Chapter Nine: The Arrival of Wu Xiang

To tell the truth, when Wu Xiang made a bet with Huang Yi and exchanged sharp words, it wasn’t entirely a good thing for him. Many classmates thought Wu Xiang was being petty, especially the girls. Of course, there was also Lin Jidong—after returning to the dorm, that guy didn’t spare Wu Xiang any looks of approval.

Still, there were those who cared for him, like Huang Yanbo and Wang Hongzhi.

“Hey, Xiangzi, do you actually know how to sing?”

“Nope,” Wu Xiang admitted honestly.

“Then why are you betting with her? You think bragging doesn’t cost a thing, is that it?”

“Don’t worry, I have my ways!” Wu Xiang seemed brimming with confidence. “By the way, does anyone here play an instrument?”

But when he asked, not a single one of them nodded, which earned them a look of disdain from Wu Xiang. It didn’t matter though—he remembered clearly that Kun-ge knew a bit of piano.

As luck would have it, Kun-ge was just then humming a tune as he passed by 307.

“Kun-ge! You play piano, right?” Wu Xiang darted out and grabbed Chen Kun.

“Yes, I do,” Chen Kun replied, clearly startled—he hadn’t expected to be ambushed on his way back from a shower. But seeing it was Wu Xiang, he relaxed. “What are you up to?”

Wu Xiang grinned and whispered a few words in Chen Kun’s ear, making a show of secrecy. The dorm was chaotic these days—no telling who might betray him.

“Alright! Leave it to me. I’ll round up a few more people—some guys I know from Sanlitun are great with instruments. We’ll help you steal the spotlight.” Kun-ge was always happy to help.

Wu Xiang beamed. “Thanks, brother, thank you so much.”

“No need for that.”

So it was settled. The guys in 307 were left completely dumbfounded—what on earth was Xiangzi up to now? Was he really going to put together a band?

But no matter how they pressed him, Wu Xiang wouldn’t give away a single detail—what he’d sing, what style—it was all a mystery. Still, Huang Yanbo remained warm-hearted; he pulled Wu Xiang aside to a quiet spot, checked that no one was around, and finally asked:

“Xiangzi, do you really have feelings for her? You truly want to be with her? But if you do, is this the right way? If you lose, you’ll have no dignity left—how could she like you? If you win, you’ll embarrass her—won’t she hate you for it?”

You had to admit, Huang Yanbo was a real friend; Wu Xiang was genuinely moved. But himself…

Suddenly being cornered with questions of love by Huang Yanbo, Wu Xiang’s mind began to race with thoughts. To be honest, at first he hadn’t thought much about it—he’d simply noticed that Huang Yi was different from his first impression and considered inviting her to star as his film’s leading lady. But as things escalated, even Wu Xiang felt he might have gone too far.

But why? Why was he so hung up on sparring with a girl? Wasn’t that unmanly? Could it be he really did like her?

Wu Xiang suddenly realized he was acting like a little boy—trying all sorts of silly tricks to get the attention of the girl he liked. Like sneaking a cockroach into her pencil case or a jumping caterpillar—now, this bet felt like a prank only a mouse would pull, and he was just waiting for her to notice him.

It was a bit childish.

Wu Xiang could only smile ruefully, which startled Huang Yanbo.

“Hey! What are you thinking about—are you out of your mind?”

“Oh, nothing, really. I just wanted to…,” Wu Xiang nearly said he wanted to vent his anger, but stopped himself. No need to let others know—he’d only seem petty. So he smiled and said, “I just suddenly thought of a song, and I’m quite interested in that thousand yuan. Plus, I just can’t stand that kind of arrogance. Why should she automatically be number one?”

Seeing Wu Xiang’s words didn’t match his feelings, Huang Yanbo could only shoot him a look of disdain. “You’re hopeless.”

Wu Xiang could only laugh sheepishly.

Time flew by, and soon the welcoming party—also a singing and dancing competition—arrived.

There were whistles, cheers, applause—the auditorium at the Film Academy was a sea of excitement. When Huang Yi showcased her dance, it was truly stunning; the audience was beside themselves with praise.

It was a group dance, but also a modern one. In truth, Huang Yi specialized in folk dance, thanks to her major, but to appeal to more classmates, she’d choreographed a modern routine. It was impressive—even Wu Xiang, who knew nothing about dance, was enthralled.

Her slim waist, the way she lifted her legs as if about to take flight, her expressions shifting with the music from passion to sorrow—it drew everyone in.

“Amazing!” “Encore!”—as the music ended, Huang Yi received thunderous applause and cheers.

“That girl’s got skills, look at that waist, so much strength. But I can tell—she’s holding back a bit, not dancing at full power,” commented one of Wu Xiang’s group, someone with a keen eye.

Of course, these were all friends Kun-ge had brought along. Kun-ge was quick to rebuke, not wanting to boost the other side’s morale: “Can you stop pretending to be such an expert?”

“Kun, I used to date someone from a dance academy—I can see these things.”

“Alright, enough!” Kun-ge cut him off before he got carried away. There were more important things to focus on.

Not long after Huang Yi’s dance, it was Wu Xiang’s turn. From the stage, senior Sun Li announced, “Next up, Wu Xiang from the Class of ’97 Literature Department, vocal performance.”

Not even the song title was revealed—Wu Xiang had kept it all under wraps.

With a jumble of clinks and clatters, Wu Xiang took the stage—joined by Kun-ge and three other guys, all acquaintances from Kun-ge’s days performing at bars, making up a small band.

Originally, Wu Xiang had planned to use a backing track, but Kun-ge’s friends, hearing it was the Film Academy’s welcome party, insisted on coming along—obviously not just to watch the men.

The school approved it, and the guys said they’d help for free—just to enjoy the show, to “observe.” Wu Xiang was happy to save the money.

Wu Xiang’s outfit was simple—white shirt and jeans, looking quite dashing. But the band needed instruments. The keyboard was easy, so were guitar and bass, but the drum kit was more trouble—though not assembled on site, it still needed tuning.

“What’s going on? Can you hurry up?”

“Do you really need to be this professional?”

“Alright! One, two, three!” “Give Wu Xiang a big round of cheers!”—the crowd was already hyping him up.

Seeing all this, Chen Kun grinned at Wu Xiang. “Nervous?”

“What’s there to be nervous about? Let’s go!” Wu Xiang just smiled.

Once everything was ready, the intro rang out—Wu Xiang counted the beat, grabbed the microphone, and began to sing.