By Gao Yuanji (27S06M) and Tan Yun Jun (27S03M)

All photographs courtesy of Xu Fengxuan (27S03M) from Raffles Art and Photographic Society

On the evening of 28 May 2026, the Performing Arts Centre (PAC) was bathed in a warm, contemplative glow for the Chinese Literary, Drama and Debate Society’s (CLDCS) annual production, this year titled Cui Gu Hui Xiang: Seek (翠谷回响: 寻). Confronting themes of memory, emotional entrapment, and bittersweet reconciliation, this year’s presentation featured a fully original dual-format lineup of eight songs and a play. For a comparatively small CCA whose student members play overlapping roles as writers, performers, and technical crew behind the scenes, the showcase stood as a quiet testament to a year of persistence and artistic experimentation.

A Medley of Original Tunes

As the lights of the performing arts centre dimmed and the emcees stepped forth, the audience hushed on cue, ready for CLDCS to tug at their heartstrings. We had the pleasure of enjoying an assortment of tracks, which centred around the theme of “Seek”, linking to ideas of lingering memories, yearning for a changed ending, and navigating uncertainty.

The first performer of the day, Tan Yu Han (27S03L), donned a cascading pink dress and exquisite ribbon hair clips as she presented her heartwarming solo piece Heartbeat to Polaris (《才想到你》). From wistful hopes to unforgotten memories, this piece embodied the unwavering devotion of an individual who has been physically separated from his beloved.

Continuing along the line of nostalgia, we were then whisked onto a more solemn piece, To the Characters (《至角色》), performed by Cao Runfang (26A01B) and Chin Khai Lynn (26A01B). Coming from the perspective of a sympathetic reader, Runfang said she wrote this song as a letter to characters in a story who had wasted potential or regrettably did not get the ending they deserved. 

Just when we thought the performance was taking a melancholic turn, we were met with a highly relatable piece for students, Dear 18 (《未来的自己》) by Wang Zihan (27S03E). Zihan introduces it as a letter to herself that embodies both the uncertainties of the present and hopes for the future.

Every line hit home for us, acknowledging the challenges students face before offering thoughtful words of comfort, encouragement and strength. It conveyed three key hopes for the audience’s “future self”: carry courage in your heart, remain true to yourself and keep a fire burning in your soul.

After a thunderous round of applause from the audience, we were swept onto the next song, In a Decade (《下个十年》), performed by Runfang and Yang Yi (27S03M). The staging in this piece was particularly intriguing, with Yang Yi sitting alone at the beginning, a parallel to the deep-rooted loneliness that comes with parting with a beloved. When a long-awaited reunion finally occurs “a decade later”, the singers similarly come together at centre-stage. 

To echo the idea of time slipping away, Fated (《命定》) by Yang Yi and Issac Thian (27S05A) was showcased to a mesmerised audience. Written by Wang Yixuan (26S03G), it unravelled the tangled emotions left behind after an unfortunate breakup, often framed as “destiny”. Heartbreaking memories remain vivid, words linger unsaid, and promises remain unfulfilled. Due to the complexities of love, the ballad concludes with a resolution to “let time carry away the thoughts” that were never spoken.

The song segment drew to a close with Khai Lynn’s solo piece, Truth (《真理》), which sharply contrasted with the other tunes. Instead of a classical piano accompaniment, Truth adopts an EDM (electronic dance music) backing track with repetitive, staccato beats, effectively forming an air of mystery and suspense in the theatre.

Lyrically, it emphasised that “truth is eternal” and how wallowing in self-deception is pointless. It acted as a direct response to all the previous pieces regarding nostalgia and regret–the truth never changes, a signal that it is time to move on. 

Upon the final lyric, supportive, enthusiastic cheers reverberated through the theatre for the singers, all of whom had put in a tremendous amount of effort into their performances. Every piece was an original composition by CLDCS members, showcasing their talent and fervent passion for songwriting.

We learn from Khai Lynn that CLDCS’s official songwriting section was unfortunately cut last year due to a “lack of budget”, which meant there was “very little guidance” and that the process became even more challenging. 

Before it Ends:《趁循环结束前》

Lucky for us, the songs did not conclude the night. 

Moving on, we had CLDCS’ very own thought-provoking play, which was also performed for the Singapore Youth Festival (SYF). 

We were first introduced to the play’s two main characters, Song Xun (宋寻 – “寻” meaning “seek”) and An Qi (安琪), played by Chin Khai Lynn and Cao Runfang, respectively. Introverted and seemingly aloof, Song Xun moves through school as a solitary shadow, shying away from social interactions. 

This changes drastically with a simple line: “Hello! I’m An Qi, I sit right behind you!” (你好！我是安琪，就坐在你的后桌！) An irreplaceable bundle of joy, An Qi crash-lands into Song Xun’s world, breaking into her bubble. The pair quickly became inseparable, their lives intertwined. Regrettably, their blissful times are abruptly halted upon the unexpected death of An Qi.

Rewriting the Ending

In Scene 1, we see a crestfallen Song Xun making a sincere birthday wish, to go back in time to prevent the death of An Qi. “I wish I can return to the beginning of it all, and rewrite the ending.” (我希望能回到这一切的开始，改写结局。)

Unexpectedly, her wish is granted, and she finds herself back on the day of An Qi’s death: 19th July.

We witness the death of An Qi in the original timeline, when the duo were having lunch together at a restaurant they frequent. Then, the scene cuts to Song Xun in the new timeline, determined not to let the past repeat itself. She racks her brain, conjuring methods to save An Qi from eventual death, which include confronting her directly and faking a stomachache to drag her to the hospital. 

Yet, the same sight from the original timeline beholds us after every attempt. An Qi clutches her chest in agony as she collapses to the floor, with Song Xun crying out her name while a heartbeat flatline sound plays in the background.

Then, Song Xun is returned to the morning of 19 July. The loop repeats.

Memory II

The production got noticeably more intense during Scene 6 (Memory II). Set under a glaring spotlight in An Qi’s bedroom, a melancholic flashback plays where the two girls attempt to patch up a fragile, disintegrating puppet originally gifted to An Qi by Song Xun’s late father. The scene highlights how traditional arts anchor their bond.

When a defeatist Song Xun suggests that puppet restoration might be a dying craft because “few people are interested in puppetry nowadays,” a defiant An Qi mutters, “I will definitely be able to fix it, just you wait and see!” (我一定能把它修好的，你就等着瞧吧！) The broken puppet functions as an overt metaphor for the girls’ looming separation, highlighting the impossibility of perfectly mending what time has already frayed. 

One Last Release

With the story’s progression, Song Xun faces the fact that her intervention cannot defeat mortality. Once more meeting An Qi in that familiar restaurant, she throws her an early birthday celebration, lying about an “overseas study trip” to explain the premature festivity.

In a poignant culmination of their relationship, An Qi presents Song Xun with a surprise gift: the old childhood puppet, painstakingly repaired. As An Qi sings the birthday song, Song Xun embraces her fiercely, silently choosing emotional acceptance over temporal manipulation.

At long last, the narrative is brought to a quiet, grounded resolution. Song Xun wakes up in her dark room in the real world. The loop is definitively broken, and An Qi is forever gone. Clutching the restored puppet on her desk, she hears her mother knocking gently, pleading for her to step outside.

Stepping across the threshold of her self-imposed isolation, Song Xun embraces her mother tightly. The stage slowly fades to black, signalling that while the pain of loss remains absolute, the paralysis of grief has finally broken.

Seeking Closure: The Finale

The emotional release of the play transitioned smoothly into the concert’s final musical numbers. Serving as the structural anchor for the evening’s performance was the theme song, Hanging by a String (《木偶断了线》), written by Tan Xuan En and performed solo by Wang Zihan. The piece beautifully echoed elements central in the play, employing the imagery of a severed puppet string to mirror the agony of letting go.

Directly following was the grand finale, Seek (《寻找》), composed and arranged by Chin Khai Lynn and Kien Khai, with lyrics penned collectively by the CLDCS Songwriting faction. Performed by the entire ensemble, the song functioned as a refreshing catharsis from the more melancholic atmosphere that had thus far prevailed. Its stirring melodies transformed the act of “seeking” from a desperate pursuit into a collective celebration of growth and self-discovery.

Afterthoughts

The success of Seek is particularly impressive given the logistical hurdles CLDCS faced during its conception. 

Yet, as Vice-Chairperson Wang Yixuan noted, the beauty of the experience lay primarily in its unpredictability, quoting the classic idiom: “山重水复疑无路, 柳暗花明又一村” (Where hills bend and streams wind, the pathway seems to end; past dark willows and flowers in bloom, a village appears ahead). “People might think there is no way forward on the path of seeking, but if you don’t stop, you might just find a way forward, right around the next corner.”

Ultimately, the production succeeded because it prioritised emotional honesty over technical extravagance. By leaning into their vulnerabilities and channelling their real-world anxieties into the text of Before It Ends, the small batch crafted an evening that felt profoundly resonant. 

For the audience slipping out of the PAC into the quiet school night, the performance offered a comforting reminder: to let go of the past is not to forget, but to give oneself permission to walk into the future without fear.