Chapter Twenty-Eight: Crown of Sin, Song of the Drawn Sword, and the Huangpu River

(Based on Hiroyuki Sawano’s “Sword Drawing Divine Song βos” and Nan Quan Mama’s “Mudanjiang”)

Chen Haoran’s hands, gripping the drumsticks, were slick with sweat. It was almost their turn to go on stage. Before this, he’d only ever performed in small bars for a few dozen people. In those dimly lit venues, few ever noticed the drummer hidden behind the jazz kit. But when he peeked past the curtain just now, the vast stage was illuminated with such clarity that every detail was exposed, the lacquered floorboards reflecting the harsh spotlights. Beyond the dazzling stage, the audience stretched away in darkness, packed so tightly that not even the aisles were visible—he couldn’t see the end of the crowd.

He let the curtain drop and spotted Cheng Xiaoyu fiddling with his synthesizer, as carefree as ever. Instantly, his nerves settled—let the tall one bear the weight if the sky falls. With that thought, the sweat no longer poured from his palms.

Xia Shamo, on the other hand, showed no sign of nerves. Lyrical sheet in hand, she silently recalled Cheng Xiaoyu’s guidance on the song’s most difficult passages. She couldn’t afford a single mistake; a single flaw in a performance of such complexity could ruin everything. She wouldn’t let the show that Cheng Xiaoyu had poured his heart into end in failure. She wanted everyone to be awestruck by this music.

Cheng Xiaoyu was in the wings, discussing with the sound technician of the Fudan Grand Auditorium. The synthesizer needed a direct line to the sound system, but since he’d missed the final rehearsal and technical run-through earlier, he had to coordinate last-minute. By the time the fifty-year-old tech finally grasped that the instrument wasn’t an electric piano and couldn’t make sound on its own, the tap-dance performance by Gezhi Private Academy was drawing to a close. The exhilarating dance had whipped the audience into another frenzy. As the tap dancers took their bows and retreated, a group of student volunteers brought Chen Haoran’s drum kit onto the stage. Cheng Xiaoyu’s synthesizer was set on its stand, though the cables were still untethered. Xia Shamo slipped off her down jacket and strode toward the microphone.

From behind the heavy curtain, Cheng Xiaoyu heard Xu Qinning’s melodic voice: “After that spectacular tap dance from Gezhi Private Academy, Jiajun, what did you think?”

“It was wonderful,” replied Chen Jiajun. “I almost felt like jumping up to dance myself.”

Xu Qinning continued, “Now our New Year’s Gala, a joint event among four schools, is nearing its end. Jiajun, which act do you think will win best performance?”

“There were so many outstanding acts this year. The tap dance from Gezhi, the choral ‘Ode to China’ from Shanggao, your school’s musical ‘Cats’—all were exceptional. But I believe the award will go to our school’s Su Yuxi for her piano solo ‘La Campanella.’ What do you think, audience?” As his words faded, the audience erupted like a tidal wave: “Yes!” The chorus nearly lifted the roof of the Fudan Grand Auditorium.

Xu Qinning exclaimed in surprise, “Wow, so many supporters for Su Yuxi! I’m a fan myself and hope she gets a great score. The next performance is from your school as well, isn’t it?”

“Is it? Can you tell me what it is, Qinning?” Jiajun feigned curiosity.

Xu Qinning’s voice rang out, “It’s a very intriguing title: ‘Guilty Crown—Sword Drawing Song and the Huangpu River.’”

“Let’s welcome from Fudan Affiliated High School, Class 3-2: Chen Haoran, Xia Shamo, and Cheng Xiaoyu!”

The crimson curtains slowly parted.

At that moment, Cheng Xiaoyu dashed from backstage toward the synthesizer at center stage, oblivious to Xu Qinning in her blue evening gown heading to the wings. And so, tragedy struck—once again, he took a spectacular spill on the Fudan Auditorium stage, the crash of his fall serving as an unintended overture. His brand-new black suit was now streaked with dust.

Laughter and a rising clamor rippled through the audience.

Glancing back, Cheng Xiaoyu saw Xu Qinning, who had tripped him up, standing elegantly behind the curtain, flashing him a middle finger. With a wry smile, Cheng Xiaoyu started to get up, but Xia Shamo hurried from the microphone to help him to his feet. Suddenly, the applause from the well-mannered students thundered through the hall—though Cheng Xiaoyu knew most of it was for Xia Shamo.

She steadied him and quietly asked, “Are you alright?”

Cheng Xiaoyu grinned, “I’m fine. Let’s show them a different world.”

Xia Shamo nodded, taking delicate steps toward the microphone. She’d never worn high heels before and was still getting used to them. Now the hall was in an uproar—at first, all eyes had been on Cheng Xiaoyu’s mishap, but now every gaze was drawn to Xia Shamo, radiant under the spotlights. In heels, she stood nearly six feet tall. Her iridescent pearl-white cheongsam, embroidered with slender red and black twin dragons vying for pearls—each the size of a thumb—glistened at her shoulders. Pale blue clouds trailed across the skirt, and the high slit revealed her long legs sheathed in white stockings. The sequined, pearl-studded lace hem exuded a regal splendor, and her shimmering crystal shoes completed the ensemble, though all this magnificence was eclipsed by her breathtaking beauty.

In this age, Xia Shamo with her tear-streaked makeup was like a nuclear warhead dropped into every heart—so delicate, so pitiful, twin ponytails atop a statuesque figure and exquisite features that could only be described as “invincible.”

As Xia Shamo took her place, another wave of applause swept the hall. Everywhere, people whispered, “Who is that girl from Fudan Affiliated High School? Why haven’t I seen her before?”

Fudan students were baffled—there had never been a girl who could rival the school goddess, Su Yuxi. Where on earth had this Xia Shamo come from?

Her classmates from 3-2 were dumbstruck. Was this really Xia Shamo? Impossible. She bore no resemblance to the shy, disheveled girl they knew.

At that moment, Xia Shamo gently gripped the microphone stand, reminiscent of Athena in Greek myth raising her holy scepter. The radiance she exuded could not be met by any gaze—perhaps it was the dazzling stage lights, perhaps her own brilliance, but for everyone, it felt less like a school New Year’s performance and more like a grand televised gala.

And then, bathed in that holy light, Cheng Xiaoyu raised his right hand—a signal for Chen Haoran to begin the rhythm.

First came the crisp, rapid cymbals, then the lush, orchestral sweep of the synthesizer, followed by a few ethereal guitar notes. The drums surged with speed and power, and then Xia Shamo’s voice, clear and penetrating, sliced through the mists with sudden intensity. In that instant, the whole world fell silent. In the packed auditorium, every heart was clenched tight, beating in time with her voice.

A soaring, sustained high note overturned the world with ease.

Her pure, plaintive singing stretched every nerve taut.

Amidst ruins, beauty lingers;
I have always waited here for your return.
Clutching the forget-me-not you gave me,
Like a caged bird,
How could I ever touch your heart?
I need you to be stronger than anyone,
I release my soul so you can hear my song.
Raindrops turn into my tears,
The wind carries my breath and my story.
Branches and leaves become my body,
For my flesh is frozen among the roots.
Every time the snows melt,
I awaken and sing.
That forget-me-not you gave me is still here.
Do you remember?
Do you remember the words you once said to me?
Do you remember?
Do you remember what you were like that day?
Every season the forget-me-nots bloom,
I will sing once more.
Every season the forget-me-nots bloom,
I will sing for you.
Do you remember?
Do you remember the words you once said to me?
Do you remember?
Do you remember what you were like that day?
Perhaps the answer lies in changing your very being.
I need you to be stronger than anyone,
I release my soul so you can feel my breath,
Feel what I feel.
Raindrops turn into my tears,
The wind carries my breath and my story.
Branches and leaves become my body,
For my flesh is frozen among the roots.
Every time the snows melt,
I awaken and sing.
That forget-me-not you gave me is still here.

The entire performance burned through every soul, a rising tide that lifted spirits higher and higher, tossing them from the depths only to plunge them into roaring, endless surf. The tension was not born of fear of the unknown, but the thrill of battle, the joy of conquering an infinite world.

When the song ended, no one could immediately respond. The audience was still hurtling through the imaginary world conjured by the music, feeling black clouds and towering waves over a stormy sea. Then sunlight broke through. The gentle, crystalline notes of the piano drifted across the calmed waters, the wind and waves subsided, the clouds scattered, and lush green land unfurled before their eyes. Fishermen on bamboo rafts guided them into the tranquil embrace of the Huangpu River, into a riverside fishing village like paradise itself. Restlessness faded, replaced by the quiet warmth of sweetness and memory, and the burning blood cooled beneath a gentle rain of sound.

The arched bridge bends across the lake’s reflection,
You look from the other side and see a perfect moon,
On the old stone street where we once walked,
I wonder what those mottled brick walls look like now.
What you can’t reach is called far away,
What you can’t return to is called home.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? I listen, touched by the lingering melody.
Wind chimes ring, crisp and clear,
The riverside village dozes in peaceful slumber.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? My footsteps echo closer to your side.
The light of longing streams through the window,
Silver warmth spills onto the childhood bed.
The arched bridge bends across the lake’s reflection,
You look from the other side and see a perfect moon,
On the old stone street where we once walked,
I wonder what those mottled brick walls look like now.
What you can’t reach is called far away,
What you can’t return to is called home.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? I listen, touched by the lingering melody.
Wind chimes ring, crisp and clear,
The riverside village dozes in peaceful slumber.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? My footsteps echo closer to your side.
The light of longing streams through the window,
Silver warmth spills onto the childhood bed.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? I listen, touched by the lingering melody.
Wind chimes ring, crisp and clear,
The riverside village dozes in peaceful slumber.
Who is singing that song of the Huangpu River outside the door? My footsteps echo closer to your side.
The light of longing streams through the window,
Silver warmth spills onto the childhood bed.
The Huangpu River bends in many turns, little fish need not board the boat, for we do not care.
Cast nets for the moon, mend starlight, so Grandpa can have a bowl of hometown brew.
The Huangpu River bends in many turns, little shrimp need not come ashore, for we have no time to spare.
Cast nets for the moon, mend starlight, so Grandma can have a bowl of hometown soup.

When the final note faded into silence in the auditorium, Cheng Xiaoyu, Xia Shamo, and Chen Haoran stepped to the front of the stage and bowed in thanks.

The entire audience stood and applauded. This was an epic performance; never before had music possessed such power to captivate hearts.

It was a miracle of a show—everyone was swept into a dreamlike world and experienced a wondrous journey through music.