Chapter 37: The Sudden Arrival Of The Lobbyist
“Professor Lin, I think this song should be sung by a female voice with a slender voice to convey the feeling you want.
Whether it’s here in ‘snow dyes thousands of brilliant lights, bell sounds shape Buddha niches’ or ‘in an instant, vivid thread shadows, floating lights reflect palace halls, mistakenly asking what year it is tonight’, it is not suitable for a male voice to sing.
If Mr. Mei.”
Meng Xiaodong realized she had said the wrong thing; Mr. Mei referred to the foremost of the four famous Dan Jiao, Mei Lanfang, who was also her ex-husband.
“How about this, Mr. Lin, please wait a moment, I’ll get Gu Zhengqiu to sing it for you, does that work? She’s in Hong Kong right now.
Gu Zhengqiu is a female Dan Jiao, perfect for singing this, but she performed on the Island in the past and has lived there for a long time; I don’t know if you mind?
But her time on the Island was only for performances, with no other connections.”
Lin Ran had also realized the issue; although Meng Xiaodong’s singing skill was absolutely top-tier, there was a gap between it and the meaning this song originally wanted to express.
Only after hearing her explanation did he understand where the problem lay.
Peking Opera actors come in many types; someone like Meng Xiaodong, a Kun Sheng, belongs to female body male voice, meaning although she is a woman, her voice is completely male.
Dan Jiao, especially male Dan Jiao, are the exact opposite of Kun Sheng: male body female voice.
There are female Dan Jiao but no male Kun Sheng, because men playing male roles belongs to Sheng Xing.
The reason Meng Xiaodong mentioned Gu Zhengqiu’s background was to avoid causing a misunderstanding if she came to sing.
Professor Lin clearly wanted to be a Bystander; if they brought in a Peking Opera actor from the Island, it might cause trouble for him, or he might have other considerations.
Meng Xiaodong’s initial impression of this talented and young professor of Chinese descent was vague, but after singing “Bystander”, she gained a new understanding of his talent.
It was not an overstatement to describe him as having brilliant talent; even from her perspective, this song could be said to have pioneered a new style.
It was hard to imagine that this song was written by someone of Chinese descent raised overseas.
Lin Ran’s background has been reported extensively in Hong Kong media, all citing official statements from America newspapers: grew up studying in Europe, became famous in North America.
So her consideration for him was not out of wanting to curry favor, but out of respect for talent; this song should also receive the treatment it deserves.
Therefore, the first person she thought of among the current Dan Jiao in Hong Kong was the most skilled Gu Zhengqiu to perform it.
Lin Ran thought it over in his mind and felt it was not a big issue; he was even accepting a visiting professor position at the fugitive version of Tsinghua University, so having Gu Zhengqiu sing a song was no problem: “Good.”
Meng Xiaodong then asked: “So Professor Lin, should we schedule a time another day, or wait here a moment while I go invite her over?”
Lin Ran said: “There’s no time like the present.”
“Good, then Professor Lin, please rest here for a bit.”
Meng Xiaodong had just left when shortly after, the servant came to Lin Ran’s side and asked: “Professor Lin, Mr. Zhang has been waiting outside for a long time and hopes to see you.”
“Mr. Zhang?”
“Zhang Shizhao.”
Lin Ran reacted; he had seen this name in Meng Xiaodong’s information, someone who had come from across the river to persuade her to return.
Just mentioning Zhang Shizhao might be a bit unfamiliar; he has a granddaughter named Hong Huang, and Hong Huang’s ex-husband is a famous director surnamed Chen, the one who directed “Farewell My Concubine”.
Lin Ran guessed the situation at once: perhaps when he sent the greeting card, or perhaps after he arrived, the servant had notified him of the visit.
That was why this scene was unfolding.
Because after arriving in Hong Kong, besides attending the banquet organized by Hong Kong University that day, he taught classes during the day and stayed at Hong Kong University in the evenings without going out.
“Let him in.” Lin Ran said, just in time to let him hear the “Bystander” he had carefully prepared.
“Professor Lin, I’ve long admired your great name; I am Zhang Shizhao.” The man opposite was dressed in an old-style long robe, looking entirely scholarly.
Zhang Shizhao was puzzled; after the initial pleasantries, no matter how he tried to express his intentions—whether directly, hinting, or otherwise—the other party just wouldn’t engage, only smiling and saying to wait until Meng Xiaodong returned.
He knew very well that if Meng Xiaodong came back and saw him here, she would ask and find out it was the servant’s doing, and he would lose another contact.
But to turn and leave now would likely expose the servant with high probability, and he was unwilling, because the information he received was to make the maximum effort to persuade him to return to China.
From China’s perspective, if Meng Xiaodong’s value was 1, then Lin Ran would explode the numerical system.
Zhang Shizhao had already offered the limit within his authority: Director of Yanjing University Mathematics Department, and said he could go back first to see before deciding.
But the other party was impenetrable, neither agreeing nor refusing.
Zhang Shizhao sat restlessly on the sofa, not knowing what Lin Ran was up to.
Lin Ran also found it hard to speak; he had an information gap, yes, but having an information gap didn’t mean omniscience; who knew what his identity was, if he had multiple identities, what the servant’s background was, whether the servant could give information to other organizations.
He didn’t dare speak carelessly; Hong Kong was still too sensitive.
As Meng Xiaodong returned with Gu Zhengqiu, the four people in the living room each had their own thoughts.
But Gu Zhengqiu probably had the fewest thoughts; like Meng Xiaodong, she saw the score and was delighted, unable to resist humming along.
After hearing the name “Bystander”, Zhang Shizhao’s heart sank: “Bystander? So he’s using this song to state his attitude? This way of expression is truly the first I’ve seen.”
Is “the thick ink and heavy colors of the full Tang” hinting at the glorious history of Chinese civilization?
Is “in an instant, vivid thread shadows, floating lights reflect palace halls” saying that our ideals are like an illusory bubble, hard to achieve?
What does “light Hu spin dance lamp fire where does it slumber” mean?
What is “snow dyes thousands of brilliant lights, bell sounds shape Buddha niches, from here covered in dust feast of joy” saying?
Is “youth fades, how no see cave paintings’ former brilliance” saying that compared to history now, the great Tang prosperity is gone?
But the last line “yet wake to be a Bystander” Zhang Shizhao understood; the other party’s attitude was clear, he absolutely did not accept his invitation.
The bleak style of the whole song was brought to full play under Gu Zhengqiu’s voice; Zhang Shizhao didn’t even remember how he left Meng Xiaodong’s house, only feeling that his mind was full of the lyrics swirling, constantly trying to interpret their meaning.
Before leaving Meng Xiaodong’s house, Lin Ran entrusted Meng Xiaodong and Gu Zhengqiu:
“I’m doing an interview with Hong Kong Radio this Friday; I earnestly request the two of you to record it before then, whether to add Chinese classical instruments to enhance its Chinese culture flavor, all depends on you two experts.”
Then Lin Ran pulled an envelope from his suit pocket and handed it to Meng Xiaodong:
“This is the reward for the band or musicians; if it’s not enough, you can come to Hong Kong University Mathematics Department to find me anytime. As for your rewards, I plan 200 US Dollars each; what do you think?”
