Volume One: Debut at the Pinnacle Chapter Six: Reunion

Maple Creek Bar was one of the more upscale bars in Xiang City. Unlike other places, it didn’t have that cheap, vulgar air; instead, it offered a fresh and gentle atmosphere, less intense but all the more popular with women. Of course, every now and then, the DJ would spin a lively track or two.

Last month, Chen Jing had applied here for the resident singer and DJ position, needing only to work Friday and Saturday nights. It was Friday tonight. He’d chosen this job partly because the owner offered generous pay, but mostly because he genuinely liked the bar’s vibe.

“Chen Jing, you’re here!” The head of security, Ah Zhe, greeted him warmly.

Chen Jing replied with a smile, “Zhe, it’s been a while.”

Ah Zhe was from the streets—though called head of security, he was really there to keep order. Every bar needed someone with clout to keep things civil; without that, chaos would reign.

In the backstage area, Chen Jing changed into a more formal outfit, then made his way toward the main hall and bar. It was just after eight. Although his shift ran from eight until two in the morning, the busiest hours were from ten until one; the rest of the time was more relaxed.

He went to the mixer and put on a soft, sentimental song, planning to get himself a drink, when he unexpectedly ran into his boss.

“Sister Lan,” he greeted, bowing slightly.

Wang Menglan, the owner of Maple Creek Bar, was said to be in her thirties, though she looked younger—graceful, elegant, and radiating the charm of a mature woman. Chen Jing knew she was divorced and living as a single mother with her daughter. Those close to her called her Sister Lan.

“Ah Jing, go and sing a song, will you?” Wang Menglan smiled, gesturing toward the stage. She’d hired Chen Jing herself and truly valued him, treating him almost as a younger brother.

“Uh, alright.” With the boss’s request, Chen Jing could hardly refuse.

Stepping onto the stage, he picked up the mic and asked, “Sister Lan, any requests?”

His voice echoed throughout the bar, but with so few guests this early, mostly just staff, it didn’t feel abrupt.

Wang Menglan parted her lips in a small smile and raised her hand, making her preference clear.

Chen Jing understood instantly and played a backing track he’d recorded himself.

It was the same song he’d sung at his audition, the one that had convinced Wang Menglan to hire him for the busiest hours. She wasn’t the type to let just anyone sing during peak time.

The music began—a gentle violin introduction. Chen Jing timed his entrance perfectly, his voice drifting out, “Still leaning against the sleepless night, gazing at the stars above…”

Yes, it was “Midnight Serenade,” a Cantonese song that had been wildly popular in his previous life.

That song had been a KTV staple for decades, its charm long proven. As it happened, Wang Menglan also spoke Cantonese, and the first time she heard Chen Jing sing it, she’d been captivated. She’d loved it ever since, always coming to hear him perform it live rather than just listening to recordings.

“But my heart, every minute and every second, is still possessed by her…” Chen Jing sang the chorus with passion, his voice moving everyone present.

“My longing, my desire, until the end…” His ending was slow and deep, and when he finished, the room erupted in applause.

“That was beautiful! Sing another!” the patrons shouted.

“Woo! Chen Jing, I love you!” That was one of the resident singers, intentionally stirring up the crowd.

“Woo! Chen Jing, I love you too!” Someone else quickly joined in.

“We all love you…”

Laughter rippled through the room.

Chen Jing chose to ignore the playful shouts, smiling as he waved to everyone, then set down the mic and walked over to the booth where his boss was sitting.

Seeing him approach, Wang Menglan was the first to speak, “That was wonderful.”

“As long as you like it, Sister Lan.” Chen Jing scratched his nose, a little embarrassed, then glanced around and asked, “Is Youxuan not here tonight?”

“Her grades have been slipping lately, so I haven’t allowed her to go out at night,” Wang Menglan replied helplessly. “She just wants to have fun these days. Ah Jing, you’ll have to talk some sense into her.”

Wang Youxuan was Wang Menglan’s daughter. She’d become a devoted fan of Chen Jing after watching him perform once at the bar.

Chen Jing chuckled, “Youxuan is a good kid, really. She doesn’t need much guidance—she’ll figure things out herself.” He meant it; he genuinely thought Youxuan was a mature, independent girl.

Wang Menglan rolled her eyes. “A good kid? She’s still just a child at heart.” Perhaps, in every mother’s eyes, her child never grows up—there’s always the worry they can’t take care of themselves.

Chen Jing smiled, then, as if remembering something, said, “By the way, Sister Lan, after tomorrow night’s shift, I won’t be able to sing here any longer.”

Wang Menglan looked at him and asked quietly, “You found another job?”

“Yes.”

He’d told her from the start that he’d quit as soon as he found a job, so his pay was settled daily.

Wang Menglan took a sip of tea, hesitating for a moment. “Actually, Ah Jing, you don’t have to quit.”

“Huh?” Chen Jing looked at her, puzzled.

“I can change your hours to ten to midnight, which is when the bar is busiest anyway. And it’s only Fridays and Saturdays—it shouldn’t interfere too much with your new job,” she said, looking at him.

Chen Jing shook his head with a sigh. “I’m afraid it still won’t work, Sister Lan. I just signed with Jingrun Entertainment as an artist, and I’ll be debuting soon. It wouldn’t look good for me to keep working as a resident singer in a bar.”

“What? Jingrun Entertainment? That soon?” Wang Menglan was shocked. She’d believed Chen Jing had potential, but this was faster than she’d expected. He’d only been in the city for less than two months, and already he’d signed with one of the biggest entertainment companies. Then again, considering his talent, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Opportunities always favored those who were prepared.

After a moment, Wang Menglan sighed. “In that case, it really isn’t appropriate for you to keep singing here.”

She’d always thought of Chen Jing as a younger brother and wanted only what was best for him. “Honestly, I don’t want to see you go, Ah Jing. But since you’ve signed with them, you can’t stay as our resident singer.”

She knew all too well how popular Chen Jing was. Since he’d started, their Friday and Saturday night revenues had doubled.

After thinking it over, Wang Menglan made a swift decision. “Alright, tonight will be your last night. You don’t need to come in tomorrow.”

“What? Is that necessary?” Chen Jing was surprised.

He’d planned to sing tomorrow so she’d have time to find a replacement.

She waved him off. “That’s settled. Tonight, you can say your goodbyes properly.”

Chen Jing didn’t argue. He stood and bowed to her, grateful. “Thank you, Sister Lan, for all your care. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.” With those words, he acknowledged a debt of gratitude—one whose value couldn’t easily be measured.

Wang Menglan didn’t dwell on it, but her voice was tinged with sadness as she teased, “Go on, don’t act like you’ll forget your Sister Lan. Now go get ready for your set, before you make me cry with all this sentiment.”

He was gently pushed out of the booth, shaking his head with a smile as he returned to his work.

Perhaps because it was his last night, Chen Jing played all the liveliest tracks.

As the night wore on, the bar filled up. Before midnight, the spacious hall was packed with guests.

During this time, Chen Jing sang three more songs and even did a live DJ set, driving the atmosphere to a fever pitch.

Finally, after his last song, the energy in the bar soared to a new high.

He took a moment to catch his breath, smiling at the excited crowd below. Then he cut the music; cheers filled the air.

Raising his hand, he signaled for quiet. Picking up the microphone, he spoke slowly: “Sorry, everyone, I need to interrupt our fun for just a moment. There’s something I have to tell you.” He looked around at the expectant faces, not keeping them in suspense. “For certain reasons, tonight will be my last performance here as the resident singer.”

“What? Really?” A wave of disbelief swept through the audience.

“No, you can’t! I wanted to hear you sing again!” cried one devoted fan.

“That’s right, if you leave, we won’t come anymore!” another threatened playfully.

“Why, Ah Jing? Are you going to sing at another bar?” Some already imagined dramatic stories of him being mistreated and moving elsewhere.

“Which bar is it? We’ll just follow you there if we have to!” someone called out.

Chen Jing quickly waved them off, “No, don’t go making up stories. Sister Lan has treated me incredibly well—this is just my own decision.” He sighed, continuing, “I can’t share the details yet, but if all goes well, you’ll find out very soon.”

Ignoring further questions, he said, “So, that’s the situation. There won’t be another performance from me tomorrow night.” He glanced around at all the faces, speaking gently, “I really love Maple Creek Bar. Truly. I love the atmosphere, the colleagues, Sister Lan who’s taken such good care of me, and especially all of you—everyone who’s enjoyed my singing.”

A fresh wave of cheers erupted.

“So, for my last moments here, I want to dedicate a song to you all—a farewell. This song is called ‘Goodbye.’”

With that, Chen Jing moved to the drum set he’d prepared, picked up the sticks, and struck them together three times.

The music exploded into life.

“I’m afraid I may not have the chance
To say goodbye to you
Because maybe I’ll never see you again
…
I will remember your face
I will cherish all the memories you gave me
…
Without looking back
I’ll keep moving forward…”

(A tribute to: Hacken Lee’s “Midnight Serenade,” Chang Chen-yue’s “Goodbye.”)