46: Chapter 47 World Music Exchange Platform

The only small bar in Xinfeng Town is called "The Last One".

The owner named it himself.

The owner's name is Mike—not the Mike from the Anti-Involution Laboratory, but another Mike, in his sixties, a white man who has been running this bar in this town for forty years.

When Lin Feng first walked in, he almost thought he had gone to the wrong place.

It wasn't that the bar looked like a ruin.

It was the people sitting inside who looked like ruins.

Seven or eight old men, each with a glass of beer, were staring at the TV; no one was speaking.

The sports channel was on, but no one was watching.

Lin Feng squatted in front of the bar, watching Mike wipe a glass.

Mike wiped slowly, one stroke, then another, as if he were killing time.

Lin Feng asked, "How's business?"

Mike glanced at him without speaking.

Lin Feng asked again, "Do people usually come here?"

Mike wiped the glass again and then said, "Can't you see? They're all sitting right there."

Lin Feng turned his head to look at the seven or eight old men.

They were still staring at the TV, motionless.

Lin Feng turned back and said to Mike, "They sit like this every day?"

Mike nodded.

Lin Feng asked, "Don't they talk?"

Mike said, "We've finished talking."

Lin Feng was stunned for a moment. "Finished talking?"

Mike pointed at the old men. "We've mined coal together for forty years. We've talked about everything. There's nothing left to talk about."

Lin Feng fell silent.

He stood up, walked over to the old men, and squatted down.

The old men glanced at him and then continued staring at the TV.

Lin Feng squatted for three seconds and then said, "Do you want to hear something different?"

No one paid him any mind.

Lin Feng continued, "I know someone who sings. Shall I have him come and sing for you?"

One old man finally spoke up, "Sing what?"

Lin Feng said, "He can sing anything. Chinese, American, Mexican. He knows it all."

The old man was silent for a second, then said, "Then let him come."

The next night, Sam appeared at "The Last One" with a guitar on his back.

The bar still held those same seven or eight old men, still staring at the TV.

Sam was a bit nervous. "Boss, will they… listen?"

Lin Feng said, "Whether they listen or not is their business. Whether you sing or not is yours."

Sam took a deep breath, walked over to the side of the bar, pulled up a chair, and sat down.

He started to sing.

The first song was one he had written himself, "Happiness Is Expensive, But Here It's Free."

The old men didn't move.

The second was a Mexican folk song, which Sam sang in Spanish.

One old man turned his head to look at him.

The third was a Chinese folk song, "Jasmine Flower." Sam didn't know Chinese, but he had learned it by force using Pinyin.

Another old man turned his head over.

For the fourth song, Sam stopped singing.

He put down his guitar and asked the old men, "What can you sing?"

There was silence for five seconds.

Then one old man spoke up, "I can sing miners' songs."

Sam's eyes lit up. "Can you sing one for me?"

The old man cleared his throat and began to sing.

The tune was old, the lyrics were improvised; he sang about forty years ago, how they went down into the mines, how they dug coal, and how they made it back out alive.

When he finished, the bar was silent for three seconds.

Then another old man spoke up, "I can too."

He sang a song as well.

Then came the third, the fourth.

That night, the singing in the bar went on until two in the morning.

Mike's hand, which had been wiping a glass, stopped at some point.

He stood behind the bar, listening to the old men's songs, his eyes reddening.

A week later, "The Last One" changed its name.

The new sign was hand-painted by Sam, with a few crooked characters: [Global Music Exchange Platform]

Below that was a line of small text: [Every Friday night, anyone can sing]

Lin Feng squatted at the entrance, looking at the sign, and asked Sam, "Are you sure?"

Sam nodded. "Sure."

Lin Feng said, "This place, it doesn't even get out of the town."

Sam smiled. "Boss, music doesn't need to go out. Music is what comes in."

Lin Feng was stunned for a moment.

Sam continued, "Those people will come. Not because we called them, but because the music 'called' them."

Three months later, Sam's words came true.

People drove from Pittsburgh just to hear those old miners sing.

People flew in from New York, bringing recording equipment, saying they wanted to record "real American folk music."

People came from Mexico, looking for old friends who had mined coal with their grandfathers back in the day.

"The Last One" was packed to the brim every Friday night.

Mike got new drinking glasses and hired two young people to help out.

Those old men no longer stared at the TV.

They sang, chatted, talked about their younger days, and talked about those who had already passed away.

George's son, Tom, came every Friday.

He brought a camera to film the old men singing.

One time, after he finished filming, he walked up to Lin Feng.

"Uncle Lin."

Lin Feng raised an eyebrow. "Call me brother."

Tom smiled. "Brother."

Lin Feng nodded.

Tom said, "I want to turn this into a documentary."

Lin Feng was stunned for a moment.

Tom continued, "I've already thought of the name. It's called 'The Last One'."

Lin Feng stared at him for three seconds.

Then he smiled.

"Go ahead and film it. When you're done, I'll help you distribute it."

[Chapter 47 End]