Fei Yuqing, who had already made a name for himself in Taiwan’s music scene at the time, frequently traveled back and forth between mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan for performances. The miso soup that Chie Yasui prepared with her own hands made him feel the warmth of home while he was far from home. 

In late autumn of 1981 in Tokyo, 27-year-old Fei Yuqing met Chie Yasui while performing at a nightclub in Ginza.

Fei Yuqing, who had already made a name for himself in Taiwan’s music scene at the time, frequently traveled back and forth between mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan for performances. The miso soup that Chie Yasui prepared with her own hands made him feel the warmth of home while he was far from home. The Yasui family also took great care of him, even going so far as to change their habit of draining the bathwater after he had finished showering.

However, just as the two were preparing for their engagement, Grandpa Yasui made three demands: that he become a son-in-law by marriage, change his nationality, and retire from the music industry.

As the only son in his family and someone who regarded singing as his life’s passion, Fei Yuqing found it difficult to choose between his family responsibilities and his personal career, and ultimately decided to leave.

In the end, that ring never made it onto her finger.

He poured all his deep feelings into his songs

Over the next thirty years, Fei Yuqing devoted more of his energy to his entertainment career.

From Taipei to Beijing, classic songs such as “One Cut of Plum Blossoms” have been widely sung. He has always appeared on stage dressed in a suit and tie, expressing his inner emotions through his singing.

In 2019, 59-year-old Fei Yuqing held a farewell concert. As he bowed on stage, he said:

“There’s nothing in life you can’t let go of—except memories.”

From the audience, his close friend Jiang Hui—whom he’s known for thirty years—handed him a cup of warm water. Jiang Hui knows his habits inside and out—she knows he takes two spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee and always eats braised pork over rice with pickled cucumbers.

This bond lasts longer than love.

Companionship That Goes Beyond Love Reveals Even Deeper Affection

Today, Fei Yu-ching lives alone in an old house in Taipei. Every morning, he waters the orchids on his balcony, and the radio often plays Teresa Teng’s “The Moon Represents My Heart.”

Jiang Hui would occasionally drop by to visit him, carrying a thermos. The two of them would sit in wicker chairs listening to old songs, spending the whole afternoon that way.

They had made a promise: no matter which one of them passed away first, the other would sing “Goodbye, My Love” at the funeral.

This friendship, which goes beyond romance, is simple yet heartwarming.

The Ring That Was Never Given

When I see how Fei Yuqing lives today, I often wonder: when faced with the choice between reality and our ideals, are we truly holding fast to our principles, or are we missing out on potential happiness?

For Fei Yuqing, that ring he never gave away may be both a regret from the past and a testament to his steadfast commitment to staying true to himself.

There are no standard answers in life. And those profound memories will leave a unique mark as the years go by.

What do you think—if he could live his life over again, should Fei Yuqing give up singing for the sake of love?

Let’s chat in the comments section.