On such a bleak night, even B City, which was usually filled with people during the day, was sparse. There were only a few cars driving by on the streets, and they quickly disappeared into the freezing night.
The security in this area was relatively good. There was a special system at the entrance, and outsiders were not allowed to enter freely. It was a high-end apartment, but there were only three buildings. Qi Muâs apartment was on the 26th floor of the last one.
This building had twenty-seven floors. Qi Mu only recently learned that the entire 27th floor was owned by Min Chen, along with the one he lived in on the 26th, making his apartment a double-floor penthouse. It could be said that apart from this apartment, purchased before Min Chen had, the entire floor was also Min Chenâs.
Right now, those two floors were dark. Only Qi Muâs apartment was shining with warm, yellow light. After cleaning the table, Min Chen didnât immediately leave. Instead, he stared at an oil painting that Qi Mu had on the wall, lost in thought.
Qi Mu finished tidying up and looked over. He saw Min Chen staring at the painting and walked to stand beside him, âIt was bought from a gallery in B City. The painterâs style is good. Similar to Ruben, itâs vivid and looks alive.â
When he spoke, Qi Mu pointed at the artistic representation of an autumn harvest on a wheat field that was beside the painting. His eyes bowed into crescents, âThis autumn harvest is more like Rubenâs early works. Though not as radical, it has its own charm. I remember one by him is hanging in the first rehearsal hall of the Geneva Conservatory.â
Min Chen had initially been just studying the painting, but when he heard Qi Muâs words, his dark eyes narrowed. Just as Qi Mu thought of introducing the other painting to him, Min Chen asked casually, âWas there such a painting there? When I went to last yearâs graduation concert, I didnât notice it.â
Being so suddenly asked about it, Qi Mu automatically replied, âYes. Though, has it been removed recently? Itâs possible. After all, Professor Deville, that painting. . .â Suddenly, Qi Muâs voice silenced, and his throat went taut as he realized there was something wrong with his words.
After a long time, Qi Mu smiled, âI only heard about it. Professor Deville Carter at the Geneva Conservatory has a collection of paintings. I was interested in one of them when I was a child, and my mother told me she saw the painting there the last time she went.â
In the originalâs memory, his mother did go to Conservatory for a concert when she was young. As to whether she saw that painting or not. . . Qi Mu really had no idea.
Qi Muâs immediate clarification for the slip of tongue would have possibly made the other believe it if they were Du Sheng or Zheng Wei Qiao.
Even if it was Tan Zheng Hui, there might be some doubt, but he wouldnât dwell on it.
But, the person standing beside him right now. . . was Min Chen.
Qi Mu has spent quite some thought in decorating his apartment. There was a spotlight to highlight and brighten these paintings. At the moment, the diffused white light reflected onto the manâs handsome profile, solidifying his sharp features.
Min Chen felt something incredulous flash through his mind, but just as he was about to capture his thought, it disappeared entirely without a trace. He squinted and gently hummed, âIf you want to know, i can get Daniel to go find out. Geneva and Berlin. . . itâs not that far.â
Seeing that the other man didnât seem to be suspicious, Qi Mu felt a bit relieved. He shook his head and said, âLetâs not bother him. Itâs no big deal anyway.â After a pause, he laughed and changed the topic, âOh right, I really am sorry about not telling you today would be informal beforehand. I. . . probably let you down.â
Qi Mu could imagine. For the Bertram family, it was impossible to have a simple 8-in-1 soup for a Christmas Eve dinner.
Min Chenâs profound gaze lingered on him for a bit. Then he shook his head and replied, âYour cooking is excellent. I didnât know you could cook Chinese like that.â
Qi Mu laughed, âIt was all learned from my parents. They were keen on Chinese cuisine. Iâm glad you liked it. I really appreciate. . . what you did for me in Hong Kong. When I went to the score, did you say something to Mr. Boswell? He was very kind to me during the rehearsals.â
As a good man who never let his good deeds stick to his name, Min Chen shook his head, âI didnât do anything special. Didnât you say that Boswellâs temper was particularly good?â
However, Boswell himself had told him. This man had directly recommended him to Boswell. But. . . he still refused to admit it. Perhaps this was a form of. . . modesty?
After thinking for a time, he no longer tried to chase the matter. âAll in all, I appreciate you taking care of me in Hong Kong.â
âIâm only repaying you.â
Qi Mu: â?â
Min Chenâs expression was calm, as was his tone: âFor your help with the bug.â
â. . .â
This was a single apartment of roughly forty to fifty square meters. Even if the decorations were excellent, after ten minutes of appreciation, there was nothing left to look at. Now, there was still some time before midnight. Qi Mu knew it was important for many western families with strong traditions to keep the family together on Christmas Eve.
Although he personally had no interest in the vigil, when he considered that Min Chen had to return that large, empty house, waiting for the clock to strike twelve by himself. . . he shook his head and sighed.
Since the other man had helped him so much, even calling it a repayment. . . so why not?
âBefore you knocked on my door that day, I had no idea you lived next door.â Qi Mu poured a cup of warm water from a thermos and handed it to Min Chen, continuing to say, âI didnât expect to not know who was living next door for so long, itâs a bit funny.â
Min Chen took the cup and said, âI donât remember hearing the violin through the wall.â
Qi Mu laughed, âI practice in the music room every day. So I wouldnât disturb the neighbors, I renovated for better insulation.â After a pause, he said strangely, âBut I only practice for a few hours a day, and I donât remember. . . is there a piano next door?â
He remembered, when he went into the apartment next door, he could see one. It was in the living room, a beautiful, black Steinway. It stood proudly in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was elegant.
This man who didnât practice even an hour on the piano everyday listened to this, and his face went black. He coughed softly, âProbably while you were practicing the violin. . . I also dabbled on the piano.â
Qi Mu nodded understandingly.
Min Chenâs eyes were still dark, and he very quickly changed the topic, âI havenât seen your music room.â
Qi Mu subsequently smiled, âItâs not that interesting of a place, just an ordinary music room.â Despite saying so, he enthusiastically led the guest to his music room. He opened the door and turned on the light, revealing the simple music room. âI did not ask for a music room, so the decorations are simpler.â
Min Chenâs narrow gaze circled the entire room then settled on the box on the table. âYou like Paganiniâs ăllaă?â
Qi Mu subconsciously replied, âWell, Iâve practiced Paganiniâs songs for a while.â
âI like this piece very much, will you. . . allow me to listen?â
Qi Mu was stunned, and he turned to look at the man. He saw that Min Chen was also staring at him, his eyes deep and focused. The meaning of that request, Qi Mu was shocked.
It was a glorious thing for any violinist to have Min Chen ask for a performance. Compared to other music masters, Min Chen was a very indifferent person. He had given a chance to only a few, but none. . . later became well known.
Bai Aiâs current concertmaster, Christole, was the only violinist Min Chen had taken the initiative to hear his violin.
And now a second had appeared.
Without a trace of fear, Qi Mu curled his lips into a smile and laughed. This expression of confidence was dazzling on the youthâs handsome face.
He nodded seriously, and his voice was firm, âAlright.â
He removed his violin from its case, wiped the bow with rosin, and directly lifted it to his shoulder.
The notes were smooth, like water current, and the brisk tone flew from the strings of his violin. The word ăllaă translated into Chinese meant ăBellă. However it had a unique nameââăThe Emperorâs Bellă.
The song was mostly a brisk staccato, but in a Paganiniâs song, it was quite tricky and most violinists couldnât control it. So when Min Chen proposed this song, it was also a challenge for Qi Mu.
But, this song was one of Qi Muâs former incarnationâs most perfected piece, and he was especially fond of it.
Qi Mu had played ăBellă at his graduation concert as his last performance at Geneva. Even in laters interviewing with several of the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, he still played ăBellă.
This piece was incredibly significant to Qi Mu. In his previous life, he had a special album that recorded it five times.
In that quiet music room, the cheerful music couldnât wait to jump free from his bow. Every note danced in the air, breaking the silence of the room like it wanted to everything into the depths of a happy, cheerful ocean.
As soon as the first note emerged, Qi Mu was immersed in the sound. Each string, each pull of his bow, it was engraved into the depths of his memory. Pulling out this familiar melody, it was like he had returned to that early morning that he had gone to the Vienna Symphony Orchestra with his violin case.
If the interview wasnât a success, he could only leave Vienna.
The slender fingers of the youthâs white hand flowed back and forth over the four thing strings. The speed was so fast, sometimes so dazzling, that one could only use their ears to listen to the beautiful music.
Perhaps he was too immersed, so deep he could not extricate himself from it, so Qi Mu didnât know that after playing for just a minute, the man listening to him suddenly stiffened and stared at him incredulously.
His Phoenix eyes were wide, and Min Chenâs fingers trembled.
Daniel had been with this man for over a decade, but if he could see this now, he would have said, âOh my god, Min. Is it the end of the world? Why are you so surprised?!â
The song went on for nine minutes, and Min Chenâs excellent hearing suspended him in horror, capturing every note perfectly.
Each slide of the fingers against the strings, each pass of the bow, each of these notes were so hauntingly familiar. When they came together, they formed the unique song that belonged to just Qi MuââăLa Campanellaă.
This song that was unique to Lu Zi Wen. . . ăLa Campanellaă.