Seems Like an Old Acquaintance Has Come

I believe 'As If an Old Friend Has Come' is Anita Mui’s finest song—and it was precisely this song that made me fall in love with her.

I first heard this song in 1992. That night, the dormitory lights had already been turned off, and I was preparing for bed. A classmate from the Railway Engineering Department rushed over and told me he’d just heard an extraordinary song—so he dragged me to his dorm to listen.

He pressed play. The melody of the guzheng began, accompanied by steady, resonant drumbeats—two words instantly came to mind: comfortable! Then a woman’s voice entered—Cantonese, mature and deeply expressive. The entire piece struck a perfect balance between classical elegance and modern sensibility; its melody flowed seamlessly, executed with flawless coherence and not a trace of hesitation or redundancy. Yet the lyrics remained largely unintelligible to me (I’d only just begun encountering Cantonese songs during university). He told me it was by Anita Mui. I was slightly surprised—Could she really sing like this? At the time, I hadn’t much liked Anita Mui’s music: her voice sounded weathered, her melodies somber, and some songs carried an overtly commercial feel—as if performed merely for show. This one, however, stood apart. Rarely do I fall for a song on first listen—but this one felt profoundly comfortable, and I loved it.

MP3s didn’t exist back then, nor did online music downloads. All I could do was occasionally borrow a classmate’s cassette tape. Gradually, the melody and lyrics became familiar—I learned it was composed by Lo Ta-yu and lyricized by Lin Xi. Still, it remained merely one among my favorite songs.

After graduation, I returned to work in Tianjin, where Cantonese songs were seldom heard—only perhaps one or two classics by Alan Tam, Leslie Cheung, or Danny Chan. Anita Mui’s songs were almost entirely absent. With heavy workloads and family responsibilities, I gradually lost touch with this song—until 2001, when I moved to Beijing for graduate studies. With more free time, I suddenly recalled: There was once such a song! I frantically searched online. Back then, digital music libraries were sparse—and astonishingly, no MP3 version of this song could be found. Not until the start of the 2002 academic year did I finally locate it. I downloaded it immediately, played it without delay—as though reuniting with a long-lost friend…

I clicked play. The guzheng melody emerged once more, paired with those steady drumbeats—comfortable, so deeply comforting it seeped into my very soul! The woman’s voice returned—Cantonese, mature and poised—it was her: the old friend, Anita Mui. 'We’re both passersby, both dreamers—meant to be a pair. In youth’s dreams, we never wake; yet awakening demands return…' Nearly every line is a timeless lament on human existence; nearly every note stirs dormant emotions deep within. Especially the xiao (panpipe) interlude midway through—the poignant, desolate depiction of fated yet fleeting encounters, of longing unfulfilled, reaches its emotional apex, drawing tears before you even realize it: 'Mundane dust vast and boundless; heaven’s will inscrutable and wide—separating you and me. Each broken-hearted character drips like rain; wind and thunder roar without cease—as if an old friend has come…' As the song draws to its close, the singer’s resigned, wordless sigh—paired with Lo Ta-yu’s signature rhythmic pattern (one heavy beat followed by two light ones)—evokes footsteps retreating reluctantly, glancing back twice with every step, fading ever farther… And at this moment—do you too find yourself immersed in memories of that old friend?

A truly classic song must excel in melody, lyrics, arrangement, and vocal performance—and all elements must fuse flawlessly. Lo Ta-yu’s composition is inherently beautiful and memorable—I knew it well. Yet upon first hearing this song, I failed to recognize it as his work: its refined, lustrous texture is rare even among his own masterpieces—making this, arguably, his crowning achievement. As for Lin Xi—I hold him in highest esteem; many iconic works bear his lyrical imprint, each line crafted with precision and layered meaning. Anita Mui achieved perfect symbiosis between singer and song—a profound, heartfelt interpretation that completely transformed my perception of her. This song represents the ultimate convergence of Anita Mui, Lo Ta-yu, and Lin Xi—an artistic pinnacle unlikely ever to be surpassed.

A great song that withstands the test of time must also transcend mere musicality—reaching deeper into the realm of artistic conception. The 20-year-old me and the me of today hear this song differently. Only lived experience grants true understanding—and perhaps the longer life goes on, the deeper its resonance grows. The song itself is no longer simply a piece of music; it is a stretch of time, a fragment of memory, a surge of emotion—all destined to grow richer, not dimmer, with age…

Some say: Anita Mui spent her entire life embodying and interpreting the essence of this song. At the end of 2003, Anita Mui departed this ephemeral world—she was just forty. 'Leaving you—or leaving me—to grow old in this world; before parting, unaware how precious our time together truly was.' Is it only when days flow unremarked beside one another that we fail to sense their brevity—only when final separation arrives, when reunion becomes impossible, that we desperately claw back every detail of those vanished moments? We arrive in this mortal world—and must inevitably depart from it. How many regrets will remain?

'Destined but not fated, memories unceasing—yet life is cruelly brief… Holding your hand, yet forced to let go—love both present and absent. Ten years hence, we’ll stand side-by-side; ten thousand years hence, we’ll face each other—yet alas, I’ll never see it…'

Late at night, in utter silence, alone—headphones on. Click play. The guzheng melody begins again, accompanied by those steady drumbeats—indescribable! The woman’s voice enters—Cantonese, mature and poised—it is her: the old friend who will never return—Anita Mui…