(I) Rainy Season in Baise
Fifteen years ago, Aqiang was still an apprentice in the suburbs of Baise. Heavy rains destroyed his father's bamboo forest, and the ancestral craft could no longer support his family. He hid it from his mother, entrusted his sister to his aunt, and boarded the green train alone with his guitar. A Ling remembered that she was working the night shift at an electronics factory in Nanning that day. She was pushed in a wheelchair by a colleague to pick up a friend from the Disabled Friends Association, but she ran into this embarrassed young man in the waiting room. Two of his guitar strings broke in the heavy rain, but he still played "I Really Love You" to the station announcement.
"Your guitar sounds like a horse rolling in the mud." She couldn't help laughing. Aqiang blushed and handed over the instant noodles in his arms: "If you don't eat enough, you can't poop well." The two took shelter from the rain under the eaves of the square in front of the station. He played "The Moon Represents My Heart" on his guitar, and the scattered coins in the guitar case became the reward for their first cooperation.
(II) Southbound Trains
The green train from Guilin to Guangzhou always smells of diesel. Aqiang asked Aling to sit by the window, and he curled up in the space under the luggage rack. He talked about his experience in the urban village in Nanning - a drunk security guard kicked over their stall and broke the jade bracelet he had saved for three years to buy for his mother. Aling held his hand, her knuckles hurting: "I'll watch from now on, you just concentrate on singing."
They started their first official street performance in the back street of the electronics factory in Dongguan. Aqiang's Cantonese pronunciation has a Guangxi accent, but it unexpectedly fits the sadness of "Boundless Oceans and Skies". Aling flexibly hit the cymbals with her toes, and the rhythm is as precise as a metronome. That night, they received a bounty of 17.87 yuan, and a half piece of jackfruit stuffed by an Anhui sister.
(III) Moonlight in Shenzhen
The Shenzhen Bay Cross-Sea Bridge stretched before them. Aqiang tied his guitar to the rearview mirror, like holding a banner for battle. They met the first audience who really understood them in the financial district of Qianhai - a middle-aged woman wearing Herm�s. She squatted beside the wheelchair and said in fluent Cantonese: "You understand Beyond better than those singers who hold concerts in Hung Hom." Before leaving, she handed them two tickets for the Beyond tribute concert next week: "Go and listen, don't waste your skills." That night they spread out a blanket under the bridge, and the lights of the Victoria Harbor in the distance flowed on the sea like a golden harp. Aqiang played "What Do You Want in Life", and the bow seemed to soothe the wounds of this city. A Ling closed her eyes and listened to the tide swallowing up their wandering footsteps.
Fifteen years ago, Aqiang was still an apprentice in the suburbs of Baise. Heavy rains destroyed his father's bamboo forest, and the ancestral craft could no longer support his family. He hid it from his mother, entrusted his sister to his aunt, and boarded the green train alone with his guitar. A Ling remembered that she was working the night shift at an electronics factory in Nanning that day. She was pushed in a wheelchair by a colleague to pick up a friend from the Disabled Friends Association, but she ran into this embarrassed young man in the waiting room. Two of his guitar strings broke in the heavy rain, but he still played "I Really Love You" to the station announcement.
"Your guitar sounds like a horse rolling in the mud." She couldn't help laughing. Aqiang blushed and handed over the instant noodles in his arms: "If you don't eat enough, you can't poop well." The two took shelter from the rain under the eaves of the square in front of the station. He played "The Moon Represents My Heart" on his guitar, and the scattered coins in the guitar case became the reward for their first cooperation.
(II) Southbound Trains
The green train from Guilin to Guangzhou always smells of diesel. Aqiang asked Aling to sit by the window, and he curled up in the space under the luggage rack. He talked about his experience in the urban village in Nanning - a drunk security guard kicked over their stall and broke the jade bracelet he had saved for three years to buy for his mother. Aling held his hand, her knuckles hurting: "I'll watch from now on, you just concentrate on singing."
They started their first official street performance in the back street of the electronics factory in Dongguan. Aqiang's Cantonese pronunciation has a Guangxi accent, but it unexpectedly fits the sadness of "Boundless Oceans and Skies". Aling flexibly hit the cymbals with her toes, and the rhythm is as precise as a metronome. That night, they received a bounty of 17.87 yuan, and a half piece of jackfruit stuffed by an Anhui sister.
(III) Moonlight in Shenzhen
The Shenzhen Bay Cross-Sea Bridge stretched before them. Aqiang tied his guitar to the rearview mirror, like holding a banner for battle. They met the first audience who really understood them in the financial district of Qianhai - a middle-aged woman wearing Herm�s. She squatted beside the wheelchair and said in fluent Cantonese: "You understand Beyond better than those singers who hold concerts in Hung Hom." Before leaving, she handed them two tickets for the Beyond tribute concert next week: "Go and listen, don't waste your skills." That night they spread out a blanket under the bridge, and the lights of the Victoria Harbor in the distance flowed on the sea like a golden harp. Aqiang played "What Do You Want in Life", and the bow seemed to soothe the wounds of this city. A Ling closed her eyes and listened to the tide swallowing up their wandering footsteps.
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