Chapter Sixty-Five: Some Things Are Worth Doing

Old Zhang had entered a state of frenzy. Like an ascetic who had transcended self, he was oblivious to those around him, wholly immersed in his own world of music and unable to pull himself free. Yet the tears streaming endlessly down his face betrayed the tumult within his heart.

He manipulated various instruments, arranging and composing according to his inner vision. Neither Wang Lei nor Ma Dongmei had expected that a single song could move the notoriously proud Old Zhang so deeply.

Now in his fifties, Old Zhang's life could itself be called a remarkable novel. Born into a privileged compound, he could have easily pursued a distinguished career in government or, had he joined the military, would have received resources far beyond the reach of ordinary people.

But Old Zhang chose none of those paths; instead, he walked a road of rebellion.

Some would say this showed Old Zhang's character, others that it was his revolt against convention. Yet none truly knew the deeper reasons that drove him.

Old Zhang would never forget those three figures from his childhood in the compound: himself, Ma Pingdong, Tang Jun, and the one who was two years their senior—Tang Jun's sister, Tang Hong, who made a sport of teasing the three of them.

Tang Hong was, in truth, the musical muse for both Old Zhang and Ma Pingdong. The eldest Miss Tang, famed for her rebellious streak, played the guzheng with extraordinary brilliance. Yet no one could have imagined that this legendary young woman—who could play the guzheng, snatch candy from her younger brother and his friends, and lead a gang of children into scraps with street toughs—would ultimately choose the military and give her life on the battlefield.

There was no body, no medal, not a shred of official information about her sacrifice. All Tang Jun ever received was a single message: his sister was gone.

As children of the compound, they understood what secrecy meant. Old Zhang and Ma Pingdong had spent their youth both resenting Tang Hong and, as adolescence bloomed, quarreling over her, even coming to blows. But in the end...

Innocent boys could not understand why that defiant young woman had made such a sacrifice—she had so much ahead of her, yet vanished without a trace.

From then on, Old Zhang and Ma Pingdong each carved out their own paths—one devoted himself to ancient music, the other to the rock guitar.

But what surprised them most was that two years after his sister’s death (or disappearance), their childhood friend Tang Jun followed in her footsteps and joined the military.

Four years later, they received word of Tang Jun’s death—he had fallen in the struggle against drug trafficking at the border.

Along with the news came an old letter, left by Tang Hong for her brother.

“Don’t ask me why, because this land was bought with our fathers’ blood. Some things, if we don’t do them, others must. If no one does them, more will bleed, more will perish.”

These words left the deepest impression on Ma Pingdong and Old Zhang. Though they themselves had not witnessed war or sacrifice, their fathers had survived mountains of corpses and seas of blood. In that moment, they felt a profound tremor in their hearts.

Neither of them ever joined the army or entered politics. But the Tang siblings profoundly reshaped their worldviews and values.

Wang Lei’s song, “I Love You, China,” struck the deepest chord within Old Zhang, evoking memories of Tang Hong, who left not a single trace, and Tang Jun, who left behind only a widow and a posthumous child.

Wiping away the tears still streaming down his face, Old Zhang pulled Wang Lei back into the recording booth.

“I can’t sing this song, you do it. Just humor your old brother for today—if I don’t hear the full version, I won’t get through the New Year.”

In that charged, almost frenzied state, Old Zhang finished the arrangement at lightning speed. The song had moved him beyond words.

Ma Dongmei glanced at Wang Lei with some concern, worried that Old Zhang might truly lose his mind.

“Alright, just let me know what you need, Brother Zhang,” Wang Lei replied. He had planned to refuse, not wanting to walk the path of a singer. But seeing Old Zhang’s bloodshot eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. He didn’t know why, but he sensed there was a story here—something had touched Old Zhang to the core.

“Meimei, call your father too. He needs to hear this song today,” Old Zhang instructed Ma Dongmei, convinced that Ma Pingdong also had to listen.

Once inside the studio, Wang Lei began focusing his emotions. His voice suited the song perfectly, but he could never match Old Zhang’s depth of feeling.

After Ma Dongmei notified her father, Old Zhang had Wang Lei sing “I Love You, China” again and again.

“Slow down a bit in the intro, don’t rush. Put more feeling into it—still not enough.”

“Not enough, really not enough. Give it more, go deeper.”

When Ma Pingdong entered the control room, he heard Old Zhang’s voice, tirelessly guiding every take.

“What are you up to, Old Zhang—keeping my daughter and son-in-law here on New Year’s Eve? Have you lost your mind?”

“Enough talk. Here, listen.”

Old Zhang, so different from his usual self, tossed Ma Pingdong a pair of headphones.

Without another word, Ma Pingdong slipped them on. Through the top-tier equipment came Wang Lei’s slightly raspy singing voice.

“I love you, China, my beloved mother. For you I weep, for you I am proud...”

Wang Lei gradually lost himself in the song, unaware that Ma Pingdong was listening outside.

In his mind’s eye, Wang Lei recalled his homeland from his original world—a country that had endured far greater suffering than this republic, yet had advanced through hardship. He remembered the animated series “Year Hare Affair,” which had moved him to tears. He had to admit, that show had made many people cry.

With real emotion, Wang Lei’s voice achieved the perfect rendition of the song.

Outside the booth, both listeners were moved to tears. As the lyrics described, they imagined Tang Hong must have spent her hidden days just like this.

After the song, Wang Lei’s eyes were red as well. He had poured his heart into the performance, and there was nothing shameful in that. Outside, all was silent.

Hot tears streamed down Ma Pingdong’s face; he hurried to wipe them away, for fear his daughter would notice. But Ma Dongmei had seen it all.

“This song must be heard by more people. Even if I lose everything, I’ll make sure it spreads.”

“I support you. Can we do it tomorrow?”

“You mean...?”

“Yes, tomorrow. I’ll call people, you do the same. If all else fails, I’ll go to my father—he’ll back this song for sure.”

“Right, let’s let the old guard hear it first. Ha, then we’ll see if we can stir up something big.”