blueteamnovel Chapter 23 That Smile Is Warm and Pure
Chapter 23 That Smile Is Warm and Pure
As a singer-dancer, Xiao Kai is all too aware of the difficulty of live performances.
Recording studios allow for audio editing and repeated takes, but live recordings are a one-off event; a mistake is a mistake.
But Wang Bo's performance... from singing to playing instruments to band coordination, was flawless.
What's even more terrifying is that infectious power—it's not built up by stage effects, nor by exaggerated movements, but simply the infectious power of the music itself.
"This is fucking..." Xiao Kai muttered under his breath, "It's a monster, isn't it?"
Lin Weiwei did not speak.
She just watched quietly, but her heart was already in turmoil.
She recalled that when she first started out, she also held a guitar and sang in bars, singing the songs she liked.
Later, I signed with a company, was packaged and positioned, and sang songs that the market liked and danced dances choreographed by the company.
She hadn't been moved like this in a long time, purely for the music itself.
Guan Lin, Xiao Kai, Lin Weiwei, and the others watched the man on stage who was completely immersed in the performance, the reactions of the audience below the stage, and the focused expressions of the successful people in the VIP area.
They had only one thought in their minds: This guy is going to be famous.
On stage, the interlude ended, and Wang Bo's voice rang out again.
"Every time I'm sad—"
This time, his voice was even more powerful, as if a long-accumulated strength had finally found an outlet.
"Just look at the sea by myself—"
The drumbeats suddenly intensified, the strings expanded fully, and the volume of the entire band increased to a new level.
But what's amazing is that it's not noisy at all; instead, it has a powerful momentum, like waves crashing on the shore, one after another, impacting everyone's eardrums and heart.
I often think of my friends walking on the street—
In the VIP area, Zhou Yuji finally couldn't hold back any longer.
She cried when she listened to the recording in the studio, but it was just her and Wang Bo at the time, so she could secretly wipe away her tears and pretend that nothing was wrong.
But now, in a stadium with tens of thousands of people, in such a powerful live performance, all emotions are amplified infinitely.
She recalled Wang Bo's three years at Yuji Entertainment, where he remained unknown, singing songs he didn't like and earning a meager income, yet he never complained.
She recalled when she said she wanted to close her company and travel the world, Wang Bo said, "Then I'll try my best to get you to send me postcards from all over the world."
She recalled the disdainful look in the deputy director's eyes during the rehearsal, and how she slammed her hand on the table and said, "I'll pay for this."
Tears welled up unexpectedly, streaming down her carefully made-up cheeks.
She didn't wipe it away, nor could she wipe it all away; the tears flowed too fiercely, washing away two obvious streaks from her exquisite smoky makeup.
Su Yiyi handed over a tissue.
Zhou Yuji took it and wiped her eyes haphazardly, but new tears welled up again.
"You bastard," she muttered in a tearful voice, "this song...it's so heartbreaking."
Su Yiyi's eyes also reddened, but she cried more restrainedly, her eyes were just moist and the tip of her nose was slightly red.
Looking at Wang Bo on the stage, she felt not only moved but also heartbroken.
She knows how much real experience is reflected in this song—being dumped by her ex-girlfriend, having a stagnant career, singing songs she doesn't like, being looked down upon, and being questioned.
Pain is the most fertile soil for literature and music.
The most moving poems and the most touching melodies are often nourished by countless pains.
But Wang Bo did not dwell on his pain. He turned his pain into wine, into a song that is full of vicissitudes but not decadent; full of regret but not resentful; full of relief but also has the strength to move forward.
"What exactly did he go through..." Su Yiyi murmured to herself.
Beside her, Su Xiaoxiao was completely stunned.
She had heard Wang Bo sing before—she had heard his a cappella rendition of "Encounter" in the restaurant and the demo of "Once You Were" in the recording studio.
She knew Wang Bo was talented and capable, so she gave him a chance and a letter of intent.
But that was more based on business judgment—this person has potential and is worth investing in.
But now, on stage, with such a complete band performance, she truly understands how superficial her previous "assessment" of Wang Bo was.
This is not a promising artist.
This is a true musician.
His songs contain life, experiences, genuine emotions, and an original aspiration that has not been worn down by worldly affairs.
Su Xiaoxiao suddenly remembered what Lin Wan had said at lunch—"Sentiment can't put food on the table," and "When you actually invest tens of millions to make a drama that is critically acclaimed but not commercially successful, or to promote a talented but unpopular artist, you will understand."
Now she wants to say to Lin Wan: If there is such an artist, I am willing to support him.
If such music exists, I'm willing to invest in it.
Even if it doesn't make money, even if people laugh at my idealism, even if I end up losing everything.
It's worth it.
Because some things are more important than money.
On stage, the song entered its final verse.
"How many are currently healing—"
Wang Bo's voice reached an emotional peak here, but he didn't use brute force to push it up. Instead, he used more chest resonance to make his voice sound thick and powerful.
"di li li li di li li li den da——"
The classic onomatopoeic melody begins.
This time, Wang Bo did something that surprised everyone—he turned around, faced the band, raised his right hand, and made a "come together" gesture.
Drummer Lao Zhao was the first to respond, playing a magnificent interlude.
The bassist followed up with an impromptu walking bass.
The keyboardist added the sound of an electric piano, which, like stars, adorned the melody.
The trumpeter sounded again, this time more freely and improvisationally, as if engaging in a vocal dialogue with Wang Bo.
Meanwhile, the four students in the string section completely let loose, playing with great passion; one of the boys playing the cello even stood up.
Under Wang Bo's leadership, the entire band entered a state of near improvisation, full of the free spirit of jazz.
But this improvisation is not chaotic; rather, it is a free play within the existing framework, where everyone is listening, cooperating, and engaging in dialogue.
That tacit understanding, that sense of being there, that unspoken communication between the musicians, elevated the performance to a whole new level.
The audience below the stage had completely gone wild.
It's not the kind of madness that involves screaming, but rather the kind of "madness" that comes from being so overwhelmed by the music that you can't speak, and can only clap your hands and wave your arms wildly, feeling it with your whole being.
Even those who initially looked down on Wang Bo have now set aside their prejudices and immersed themselves in the music.
That's what music is like—it doesn't discriminate based on social status or background. As long as it's sincere and moving enough, it can penetrate all barriers and reach the heart.
"That smile is warm and innocent—"
As Wang Bo finished speaking, his voice gradually faded, not weakened, but rather receded like the tide, leaving traces on the beach.
The band also subsided in unison, the drumbeats gradually weakened, the bass faded out, the strings turned into fragmented notes, and finally only the lingering sound of the guitar remained, slowly dissipating in the air.
The entire room fell silent.
The audience was still immersed in the lingering melody, reluctant to break the silence.
Five full seconds.
Then, applause erupted like a tsunami.
"Splash splash ...
It wasn't just polite applause; it was heartfelt, enthusiastic applause that almost lifted the roof off.
It was mixed with whistles, screams, and cheers.
Wang Bo stood on the stage, panting, his forehead soaked with sweat.
He looked at the boiling darkness below the stage, at the waving arms, at those shining eyes.
Then he smiled.
That smile was clean, relieved, and a little childlike.
He bent down and bowed deeply.
The applause grew even louder.
From the regular audience seats to the VIP area, from students to alumni, from young people to middle-aged people, everyone was applauding enthusiastically.
Someone stood up and applauded.
Some people clapped while wiping away tears.
Some people wanted to shout "Encore!" but realized it wasn't a concert, but just a school anniversary gala.