THE passers-by flooding out of the Metro subway station paused on their way to listen to a melody sung by a long-haired man strumming a guitar while sitting on the footpath.

　　Some threw coins into the guitar case and others smiled with a mixture of curiosity, sympathy or admiration. A few looked at him with contempt.

　　One woman, tired from a day's shopping, went over to the troubadour and gave him a bottle of mineral water before sitting down nearby.

　　Singing for love

　　Liu Yancheng, the street singer, can recall the day two and a half years ago when he began to court his girlfriend, a doctor.

　　Now their dates are always in the subway - Liu singing for money and his girlfriend watching for patrolling police who would fine or arrest him.

　　After singing in Shanghai's streets for three years, Liu now wants to set up his own music production company. But he won't be using the money donated by passers-by - he will be asking his father for a loan.

　　He sings in Metro stations about twice a week and each two-hour singing session nets him almost 300 yuan.

　　"The money is just enough for an ordinary life here," Liu said. "I can earn as much if I sing in pubs, but the pub owners would ask me to sing songs I don't like. To me, there's nothing different between singing in bars and at the subway stations."

　　Liu has not been able to save much in his four-year stay in the city and has had to ask his parents for help. They have never been to Shanghai and think their son is working in an office for some local company.

　　"I must fulfill the goal that I set for myself in one or two years," he said. "I hope that I won't have to go on living on just the few thousand yuan that keeps me alive every month. I want to make my own music to express what I'm thinking about."

　　Music maze

　　About five singers like Liu move around Shanghai's subway stations. Liu said they know each other and if they meet at the same station, one of them willingly leaves for another station.

　　Unlike the other subway and street singers, Liu sings his own compositions as well as the pop songs of the stars.

　　In his singing, he concentrates on ballads.

　　"I can make much more money if I go to the stations more frequently," he said explaining that he spends most of his time writing songs.

　　Liu was the only student in his hometown who went to a national key university in Wuhan in Central China's Hubei Province.

　　But he was disappointed with the major he was allotted - jewel appraisal.

　　He found music as a hobby during his college years and set up a band with four other students. He was the drummer and occasionally the singer.

　　The band became well known in Wuhan and Liu decided to make music his profession.

　　Liu claims it is very hard for young singers to stand out due to the corrupt environment in China's music industry.

　　One of his friends once showed some music he had written to a big-time songwriter in Beijing. He had hoped for help in his career from the music "tycoon" but when he was asked him to sell his song with the tycoon getting the credit for writing it, he refused.

　　"Those who make pop music may dry up in inspiration for good music and as long as they are famous, they have too much socializing activities, so they don't have time to make music," Liu said.

　　Determined to not to go to Beijing where it is hard for young talented singers or songwriters to achieve success, Liu set out for Shanghai to pursue his musical dream.

　　He won the first prize in a Shanghai original music competition but nobody contacted him after he left the stage with his award.

　　"It's useless to get these prizes. If you want to make your own album in China, you need at least 1 million yuan (US,000) - either you have it or someone invests in you," he said.

　　The price to pay

　　Liu has had to pay greatly for chasing his dream to Shanghai. In the winter of 2000, when he was singing for money on the Bund, a policeman stopped him and took him to a detention centre. This was the first of two occasions he was arrested for singing on the Bund.

　　"Even though I had the temporary residency card, I was detained. Any one who doesn't have the Shanghai hukou (residency permit) risks being sent to the detention centre," said Hu.

　　That threat is now a thing of the past with the recent changes to the detention policy.

　　After being sent to the detention centre on Mengzi Lu in Shanghai, Liu was searched and all his money was confiscated.

　　A prisoners who was doing his time at a prison and appointed to be a supervisor at the detention centre - one of more than 40 in a 10-square-metre room, - would beat the others if they didn't give him any valuables they had on them.

　　"About every hour or so there would be screams from those being beaten. Frankly speaking, I was a little frightened," Liu said.

　　Human trade

　　Liu was sent to another detention centre in Xuzhou in Jiangsu Province, a major rail junction.

　　"For each person that was transferred to Xuzhou detention centre, the Xuzhou side would give the Shanghai centre 50 yuan (US)," Liu said.

　　In Xuzhou, nothing had improved - it was the same small room with the same number of people.

　　Black buns and some rice soup were served for meals every day and the detainees were given only a few minutes to finish them.

　　A strongly built man from North China, who was also under detention, became the "godfather" in Liu's room and his "hatchet men" went around all the other prisoners searching them for hidden money or valuables.

　　No beds were provided in the room and each man had to find his own spot in which to sleep on the floor. Anyone who went to the toilet for a while would lose his "spot".

　　Liu was lucky because the "godfather" liked him for his songs. "He always asked me to play the guitar and sing for him," Liu said.

　　His music-making talents also earned Liu other "privileges" to make life in the detention centre more comfortable.

　　Liu stayed in the centre for 10 days. An insider told him that he would be released if he gave the centre 300 yuan (US).

　　At the same time, staff at the centre were telephoning every possible family member and friend of the detainees telling them to bring 400 or 500 yuan if they wanted their arrested relatives or friends released.

　　"They were very willing to make the phone calls because that would bring in money for them," Liu said.

　　The first time he was arrested and detained, Liu borrowed 300 yuan from a fellow inmate who had hidden his money well. The second time, one of his friends sent him the money.

　　"I would never have contacted my parents. I would not want them to know that I was living like that," Liu said.