strictlysupreme Chapter 246 What does such a tiny child know about a country?
Chapter 246 What does such a tiny child know about a country?
"They're here!!"
Countless people were thrilled.
on the screen.
A gleaming black Steinway grand piano stood quietly.
Jiang Baizhi walked to the piano bench and turned around gracefully.
At this moment, the camera very considerately gave a super close-up shot, almost touching the face.
On the screen, the girl's eyes, which were exceptionally bright from her recent return from the world of Candy Crush, looked like two stars fallen to earth as her long eyelashes fluttered.
The pearl necklace rested on her almost translucent, fair collarbone, rising and falling slightly with her breath.
She slowly sat down.
next second.
The camera suddenly cut to a close-up shot that was almost perfect from every angle.
A pair of hands as smooth and warm as mutton fat jade, long and slender with distinct joints.
The moment those hands gently hovered above the black and white piano keys, the chat in the live stream, which had been scrolling wildly, mysteriously cleared up for three seconds.
It was a silence that was instantly stolen by the ultimate beauty.
Immediately afterwards, the comment section was flooded with a series of exclamation marks:
[Ahhh! That move! I could play with it for a lifetime... no, I could watch it for a lifetime!]
These aren't just hands; they're works of art sculpted by God!
[Look! She's about to press it! She's really about to press it!]
Help! Why is my phone screen wet? Turns out I was drooling...
[Such long fingers, hehehe, please press inside! I mean, inside the piano keys!]
On TV, Jiang Baizhi lightly moved her fingers across the piano keys for an octave, seemingly checking her pitch.
"Thump—"
The next second, she suddenly lowered her right hand and pressed the first accent in the low register.
And this moment.
On the screen, several powerful characters slowly appeared:
I Love You, China
Lyrics: Jiang Baizhi.
Music: Angelica dahurica.
Singer: Jiang Baizhi.
Just as the three names were neatly lined up on the screen, the comment section, which had been excitedly clicking on the screen, was instantly doused with cold water and fell into a brief and eerie silence.
Immediately, the barrage of comments erupted like a volcanic eruption:
[Holy crap? A revolutionary song? Am I seeing things?]
But isn't this song title a bit too straightforward?
[Oh no, this is terrible! Suddenly they're singing patriotic songs, what a huge leap! If it's not well-written, it might get censored!]
[If the performance on The Voice of China was edited out, then the singing must have been flawless.]
[Wow, Jiang Baizhi is taking too much of a risk!]
It's no wonder that young netizens are worried.
In this fast-paced era, the threshold for creating original revolutionary songs is ridiculously high.
If it's written too simply, it's just a catchy pop song;
If the lyrics are too profound, young people can't sing them with that sense of weight.
Especially the middle-aged and elderly viewers who are watching TV.
Upon seeing the song title, her originally kind eyes instantly turned serious and critical.
.......
The Su family villa.
Mr. Su pushed away the cigar, which had already burned down to the butt, his brows furrowed deeply, and his tone was heavy:
"Xiaoze, your classmate's younger sister... she's a bit too bold."
"Are patriotic songs something that can be created just anywhere?"
"They are the backbone of our generation!"
"If she sings something awful, it's a desecration of art, and it will ruin her own future!"
Su Ze was also getting anxious; even the potato chips in his hand no longer tasted good.
"Dad! Listen to her first, what if our sister really is a once-in-a-century genius?"
Mr. Su shook his head, then lowered his voice and said:
"How about you give me her contact information? I'll see if I can help her out financially?"
Su Ze: "Okay, Dad, you must... Damn it, Old Deng! He's still up to no good!"
.......
Old Zhang's family.
The unfilial son, Zhang Cheng, who had been drooling over the screen, suddenly sat up straight, a hint of rational worry flashing in his eyes:
"Dad, this song title... sounds amazing, but this kind of subject matter is the easiest to backfire."
"Bai Zhi is only eighteen years old. How could she possibly understand what patriotism is?"
The counselor, Lao Zhang, also fell silent.
He watched Jiang Baizhi sitting quietly on the TV, but his mind was filled with the image of Jiang Baizhi sweating profusely on the playground, her eyes filled with determination.
"Chengcheng, don't speak."
For the first time ever, Old Zhang didn't scold his son; instead, he stared intently at the screen.
"This kid is a bit mischievous, but he shouldn't cause any trouble in this kind of thing."
.......
Northeast forest region.
Old Man Gu had been ready to applaud the "Nation's Daughter," but upon seeing the song title, he slowly lowered his hand.
As a veteran Party member who spent his entire life guarding the forest, revolutionary songs were sacred and inviolable to him.
"Dapeng, if this girl sings off-key or the lyrics are too fancy, you're not allowed to call her a goddess anymore."
Old Man Gu's voice carried the stubbornness of an elder.
"We Chinese people's feelings are not something to be joked about."
.......
New York, Manhattan's Chinatown.
Inside the Old Friends Tea Restaurant, the rising steam seemed to freeze at that moment.
Yang Yang and her roommate Xiao Yuan sat stiffly on the redwood stools with slightly peeling paint.
The two of them stared intently at the widescreen television.
On the screen, Jiang Baizhi, dressed in a retro plaid dress, looks like a young girl who stepped out of an old magazine, and is quietly walking towards the pure black Steinway piano.
When the song title "I Love You, China" pops up at the bottom of the screen.
Yang Yang felt a buzzing in his head.
"Red songs?"
Xiao Yuan subconsciously lowered his voice, his tone filled with disbelief and absurdity:
"Has the domestic entertainment industry become so fiercely competitive?"
"An 18-year-old newcomer, going head-to-head with such a hellishly difficult subject on a talent show stage?"
Yang Yang didn't speak. He just felt that with the appearance of those words, the bustling tea restaurant fell into an eerie silence.
The elderly overseas Chinese around me were wearing Tang suits or faded shirts.
They were initially beaming with enthusiasm for the song "Gently Tell You," but now they all frowned in unison.
"Nonsense."
An elderly overseas Chinese man sitting at the counter tapped his pipe, his voice low and aged.
"What does such a tiny child know about a country?"
"Is this the kind of song that can be used for original compositions in talent shows? This is blasphemy!"
"Yeah, these days young people will jump on any bandwagon to become famous."
The other old man shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
"Red songs are written from the blood, not by posing in front of a piano."
"What a pity, the song you sang just now was so good, but now it's gone astray."
The tea restaurant was filled with chatter, and almost no one was optimistic about Jiang Baizhi.
For these people who have been living abroad for decades, that sentiment is about a sacred and inviolable land, not a stepping stone to becoming a celebrity.
No matter how much you like it, it's not allowed!