Chapter 92: Longing for Chang'an

After Zhang Qiyang stepped onto the stage, the large screen at the venue, as well as TV screens everywhere, displayed the song he would perform this week—“Chang’an County and Chang’an Night.”

Many viewers from Xi’an expressed particular interest in Zhang Qiyang’s performance this time. Especially when the words “Chang’an County” appeared, many older residents from that area were flooded with memories of the past.

The development of Xi’an in both worlds had been nearly synchronized. Nowadays, many young people might not even know Chang’an County ever existed. In the past, everything beyond the TV tower in Xi’an was called Chang’an County. Later, as urbanization progressed, the county was reclassified as Chang’an District. The fields and villages faded, and the former rural county became part of the city’s vibrant nightlife.

With the establishment of the Aerospace New District and the expansion of the subway, Xi’an residents gradually merged the once-disdained suburban county into the city, and “Aerospace City” became its new name. Chang’an County was mercilessly crushed by urbanization, its simple and cherished traditions ground into dust along with it.

Against this backdrop, Zhang Qiyang chose to perform Ma Fei’s “Chang’an County.” This song, however, had defeated the passage of time, becoming a kind of utopia—a cultural longing for home.

Whenever Zhang Qiyang heard this song, a special emotion welled up within him. Though the county had long been dismantled and redivided, if someone asked where they were from, people would still smile and say, “I’m from Chang’an County.”

That is the sentiment of those from Chang’an County.

The song Zhang Qiyang would sing tonight was not meant for everyone. Just as during rehearsal, when the production crew first heard it, they thought the song seemed weak—that was because they didn’t understand it.

But that didn’t matter.

Zhang Qiyang would sing this song only for those who understood.

The venue fell silent.

Everyone waited with bated breath for Zhang Qiyang’s performance.

The band’s electric guitar played a simple, pleasing melody, setting the tone for the song. Zhang Qiyang, along with several rhythm guitarists, struck up the sunlit melody of “Chang’an County.” Wearing the brightest smile of a Chang’an County native, Zhang Qiyang began to sing in the thick, rustic accent of his homeland:

“...Riding my bike to Chang’an County, grabbing a big bowl of youpo noodles, Chang’an County, all these years, nothing has changed...”

The moment Zhang Qiyang opened his mouth, everyone was stunned!

The always-fashionable “Master Cannon” had turned into a true country bumpkin!

Many were bewildered: Why was Master Cannon singing such an earthy song?

Most of the live audience were from the south. For them, the northern dialect in music was hard to accept—it felt unbearably rustic, like the loess itself, lacking any sense of delicate sentiment.

But for most northern viewers, especially those from Xi’an, this hometown accent was deeply endearing!

As Zhang Qiyang sang in his native dialect, his face radiated genuine ease and joy. It was as if he had traveled back to the old Chang’an County, enveloped in nostalgia, singing with ever-deepening feeling and growing happiness:

“...They’re still out there working the fields, the young men still love chatting up girls, Chang’an County, all these years, the sky above Chang’an County is still so blue...”

“...Chang’an County, everywhere is so comfortable...”

“...Chang’an County, though the girls aren’t much to look at...”

“...Chang’an County, the sunshine is so brilliant, our Chang’an County...”

The live audience was dumbfounded, and many watching on television were equally perplexed. How could Master Cannon, who lived such a lavish, glittering life, sing such a simple and unpretentious song?

His detractors were delighted, convinced that Zhang Qiyang was doing this as a calculated move to redeem his reputation!

But for the people of Chang’an County, hearing a song like this felt unspeakably satisfying!

They would never have imagined that Master Cannon would write such a sunny, pure, and touching song for their hometown.

Many from Chang’an County, listening to this song, felt a surge of nostalgia and a deep sense of pride.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that the word “Chang’an” itself is history. Ancient Chang’an was the capital of thirteen dynasties, including the Zhou, Qin, Han, and Tang. In the fifth year of Emperor Gaozu of the Western Han (202 BC), Chang’an County was established, and in the seventh year (200 BC), the capital moved from Liyang to Chang’an. From then on, Chang’an made its mark in history. It wasn’t until after 2000 that the county was abolished and reconstituted as a district. The name “Chang’an County,” called for centuries, finally disappeared beneath the wheels of history.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that in Chang’an, dig anywhere and you might unearth relics; point to any place name and there’s a story behind it. From the chariot pits at Fenghao ruins to the rammed-earth platform before the Epang Palace, from Emperor Xuan’s Mausoleum to the thirteen Ming dynasty princely tombs, the place is a grand subterranean museum of history. In the religious sphere, Chang’an stands unmatched. Of the seven great Buddhist ancestral temples in the country, the headquarters of the Dharma-Characteristics Sect, the Pure Land Sect, the Huayan Sect, and the Vinaya Sect are all here.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that countless historical figures have emerged from here: Du Fu the sage of poetry, Yan Zhenqing the calligrapher, Du Ruhui the wise minister, Wei Zhuang the writer, Wei Shu the historian, and many, many more.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that years ago, whenever a family in the countryside celebrated a wedding or a funeral, it was a big affair for the whole village. The hosts would go all out, preparing fine food and drink, inviting friends and relatives from near and far. It wasn’t just about the meal—it was about the happiness and the lively atmosphere. They’d set up tents, build makeshift stoves, arrange cutting boards, set up an open-air kitchen with steel braziers and brick-mud stoves burning hardwood... all scenes that brim with memories.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know about the summer custom called “Guohui”—Summer Festival. This day is also called the “Summer New Year.” There’s New Year in the winter, and Summer Festival in the summer. The Summer Festival is especially lively, and in the eyes of villagers, sometimes even more cherished than the winter one. Every summer on July 6, the village celebrates. Every household’s relatives and friends come to visit. Each home is filled with guests and laughter. The usually quiet village lanes are crowded with vendors, their shouts mingling with the laughter of children and the blaring of car horns—a vibrant, bustling scene.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that here, “hail” is called “cold stones,” “embarrassed” is called “fende,” “toilet” is “maozhi,” “go away” is “cheqi,” “doing big things” is “diehuo,” “sleep” is “feijiao,” and “playing” is “fafa”...

If you are from Chang’an County, you can feast year-round without pause: cold noodles, roujiamo, youpo noodles, hand-pulled noodles, stick noodles, biangbiang noodles, belt noodles, stir-fried rice noodles, scallion pancakes, gourd chicken, gourd head stew, crystal cakes, spicy fish, steamed rice, alkali dumplings, mashed cakes, cold fish, corn “zen,” pickled vegetable soup, old wa-sa, lazy dumplings, lumpy soup, locust flower wheat rice, oil tower bread...

If you are from Chang’an County, the scenes of watching open-air movies and listening to Qin opera are surely familiar. There were no specially planned venues—just the basketball court, where villagers would bring their own benches after dinner and wait for the show to begin. Films like “Tunnel Warfare,” “Landmine Warfare,” and “Little Soldier Zhang Ga” would play one after another. As soon as the movies ended, a stage would be set up and the opera would begin, the excitement lasting late into the night.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’ll certainly remember childhood games: rolling iron hoops, molding mud, playing sandbag toss, whirling tops, skipping rope... Children played and grew up together, and the village and alleyways where we were born and raised are etched with our deepest memories.

If you are from Chang’an County, you’d know that in the old days, people lived simply and contentedly. There was no comparison or vanity as there is today; people’s main goal was simply to have enough to eat—so basic, so pure.

If you’re not from Chang’an County, it doesn’t matter. After hearing a song like this, you’ll remember that there is a place in Xi’an that was once called “Chang’an County.”

“...You have Penghu Bay, but I have Chang’an County!...”

In the final lines of the song, Zhang Qiyang’s bold declaration echoed as if in reply to Li Xuan’s “Penghu Bay,” singing out the pride of every Chang’an County native!