Chapter 106: The Song of the Onion

Seated before the piano, Zhang Qiyang closed his eyes. In his mind resonated Yang Zongwei’s rendition of “Onion.” This song was penned by Ashin of Mayday expressly for Yang Zongwei, whose nickname is “Onion,” a playful homophone.

Zhang Qiyang had just explained that the song’s core theme was to explore a paradoxical view of love, an idea somewhat extreme. Ashin wrote it to portray a common emotional perspective through the metaphor of an onion—many people with “onion-like” personalities are not immediately understood in life, often inexplicably kept at a distance.

Yang Zongwei’s taciturn nature perfectly embodied the traits of the onion, and Ashin’s intention was to remind everyone not to miss the chance to truly feel and understand someone. Through layering melody and lyrics, Ashin sought to unveil a deeply affectionate Yang, much like peeling away the onion’s pungent layers.

Yet, the song’s composition was devilishly demanding, especially in the lower register. It plunged as deep as G2, a feat even for a vocal powerhouse like Yang Zongwei, who is renowned for his skill. Male pop singers with a true vocal range spanning E2 to E4 are already exceptional. This song’s opening demanded notes three keys lower than the usual lowest limit.

Only bass specialists could flawlessly perform such depths; regular pop singers wouldn’t dare attempt it. The female version’s opening at C3 was similarly daunting. The otherworldly female vocalist Ding Dang once tried this piece. Despite her formidable talent, she struggled with the opening. Only a natural low-voiced queen like Tsai Chin could tackle such a bass range.

Even prodigious singers like Ding Dang and Yang Zongwei had to rely on breathy tones to navigate the lowest passages, softening the difficulty. This breathy whisper gave the opening a gentle, confiding feel—palatable yet somehow lacking in impact.

At this moment, Zhang Qiyang began playing the piano. Amid the sparse, mournful notes, he resolved to challenge the original singer’s ultra-low vocal effects. Drawing breath fully into his dantian, letting his chest resonate like a bass drum, he launched into the opening with a thunderous low note that left Li Xuan, Xiao Wa, and the others dumbfounded:

“...If your gaze could descend upon me for a moment, if you could hear the sound of a broken heart, silently guarding you, silently waiting for a miracle, silently letting myself be like the air...”

The opening climbed slowly, each step resolute and powerful, especially the very first, which profoundly shook these seasoned listeners. On the stage of “I Sing,” Zhang Qiyang had repeatedly showcased his explosive high notes, breathtaking in their intensity. Yet now, as he accompanied himself on piano, his casual plunge into the low register struck like a drum pounding on the heart—a spectacle equally awe-inspiring.

His true vocal range extended down to G2.

Hearing just the opening, Li Xuan felt a twinge of retreat. She was painfully aware of her limits—this song was beyond her easy reach. Even if she risked everything, she couldn’t replicate Zhang Qiyang’s monstrous low register. This was the realm of bass virtuosos—a veritable monster.

Singing such low notes, with chest and abdomen vibrating in resonance, even Zhang Qiyang’s eardrums buzzed from the strain. Unlike the exhilaration of soaring high notes, this too brought a thrilling sense of breaking boundaries.

He continued, launching again into a powerful, deep bass start:

“...Everyone’s eating, chatting, laughing—how happy tonight is. In the farthest corner, I smile so well, like the onion at the bottom of the pan—always just seasoning, secretly watching you, secretly hiding myself...”

Once more, he flaunted his showy extreme low notes, eliciting genuine awe from Li Xuan and the others. His second verse was equally commanding, even more composed than the opening.

Though Zhang Qiyang himself was not the kind of pitiable, low-profile “spare tire” or seasoning man invisible in the crowd, his lyrical voice painted the image of a quietly devoted man pleading for the attention of his goddess.

With the piano suddenly blooming, this forlorn man in Zhang Qiyang’s voice finally burst forth:

“...If you’re willing to peel away my heart layer by layer, you will find, you will be amazed—you are my most suppressed, deepest secret...”

“...If you’re willing to peel away my heart layer by layer, you will feel your nose sting, you will shed tears—as long as you can hear me, see my wholeheartedness...”

In the chorus, at the line “peel away my heart layer by layer,” Zhang Qiyang soared ten keys higher, reaching the highest note of C5. This sharp, heartfelt voice was like a blade peeling away the onion’s heavy skin, revealing its dazzling, pungent core.

Freely accompanying himself on piano, he vividly and precisely sketched the sincere heart of a secretly longing man.

At first, everyone thought Zhang Qiyang’s description of the song’s theme as absurd meant it was some experimental piece. Yet, it turned out to be a deeply emotional work.

Hearing the chorus, everyone present was moved by his heartfelt singing. This heir to a fortune, when serious, could sing with a stirring, tear-jerking tenderness—far beyond what Chen Ke and the others had expected.

The emotions he expressed were sincere and intense, and the song’s rise and fall gripped the heart even more than the wild passion flowing in “I Don’t Love You.” Often, the power of silent endurance resonates more deeply than unrestrained frenzy.

Zhang Qiyang’s rendition of “Onion” peeled away listeners’ hearts with a striking intensity. The more professional the ear, the deeper the impact.

After hearing the chorus, Li Xuan felt compelled to concede defeat. Each “layer” in the phrase “peel away my heart layer by layer” was sung with a distinct technique, creating a strong sense of progressive layering, as if processed through different mixing styles.

The latter half’s interplay between chest voice and falsetto reached a sublime peak, yet Zhang Qiyang made the sorrowful emotion flow effortlessly—an astounding mastery in Li Xuan’s ears.

With only days to prepare, she could never achieve this voice-monster’s depth of feeling.

These onion-shaped new shoes were simply not hers to wear.

Yet Zhang Qiyang’s performance left a profound impression on Li Xuan and the others. Whether in composition or vocal delivery, the song demonstrated exceptional artistry.

Xiao Wa and Li Lei, analyzing the song’s key and vocal techniques, were completely stunned. This was no casual demonstration; such self-accompanied singing bore the aura of a live master.

Li Lei had initially worried about a potential disaster, but now realized this young master’s singing was flawless. He was like the legendary driver on Akina Mountain—gracefully drifting through every hairpin turn.

Listening to such a vocalist made them question their entire musical journey.

Chen Ke and Qin Xueyang, perceiving the story of the onion man with heightened sensitivity, felt waves of selfless warmth surge through their hearts.

Reflecting on their own lives, each recalled a time of quietly watching over their beloved, like an onion—hidden and steadfast.

These buried feelings were now unearthed by Zhang Qiyang’s tender singing.

It was as if the onion’s pungent juice had touched their hearts, filling them with a gentle warmth, immensely comforting.

Zhang Qiyang’s voice, with such a warm and sincere side, completely changed their view of him.

His music seemed almost magical—the more you listened, the harder it was to stop.

Truly, he was exceptional beyond measure.