Xu Tangnan · Chat

<scenario>The rehearsal room was in the basement of an old shopping mall, the peeling paint on the walls looking like a skin disease.</scenario> <scenario>Xu Tangnan crouched at the doorway tightening screws. A silver-gray tail dangled from his pant leg, its tip dusted with grime he didn't bother shaking off. The open toolbox lay by his legs, wrenches neatly lined up by size—a habit formed behind the convenience store counter as a child; keeping things organized made time pass faster.</scenario> <narration>The door swung open from the inside, bumping against his shoulder blade.</narration> <scenario>Lin Shengxiao poked his head out, clutching a broken drumstick in his hand, the corners of his eyes red. The two made eye contact for a second. Xu Tangnan didn't ask, returning to his screws, merely nudging the toolbox two inches toward the door.</scenario> <message>"The drumhead's torn, too," Lin Shengxiao said. "Mm."</message> <scenario>Finishing with the screws, Xu Tangnan stood up and tapped the doorframe of the rehearsal room with his wrench. Cursing echoed from inside, and Ji Fan leaned halfway out, his high ponytail half-loose. He glanced at Lin Shengxiao, then at Xu Tangnan.</scenario> <message>"Drumhead," Xu Tangnan said. Ji Fan hopped off his chair and walked to the doorway over a floor strewn with sheet music and soda cans. He took the broken drumstick, inspected it, and said, "Perfect. I've been wanting you to swap out that set of cymbals anyway. Let's go."</message> <message>"You coming?" Ji Fan turned back to ask.</message> <narration>Xu Tangnan had already closed the toolbox, the latch snapping shut with a click. He shook his head.</narration> <scenario>Ji Fan didn't push it, giving Lin Shengxiao a pat on the back of the head. Their footsteps faded down the hallway, and the sound-activated lights flickered twice before going dark.</scenario> <narration>The rehearsal room fell quiet.</narration> <scenario>Xu Tangnan carried the toolbox to the corner. Passing the drum kit, he brushed his fingertips against the edge of the old hi-hat, producing a dull sound. He knit his brows slightly—a tiny gesture, just a faint crease between his eyebrows, but anyone who knew him knew that was already a severe expression for him.</scenario> <narration>His bass rested against the amp, headstock pointing up. He folded the pilled gray scarf draped over the amp twice and tucked it under the neck—the rehearsal room was damp, and necks warped easily.</narration> <narration>His phone buzzed.</narration> <scenario>Ji Fan texted saying he'd bought the drumhead and would be right back, asking him to tidy up the rehearsal room first. Xu Tangnan slipped his phone back into his pocket and stepped over to the mixing console. Beneath the sheet music lay a handwritten score, scribbled in pencil with heavy erasures. The bass section was left blank, with a line of small handwriting at the top: "Arrange whatever you want, we'll fix it if it sounds bad."</scenario> <scenario>He folded the score neatly and tucked it into his jacket's inner pocket. The pocket button had been sewn on by himself; the stitches were crooked, but sturdy.</scenario> <scenario>Then he began tidying up the room. He crushed the soda cans and tossed them into the trash bin, stacked the sheet music by date, and emptied Ji Fan's portable ashtray before placing it back. He even wiped down the faders on the mixing console with a tissue, picking out dust from the crevices using a guitar pick wrapped in paper.</scenario> <scenario>He had gone through this routine countless times. It was the same back at the convenience store—wiping down the shelves before closing, wiping the glass doors of the display fridges. He was the sole night-shift clerk, the whole street dark, with only the store's lights still burning—a bluish-white glow that made the road outside look frosted over.</scenario> <narration>He didn't feel lonely. Just quiet. Quiet was nice.</narration> <scenario>Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and the door was pushed open. Xu Chenyang stood at the doorway, carrying the chill of the night wind on his leather jacket and holding a plastic bag. He glanced around the rehearsal room—it was already tidied up, even his half-empty pack of cigarettes neatly placed on the right side of the mixing desk.</scenario> <message>"Ji Fan make you clean up?"</message> <narration>Xu Tangnan shook his head.</narration> <message>"Did it yourself?"</message> <narration>No answer. Xu Tangnan had already sat back down beside his bass, looking down as he checked the string tension.</narration> <message>Xu Chenyang set the plastic bag on the table. Inside were three cans of coffee and a bag of pineapple buns—from the shop Xu Tangnan frequented, the packaging printed with a cartoon cat. "Bought them on the way, had extras."</message> <scenario>Xu Tangnan glanced at the pineapple buns. Standing up, he walked over to the table. His hand reached out slowly, and the moment his fingertips brushed the packaging, the cat ears hidden beneath his bangs twitched involuntarily through a half-arc, the small deep-blue beads at their tips swaying gently.</scenario> <narration>He took the pineapple bun without saying thanks.</narration> <scenario>Footsteps sounded in the hallway again. Ji Fan pushed the door open and walked in, followed by Lin Shengxiao carrying a paper bag containing the drumhead.</scenario> <scenario>With his back to the others, Xu Tangnan sat on a small folding stool, unwrapped the pineapple bun, and took a bite. He ate quietly without making a sound, only the very tips of his ears twitching subtly.</scenario> <message>Ji Fan popped open a can of coffee while leaning against the mixing console, his gaze landing on the back of Xu Tangnan's head. "Got any ideas for the bass line in the new song?"</message> <narration>Xu Tangnan folded the wrapper into a tiny square, stuffed it into his pocket, and fished out the score from his inner pocket to unfold it.</narration> <message>"Yeah," he said.</message> <scenario>His voice was very soft, like the muted thud of a bass string gently pressed by a finger.</scenario> <message>The corner of Ji Fan's mouth twitched, and he tucked the unlit cigarette behind his ear. "We'll run through it once everyone's here."</message> <scenario>Xu Tangnan stood up and walked over to his bass, feeling the edge of the instrument body—where a spent heat pack was stuck. He hesitated for a moment, but didn't peel it off.</scenario> <scenario>His tail hung from his pant leg; its tip was no longer resting on the floor, but slightly turned up, swaying ever so faintly.</scenario> <narration>No one saw it.</narration> <scenario>Low frequencies gathered momentum along the strings, like a cat curled in a corner, squinting as it feigned sleep—waiting for the precise moment a note struck to quietly shatter the world into gentle cracks.</scenario>