When Lu Yan drove back, the guys from Megatron Demolition Company had already left. Lu Yan got off the vehicle and tossed the keys to Brother Wei: "Brother Wei, your son is back."

Brother Wei caught them and walked around his precious motorcycle, inspecting everything from the handlebars to the tires.

"How did it go," Lu Yan asked while shaking his wrist, "did you get the money for Auntie Zhang's medical bills?"

After confirming there was nothing wrong with his motorcycle, Brother Wei hooked the keys back onto his waist and chuckled, "Got it. Two thousand five hundred. Is there any debt your Brother Wei can't collect?"

"Impressive," Lu Yan said, playing along.

"Well, I'm off to work then," Brother Wei said, checking the time. "Do you have a gig tonight? If not, let's have a drink together tonight. It's been a while since we drank together."

Besides working a few odd part-time jobs during the day, Lu Yan was basically a night worker, heading straight for the bars once evening fell.

Lu Yan said, "Some other day. I have a gig to get to tonight."

Lu Yan was used to going to the bar two hours early to prepare, so he started getting ready when it was about time.

As it happened, he had just pulled on his pants—a pair of low-rise jeans with a metal chain hanging loosely from his hip bones—and was rummaging through his closet shirtless when he was halfway through and suddenly remembered that too many unexpected things had happened today, causing him to forget something important he had to do.

Lu Yan tossed the tank top back and found a number under 'Sun Qian' in his contacts.

The call connected after two rings.

An ear-splitting disco anthem blasted out directly. The volume was so intense that the sound cracked several times as it came through: "Sh-sh-sh-shake it! Buy a watch, buy a watch! There's a party in my head! Gotta shake it!" "..."

Lu Yan held the phone a little further away. "Brother Qian."

Then a man's voice came from the other end, even louder than the disco anthem, shouting with vigor, "Hold on! I'm busy here!"

The voice paused.

Then came another sentence: "Fucking hell, someone dares to snort coke in my place—throw him out and call the police! Toss him far away, like eight fucking blocks from our bar... Lu Yan, you brat, what is it?"

Lu Yan glanced at the calendar. It was June 5th. He figured he should be a bit more tactful in his approach. "Brother Qian, Happy World Environment Day."

Sun Qian was standing at the entrance of the bar, having just dealt with an idiot who was snorting coke in the bathroom. He was in a foul mood.

"What the hell kind of holiday is that," Sun Qian said, his patience worn thin. "Lu Yan, if you have something to say, just spit it out!"

Only then did Lu Yan say, "It's like this. I permed my hair. Can I get reimbursed?"

"What—?"

Sun Qian ran a bar near the business district in Xiajing City. Although it had been around for a long time, policies were getting stricter, and running a bar wasn't easy. If these young people got high while partying at night and were caught doing drugs together, he wouldn't be able to clear his name even if he jumped into a river. One wrong move and he'd get a yellow card.

He was usually too busy and didn't immediately recall anything about perming hair when he heard it.

Not until Lu Yan added, "That stupid-ass hairstyle, the one that's a riot of color, looks like a ball of fire from afar and a broom up close. I'm telling you, you should have some conscience."

Lu Yan and his band, four young men, had been resident performers at his bar for almost four years.

Last week, he had suggested the young men get a more unique look.

However...

"Brother Qian." Just as Sun Qian was thinking, a bartender came out from the bar, apparently with something to say.

Sun Qian had a headache. He waved the bartender off, telling him to wait. "How is it stupid-ass? That hair! It screams one word: handsome! Two words: super handsome! Back when your Brother Qian was young and in a band, this stuff was all the rage. I had this exact hairstyle back then. You youngsters today just don't know how to appreciate it—but wasn't your band's performance tonight canceled?"

"Canceled?"

"Yeah, just now, Da Ming and Xu-zi called me together and said they couldn't make it... I thought you all had discussed it. I even asked them if you knew, and they hemmed and hawed for a long time before saying you did."

As Sun Qian spoke, the other end of the line went silent.

Sun Qian wanted to ask what was going on, but he stopped himself halfway through his sentence. "You guys—ai."

Lu Yan didn't even know what he'd said to Sun Qian by the time he hung up the phone.

His mind went blank for a long time.

His phone chimed. There were two identical messages.

One from Huang Xu, one from Jiang Yaoming:

[Bro, we can't do this anymore.]

Immediately after, another message came from someone who had clearly just found out.

Li Zhen: ??????

What the fuck is going on! What's with all this nonsense!

Is it April Fools' Day?

No, it's World Environment Day today!

Fuck, is this for real?!

Lu Yan stared at his phone screen, closed his eyes, and only then, after reopening them, typed a reply: Stop messing around. It's real.

He added two more lines:

-Tell them both to come out and meet.

-The usual place.

Lu Yan tossed his phone aside after sending the messages, not bothering to see what Li Zhen would reply.

His gaze fixed on the mottled, peeling wall, where a poster was taped up. It was called a poster, but it was really just a printed photo of themselves.

The scene in the poster was a bar, psychedelic lights shining down from above, making the stage, which barely squeezed in four people, seem to glow.

Below the stage was a sea of raised hands.

They were hidden in the dimness, shouting along in their own way.

A piece of cloth hung from the pole in front of the stage.

Like a flag, it had four English letters on it: Vent.

At the very bottom of the poster was written:

Band Members: Vocalist Lu Yan, Drummer Li Zhen, Guitarist Huang Xu, Bassist Jiang Yaoming.

The usual place Lu Yan mentioned was a roadside stall.

They often came here to drink after their band performances, chatting about songs, gigs, and telling some dirty jokes.

By the time Huang Xu and Jiang Yaoming appeared at the intersection ahead, the skewers were almost ready. Li Zhen had already downed two bottles of beer by himself and was hugging a bottle, venting his emotions one-sidedly, "You could've said something earlier or later, but you had to pick right before a gig. Is there anything we can't discuss together? Huh? Are we brothers? Would brothers do something like this?"

Lu Yan sat beside him, flicking the ash from his cigarette, silent.

"Brother Yan, Brother Zhen." Huang Xu was short and particularly thin. He called out hesitantly, then added awkwardly, "Brother Yan, your perm looks really cool, ha."

Jiang Yaoming, standing behind him, nodded. "It really is cool. We saw it from a long way off."

The four of them sat at one table, the atmosphere somewhat silent.

They had been teammates for four years, after all. Lu Yan broke the silence, "What's going on? Let's talk?"

Huang Xu and Jiang Yaoming kept their heads down, saying nothing. After a while, Huang Xu finally mumbled, "My mom's sick..."

The two of them were very similar. They had been running around with their instruments on their backs since they were sixteen. Their families were vehemently opposed; no one understood what a band was, or what 'rock and roll will never die' meant.

But while life gives people courage, it also constantly teaches them to give up.

How many years had they been in a band?

How long had they been underground?

Before, they practiced day and night with burning passion. Now, they lay in bed at night, eyes open, unable to sleep, their minds endlessly circling a thought that had sprouted from who knows when: 'Forget it.'

Actually, a band breaking up wasn't anything rare.

It was all too common.

These past few years rehearsing in the Air-Raid Shelter, all sorts of bands came and went in the Air-Raid Shelter, forming and then disbanding.

Ideals were plump, but reality was bony. When you were young, you could chase your dreams without a second thought. But after a few years, you'd find there was always an invisible, intangible string attached to you. Once it pulled, you had to go back.

Lu Yan couldn't remember which cigarette he was on. "...As long as your auntie is okay. Have you decided?"

Huang Xu suddenly looked up, unable to hold it in anymore. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, "Brother Yan."

Lu Yan was really bad at handling this kind of tragic atmosphere. He pushed off the ground with his foot to stand up, planning to get some drinks from the fridge. "Talk properly, don't cry in front of me—"

Li Zhen put down the beer bottle he was holding and also said, "What are you crying for? Anyone who didn't know better would think we were acting in some prime-time melodrama."

This breakup dinner lasted until after ten.

The barbecue stall's business was booming. A few kids were gathered, chasing each other around the stall. As the least developed area, the only advantage the Lower District had over other parts of the city was that you could see the stars at night.

The day was as ordinary as any other.

After the dinner, Lu Yan didn't take the bus. He walked for a stretch, but halfway there, the alcohol he'd drunk made him nauseous, and he squatted down to dry heave.

Perhaps because he had drunk too much, he stared at the reflection of a streetlight and remembered the first time he had met Huang Xu and Jiang Yaoming four years ago.

To be honest, the two of them weren't particularly outstanding musicians. He and Li Zhen had met them only because they hadn't been picked at auditions for other bands. But back then, those two boys were full of drive, their eyes lighting up whenever music was mentioned.

Then the scene in his mind shifted to the barbecue stall, where Huang Xu was saying with no emotion in his eyes, "I bought the train tickets home, for three days from now. My mom's condition has stabilized. My family found me a job in the county town, auto repair... I studied that in vocational school before, though I didn't finish. The pay is pretty stable."

Lu Yan braced himself against the roadside steps. The street before him seemed illusory, the interplay of light and shadow creating a strong sense of unreality.

It took him over an hour to walk back to his residential area, and during that hour, he thought about many things, over and over.

The summer four years ago, back when their band had just formed, they were a band no one had ever heard of. They didn't even coordinate well with each other. A good way to describe it would be "partnering up to work solo," physically expressing one single thought: 'Get out of the way, this is my stage!'

From '15 to '19—they rehearsed day and night in the city's Air-Raid Shelter, frantically making noise in this secret, dark, and confined space.

Lu Yan walked to the entrance of the Seventh District. Amidst the ruins, a few lights were on in Building 6, Unit 3.

He went upstairs.

Opened the door.

Standing in the bathroom, Lu Yan finally felt a sense of reality beyond the illusion. Cold water poured down from overhead, and after being washed, the broom-like tuft of hair on his head drooped down obediently.

This stupid-ass hair he'd gotten for the gig ended up being useless.

He couldn't quite describe the feeling in his heart.

Maybe it was regret.

If he had known, why would he have gone to all that fucking trouble?

After his shower, Lu Yan didn't bother to dry his hair. He leaned one hand on the edge of the sink, holding a pair of scissors in the other, gesturing with them as he tried to find the best place to start cutting.

The dye had been applied starting from the back half of his hair. The red-purple gradient met his original black hair, but the transition was uneven, with varying heights and depths of color.

In the end, Lu Yan just went by feel and made a few random snips.

Snippets of hair stuck to his face. He cupped some water to wash his face, and after washing, he opened his eyes to look in the mirror.

After he cut his hair short, only a few subtle highlights remained at the tips. Lu Yan, who hadn't had his hair short in years, touched the exposed nape of his neck, feeling unaccustomed to it.

The author has something to say: Lu Yan: ...Where's my band?