Chapter 141: “Embroidery”

Zhou Miao stood onstage as the melodious sounds of the erhu and pipa rang out, while the song title appeared on the enormous screen behind her.

“Embroidery”

Gu Xi could not help laughing when he saw the title. “Weren’t we supposed to be doing the Three Whites of Taihu Lake? How did it turn into embroidery?”

“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. You still admit that your song was about smog,” Zhao Tianxiang said, naturally taking the side of his own teammate.

With his arms folded, Zhang Tuo said, “Embroidery is a fine subject. It has a distinctly southern character—the Four Great Embroidery Traditions all originated in the south. Still, it won’t be easy to write well.”

While everyone was discussing it, Zhou Miao began to sing:

“In southern towns, the rain falls thick in March,
In April, needles embroider flowers.
When illness comes, the heart grows timid still;
I move my needle before the little window.
I gaze into the distance—my lord has yet to return.
If your garments should tear, who will mend them with thread?
Before I know it, worry brings tears to cover me.
By red candlelight, May’s flowers and leaves grow deep;
In June, the apricot-blossom village.
A tender red hand, a thousand strands of dark hair—
May fate grant us one more share.
I wait as the setting sun shines upon a lonely shadow,
Peonies stain the bronze wine cup,
And flutes played by herdsmen sound beyond the city walls.
She leans against the gate, waiting for her beloved
To tread the road home.

Can you see? With every stitch of embroidery, someone aches for you.
Can you see? Through summer rain and autumn wind, someone waits for you.
Emerald bamboo weeps ink-dark traces;
The brocade letter remains unfinished.
No thread of feeling, no needle of love,
Can embroider a mandarin-duck pillow to the end.
In this life, I laugh and roam beneath the wind and moon,
Yet the blade of time grows thin and urges us toward age.
In the next life, may I spend every dusk and dawn with you,
Free and carefree~”

…

Zhou Miao’s voice began with a soft, delicate murmur before gradually opening up, like a water-colored silk painting slowly unfurling.

The lyrics were steeped in feeling without becoming sorrowful or resentful. They spread gradually, like ink in water—not blunt or piercingly tragic, yet somehow all the more capable of touching the heart.

This was Zhou Miao’s second Chinese-style song after “A Mistaken Encounter in the Flower Fields.” It told the lingering, deeply moving story of a Jiangnan embroiderer yearning for her husband, who had traveled far away, to return home.

Like elementary-school children, songwriters hated assigned compositions most of all. They were genuinely difficult to write. Everyone had blind spots in their knowledge, and when confronted with an unfamiliar subject, all one could do was stumble around in the dark.

Tan Yue had been desperately grasping at straws today. In the end, after listening to his fans’ suggestion, he had turned Zhou Miao’s honey-coated little mouth into a song. Yet after writing it, he had worried that it might have a poor effect, revising it again and again until he nearly blew himself apart.

By comparison, Zhou Miao’s “Embroidery” was practically a model composition: graceful, moving, and profound in its conception. Even ordinary listeners who knew nothing about music had no choice but to admit, after hearing it, that it was beautiful.

The song had originally been written in his previous life by Chun Chun under the title “Shu Embroidery.” Zhou Miao had initially planned to sing the original version directly, but after receiving a request from his hometown, he had drastically rewritten the lyrics and turned it into “Suzhou Embroidery.”

Afterward, however, he felt that doing so was unfair to his former homeland. After agonizing over it for some time, he simply changed the title to “Embroidery”—taking a little from both sides without wholly belonging to either.

The judges on the panel whispered among themselves. After a lengthy discussion, they announced the final score.

Ninety-three point five—a score that seemed somewhat low to the audience, though Zhou Miao considered it reasonable.

The lyrics to “Shu Embroidery” had been written by Guo Xiaosi, and in many places they piled up ornate language too heavily, giving the song an affected quality. Its emotional theme was also muddled, leaving listeners unsure what it was really trying to say.

Zhou Miao had made several targeted revisions, but correcting every one of those problems would have required tearing the song apart and rewriting it from scratch. With time running short, he had no choice but to let it go.

After winning the round, Zhou Miao returned to the lounge and exchanged high fives with Zhao Tianxiang and Tan Yue. Zhao Tianxiang twisted his old waist and said with complete confidence, “Leave the next one to me.”

Tan Yue watched Zhao Tianxiang’s departing back in surprise. “Old Zhao is that confident? That’s rare.”

Twenty minutes later…

Zhao Tianxiang was numb with shock. His “Squirrel Mandarin Fish” had earned ninety-three points, which was already an excellent score. But that fellow Lu Jinping had taken the highest score of the night—ninety-four points—with a song called “Candied Sweet Potato.”

Even so, Zhao Tianxiang accepted the defeat wholeheartedly. Lu Jinping’s “Candied Sweet Potato” was not merely about food. It was also about the mother who had made candied sweet potatoes for him when he was little. The song was sincere and deeply moving, bringing tears to the eyes of many people in the audience.

By a single point, the South lost that evening’s competition, narrowly missing the chance to win two rounds in a row.

After all the songs had been performed, the six contestants returned to the stage. Regarding that evening’s performances, Qian Jin, the charming young host, had a whole list of questions she wanted to ask.

“All right, first, let us congratulate the North team on winning tonight’s competition. And now, Teacher Zhang, may I ask why you decided to wear this outfit today?” Qian Jin asked curiously.

Zhang Tuo gave an awkward smile. “This is my battle uniform. My daughter bought it for me. She said that wearing it would allow us to crush the opposition in terms of sheer momentum before the contest even began. I tried it today, and the effect really was quite good.”

Qian Jin covered her mouth and laughed demurely before turning toward Tan Yue. “And what made you think of turning all those… things Zhou Miao said into a song?”

Tan Yue slapped the back of his head, his face full of regret. “It was all a terrible suggestion from the fans. They said that, when it came to arguing, Zhou Miao was the best among all southerners, so I believed them.”

Qian Jin struggled to hold back her laughter. “Well… strictly speaking, there isn’t really anything wrong with that statement.”

“Hm?” Zhou Miao cast her a puzzled look. I’m still standing right here, you know.

Qian Jin then handed the microphone to Zhou Miao. “Zhou Miao, what do you think about these two senior artists using you as source material?”

Zhou Miao scratched his head and said sheepishly, “That was all when I was young. I haven’t cursed at anyone in a very long time.”

The moment he finished speaking, a wave of jeers rose from below the stage.

Zhou Miao’s expression darkened at once. Fine, you little brats, so you’re not going to show me any respect? Once I get my phone back, I’ll teach you what cruelty means!

After the interview came the drawing of subjects for the next round. As the contestant with the highest score that evening, Lu Jinping drew first. His subject was “Views on Love.”

Next came Zhou Miao. He stirred the slips of paper around before drawing one. When he saw the two large characters written on it, a delighted smile immediately spread across his face.

Zhou Miao held the slip toward the camera. In the third round of the competition, his subject would be “Kung Fu.”

The audience immediately became excited. This was Zhou Miao’s specialty. First there had been “Huo Yuanjia,” followed by “Master Zhou”—both rare gems among kung fu songs.

Zhang Tuo had been talking about love for ages, only to draw “Dialects.” That was not bad either.

For the third round, Lu Jinping once again chose Zhao Tianxiang as his opponent. He had clearly decided to keep picking on Old Zhao, the softest target.

Unwilling to lose, Tan Yue wanted to continue locking horns with Zhang Tuo, and Zhang Tuo readily agreed. As a Northeastern man, Zhang Tuo had no particular advantage under the subject of dialects, but neither was he at a disadvantage. Besides, could an old Shanghai rogue like Tan Yue really sing in the Shanghai dialect?

It was not regional prejudice. Some dialects simply were not suited to singing, and Shanghai dialect was one of them.

As for Zhou Miao, he had no choice but to begin a second battle with Gu Xi.

After filming ended, the five veteran artists patted Zhou Miao on the shoulder before leaving one after another. Their attitudes toward him were clearly much warmer than they had been at the beginning.

After all, over the course of those two rounds, Zhou Miao had already proven his ability. Judging by his overall performance, he could even be said to have been the best performer of them all.