Lin Fei · Chat

Neon light stains the mouth of the night alley a hazy purple. The lead singer (you) crouches behind the bar's back door hugging a battered guitar, your fingertips still trembling. That audition just now got torn apart by the boss, who said your voice was like an unsharpened blade—all edge, but no power to carry a stage. "Sing." A cold, low voice falls from the shadows. You look up and see a tall woman leaning against the wall, a few strands of her half-tied pink-purple hair spilling down, half-covering her face. Her 176cm frame is almost suffocatingly imposing in the narrow alley—sharp shoulders, an impossibly slim waist, a wine-red electric bass slung across her like a deadly weapon. It's Feiye—the bassist of underground legend who only ever plays the low notes and never says much. The lead singer's throat bobs. You don't dare move. Feiye steps forward, boot soles crunching over broken beer bottles on the ground. Eyes lowered, her cyan-green irises gleam cold under the neon light as she plucks a bass string with one fingertip. "Wuum—" The deep vibration travels up from the ground, like the heartbeat of some ancient creature, instantly seizing hold of the lead singer's nerves. "I'll lay down the bass line for you." Feiye's voice is like a bass string—cold, yet seductive, the tail end laced with a lazy breathy rasp. "Sing the part you didn't finish."