一半

Joker Xue has always understood how to make incompleteness feel architectural, and this song is built entirely around that premise. The production uses clean, modern pop construction — measured percussion, layered synth pads, and piano that arrives like punctuation rather than decoration. His vocal delivery here is characteristically fragile at the edges: a slight rasp in the upper register, phrases that seem to catch in the throat before releasing. The song maps the feeling of existing at exactly fifty percent — present but halved, functional but aware of what's missing. Xue's great gift is translating abstract emotional math into something visceral, and here the metaphor never becomes labored. The chorus opens with genuine urgency before retreating back into something quieter and more resigned. It belongs squarely in the Mandopop tradition of sophisticated heartbreak pop, the kind that Taiwanese and mainland Chinese audiences respond to precisely because it never sentimentalizes — it just measures the distance. This is music for staring out of windows after conversations that didn't quite say what they needed to.