Chapter 6 — The Real Female Lead Returns

06

Arts festival? Competing directly with Tham Lan? That sounds interesting. From a young age, Tham Lan was trained as a young lady, good at playing chess, drawing, and painting, and was a famous talented woman in the military district's academy. If I can defeat her in the area where she is most confident, then the effect — absolutely hurts more than if I dirty a hundred of her white shirts. But the problem is, what can I use to fight her? Fifteen years in the countryside, I have trained a resounding voice, shouting folk songs that can make birds fly and dogs bark, but performing on stage? I don't even know how to read sheet music.

“I… I've never studied before.” I felt a bit guilty.

“If you haven't learned yet, then learn.” Ha Tieu pulled out a thick song collection from the bookshelf. “From today, I will teach you.”

I looked at his serious face, secretly skeptical: "You? You also know how to sing?" A god of war like him who spends all day wandering around the field, doesn't seem to have anything to do with the word "music" at all. Ha Tieu didn't answer, just coughed lightly and then hummed:

"A wide river with waves crashing on both banks, fragrant rice drifting with the wind far away..."

His voice is not as flashy as a professional singer, but is warm, thick and strong, carrying the characteristic temperament of a soldier - like a strong wind blowing through the steppe, steady and vast. I was dumbfounded when I heard it. I didn't expect - Ha Tieu, that guy with thick eyebrows and bright eyes, could sing so well.

"How's it going? Is it okay?" After he finished singing, he raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

I nodded vigorously:

“It's not so good, it's so good!”

So, my "re-education labor" officially turned into a secret vocal training course. Every afternoon I go to Ha Tieu's dormitory. He taught me how to read notes, practiced pronunciation, made me correct every little mistake — every note, every breath, every pitch. He was an extremely strict teacher. If he made one wrong note, he would make me sing it dozens of times until it met the new requirements. Several times, I almost threw away the book and ran away.

“Khuong Nguyet, calm down!”

He held my hand as I was about to throw away the music book, "Singing is like shooting a gun — it requires concentration. You get distracted too much." I looked into his deep eyes — there was no anger in them, only patience and strange seriousness. My heart suddenly calmed down. To keep my parents and Tham Lan from getting suspicious, during the day I still play the role of a "clumsy country girl". Tham Lan taught me how to play the guzheng, so I deliberately flipped the strings, making hard-to-hear "ding" sounds, pretending to have absolutely no talent. She taught me how to draw, I smeared ink all over, destroying countless of her paintings. Gradually, in Tham Lan's eyes looking at me, the contempt and disgust became increasingly clear. She probably thinks I'm just an unstoppable waste, forever unable to threaten her position. As for my parents, faced with that expression of "not making progress", they could only sigh and no longer had any expectations - other than asking me to try to learn from Tham Lan. Everything, just as I wanted. I want everyone to look down on me — Then on the day of the festival, I will give them the biggest shock of their lives. The day of the performance has finally arrived. My mother specially prepared for Tham Lan a long, flowing, emerald green performance dress, making her look like a slender, graceful willow branch. As for me, I was only wearing a white shirt and old blue pants - still the same outfit I brought from the countryside.

“Tieu Nguyet, are you planning to wear this on stage?”

My mother looked at my outfit and frowned tightly.

“Mom, I just came up for show, mainly to participate.”

I smiled indifferently. Tham Lan walked over, took my arm, and said sweetly:

“Sister, don't be nervous, just think of the audience as green vegetables later~”

I looked at her "concerned" face and almost burst out laughing. Maybe in her heart, she just wanted me to die of embarrassment on stage, to be the perfect backdrop for her beautiful performance. Arriving at the performance hall, the backstage was filled with splendidly dressed actors and actresses. Tham Lan, as the "special guest family representative", was surrounded by everyone like a bright star. I found a private corner and sat down, looking like an ugly duckling lost among the swans.

"Hey, isn't that the daughter of General Khuong's family that he just found from his hometown? Is he also on stage to perform?"

"What performance? Plowing the fields? Ha ha ha..."

Whispers and taunts rang out everywhere — not bothering to hide it. I pretended not to hear anything, closed my eyes, and in my head only the sounds and rhythms that Ha Tieu taught me echoed - note by note, sentence by sentence. Soon, it was Tham Lan's turn to go on stage. She hugged the neck of the painting and elegantly walked out into the middle of the stage, the lights shining on her, as beautiful as a painting. A song called 《Ngu Chu Xuan Van》 (The Song of the Fishing Boat in the Sunset), which she played poetically like flowing water and drifting clouds, the sound of the instrument resounded in the auditorium, gentle and attractive. The audience in the stands applauded endlessly. My parents sat in the front row, their faces full of pride and joy. At the end of the performance, Tham Lan bowed to thank her, her eyes seemingly unintentionally scanning the backstage - where I was standing, her gaze full of pride, not bothering to hide it. The host shouted:

“Next, please invite comrade Khuong Nguyet to bring the song:

‘I love you, China’!”

I took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage. As soon as I appeared, there was immediately a stir and discussion below:

"Is that General Khuong's biological daughter? Oh my god, her clothes are so rustic!"

"She sings 'I love you, China'? That song is very difficult! Can she sing it?"

I clearly saw the worried and stressed expressions on my parents' faces. I walked to the center of the stage, didn't look at anyone, just nodded slightly to the orchestra conductor. Walking music sounded. I closed my eyes. In my head, the days of the past fifteen years appeared - the rising sun in the village, the people plowing fields on the dike, Ha Tieu's resilient eyes as he taught me each song. All the emotions, up to this moment — converged in my throat.

“Lark flying across the blue sky, I love you, China…”

As soon as he raised his voice, the entire auditorium immediately fell silent. My voice is clear and resonant - not as smooth as a professional singer, but has a kind of enduring, primordial vitality, like underground water, like a call from the heart. It was a sound that tore away all doubts and cynicism. I opened my eyes and looked straight towards the stands:

“I love you, China — green fields in spring, I love you, China — golden seasons full of autumn…”

In that voice, there is a deep love for this land. There is resentment, there is my self-pity for fifteen years, there are also aspirations and beliefs about the future ahead. At the end of the song, the auditorium remained silent. Just a few seconds later — the applause was like thunder, rising like waves. I saw — in the front row, my strict father — the military commander, standing up, clapping his hands like thunder, a sparkling light in his eyes. My mother covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. As for Tham Lan - standing dumbfounded at the backstage entrance, her face pale, looking at me - shining brightly on stage - with eyes of disbelief. At that moment, I finally understood Ha Tieu's words: True victory does not come from cunning and tricks, but from absolute strength - to make everyone applaud for you.