Taking Liu Yifei back to Northeast China for the Chinese New Year has sent the entire internet into

Fang Yu calmly took half a step forward.

He raised the microphone and pressed it down.

"Alright, everyone, let's rest our voices for a bit."

The audience quickly quieted down.

Everyone stood on tiptoe, listening intently for him to speak.

Fang Yu casually tugged at the collar of his military overcoat.

He didn't speak immediately, but instead looked past the sea of ​​people and swept his gaze over the red lanterns hanging on the street and the dazzling ice sculptures.

Finally... it landed on the row of steaming red brick stoves not far away.

When his gaze returned to his face, the smile had vanished.

"I promised Director Wang before."

"Today, besides showing off our love on this precious spot, we also need to get some serious business done."

Director Wang clenched his fists tightly in the audience.

coming!

After all that buildup, it's finally time for the main course!

Fang Yu gripped the microphone tightly again.

"So, the next song."

"This is dedicated to this black soil, to my parents, to the chef who worked hard all day, and to the staff who ran around behind the scenes."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the entire room.

"Also, give some to the people from Northeast China."

Liu Yifei stood beside him, watching him quietly.

She knew that Fang Yu had been keeping a song hidden away.

Even now, she still doesn't know the song title.

Fang Yu stood under the spotlight, the north wind making his military overcoat rustle.

He looked at the tens of thousands of eyes below the stage and said, word by word:

"This song is called—'Northeast Folk Song'."

The voice just fell.

Liu Yifei very sensibly stepped back a few steps to the side, retreating into the shadows where the lights couldn't reach, completely giving up the main stage.

Music begins.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, the intro contained no suona or gongs, only a slightly rough synthesizer noise mixed with a few slow acoustic guitar notes.

The sound of that noise was chilling.

Fang Yu lowered his eyes and spoke in a very low voice.

"The plum blossoms in the coldest days of winter have turned the snow on the mountains red."

"The shadows of withered branches, the crescent moon shines on a sleeping person."

The tens of thousands of people who had just finished singing together and were still in a state of extreme excitement were extinguished by these two cold lines.

The entire room quickly fell silent.

Lin Wan tucked her chin into the collar of her military overcoat.

She was a girl from the south and had never seen a real snowfield before today.

As soon as Fang Yu shouted, she suddenly felt the chill of minus thirty degrees Celsius in Mohe seeping into her bones from her ankles.

Fang Yu continued singing.

"The young man was driving the horse-drawn carriage, holding a long whip in his hand."

"The river breeze blew, and his face turned bright red."

The wind started to pick up.

The once large and round moon overhead was completely obscured by a dark cloud that seemed to have drifted in from nowhere.

The sky suddenly darkened.

The light in the square dimmed.

The large red lanterns hanging on both sides swayed wildly in the wind.

VIP seating area.

Hua Yu crossed his arms and frowned deeply.

The framework of "musical aesthetics" in his mind was being shattered, word by word, by the man on stage.

It's too rough; no reverb has been added, and even the breathing sounds aren't modified.

But it is precisely this voice that perfectly captures the desolation of a northern winter.

"With the sound of gongs and drums, the first month of the lunar calendar begins."

"Amidst the crackling of firecrackers, a carpet of red petals fell to the ground."

"Every household lights up lanterns."

"Another year of good harvest."

This is a celebratory passage.

But Fang Yu's singing was anything but festive.

Instead, it conveys a sense of the weight of time passing and a unique sense of destiny characteristic of the Northeast.

On the side of the square, in front of that row of large red brick stoves.

The dozens of chefs didn't understand pop music or music arrangement.

Upon hearing these words, several elderly men in their sixties had tears in their eyes, turned their heads away, and began to smoke heavily.

Fang Daqiang and Zhao Guifang stood on the side platform.

Zhao Guifang stared intently at her son on the stage.

I don't know what I'm thinking.

Fang Daqiang reached into his pocket, grabbed the cigarette pack, but didn't take it out.

"How long has the clear, cold river flowed so swiftly?"

"Like that wanderer, who once departs, never to return."

"The girl stood alone at the door with tears in her eyes."

"Looking out at a glance, how many autumns have passed?"

At that moment, a few kilometers away, a police car heading towards the Municipal Public Security Bureau was traveling on a dark, snowy road.

No one spoke in the carriage; only the onboard radio was broadcasting the evening's performance at Polaris Square live.

The desolate and fatalistic melody of "Northeast Folk Song," accompanied by faint background noise from the radio waves, filled the cramped carriage.

Li Jun sat in the back row, his hand pressing down on Lao Liu's shoulder.

The sixth brother was still staring lifelessly at the retreating snow shadows outside the window.

Upon hearing this song on the radio, my body slumped down.

He lowered his head, staring intently at the iron handcuffs on his wrists, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

On the stage.

A snowflake, propelled by the wind, struck Fang Yu's cheek.

Followed by.

One piece, two pieces.

Snowflakes began to fall from the dark night sky.

At first, it was just a few scattered snowflakes, but in less than half a minute, it turned into a heavy snowfall.

The weather in Mohe can change in an instant.

In the white light of the spotlight, all that could be seen were snowflakes dancing wildly in the wind.

Fang Yu, wearing that heavy military green overcoat, stood in the middle of the wind and snow.

They didn't dodge, nor did they move.

"Heavy snow seals the door, so we send out the God of Wealth again."

"The flames cannot burn away the person in my heart."

"Frost flowers fill the window, on this auspicious day."

"We've decided to spend our lives together."

The large screen switched to a close-up shot.

Snowflakes landed on Fang Yu's eyelashes, and a thin layer of white accumulated on his shoulders.

Liu Yifei stood in the shadows to the side and behind, snow falling on her white dress.

She didn't flick the snowflakes off her skirt.

The Fang Yu she usually saw was joking and irreverent.

This was the first time she had ever seen it.

This man could actually possess such profound loneliness.

The snow is getting heavier.

Tens of thousands of audience members were present.

My head and shoulders were covered in a layer of snow.

No one held an umbrella, no one moved around, and no one brushed the snow off their body.

Tens of thousands of people stood quietly in the heavy snow of the north, listening intently.

In the folk custom exhibition area not far away, the bright red sedan chair with all mortise and tenon joints that Fang Yu had made by hand a few days ago was quietly parked in the wind and snow.

A layer of snow-white covered the red silk.

Fang Yu's voice carried on the wind.

"The setting sun in the north is her red makeup."

"A mountain of pines and cypresses served as bridesmaids."

"Waiting for her lover to return home in glory."

"In this life, I will only be with you."

He emphasized each word more and more.

Without the tearing high notes, just push the air out of your chest, one breath at a time.

That's the resilience that the people of Northeast China have built up over generations, making a living on this black soil.

"With the sound of gongs and drums, the first month of the lunar calendar begins."

"Amidst the crackling of firecrackers, a carpet of red petals fell to the ground."

"Every household lights up lanterns."

"Another year of good harvest."

Fang Yu's voice faded as he sang this part.

"Every household lights up lanterns..."

"Another year of good harvest..."

The last sentence fell.

The accompaniment gradually stopped.

The only sound in the square was the whooshing of the wind and snow brushing against the microphone.

Fang Yu slowly lowered his hand and removed the microphone.

The song is over.

In the live stream room.

The screen normally receives thousands of bullet comments per second.

At this moment, everything is almost blank.

Occasionally, one or two comments would appear on the screen.

【…】

【. 】

Even the person typing doesn't know what to say.

Polaris Square was also quiet.

There was no applause.

There was no cheering.

No one is calling for an encore.

The wind slapped snowflakes onto the faces of tens of thousands of people, but no one moved.

A dozen seconds later, in the VIP seating area.

Chen Daoming slowly pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and took off the leather glove on his right hand.

He raised his hands and clapped them slowly but forcefully amidst the swirling snow.