The notice for the charity performance was forwarded by Lao Zhao.

The "Youth Mental Health Charity Gala," hosted by a foundation under the government, was held in the small theater of the Beicheng Cultural and Arts Center. It was not a large venue, with only eight hundred seats. Tickets were not sold to the public; the invited audience consisted mainly of staff from relevant institutions, volunteers, and some media members.

Lao Zhao said over the phone, "The organizers specifically asked for you. They said the social response to the song fragrance of rice has been fantastic and perfectly aligns with the theme of their event."

"When is it?"

"This Saturday night."

"I'll go."

Lu Zhixian didn't hesitate.

Lao Zhao paused for a moment.

"You're not even going to ask about the appearance fee?"

"Why would I need an appearance fee for a charity performance?"

"Alright, I'll confirm with them. By the way, there are no restrictions on what song you sing, but they suggest fragrance of rice; after all, this song fits the tone of the event best."

"I was planning to sing that one anyway."

After hanging up, Lu Zhixian looked through the performance list sent by the organizers.

When he saw the first few names, he raised an eyebrow.

Zheng Wei, a godfather-level producer in the Chinese music scene. Seventy-two years old, he had written over four hundred songs in his life and won the Golden Melody Award for Best Composition three times.

Liao Meiqin, a veteran singer who debuted in the sixties. At her peak, she swept all the major awards ceremonies. Since retiring, she had been dedicated to music-related charity work.

He Jianguo, an Old Cannon of the rock scene and a flagship figure of underground rock back in the day. Now in his fifties, he was still traveling everywhere for performances.

There were a few more names after that. Some he had heard of, others he had no impression of, but they were basically seniors who had been working in the music industry for ten or twenty years.

There were only three or four young faces. He had met one of them—Zhang Zi, a singer from a talent show whose album released last year had a good reputation.

Lu Zhixian flipped to the end of the list and found himself ranked third from the bottom.

Near the grand finale spot.

Interesting.

---

At six o'clock on Saturday evening, Lu Zhixian arrived at the Beicheng Cultural and Arts Center.

The backstage was simpler than he had imagined—just a row of dressing rooms plus a common lounge area. A few folding tables were set with mineral water and fruit plates.

When he arrived, quite a few people were already sitting in the lounge area.

The first person to notice him was He Jianguo.

The old gentleman was wearing a leather jacket, his hair slicked back, with an acoustic guitar resting by his side.

Seeing Lu Zhixian walk in, he was stunned for a moment, then stood up and proactively reached out his hand.

"Lu Zhixian?"

"Hello, Teacher He."

"Don't call me teacher, just call me Lao He." He Jianguo looked him up and down. "You're thinner than on TV."

"TV has a ten-pound filter."

He Jianguo chuckled and patted his shoulder. "I've heard your song fragrance of rice. It's well-written. My grandson plays it at home every day; it's been nearly a week now, and my ears are about to grow callouses."

"That's because your grandson has good taste."

"Stop flattering me," He Jianguo said, but the smile on his face didn't fade.

The door to the adjacent dressing room opened, and Liao Meiqin walked out.

She was in her sixties but well-maintained, wearing a deep blue qipao with her hair pinned up meticulously.

When she saw Lu Zhixian, her eyes lit up.

"Is this the young Lu who sang fragrance of rice?"

Lu Zhixian nodded. "Hello, Teacher Liao."

"My daughter is a fan of yours; she's been clamoring for me to get an autograph for her. She's in her forties and still star-chasing; I'm embarrassed for her."

"I'll write them for you later. I'll sign as many as you want."

Liao Meiqin was delighted and said to He Jianguo next to her, "Look at this young man's tongue; it's much sweeter than yours."

He Jianguo rolled his eyes.

Lu Zhixian greeted all the seniors present one by one.

No one put on airs, and no one deliberately made things difficult for him.

This circle had an unwritten rule—let the work speak for itself.

If you wrote good songs and sang well, the seniors would naturally think highly of you.

If you were just a pretty face with no substance, no matter how many fans you had, no one would give you a second look in a setting like this.

Lu Zhixian's works were right there; from Strings to fragrance of rice, every single one was solid currency.

Zhang Zi was sitting in a corner. When she saw Lu Zhixian coming over, she stood up and greeted him.

"Brother Lu."

"Mm, you're here too."

"The organizers reached out to me. I went through a very difficult time when I first debuted, and they felt my story could tie in with the theme."

"What are you singing?"

"A song I wrote myself that hasn't been released yet," Zhang Zi said, sounding a bit nervous. "Being on the same stage as these seniors is quite a lot of pressure."

"Don't think too much about it. Just sing for the people who need to hear it."

Zhang Zi nodded and said nothing more.

---

At seven o'clock in the evening, the performance officially began.

Lu Zhixian sat in front of the monitor screen backstage, where he could see the stage and the audience.

All eight hundred seats were packed.

The first three rows were for the foundation's staff and invited guests, while the back was for volunteers and some media.

The first to go on stage was Liao Meiqin.

It was an old song. Her voice wasn't as good as when she was young, but it excelled in its steadiness, with every word carrying weight. After she finished singing, the whole venue erupted in thunderous applause.

The host announced the current donation figure.

Thirty-seven thousand.

The second was He Jianguo.

The old gentleman went up holding his guitar and played a song he wrote in his youth. The lyrics told the story of a young man who left home and drifted for twenty years, only to return and find the tree in front of his house still there.

By the time he reached the last section, someone in the front row was wiping their eyes.

The donation figure jumped to eighty-two thousand.

Several more people went up one after another.

Some sang classic covers, others sang originals. The levels varied, but everyone's attitude was very serious.

Zhang Zi was scheduled two spots before Lu Zhixian.

She was visibly nervous when she took the stage, and her first line was a bit shaky.

But she stabilized from the second section onwards, becoming more and more relaxed as she sang.

The lyrics were about her own experience of being cyberbullied during her talent show days—very personal, but very real.

When she came down after singing, her eyes were red.

Lu Zhixian handed her a bottle of water.

"You sang well."

Zhang Zi took the water, nodded, and didn't speak.

On the screen, the host announced the total donation amount again.

Two hundred and four thousand three hundred and twelve yuan.

There were three acts left before the end of the performance.

A staff member came over to notify him, "Teacher Lu, you're next."

Lu Zhixian stood up, took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, and straightened his cuffs.

He picked up the microphone from the table and weighed it in his hand.

He Jianguo walked over from the side, holding a cup of tea.

"Xiao Lu, are you nervous?"

"I'm alright."

He Jianguo took a sip of tea and looked at the stage on the screen.

"All these songs tonight are good songs. But yours is different."

"How is it different?"

He Jianguo didn't answer directly but patted his back.

"Go on, let them hear it."

Lu Zhixian gripped the microphone and walked toward the passage leading to the stage.

The passage wasn't long, only about a dozen steps.

The lights from the stage shone through, stretching his shadow behind him.

He could hear the faint sounds of conversation from the audience ahead—people flipping through programs or quietly discussing the previous performances.

When he reached the end of the passage, he paused.

The spotlight on stage was already lit, a white pillar of light hitting the center of the stage, waiting for him to step in.

The host's voice came through.

"The next performer is someone I believe everyone is familiar with. One of his songs has made countless people's eyes well up in the middle of the night and has helped many children going through hardships find the courage to keep moving forward."

"Please welcome—Lu Zhixian."

The applause started.

Lu Zhixian took a deep breath.

Then he stepped into the light.

Eight hundred pairs of eyes watched him.

He stood before the microphone, not in a hurry to speak.

The audience fell silent.

It was quiet for about three seconds.

He said one sentence.

"This song is for everyone who feels like they can't go on."

Then he turned to look at the sound engineer on the side stage and nodded.

The harmonica intro drifted out from the speakers.

It was the version recorded by Xiao Qin. It sounded like a voice coming from a very, very distant paddy field ridge.

Lu Zhixian gripped the microphone and began to sing.

"If you have too many complaints about this world—"

The moment the first note came out, a girl in the front row covered her mouth with her hand.

She was a girl of fifteen or sixteen, wearing a school uniform with a tag hanging from her chest that read "Representative of Youth Beneficiaries."

Her tears began to fall even before the chorus had arrived.