A song from Chengdu revived a closed-down pub.

After finishing his live broadcast in Ning Province, Su Fan's next stop was Inner Mongolia Province.

According to the rules set by the program team, the candidate locations for each stop must be selected from the provinces surrounding the current location.

This ensures a continuous itinerary and avoids the production team taking dozens of people, spending time on the road instead of being in the Northwest one day and crossing half the country the next.

As a result, Sichuan Province was not included in this round of candidate lists.

Upon hearing the news, Qi Tongwei was depressed for an entire day.

He originally thought that after the Ningxia leg of the campaign ended, Sichuan province could make a comeback.

Unexpectedly, Lin Xiangyu not only used a strategy of retreating to advance to intercept the previous candidate, but also indirectly caused Sichuan Province to lose its eligibility to participate in this round of elections.

Qi Tongwei felt increasingly aggrieved the more he thought about it.

After arriving in Inner Mongolia, Su Fan and his group visited grasslands, wetlands, sandy areas, and pastoral areas.

They rode horses, stayed in yurts, watched the sunrise, and also experienced herding and traditional cuisine with the local herders.

The boundless grasslands, herds of cattle and sheep, and the ever-changing light in the sky made this stop's live broadcast just as effective as the previous two.

The only thing that has left netizens dissatisfied is the lack of news about the song.

In Shaanxi Province, Su Fan presented "The Song of Xi'an People" and "Chang'an Night".

Upon arriving in Ningxia Province, another poem, "Ningxia," was written.

Now that they've arrived in Inner Mongolia, the live stream has been going on for several days, but Su Fan still hasn't mentioned the new song.

Every day, a large number of netizens urge us in the comments section.

"Su Fan, have you forgotten that you're also a singer?"

"The grassland, the sunset, the bonfire are all ready, tell me where the song is?"

"There are songs in the first two places, so we can't treat them differently in Montreal, right?"

"The show has been airing for three days now, and there's still no word from them. Could they really be unable to write anything this time?"

……

Not only are netizens anxious, but those in Inner Mongolia's cultural and tourism sector are also uncertain.

With the examples of Qin and Ning provinces as examples, everyone knows how much influence a song that truly resonates with the local character can have.

It's just that it's not good to openly urge someone about this kind of thing.

Songs are not tourist souvenirs; you can't just grab one whenever you arrive at a destination.

Su Fan has consistently avoided giving direct answers to questions from the outside world.

It wasn't that he hadn't prepared any songs, but rather that after arriving in Montreal, he suddenly changed his mind.

The music on the grasslands is different from that of other places.

Long songs, throat singing, the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle), and those ancient melodies passed down from the lives of herders all possess a distinctive character.

If it's just a song performed by people from Han Tang Entertainment based on a pre-existing arrangement, it can certainly achieve good results.

But in Su Fan's view, something that truly belonged to this land was missing.

What he wanted was more than just a song about the grasslands.

Rather, it is a sound that grows from the grasslands.

The opportunity arose on the fourth day after the live stream began.

That evening, the production crew finished their daytime itinerary and checked into a campsite located on the edge of the grassland.

Knowing that Su Fan was interested in music, the local cultural and tourism department invited several local musicians to hold a small-scale exchange performance at the camp.

These individuals are all somewhat well-known in the local music scene.

Agula is skilled in the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) and Mongolian long song, and currently works in a folk art troupe.

Chaolu is skilled in throat singing and, in addition to participating in commercial performances, he also helps his family run a ranch.

Batu is skilled in Tobshuur and also collects and organizes ancient folk songs that have been passed down in pastoral areas.

The other two are Chen Fang, a guitarist, and Zhao Ye, a drummer, both from the local area.

They knew each other and would occasionally get together to perform, but they never actually formed a band.

The reason is also very simple.

Agula and his group place greater emphasis on the original flavor of traditional music.

Chen Fang and Zhao Ye, however, prefer rock music.

The two sides had tried to collaborate before, but the result was either the electric guitar drowned out the morin khuur, or the traditional melody and drumbeats went their separate ways, making it sound like two bands were playing on stage at the same time.

After trying a few times, the group gave up.

That night, everyone sat around the campfire.

Agula first played a piece on the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle).

After the first song ended, Chaolu performed a throat singing routine.

A deep fundamental tone emanates from the chest, while a clear overtone emerges above it.

Two sounds coexisted, sometimes like the wind sweeping across the grass, and sometimes like the distant sound of horses' hooves.

The audience in the live stream found it very novel.

"Is this a person's voice?"

"I thought there was someone hiding behind him singing backup!"

"Listening with headphones on feels like the sound is going straight into my brain!"

"The morin khuur music was beautiful too; closing my eyes really gave me the feeling of standing on the grassland!"

……

He Xiaoxiao stared at Chao Lu for a long time before finally asking, "Did you really make two sounds at the same time just now? How did you do that?"

Chao Lu explained, "What you hear below is the fundamental tone, while the brighter sound above is produced by controlling the mouth and breath to highlight the overtones, making it sound like two different sounds."

He Xiaoxiao cleared her throat and tried to imitate it in a lower voice.

As soon as she made a sound, she started coughing.

Chao Lu quickly reminded him, "You can't force it by squeezing your throat; you need to practice specifically. If you do it the wrong way, you can easily damage your vocal cords."

He Xiaoxiao immediately gave up trying, picked up her water glass and took a sip: "Forget it, I'll just stick to singing what I know."

Everyone immediately laughed.

Jiang Yi was clearly more interested in throat singing.

He's a professional musician, and he hears more than most people.

He briefly recalled the sound from earlier and asked seriously, "That overtone in throat singing isn't just for technical skill, is it? I feel it's very similar to the sound of the wind on the grasslands and the timbre of the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle)."

Chao Lu nodded: "Khoomei was never an isolated phenomenon. In the past, people listened to the sounds of the wind, water, and animals, and then tried to imitate them with their own voices. What they were expressing was not just the voice of one person, but also the voice of the world around them."

Agula, who was sitting next to me, picked up the conversation: "Many kinds of music on the grasslands grow out of life. There are rhythms for riding horses, songs for herding livestock, and long songs for missing people far away."

Ma Xiaoya asked curiously, "Why do the songs here often hold a single note for so long? Is it to make the sound travel further?"

Agula thought for a moment and explained, "That's one aspect. The grasslands are vast, and the distance between people is great. The longer the sound is drawn out, the farther it can travel. However, what's more important is the life and environment here. Standing on the grasslands, there are no tall buildings or narrow streets in front of you. The sky is high and the horizon is far away. When singing, the voice naturally doesn't rush to stop. Sometimes, a note in a long song will change with your breath. It sounds like a sentence hasn't been finished, but in fact, it has already traveled a long distance."

Jiang Yi listened thoughtfully: "So, what's truly important in long-form singing isn't just the melody, but also the space left within the sound."

Agula smiled and nodded: "That's one way to understand it."

Little Fatty, clapping along beside him, couldn't help but ask, "Is the rhythm of grassland music mostly derived from horses' hooves?"

Batu picked up the Tobshuur and casually plucked the strings a couple of times: "Part of it is that the rhythm of a horse is different when it walks slowly, runs fast, and gallops. In addition, there are rhythms formed by labor, dance, and sacrifice. Many of these things were not recorded by anyone at first, but people naturally remembered them after hearing them a lot."