A piercing wind whistled outside the floor-to-ceiling window of the lobby. Many guests had driven away. Only a few musicians who met old friends still chatted in the lobby, planning to go out for a late evening meal.
Despite his advanced age, Farrel was still hale and hearty. Not only did he have no problems keeping up with the talkative Daniel, but he also said something relevant on every topic and make the gathered crowd burst out laughing.
After half an hour, the musicians finally tired of talking and began to leave one after another. Eventually, only Daniel and Farrel were left discussing what songs to choose for the next tour season.
Christole, who stood beside them, didnât know whether to laugh or cry. He pointed out, âBut Mr. Farrel, Daniel. . . You are not in the same orchestra, so. . . You donât have to agree on your theme, do you?â
These words surprised Farrel. He nodded with a smile. âIndeed. Daniel, I donât have to care about what you decide.â
Daniel also smiled. âThatâs true. In fact, we in Bai Ai have talked about this already. This year, we will perform Schumannâs works.â At the end of the year, there was a heated discussion about what theme to use for the next seasonâs tour. The members proposed various programs and the concertmaster and the conductor would make the final decision.
Min Chen, who followed along without speaking, looked at Daniel and asked nonchalantly, âI agreed to that?â
Daniel was stunned, then he remembered: âOh, at that time you were on vacation in Huaxia!â He abruptly stopped because something occurred to himâthey forgot to ask this big boss!
Frightened, Daniel cleared his throat and said, âMin! Donât tell me that you think this topic is not right?! This is the 160th anniversary of Master Schumannâs death! Donât make fun of me!â
Unexpectedly, Min Chenâs thin lips curled upward slightly, his tone flat, âI didnât say it was inappropriate.â
Daniel: â. . .â
Christole: â. . .â
Farrel: âHa ha ha ha, youâre still so mean, Auston.â
Min Chen shrugged noncommittally and the four men walked toward the exit. Farrel did not come by car, so he let Min Chen offer him a ride. Daniel and Christole went to pick up the car. Min Chen watched the bright lights of the traffic on the distant street when, out of the blue, he heard the man beside him speak.
âAuston. . . you and Qi are acquaintances?â
Surprised, Min Chen turned to Farrel and saw the latter gazing at himself with a smile. Min Chen was a little taller than Farrel, so he had to look down at him. He pondered for a moment, then replied, âWell, I know him. Why do you ask?â
Farrel nodded. âHeâs a good violinist, very skilled. Seeing him reminds me of how I used to look when I played the violin. Partly due to his age, I guess. Heâs really young!â
Min Chenâs expression did not change as he listened to Farrelâs praise of Qi Mu, but his deep eyes flashed. After a moment, he asked, âDo you think heâs outstanding?â
Farrel smiled again and asked in reply, âYou donât? I listened to his performance with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra seven or eight years ago. If I didnât have an impression of this talented young man, I wouldnât have paid attention then. Over the past eight years, his music style has changed so much that I almost couldnât recognize him.â
Naturally, as one of the worldâs top conductors, a composer, and a violinist, Farrelâs hearing was incomparable. Even years after listening to someoneâs performance, he could recall how they sounded.
And yet, when he heard Qi Muâs ăD Majoră and ăThe Butterfly Loversă, Farrel was amazed to find that the former child prodigyâs technical skill and his ability to express emotions had grown significantly. It was not like that of a 20-year-old youth at all.
âSuch excellent seedlings are rare in todayâs music world. Itâs good to be young. Iâm old already.â Farrelâs sigh was full of emotion.
Min Chen narrowed his eyes in the dimly lit night, thinking about something. After hearing Farrelâs words, he said, âWell, itâs true. . . His music style has changed a lot. The way he deals with the arrangement has also changed a lot. His ăD Majoră was better than I imagined.â
One month before the performance, Qi Mu called Min Chen to ask him what he thought about when he wrote ăD Majoră. Being able to talk directly to the composer was a fortunate thing, Qi Mu would be a fool to waste such an opportunity.
Half a month ago, Min Chen had listened to a recording Qi Mu sent him. Although the sound quality was not perfect, Min Chen could still tellââat that time, Qi Muâs ăD Majoră was not at this level.
Thinking about this, Min Chen chuckled. He said, âHeâs very hard-working.â
This was the first time Farrel heard Min Chen praise somebody like that. For a long moment, he stared at Min Chen in surprise, then laughed. âAuston, itâs rare for you to speak highly of someone; it seems Qi is truly exceptional. Looking at his age, heâs about to enter college. It would be bad if there wasnât a teacher to guide him.â
Min Chen looked at Farrel in surprise. âYou mean. . .â
There was a meaningful smile on Farrelâs face. He looked at the bustling, splendid nightscape of S City. âI think Paris is good.â
Not long after, Daniel and Christole drove over from the parking lot, and they sent Farrel back to his hotel. Daniel held the steering wheel and joked with Christ in the passengerâs seat, while Min Chen sat alone in the back seat, pondering something with a frown.
He recalled Farrelâs earlier words and the furrow in his brow deepened. In the end, he sighed quietly, murmuring, âParis, then. . . Did he. . .â
By then, Qi Mu had already returned to his hotel and was packing his luggage. After the Centennial Celebration, it was time for B City Symphony Orchestraâs spring performance. He had to go back to B City to prepare himself and join the rehearsals as soon as possible.
Qi Mu set an overcoat in his suitcase. He hadnât moved away when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He stood up and stepped over the luggage, reaching for his phone on the table. When he saw the name of the sender, Qi Mu froze for a moment before opening the text message.
Min Chen: ăThe performance tonight was excellent. Congratulations.ă
Qi Mu let out a quiet laugh. He tapped the touch screen a few times: ăThank you. Conductor Zhu said you might not have time to come. I didnât expect to see you tonight.ă
It wasnât long before Qi Mu received a reply: ăI arrived at Hongkou Airport this afternoon, and I have a ticket for tomorrowâs flight to Berlin.ă
Before Qi Mu answered, there was another message: ăSome things happened in the orchestra recently.ă
Seeing the evasive sentence on the screen, Qi Mu couldnât help laughing. He put the clothes he held aside and responded to the other party with due respect: ăI wish you a pleasant journey, Iâm also flying back to B City tomorrow. By the way, I should let you know that today I encouraged one of your admirers in your name. I hope you donât mind.ă
The streets of the Bund were bustling, the stream of vehicles not stopping even so late in the night. Min Chen looked at the dark Huangpu River outside the window. The phone in his hand vibrated suddenly, and he peered down at it.
His gaze paused for a moment on the smiling face at the end of the message, then he resumed texting: ăThatâs fine, it doesnât matter. I also wish you a pleasant journey.ă
This time there was no response. Qi Mu had already put down his mobile and continued to pack. Min Chen turned his head and again stared at the Huangpu River engulfed in the darkness.
Several cargo ships sailed slowly along the black surface. The lights of the city were so bright that the water seemed like a cold, dark abyss.
The manâs slender fingers beat rhythmically on the casing of his phone. Although he seemed calm and composed, in fact, Min Chenâs heart was turbulent, and his mind filled with too many thoughts.
Daniel had investigated the relationship between Qi Mu and Lu Zi Wenââthe only time they were in contact was that one joint performance in Vienna eight years ago. At the time, Lu Zi Wen was your average newcomer in the first violin group, and Qi Mu had already been lauded as a gifted child prodigy.
But, if so. . . if they had no relation with each other, how had Qi Mu changed so much?
And, why. . .
. . .did he resemble Lu Zi Wen so strongly?
Min Chenâs pupils constricted, and his lips parted slightly.
It was not possible for two different peopleâs music to be identical, not to this extent. . .
Absolutely impossible.
Min Chen felt as if he stood before an impenetrable door. It wasnât locked, but there were also no gapsâsealed so tightly even air could not pass through it. He ran into a dead end before he had even begun. But it was right in front of him, and he couldnât ignore it.
This was the first time in his thirty years of life that he had encountered such a queer thing as an almost identical ăBellă.
Even though there were slight differences, no one would dare deny it if Min Chen publicly announced that Qi Muâs ăBellă was the same as Lu Zi Wenâs ăBellă. After all, this was Min Chen, the man who could hear when a single stringâs mistake.