“Should I cast off this heavy shell
And search for where the blue sky dwells
Drifting gently with the soft breeze
The wounds I’ve weathered hardly tease”
Luo Ming deliberately lowered his voice, using a somewhat deep, husky tone paired with a somber guitar accompaniment, which made the atmosphere at the LIVE HOUSE feel heavy and solemn.
Music is one of the most powerful tools for stirring emotions—the ancients already proved that.
In 202 BCE, Xiang Yu and Liu Bang had originally agreed to divide the realm along the Hong Canal. But later, Liu Bang took the advice of Zhang Liang and Chen Ping and decided to press the attack while Xiang Yu was weakened.
Han Xin employed the strategy of “Ambush from Ten Sides,” trapping Xiang Yu at Gaixia.
After several fierce battles, the Chu army was running out of supplies and ammunition, with heavy casualties, and found themselves unable to break through the encirclement.
To persuade Xiang Yu’s soldiers to surrender, Liu Bang had his troops—who surrounded the Chu army on all four sides—sing folk songs from the Chu region throughout the night.
Hearing those familiar Chu ballads coming from every direction in the dead of night, Xiang Yu’s soldiers began to miss their families far away. Tears streamed down their faces, and all they wanted was to return home. One by one, they lost their will to fight.
Meanwhile, when the senior officers heard Chu songs echoing from all sides at night, they assumed Liu Bang had already conquered the Chu homeland—and so they too gave up resistance.
One simple folk song became the final straw that broke the camel’s back, shattering the Chu army’s morale.
That just goes to show how deeply music can affect human emotion.
And honestly, who among today’s young people doesn’t have their own share of pressure?
Mortgage payments, car loans, work, academics, relationships—
Before he transmigrated, Luo Ming had always loved this song Snail. He felt like he was that little snail—hard shell on the outside, soft heart on the inside.
This world isn’t utterly cruel, but it’s never been particularly kind to anyone either. You either climb your way up, or you rot in the mud at the bottom of society. A lot of people carry that shell around—it’s how they protect themselves from getting hurt.
That opening verse from Luo Ming struck a deep emotional chord with the audience.
Then, the once-mellow guitar began to build in intensity, growing more stirring.
Luo Ming’s voice rose again—but this time, it wasn’t weighed down. Instead, it carried a hint of resolve.
“Step by step, I’ll climb up high
Wait for the sun to gently gaze on by
A sky so small, yet dreams so vast
A heavy shell, with a soft gaze cast
Step by step, I’ll climb up high
At the peak, ride a leaf and fly
Let the wind dry the tears and sweat
One day, I’ll have my own sky yet”
The guitar fell silent. Luo Ming slowly stood up and picked up the microphone.
This time, there was no instrumental accompaniment—just his pure, clear voice:
“Step by step, I’ll climb up high
At the peak, ride a leaf and fly
Let the wind dry the tears and sweat
Step by step, I’ll climb up high
At the peak, ride a leaf and fly
Let the wind dry the tears and sweat
One day, I’ll have my sky so wide
Let the wind dry the tears and sweat
One day, I’ll have my own sky yet!”
As the song ended, Luo Ming bowed to the audience in gratitude.
The crowd went silent for about ten seconds before scattered applause started to trickle in.
Hearing those first claps, the rest of the audience snapped back to reality. The applause grew louder and louder, quickly spreading from a few isolated points into a rolling wave.
A lot of people had caught snails as kids.
After the rain cleared, the roads would be covered with little snails. Children would grab bottles and scoop them up, or crouch down and gently poke their tiny antennae—and the snails would instantly retract into their shells with a little shlick.
Once the kids got bored, they’d put them back on the ground, and the snails would slowly poke their heads out, extend their feelers, and just keep on crawling—slowly, step by step, just like before.
Li Yunshang stared at the young woman on stage, momentarily spellbound.
It was the same kind of trance she’d fallen into as a child, watching snails. Back then, she’d crouch on the ground for ages, mesmerized as the snail inched forward. At those moments, time seemed to stand still—because snails really do crawl that slowly.
The snail came slowly, went slowly, and Li Yunshang watched it, quietly savoring the peacefulness of those moments.
But as she grew up, academic pressure mounted, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d paused to watch a snail crawl.
She’d worked so hard to get into university, thinking things would finally ease up—only to face new worries.
Credits, avoiding failing grades, grad school applications…
“It’s like once I grew up, I never got to feel that peace again,” Li Yunshang sighed inwardly.
She wasn’t alone in that feeling.
“Thank you, everyone! Did you like the song? Whether you did or not, I sure do!
Snails are like that—they move slowly, but they never stop moving forward.
Back when we were kids, teachers and parents always told us that hard work pays off.
Honestly, I think that’s just something you tell children. In reality, hard work doesn’t always guarantee rewards—just look at me. I tried so hard at acting, and I still ended up being called ‘ratings poison.’
But even so, we can’t give up. No dream is too big, and no dreamer is too small. When the night is dark enough, the stars shine brightest. So just like the snail, keep moving forward—one step at a time. And I’ll be right there with you!” With that, Luo Ming bowed once more and turned to leave the stage.
“Ahhh—Wenwen, don’t go! One more song!”
“Wenwen, sing one more! Don’t make me get on my knees!”
“One more!”
“One more!”
“One more!”
Hearing the audience’s unified chant, Luo Ming stopped in his tracks. She put on an exaggeratedly troubled expression and said, “I already slipped up and sang one unreleased album track today. My manager’s gonna chew me out for sure. If I sing another one, I might even get fined. You guys wouldn’t want to see me lose money, would you?”
“We’ll pay for it!”
“Wenwen, however much they fine you, we’ve got you covered!”
“Double it, even!”
“Uh, no way! That’s basically illegal fundraising, and I really don’t want to become a ‘jailhouse singer.’ That’s all for today—there’s still more amazing performances coming up. See you all later!” Luo Ming waved to the crowd. No matter how much they called out this time, she didn’t stop—she headed straight backstage.
“Chuchu, can I go to the backstage area?” Li Yunshang asked Chen Sichu beside her.
“Of course! I told you earlier we could just wait for Wenjie backstage, but you insisted on watching the show,” Chen Sichu said with a hint of exasperation.
“Wasn’t it worth watching, though? That song Snail was so good!”
Chen Sichu was momentarily speechless. It really was a beautiful song—not just melodically, but thematically. It even tied in nicely with the album’s lead track.
After holding onto that Initial Dream, you had to keep climbing step by step, like the Snail, and keep pushing toward your goals.
“Chuchu… was Wenjie really that crushed when her TV dramas flopped?” Li Yunshang asked.
