Late February 2013, Z Country, Wuhan.
An unremarkable morning, the streets yet devoid of significant movement, the sun not yet fully risen, a subtle mist permeating the air.
An individual clad in soiled, antiquated garments, carrying a guitar case on his back, descended into a subterranean passageway.
Judging by his frame, he was likely male. His visage was obscured by long hair, seemingly unwashed for decades, with eyes occasionally visible, betraying his despondency. With societal advancements over recent decades, the profession of begging had become virtually obsolete. Currently, possessing a household registration booklet and relevant documentation allowed one to receive minimum living subsidies from the local neighborhood committee.
He settled against a frigid wall within the passageway, placing the dilapidated guitar case before him, extracting the equally worn guitar, and cradling it. He commenced tuning the strings. A gentle strum reverberated throughout the empty passage.
He was not a mendicant, but a wandering minstrel. Such individuals traverse bustling cities, showcasing their talents in crowded locales. Within their hearts, the pursuit of their aspirations outweighs the desire for monetary gain. The amount earned serves as a metric for public approbation. Judging by his attire, it seemed few found merit in his performance.
Yet, he appeared unconcerned, his music imbued with a sense of bewilderment.
By eight o'clock, figures finally populated the passageway, while he had already been performing for two hours. The guitar case before him remained devoid of any "approbation."
Gradually, a young woman entered the passageway from one end. She drew attention due to her attire—a ballet costume for performance, resembling a pristine white swan. The girl halted opposite him, placing a box on the ground before her. Whether intentionally or inadvertently, her gaze drifted towards him several times. He, however, remained utterly unresponsive, continuing his playing.
The girl was a performance artist, akin to those abroad who stand motionless for extended durations. In this inland city of Z Country, few possessed the discernment to appreciate such art. After arranging her box, the girl adopted an elegant pose, becoming "motionless." The man's presence caused the girl a measure of exasperation. She recalled that a month prior, he had abruptly begun setting up opposite her, his playing at that time classifiable only as cacophony, even frightening away her own audience. The girl had attempted to converse with him, suggesting he relocate. After all, she had occupied this spot first; departing would feel like being bullied. Yet, he seemed utterly dismissive, uttering not a single word. Observing his dejected gaze, the girl felt a degree of apprehension, suspecting potential mental instability. Fortunately, his playing subsequently improved, and occasionally, individuals would toss currency into his guitar case. Though meager, it was sufficient for subsistence.
He performed only a single melody, an old song from several years past. The singer's name was forgotten, only the title, "The Most Melodious," remained known. An originally sentimental song was rendered profoundly melancholic by his interpretation. Yet, it still evoked an impulse to weep. Hearing the same tune for over a month, the girl felt no tedium, instead developing a fondness for the song.
At nine o'clock, the girl grew fatigued, subtly shifting her posture. He, conversely, ceased his movements. The flow of people was sparse today; his guitar case remained empty. Unsurprising, given the repetition of the same melody for over a month without variation. Naturally, his earnings were minimal.
He lowered his head and sighed audibly. His stomach emitted a rumbling sound. The girl nearly chuckled aloud. Perhaps weary of his current performance, perhaps compelled by necessity, he cleared his throat twice, seemingly preparing to sing. Witnessing this, the girl felt a strange anticipation. "I assumed he was mute, but apparently, he can speak."
"Last night I dreamed of you again In the dream I saw beautiful things
Perhaps because I thought of you before sleep I consequently dreamed of you
In dreams I often search Seeking you It's merely a dream
In reality I once asked myself Do I love you Or is it just a game
I wish to see your eyes hear your voice No matter how soft I will listen intently
No matter how soft how soft I will listen with heart mind attentively
I wish to see your eyes hear your voice No matter how soft I will listen intently
No matter how soft how soft Because your voice in my heart is the most melodious
Is the most melodious"
The song concluded. The girl could scarcely believe her ears. Her initial impression was the beauty of his voice! The few coins that suddenly appeared before him attested that others, besides herself, acknowledged his excellence.
Having finished singing, he tallied the coins in his case. In that instant, the girl thought she perceived a smile grace his features. Pocketing the money, he ceased singing once more, resuming his playing.
The girl's perception of him shifted. Previously, she had considered him merely peculiar. Now, he was a peculiar individual who sang exceptionally well. If her observation was accurate, his smile was also distinctive, exceptionally warm...
Typically, around noon, the girl would pause her performance for a meal. He, however, would not cease. By five in the afternoon, the girl would pack up. Yet, he would still remain. She had never encountered such an odd street performer. A curious notion arose within the girl: she wished to observe the life of this peculiar person.
Thus, upon reaching five o'clock today, the girl did not depart as usual. She continued performing until ten o'clock. "Truly regrettable..." The girl ceased her performance, sitting on the ground, massaging her aching feet. At this moment, he finally stopped playing. Once more counting the money in his case, he placed the guitar inside, slung it onto his back, and headed towards the exit. The girl smiled involuntarily, contentedly gathering her belongings, maintaining a distance of over ten meters as she followed his steps.
"Peculiar people do peculiar things..." This was the girl's sole reflection after trailing him for nearly half an hour. Immediately upon exiting the passageway, he proceeded to a small food street behind a large nearby shopping mall and purchased three large steamed buns filled with fresh meat. He did not consume them but held them as he continued walking. She questioned how anyone would sell to him given his attire, yet the demeanor of the bun vendor suggested this was not his first purchase there. As he passed by an elementary school behind the food street, he encountered a large black wolfhound. He offered one of the buns to the dog. The dog's appearance indicated it was a stray. Their interaction suggested a long-standing acquaintance.
After feeding the dog, he hastened to stand before a particular shopfront. He stood there simply, gazing into the glass display window while consuming the remaining buns. During this time, the shop owner noticed the presence of this beggar-like individual but merely nodded without gesturing for him to leave. Apparently, he was a regular visitor here as well.
By eleven-thirty at night, the girl was nearly asleep. He had stood before the shop for an hour. Observing his stance, the girl felt certain he possessed a talent for performance art. At this time, the owner emerged from the shop, smiled at him, signaling closing time. Only then did he return the smile and depart. The girl had no intention of following further. Continuing would mean missing the curfew at her shared student dormitory (which locked at midnight). Despite this, the girl did not leave immediately. Intense curiosity compelled her to discover what could hold this strange person's attention, motionless, for an entire hour. Approaching the spot where he had stood, she found it was an antique shop. The storefront was modest yet elegantly decorated. Unlike other antique shops, it primarily featured European antiques and totems from foreign indigenous cultures. The owner, not yet having closed the door, noticed this peculiar girl dressed in ballet attire.
"May I assist you?" The owner appeared to be around fifty years old, his speech indicating a gentlemanly nature.
"Excuse me, what was that person looking at so intently just now?" The girl gestured towards the man's previous position.
"Miss has a discerning eye." The owner approached the display window, pointing to a pure gold pendant within a box. "This is it. Though not ancient, it is undoubtedly the work of a renowned European artisan. Every line, every carving, is exquisitely detailed. It qualifies as a masterpiece..."
The girl drew closer to observe, noticing a tiny family photograph nestled within the pendant.
"This is..." the girl inquired.
"Ah, that likely belonged to the original owner. It was embedded during the pendant's creation. Forcibly removing it would damage the pendant, so it has remained. However, it matters little. It can be appreciated as a work of art..." the owner explained.
"Why does that person admire this item so?" the girl turned back, continuing her inquiry, oblivious that her questions had deviated from her original intent. She was beginning to develop an interest in this person.
"Him..." The owner, indeed a gentleman, did not mind the girl's questions. "He arrived at my shop half a month ago. At that time, he rushed in frantically, asking the price of the pendant. Seeing his attire, I doubted his ability to purchase valuable items and ushered him out. Subsequently, he began standing outside the door for an hour each day, staring blankly at the pendant. Honestly, I have never encountered such a persistent individual. So, I quoted him a price, approximately five thousand RMB."
"So expensive?" the girl exclaimed in surprise.
"Please do not misunderstand; I have no intention of profiting from him." The owner hastily waved his hand in explanation. "I acquired this pendant in America for nearly the same price. I suspect its provenance is not entirely legitimate; otherwise, the price would undoubtedly be higher. After all, the weight of the pure gold alone is worth that much."
The girl realized her impoliteness and bowed apologetically. "My apologies, I did not doubt your integrity, Sir. Please do not take offense." As she bowed, she inadvertently glanced at the cartoon watch on her wrist. Before the owner could respond, she interjected, "I am so sorry to have troubled you for so long. I must hurry back, or I'll be sleeping on the streets tonight. Perhaps we can chat again another time..." With that, she quickly hailed a nearby taxi and sped off towards her dormitory.
Watching the rapidly departing vehicle, the owner murmured with a smile, "Such a polite and peculiar girl..."
At five past midnight, the taxi abruptly stopped at the dormitory entrance. The gate was already locked. The girl sighed, holding her bag.
"Returning so late, where have you been gallivanting?" inquired the elderly gatekeeper woman.
"Heh... heh..." The girl smiled awkwardly, approaching the woman. "The audience was very enthusiastic today, so the performance ran a bit late. Auntie, I know you dote on Xiao Wu the most. Please let Xiao Wu in." The girl grasped the woman's hand, beginning to wheedle.
The initially stern-faced woman could not resist her entreaties and chuckled. "Alright, alright, stop shaking, my bones will fall apart. I'll let you in today, but if you're this late again, see if I don't make you stand outside all night. Look at your attire..." The girl stuck out her tongue playfully.
"Hurry inside and change. I truly don't understand you, daring to walk the streets dressed like that. You really are thick-skinned..."
"This is called art," the girl chirped, bouncing through the entrance. "Auntie wouldn't understand." She then dashed up the stairs.
"This child..." The elderly woman smiled tenderly.
However, the girl, who had just been bouncing merrily, could no longer feel cheerful. Only one thought occupied her mind: "All the money I earned today went to the taxi driver. Another day wasted standing..."
Using her key, she opened the door. All lights were extinguished; presumably, her roommates were asleep. Tiptoeing to the washroom, she changed into her sky-blue pajamas. Washing off her makeup, the mirror revealed a beautiful face, exceptionally delicate features combining to create an adorable feminine charm. Though somewhat childlike, it was undeniably captivating.
After completing her ablutions, the girl indulged in her habit of writing in her diary before sleeping.
Within three minutes, she contentedly switched off the desk lamp, lay down on her bed, and drifted peacefully to sleep.
That day's diary entry contained only two sentences...
"Today, I—Li Xiaowu—finally understand more about the peculiarity of the peculiar person. He remains peculiar but (parentheses) possesses a certain artistic appreciation, a degree of compassion, and sings exceptionally well."
At twelve-thirty, the girl entered dreamland, her mind echoing with his rendition of "The Most Melodious," while he lay asleep on a cold wooden bench in a park.
Wuhan tonight remained as tranquil as the night before...