Chapter Eighteen: The Rise of the Humble Grains

In nearly sixty years of life experience across two worlds, Wang Lei had never set foot in a professional recording studio before, let alone one of the nation’s finest, on par with the best in the world. Inside the slightly claustrophobic space, Wang Lei felt somewhat uneasy. For two years, he had essentially confined himself to a small room, shutting himself off from the world. Now, re-emerging, he found himself with an inexplicable aversion to such cramped quarters.

There was no accompaniment, just the guitar in Wang Lei’s hands. Old Zhang, the Rocker, still harbored some doubts about Ma Pingdong’s description; he needed to hear the whole piece before deciding on the arrangement.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity, or maybe his lack of professionalism—after all, although Wang Lei possessed a “golden touch,” he was still an ordinary man. So, when he began to play, his fingers stumbled a little, and when he opened his mouth to sing, his voice was unsteady.

Old Zhang frowned in the control room. With such a performance, it hardly seemed worth Ma’s recommendation.

But as the music continued, Wang Lei gradually loosened up. After all, music’s greatest purpose is often to soothe the nerves. As his body and mind relaxed, his playing and singing returned to a normal level. Moreover, the lyrics of “Charlotte’s Troubles” resonated with Wang Lei’s own life, allowing his emotions to naturally flow into the song.

Two years—during which a girl, just on the brink of adulthood, endured his outbursts and his silence, most often met with a chill as cold as ice. It was for no other reason than that the person beside her was the one she had chosen. Perhaps this was true love—the kind of love that makes one reckless and unafraid.

Wang Lei’s voice was “rough,” but not in the uncomfortable way of a cat’s claws scraping glass, nor the piercing pain of clutching thorns in one’s hand. This roughness felt more like running one’s palm over a stone monument etched with epitaphs—the weight of history pressing into the skin—or like whole grains sliding down the throat, not smooth but nourishing.

As Wang Lei hit his stride, Old Zhang was taken aback. He’d worked in rock for years and knew singers who used deliberately raspy voices for effect, but he’d never heard a singer whose voice gave him this particular feeling.

The old-school rockers were fading away; nowadays, the trend favored polished voices and refined images, with the same standards set for both.

In Old Zhang’s mind, Wang Lei’s voice was to most current singers what whole grains are to polished rice. The latter goes down smoothly but soon becomes tiresome, and much of it is artificially refined. Whole grains may lack the visual appeal, but they have their own virtues—fiber to counteract the excesses of refined foods, and a novel texture that refreshes the palate.

“Not bad—reliable, Old Ma, your son-in-law is the real deal,” Zhang said, unable to wait for Wang Lei to finish before turning to Ma Pingdong in the control room.

“Well? Isn’t it a whole new feeling? I’ve never oversold anyone, you know that,” Ma replied with a proud chuckle.

“Alright, I’ll give this project my all. As for the other song, I’ll take it on no matter what. I’ll find the right singer myself—your son-in-law can rest assured.”

Regardless of the song itself, Old Zhang felt Wang Lei’s voice alone was reason enough to devote himself to the job. The music scene had been stagnant for too long; it was time to stir the waters and let some fresh current in.

After finishing “Charlotte’s Troubles,” Wang Lei sang “Just Once,” but the result was far less impressive. That song fit the current pop style, and with Wang Lei’s voice, it was as jarring as using a spiked club to play professional billiards—completely out of place.

When they left the studio, Old Zhang handed Wang Lei a drink—beer, just as expected.

“Not bad, Lei. Old Ma wasn’t lying. To the uninitiated, your voice might not seem special, but anyone who knows the craft wouldn’t let it slip by. So, what do you think? Planning to become a singer?”

From Old Zhang’s perspective, Ma Pingdong had brought Wang Lei here and, given his disability, clearly hoped that Zhang’s standing and influence in the industry would give Wang Lei a boost—a way forward.

“To be honest, Brother Zhang, I have no intention of joining the entertainment industry. I’m recording these songs mainly for my theater projects. But I’ll probably trouble you again in the future—I’ve got quite a few more pieces.”

Wang Lei truly had no plans to enter show business. He didn’t believe his temperament suited that world. Rather than get tangled up with unpredictable people, he preferred to remain an observer. Besides, he possessed a lifetime of experience from another world. Dropping a hit song now and then to keep himself relevant would also help when the time came for him to pursue his own ambitions.

“Well, Old Ma, your son-in-law is just like you. Seems easygoing, but he’s a stubborn one.”

“You know it—not all birds of a feather flock together, but my daughter made the right choice,” Ma Pingdong replied with a laugh.

Hearing Wang Lei’s words, Ma Pingdong was surprised. He had thought Wang Lei might take up music as a career, but it seemed the young man had bigger plans.

“Alright, with today’s business settled, let’s get down to the real thing. So, Old Ma, what’s your drink of choice? What should we order?”

Though Old Zhang’s words sounded casual, Wang Lei could sense the old rocker’s sincerity. Men like him, for all their talk and bravado, possessed a fervent heart. They didn’t drink with strangers; only friends worthy of entrusting their lives and families were ever invited to share a drink.

The three of them spread out in Old Zhang’s spacious office, with chilled South American agave beer and piping hot spicy crawfish delivered by takeout. They reminisced about old times and gossiped about the latest trends, all in a relaxed atmosphere where drinking was the true business. In such a setting, one could finally let down all defenses and open up.

Wang Lei made no effort to hold back. Thanks to his athletic constitution, his tolerance for alcohol was decent. In truth, the convivial atmosphere and the aid of alcohol made him feel completely at ease. He spoke of his past, shared his dreams for the future. Though there were secrets he kept, his heart was clear and unburdened.