Teacher Jiang immediately took out her phone and dialed the number of the inheritor of Beijing puppetry.

"Old Miao, quickly watch the live stream of 'Sing, Youth!' Hurry, there's a kid singing your puppet show!"

"What the hell?"

"Oh, stop asking! Just tell your grandson to turn on the TV for you!"

After saying that, Teacher Jiang slammed down the phone, as if afraid of missing a single second.

Old Miao held the busy signal on his phone, speechless.

"Xiaoyu, help me start that 'singing something' show."

"Grandpa, is this the 'Sing! Boy' song?"

"Yes, that's the name. Oh dear, I'm getting old, I can't remember it."

On stage, the expected pop music intro did not begin.

Instead, a holographic wooden stage rose from the ground in the center of the stage. The copper bells on the eaves of the stage rang out automatically without wind, producing a series of clear and crisp sounds, as if they came from a distant era.

An old, carved stage, a sandalwood table, and a celadon teacup.

A young puppeteer dressed in simple clothes knelt on the ground and kowtowed heavily to the white-haired old man behind the table: "Master, your disciple is willing to give everything to learn this art."

The plot unfolds silently yet powerfully before the eyes of all viewers.

The puppeteer secretly apprenticed himself to learn opera without his family's knowledge, but was eventually discovered. His family was furious and raised sticks to smash the puppets he cherished.

He desperately tried to protect her, but was ultimately kicked out of the house by his enraged father.

"Clang—"

The ancient mahogany gate with its copper rings slammed shut in the wind and snow, shutting out all warmth.

Outside the door, only that thin figure remained, bidding farewell to his parents in the midst of the heavy snow, heading towards home.

A somber atmosphere instantly enveloped the entire venue.

Just then, Gu Yang stepped out of the darkness deep within the stage, and a spotlight shone precisely on him.

He held the microphone to his lips, and the song began.

[Mocking who is relying on America to lord it over others]

How can two people be together if they have no heart?

【…】

"Wow, erhu, yangqin, and flute!" Zhuo Tongyu slapped his thigh, his eyes lighting up. "This is a genuine ancient-style song!"

On the stage, the puppeteer staggers forward in the wind and snow.

Snowflakes fell on his black hair, turning it into a full head of white hair in an instant.

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He took the puppet out of his pocket. The puppet had an exquisite smile on its face and was dressed in gorgeous clothes.

The puppeteer's fingers were wrapped in silver threads, and in the midst of the swirling snow, he manipulated the puppets, making them dance alone.

After the dance ended, he carefully tucked the puppet into his bosom, protecting it tightly, and walked step by step toward the unknown distance.

The door to my home behind me is getting farther and farther away.

It was you who kissed the ink and brush.

[Tears stain the corners of my eyes]

For whom do we witness separations, reunions, encounters, sorrows, and joys?

【…】

Spring turned to winter, and he sat under the eaves, patiently wiping the wooden puppet in his arms with a soft cloth, his expression tender, as if he were handling a rare treasure, with a smile in his eyes.

Zhuo Tongyu was completely immersed in the story, murmuring, "I never expected that such a traditional theme could be written so... movingly by the author."

Ren Dongxuan, who had been refraining from commenting until now, couldn't help but speak up: "This stage arrangement is absolutely amazing."

She was an actress, and although she didn't win any major awards, she did win a few minor ones, so she has a certain appreciation for scripts and performances.

The melody of this song isn't difficult. If Gu Yang can win with this song, the stage design will probably deserve 90% of the credit.

But the next second, Ren Dongxuan realized how wrong she had been.

The chorus arrived without warning.

[Orchid-like fingers caressing the fleeting nature of worldly affairs]

【On the three-foot-high red platform, all things are sung and played】

[Singing of parting, sorrow has become too deep to be truly sorrowful]

The once vibrant red area has turned to ash.

【…】

Holy crap!

Zhuo Tongyu, Ren Dongxuan, and Ni Yuelan seemed to have been switched on at the same time, and suddenly jumped up from their chairs.

Zhuo Tongyu's face was filled with shock, and his voice trembled slightly: "This... what kind of singing style is this? Peking Opera?"

Ni Yuelan stared intently at the stage, as if trying to see through Gu Yang's throat: "It's Peking Opera vocal warm-up! But... but can anyone tell me that pop songs can be played like this?!"

At this moment, Gu Yang and the puppeteer on the platform seemed to be isolated from the world.

The puppeteer's once full head of black hair has now turned completely white.

With your hand, I dance like the wind.

You guide me, and I know when to advance and when to retreat.

The elderly puppeteer stood at the edge of the stage, his cloudy eyes fixed on the still young and beautiful puppet in the play, a surge of resentment welling up within them. He suddenly yanked the strings, and the puppet staggered toward the center of the stage, only to be pulled back by the strings as it approached him, falling heavily to the ground.

Smoke filled the stage as the puppeteer slowly approached the puppet and lifted it up. He gently stroked the puppet's cheek, his movements tender to the extreme, yet filled with boundless despair.

The stage lights began to rotate, and as the light and shadow intertwined, the puppet's shadow gradually overlapped with the puppeteer's figure, as if the two were originally one.

[The wind and snow faintly illuminate the white ends of autumn hair]

The lush lights gently furrow your brows.

If you were to shed even a single tear

If I can be with you when you grow old.

【…】

As the song reached this point, a single, glistening tear rolled down the puppet's eye. The puppeteer excitedly embraced the puppet tightly, only to discover it was merely his illusion; the puppet remained cold and stiff.

He huddled in a corner of the stage, muttering to himself, "She's not a manipulated puppet; she's a soul trapped in the play..."

"What a pity, what a pity!"

Two hot tears streamed down his cloudy eyes. Finally, as if he had made up his mind, he used all his strength to throw the puppet violently into the brazier beside him.

"Whoosh—"

The puppet he had cherished all his life was instantly engulfed in flames.

Flames shot skyward, and in mid-air, they coalesced into the figure of a woman. This puppet had miraculously risen from the ashes and come back to life!

The puppeteer stared blankly, his eyes filled with the same infatuation and obsession he had felt when they first met in their youth.

The woman seemed to know that the puppeteer had abandoned her.

She slowly turned around, faced him, and gracefully bowed.

When she rose again, she was draped in silver threads, and with light, graceful steps, she danced one last, exquisite dance in the raging flames, for him and for herself.

[Turn to ashes in the misty waves]

[It was a perfect trip.]

The song ended.

The puppeteer suddenly went berserk and rushed toward the brazier, trying to save the puppet, but was forced back by the scorching flames.

He collapsed heavily to the ground, watching his beloved gradually turn to ashes in the fire, and the light in his eyes was completely extinguished.

The entire room fell silent.

"No...no..." Ren Dongxuan's lips trembled, her mind blank. "That...is it that kid Gu Yang? He can sing so well?"

She no longer cares about Peking Opera or anything like that.

Looking at her radiant nephew on the stage, she felt terribly unfamiliar with him.

Ren Dongxuan immediately wanted to take out her phone and call the housekeeper.

We must contact the most famous Taoist priest in the capital immediately!

Exorcise evil spirits!

We must exorcise the evil spirits!

This person could never be that three-year-old devil who could set her hair on fire!

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