqing pressed.

Yang Tang was about to fabricate a story when he overheard several girls nearby discussing asking him to “sing another song.” Sensing trouble, he quickly told Bai Keqing, “I need to use the bathroom, I’ll tell you about Han Sanshi later.” With that, he slipped out of the room.

“Sing another one!”

“Yes, another song!”

“Where’s Yang Tang?”

“Tell him to sing another!”

The room was abuzz with requests, but Yang Tang had already escaped, not even a shadow left behind.

. . .