Red Ribbon.
The thrum of various instruments and drums intensified, echoing without cease.
The cheers from the audience nearly drowned out the music on stage. As a song drew to a close, many in the crowd urged the bassist to play another solo. The lead singer stepped forward with a smile, smoothly deflecting the demand by teasing that if they liked the bassist so much, they could toss their red ribbons at her. He deliberately drew out the last syllable, glancing sideways at Song Guanyu.
Without hesitation, the audience hurled the red ribbons—symbols of 'blood'—toward Song Guanyu on stage, creating a visual effect like a rain of petals falling from the sky for her.
Ye Yansheng watched as she was enveloped in red, his ears filled with chants of 'Encore! Encore!'
Every person in the audience had been tied with a red ribbon on their wrist by the staff earlier. The red ribbon was the symbol of this heavy metal band. He lowered his head and looked at the streak of red on his own wrist.
Raising his head again, he saw Song Guanyu talking to the lead singer.
Song Guanyu was inwardly conflicted until Zhou Jue quietly approached and whispered in her ear with urgency, "Teacher Song, our bassist is on his way. One song's worth of time is enough." Seeing her hesitate, he added, "You probably haven't been in an atmosphere like this for a long time, Teacher Song. Just treat it as having fun. Don't worry, the lights are dim; no one will recognize you."
Zhou Jue knew her through Senior Brother Bai, and he was right. Song Guanyu really hadn't felt that sensation of blood flowing backwards in her body for a long time. Her last concert was two years ago.
She stood on tiptoe and whispered something to Zhou Jue, who nodded and then relayed it to the others.
Then Song Guanyu walked to the front of the stage and extended her hand toward Ye Yansheng below. The cheers around them exploded.
Ye Yansheng was baffled until a man beside him pushed him from behind. He was at the very front, looking up at Song Guanyu. He looked down at her hand; she pointed at the red ribbon on his wrist. Then he heard someone exclaim, "This is the first time I've seen a bassist asking the audience for a ribbon!"
"Quick, give her the red ribbon on your wrist! Whenever someone in their band asks for it and ties it on their hand, they'll play an impromptu song. Handsome guy, you're in luck!"
"Give it to her! It's the first time I've seen a girl bassist in overalls on stage!"
Ye Yansheng was pushed forward until Song Guanyu crouched in front of him and extended her wrist.
Without a second thought, he quickly tore off the ribbon and tied it around her wrist, finishing with a neat bow.
Song Guanyu seemed triumphant. She kissed the bow on her wrist through her mask, then handed her guitar pick to Ye Yansheng.
She had no idea how provocative her actions were—not only to the audience but also to Zhou Jue and the others on stage.
Zhou Jue and his bandmates were dumbfounded.
Teacher Song, you're being way too obvious!
Unaware of any impropriety, Song Guanyu went back and nodded to Zhou Jue. Then she stood by the speakers, flexed her wrist slightly, and plucked the first string, instantly bringing the atmosphere to a peak.
As the music grew wild, she lifted her foot and stomped hard on the speaker, shaking her head and swaying her whole body along with the bass in her hands. Her toes tapped and trembled; her fingers moved so fast that no one could catch each beat.
She was paying tribute to her favorite heavy metal band, Ghost from Sweden.
The lead guitarist joined in, then the drummer and keyboardist followed. The live atmosphere reached an unprecedented high.
Zhou Zhen knew Song Guanyu was versatile, but he hadn't expected her to like this band—it was a delightful surprise.
At the finale, Song Guanyu did something she habitually did: because she was so immersed, she ended with an index finger sweep across the strings.
Only when the cheers erupted after the song did she realize, 'Oh no.'
That was her signature ending move.
Ye Yansheng's ears were sharp. He heard the girl next to him scream loudly—it was Song Guanyu's name.
Though he didn't know how she was exposed, in the burst of sparks and smoke, he saw Song Guanyu's body freeze for a moment. He immediately dashed from the crowd to the backstage area, exactly running into a man in a black crew-neck T-shirt, carrying a bass on his back, his face covered in sweat. This must be the bassist who had been stuck in traffic.
The man rushed past and bumped into Ye Yansheng. Before Ye Yansheng could speak, a rapid voice came from behind.
"Little Ye Cousin!" Before Ye Yansheng could turn around, his wrist was tightly grasped, and they started running.
Ye Yansheng had never run so frantically in his life. They weaved through the streets of New York in the evening heat, leaving behind the noise and excitement, passing speeding cars, and dashing into the sunset's glow—a romantic escape together.
At that moment, Ye Yansheng's eyes were fixed on the back of Song Guanyu's head. The hair he had tied up was now loose; the hair tie had snapped. The long strands of her hair, carried by the wind, brushed against his face intermittently. He squinted.
People behind them were screaming, shouting Song Guanyu's name.
The sound seemed to be getting closer. Ye Yansheng's eyes darkened. He spotted a narrow, dilapidated alley ahead, shrouded in darkness. He pulled Song Guanyu's hand and yanked her into it.
In the cramped, pitch-black space, their chests heaved with rapid breaths. They stood pressed close together, their exhalations mingling around each other's noses, tickling their faces.
The air carried a faint scent of beer. The man panted, looking down at the woman in his arms. "Did you drink before you went on stage?"
Little Radish Head curled in his embrace, nodding slightly, still gasping for air.
"I... had a little. Just a few sips." She now deeply regretted that half-glass, or she wouldn't have exposed herself in the end.
Outside the alley, shadows of passersby flickered past. Ye Yansheng pressed her deeper into the corner, close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath.
Because the alley was dark, no one could see them from the brightly lit street. Ye Yansheng was dressed all in black, which better concealed Song Guanyu entirely in his arms; from behind, no one could tell he was holding someone.
Ye Yansheng pressed Song Guanyu against the damp, mossy wall. Their chests squeezed together. With his tall, broad frame, she looked tiny in his arms, her scent filling his nostrils.
Sweat mixed with the smell of beer, and hearts pounded loudly.
Pressed so closely, they could hear each other's rapid pulse.
Song Guanyu grabbed the front of his clothes, tugged, and peeked out from his embrace. Seeing no one, she let out a sigh of relief.
She was suffocating from the mask, so she took off both mask and sunglasses in front of him, breathing deeply in the fresh air.
But as soon as she removed the coverings and looked up, she realized how tightly they were pressed together.
Their positions—she looking up, he looking down—were complementary. When she lifted her head, her lips brushed quickly across Ye Yansheng's. Her pupils contracted abruptly. She saw a deep, dark intensity in Ye Yansheng's eyes, a look that made her gulp involuntarily.
In a whispery voice: "Little Ye Cousin, I estimate we'll be all over the tabloids soon. Are you scared?"