Chapter 110: Return to the Past

Faced with a group of students requesting the song "Anhe Bridge," Huang Guolun unexpectedly teased their anticipation just a little.

Smiling, he said, "I won’t sing 'Anhe Bridge' today. Tomorrow night at the music special, Xiao Bai and I will play hand drums and guitar together to sing this song."

Wang Peng eagerly responded, "That’s great, Teacher Huang! We’ll come listen to you sing tomorrow night! We’re cheering for you!"

Feng Zheng, with half a tiramisu in his mouth and sweet saliva spilling out, eagerly said, "I’m cheering for Xiao Bai!"

Bai Yao, slightly embarrassed by Feng Zheng’s shameless enthusiasm, smiled faintly and nodded politely in response.

Jiang Lili was not satisfied. "Teacher Huang, you’re not just going to sing one song tonight and stop, right? We’ve been waiting for you so long; please sing a few more!"

Wang Peng agreed, "Yes, Teacher Huang, sing one of your original songs! We really want to hear your originals!"

Of course, Huang Guolun would never stop after just one song.

The desire to sing had been awakened by his own voice, and the nostalgic mood had not yet faded.

All the people in the café were newly acquainted friends of Huang Guolun, including Bai Yao, who had only recently become a part of his life. The café itself was a fresh environment.

Yet, immersed in such a new setting, Huang Guolun’s heart was filled with a bittersweet nostalgia.

Perhaps it was the melody of “Kite” that stirred the depths of his soul; his mind was flooded with scenes from the past.

If only Chen Jia could be here with him in this warm café, meeting these new friends, experiencing the emotions he was now feeling—it would be so beautiful.

Sadly, the sweetest days are forever behind us, and the most beautiful times always belong to the past.

Time flies relentlessly.

No one can turn back the clock.

Many have spoken of rebirth online, but who can truly return to the past?

So, one can only rely on music to journey back, to recall that bittersweet romance.

A melody from “Return to the Past” surfaced in his mind. Huang Guolun told the café’s patrons, “I’ll sing a new song I wrote, called ‘Return to the Past.’”

Everyone was intrigued by this original piece.

Bai Yao paused in surprise.

“Return to the Past” was not on the playlist Huang Guolun had prepared this week. Was this a sudden inspiration? An impromptu performance?

She had never heard this song before, and her interest was piqued. She focused intently, awaiting his performance.

Zhao Jing, noticing the new song, excitedly told Shen Yumeng, “Hey, Teacher Huang has a new song! Amazing!”

Yumeng asked curiously, “Have you heard it before?”

“No, but every one of his original works is a masterpiece! Just wait, it’s going to be amazing!”

Having been dazzled by Huang Guolun’s original songs many times before, Zhao Jing had 200% confidence in his new work.

She wiped her hands with a napkin, cleared away the nut shells, as if preparing in full ceremony to welcome the new song.

After personally attending to the group of university students, Zhao Yan returned to join Zhao Jing and the others at their table.

Hearing the title “Return to the Past,” Zhao Yan didn’t even need to guess—it was surely another song filled with longing for times gone by.

When Teacher Huang sings this song, he’s probably thinking of his ex-wife, right? (Isn’t that obvious? Would he be thinking of some other woman?)

Zhao Yan understood Huang Guolun’s feelings deeply—just as when she listened to tragic love songs, her mind would wander to her past with Zhao Yijun, not some random men or celebrities. She might have a touch of a fairy-tale princess complex but was never delusional.

She guessed Huang Guolun was like her, a person deeply devoted in love.

This song was very likely written for his ex-wife.

For a woman who has passed away, to still have a man who loves her write songs in her memory—that is like Cao Zhi composing the “Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River” for Zhen Mi, a timeless tribute. How fortunate that woman must have been!

Zhao Yan had once indulged in beautiful fantasies—if one day Zhao Yijun became a renowned painter and painted a masterpiece portrait of her, how dreamy that happiness would be!

But beautiful feelings always vanish in an instant, and hoped-for loves often turn to nothing.

Like Teacher Huang’s ex-wife, even though she’s gone, her story lives on in music, heard and praised by others. Watching from heaven, she must be very happy.

Thinking of all this, Zhao Yan found herself envying Chen Jia a little.

At the piano, Huang Guolun gathered his emotions, the melody of “Return to the Past” surfacing in his mind.

The song’s deeply mournful tone struck back at his heart.

A helpless sadness welled up from the cracks of his wounded soul.

He knew he could never go back, yet he longed so deeply to return.

With eyes closed, his mind was filled with a dim, nostalgic hue.

It was like opening an old diary pressed with maple leaves—each scene, sweet or sorrowful, growing ever more blurred.

Was it age, fading memory, or the cruelty of time?

There were many things Huang Guolun did not want to forget, but when he recalled them, many beautiful details had withered, almost lost entirely.

With this bittersweet feeling and vague memories as his guide, Huang Guolun struck the opening notes of the nostalgic prelude to “Return to the Past.”

The café fell silent once more.

Everyone listened attentively as Huang Guolun wove a warm melody on the piano, awaiting his heartfelt singing.

But when he began, all were slightly surprised—

“A yellow, old lamp burns dim / Time mutely standing by,”

“Loneliness strikes without measure / Ignorant of weight or light,”

“Silence supports the leap over strangers / Quietly watching dawn and dusk,”

“Your figure / Losing balance / Slowly sinking,”

“Darkness circling in the air / Where to go, I cannot see,”

“Perhaps love lies at the other end of dreams / Unable to survive in the real world,”

Unlike the clear enunciation in “Kite,” Huang Guolun sang this new song with a hushed, murmuring tone, each word becoming a note, blending with the melody into a pot of nostalgic porridge, pouring straight into the hearts of his listeners.

The blurred vocal quality matched the song’s indistinct imagery, instantly setting this new song apart.

The deeper they listened, the more apparent this uniqueness became, and soon, some poignant, hook-like lines emerged:

“I want to return to the past / Try to hold you in my arms / Your shy face still a little innocent,”

“I want to see the world through your eyes / To be in your dream’s canvas / Just to be close is sweet enough,”

“I want to return to the past / Try to let the story continue / At least not let you leave me,”

“Distract time’s attention / This time I’ll hold you tighter / To hold on—will it still be in time?”

“I want to return to the past...”

As the chorus unfolded, everyone was drawn deeper into the whirlpool of memories Huang Guolun’s music conjured, sinking ever further.

It was hard to say why, but everyone in the café found this new song especially beautiful, even if they couldn’t fully catch the lyrics. They happily followed the warm, romantic melody wherever it led.

Huang Guolun, of course, knew every word, yet like leafing through a yellowed diary, he didn’t reveal every detail to his audience.

Instead, he used the unity of lyrics and melody, and carefully placed words, to gently stir the nostalgic melancholy within their hearts.

Bai Yao, sitting closest to Huang Guolun, had sharp ears and analytical skills. Though Huang purposely sang some parts in a passing, elusive way, she understood about eighty to ninety percent of the lyrics.

It was like reading about the sweet past of the teacher and his wife. Bai Yao’s mind was full of images of Chen Jia and the young, spirited Huang Guolun, their mutual affection radiant.

The past was so beautiful, yet reality so cruel.

A dream under the moonlight, gentle spring breezes ten miles long.

Fish sink and geese vanish on the road to the ends of the earth, finally understanding the bitter pain of parting.

Feeling the sweetness and sorrow in Huang Guolun’s music, Bai Yao truly believed that profound love deeply wounds the soul.

But it must be said—this is also one of the core sources of artistic creation.

Surely, if Teacher Huang had not experienced such life’s great upheavals, he would never have written so many moving works.

Though she didn’t understand much about creative arts, Bai Yao believed that besides extraordinary talent, Huang Guolun’s rich and profound emotional experiences were key.

When Huang Guolun sang the last line, “I want to return to the past,” he nearly crushed the tender hearts of all the sentimental girls present.

Zhao Yan was the most affected.

Listening to the song, moved by Huang Guolun’s powerful emotions, she too longed desperately to return to the past.

If she could go back, would she give her love with Zhao Yijun another chance?

A month ago, she would have.

But the experiences of the past month had brought her a sobering awakening.

Zhao Yijun was about to marry someone else—what reason did she have to cling to him?

His life had taken a great step forward while she remained stuck in place. This cruel contrast was deeply heartbreaking.

If she could, she wished she could wipe Zhao Yijun from her memory, just as Zhao Jing had said—treat those seven years as if they were fed to the dogs.

Even so, she still wanted to return to the past, to begin a new life without Zhao Yijun, to not let her youth slip away blank.

If possible, she hoped her reborn self would meet a good man like Huang Guolun—someone worthy of holding hands with and growing old beside.

Sometimes, fate truly plays cruel tricks. Deep-hearted people rarely find deep-hearted matches—either fate doesn’t align, or they are separated by life and death. Why is perfect love so hard to find?