Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Matchstick Heaven (2)-My Little Sister Is an Idol(Zhao Qingshan)

Su Yuxi and Sun Jingyao hadn’t actually gone far earlier. Instead, they found a supermarket nearby that was still open, bought gloves, hats, and a portable heater, intending to give them to the little girl selling flowers. When they turned back, they saw Cheng Xiaoyu standing beside the girl, guitar on his back, singing for the crowd.

By now, Cheng Xiaoyu’s singing skills were already quite impressive. After he finished singing “A Serious Snow,” quite a few people had stopped to listen—some were passersby, others had just come out of the nearby buildings. When the song ended, he received a sprinkling of applause, but not a single coin found its way into the collection bucket.

Cheng Xiaoyu realized that the current R&B style didn’t resonate much with this audience. He considered singing a sorrowful ballad instead. The weather kept the word “snow” floating in his mind, and soon he thought of a song that beautifully blended scene and sentiment: “The Snow Migratory Bird.”

Bear Tianping’s voice was powerful and clear, and this particular song was neither overly sentimental nor greasy. Its performance style stood apart from typical sorrowful ballads and was truly moving. However, the expressiveness of the guitar alone was a bit lacking for this tune. Enduring the ache in his wrist, Cheng Xiaoyu played fingerstyle to enhance the performance.

As the gentle, beautiful prelude drifted into the cold air, Cheng Xiaoyu’s deeply emotional voice floated out, enveloping the listeners. In online parlance, it was so beautiful it could make one kneel in awe.

As the migratory birds fly south, the wind cuts like a blade
You pierce my heart, I bleed for you
In the world you abandoned, I wait for your return
I don’t want to fly south; tears fall drop by drop
My empty arms, you let me embrace
Everything I had from you was the most beautiful
I turn back to fly, to chase
Let the memories bring tears scene after scene
I don’t believe you’ve forgotten, don’t want to fly alone
No matter where I escape, my heart is ashes
I turn back to chase, to lose myself
Even if in the end there’s only snow and ice
Even the heavens grieve for me, cold love withers
Let the endless wind and snow bury my broken heart

The effect was immediate: the crowd grew larger. When Cheng Xiaoyu’s clear and distinctive high notes soared, people began giving money to the little flower girl—fifty yuan, a hundred yuan, the smallest was twenty. A young man who’d had a bit to drink, red-eyed, pulled out five hundred from his wallet and handed it to the girl. She hesitated, so he dropped it straight into her bucket.

The people sitting in the cars nearby were astonished. Cheng Xiaoyu hadn’t sung all night; apart from Su Yuxi, everyone thought he couldn’t actually sing. Hearing him now, they realized his skill surpassed most professional singers. If they hadn’t returned to give something to the little girl, they would have missed this scene entirely.

Sitting in the front passenger seat, Sun Jingyao, suppressing her earlier annoyance with Cheng Xiaoyu, found herself captivated by the song and couldn’t help but ask, “What’s this song called? I’ve never heard such a beautiful song before.”

In the back sat Su Yuxi, Sophie, and Wu Zixuan, while Su Hongwen was in Gu Xue Ren’s car. Sophie, a pop music enthusiast, responded, “Yeah! None of the current top ten hits are this good—how can this song not be famous?”

Su Yuxi gazed at Cheng Xiaoyu, bathed in snow, and whispered, “He must have written it himself.”

Even Su Weilan was surprised, smiling as he said, “Who would have thought Xiaoyu had such talent!” Sun Jingyao had already explained to him earlier that her fall was an accident, and Cheng Xiaoyu had only tried to help, which led to a misunderstanding.

By the time Cheng Xiaoyu finished singing “The Snow Migratory Bird,” the earnings were quite generous. But with so many people still listening, he was too embarrassed to leave just yet. He bowed to the audience and said, “Thank you all. The next song, ‘Night After Night,’ is for all wandering souls.” Cheng Xiaoyu knew that, on the twenty-ninth night of the twelfth lunar month, those standing in the snow listening to him sing must all have stories, so he deliberately chose a song that could stir sorrow.

Where are you, Heaven?
I want to ask myself
I began clever, ended clever
So clever I nearly destroyed myself
I want to ask Heaven, ask the Earth
Or maybe fate, maybe destiny
Abandon everything, leave everything behind
Let me drift in the silent night sky

You don’t need to force yourself to say you love me
After all, my soul has fallen away piece by piece
Slowly, slowly, piecing together
Piecing together something that no longer belongs to the real me

I don’t want to lose control
I don’t want to drift every day, every night, every moment
Nor do I want to ask, to say, to beg for my dream
I don’t want to lose control
I don’t want to drift every day, every night, every moment
Nor do I want to ask, to say, to beg
For my dream

“Night After Night” is a rare song with a beautiful melody that never feels clichéd, but it’s also incredibly difficult to sing. Especially the part with “in the night sky”—it’s a real test of a singer’s skill. Many phrases require a long, steady breath, like “slowly, slowly piecing together, piecing together something that no longer belongs to the real me.” Just singing the word “me” can leave you breathless. These are the most challenging moments in the song—a slight lack of breath and you’ll fail.

When Cheng Xiaoyu sang “in the night sky” with a blend of head and chest voice, everyone was swept up in the emotion. His voice seemed to be a cry from the abyss, piercing straight into the listeners’ hearts. Logically, a seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be able to convey such depth, but Cheng Xiaoyu, having lived two lives, naturally infused his performance with boundless feeling.

His voice, much like Eason Chan’s, carried a profound emotion that moved people easily. Normally, such voices lack a wide range, but after dedicated training, Cheng Xiaoyu could now sing powerfully high notes with a unique, torn quality, or use a mix of falsetto and head voice to reach impressive highs. Though his voice still had some innate limitations, his technique was so rich that he not only concealed those flaws but brought out the very best in his tone, evoking even deeper emotion.

“Night After Night” is truly a tear-jerker, especially when the audience is harboring sorrow that needs release.

Many people find it strange to weep while listening to music, but it’s actually quite normal. Those tears aren’t solely from being moved by the song; rather, the song touches some hidden place in their hearts or brings back memories. When they already have the urge to cry, the music simply gives them permission.

Most of those who lingered around Cheng Xiaoyu, listening to his sorrowful ballads, carried some sadness of their own. In the end, he moved many to tears. More and more people pressed bills into the little flower girl’s hands, so much that she was overwhelmed.

Cheng Xiaoyu was surprised by the outpouring of emotion. He bowed again and said, “Thank you all for standing here in the cold winter night to listen to me. For the last song, I want to dedicate it to the little girl beside me. I sincerely hope that if you ever pass by here again, you’ll help me buy a flower from her. Thank you all again. Here is ‘Matchstick Heaven.’” With that, he bowed once more.

The crowd swelled, rivaling a gathering of music fans. Only now did everyone realize, after hearing Cheng Xiaoyu’s words, that he didn’t actually know the little flower girl.

Everyone applauded without reservation—a warmth that seemed ready to melt all the cold.

Cheng Xiaoyu struck the strings, and the crowd fell silent, listening intently as he sang.

Walking under the snowy night sky
Selling matches to warm my dreams
Step by step, the cold, step by step, the loneliness
The chill of the world freezes my hands
A pack of matches burns in my heart
On this cold night, nothing can stop me from moving forward
The wind cuts my face, the snow slices my lips
Dragging my feet, how much further can I go?
Who will buy my matches?
Who will light each hope for me?
Who will buy my loneliness?
Who will answer my longing for home?

Each time I strike a match, a tiny spark
I see hope, I see dreams
I see my mother in the sky speaking
She says, “You must be brave, you must be strong
Don’t be afraid, don’t panic
So you’ll never have to wander again.”

Mother takes your hand and leads you home
To sleep in a warm, blossoming heaven

Before the song ended, the little girl began to sob, thinking of her departed mother and the grandmother she depended on. Her tears wouldn’t stop.

Everyone in the crowd was deeply moved. The combination of the heart-wrenching “Matchstick Heaven” and the scene before them had nearly everyone in tears.

Even Sun Jingyao and Sophie, sitting in the car, were wiping away their streaming tears with tissues. Only Su Yuxi held herself together, though her eyes were red. Her history of crying likely dated back to infancy—she hadn’t shed a tear for as long as she could remember. Tonight, Cheng Xiaoyu was the first to make her feel the urge to cry.

Then, everyone began enthusiastically giving money to the little girl. She was crying too hard to accept it, so people simply dropped the bills into her red bucket. Many gave five hundred, even a thousand at a time, and soon the bucket was almost full.

At that moment, Cheng Xiaoyu felt his work was done. He hung the guitar around the still-sniffling girl’s shoulders and gently patted her head again. This time, she didn’t flinch. The applause from those around was thunderous, and countless camera flashes lit up as people snapped pictures of the touching scene.

Fortunately, this world had yet to invent social media feeds, or Cheng Xiaoyu would surely have gone viral as an inspirational figure.

Cheng Xiaoyu helped the girl organize the money in her bucket—some bills had fallen to the ground, but with the crowd blocking the wind, none had blown away.

He distributed the remaining dozen or so roses from the bucket to some of the kind-hearted people in the front row, giving priority to the ladies. Then, taking out a tissue, he wiped the girl’s tears and taught her to bow and thank the audience. She obediently bowed, choking out her thanks.

Cheng Xiaoyu urged her to hurry home. She nodded, forgetting about the fare she owed him. Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t forget, but with so many eyes on him, he was too embarrassed to mention it.

Seeing her struggling with all that money, he didn’t feel comfortable letting her walk home alone. Deciding to see his good deed through, he quietly followed her, escorting her into an old apartment building. Only when he heard the door shut in the stillness of the night did he feel at ease and leave.

By the time he walked back to the main road, he felt chilled and hungry from standing in the cold for so long. At that moment, he thought he was the real matchstick girl.

In the end, Cheng Xiaoyu swallowed his pride, hailed a cab, went to the hotel, borrowed money from the front desk, and paid the fare.