As chief conductor and music director of the Dresden Symphony Orchestra, Farrell Lewis had many great accomplishments to his name. Unlike many maestros who started as a pianist turned conductor, Farrellâs achievements with the piano were less than his achievements with the violin.
Such a great violin master and conductor was praised by Master Akkad as a âgood teacherâ?! This was a mentor students all over the world dreamt of, ah!
But. . . Qi Mu was excluded from this list of students.
âAngel, your skill with tremolo is excellent, but I had hoped you would be more decisive with the overtone and show the true excitement of ăThe Larkă. Like this. . .â
Farrell took the violin from Qi Muâs hands and demonstrated.
The delicate violin was clear in his hands. Though there were differences between his and Qi Muâs technique, his performance showed the aesthetic romance unique to Parisians.
Farrell was a French musician. Because he was the current conductor, his musical style deeply influenced the orchestra. It made Dresden, once classically German, romantic and gentle.
Although Qi Mu felt helpless in the face of each âAngelâ the master uttered, he had to admit he was young and less experienced compared to the other man. During the three days of practice, he listened to the masterâs guidance with the utmost respect and soon won his recognition.
With a smile, the master said, âAngel, if you perform ăThe Larkă for next weekâs assessment, I believe. . . it will be hard to find someone across all of Paris to accompany you.â
Qi Mu interjected, politely, âThank you for your advice, Master Farrell. But. . . Professor didnât seem like he wanted me to take the assessment with this piece.â
Over the two weeks of practice, Akkad gave him three pieces to perfect and proclaimed that when he got back to Paris, he would personally listen to Qi Mu performances.
To be recognized by Reed Akkad?
Well. . . It was even harder than gaining Farrellâs approval.
Akkadâs temper was so much worse. He wouldnât let even the speck of a flaw pass.
Farrell frowned. âThat fellow just wants you to play a full-court song and make his own prestige rise. ăThe Larkă is only two minutes long, but I think Angelâs ăThe Larkă could take first place.â
Farrel laughed, âAngel, play this piece. Iâll let Reed know. How can he treat his lovely student so harshly? Reed is so insensitive, youâre practicing hard every day with so little time to relax.â
Farrell was right. Before he saw Qi Muâs dutiful practice, he would never believe a 22-year-old could, and would, practice from 8 am to 8 pm every single day.
Moreover, the pieces he practiced were never simple. Each and every one of them required a high level of skill.
The students at Parisâ National Conservatory of Music were all so excellent, and most would become the backbone of the industry a decade after their graduation. If the pieces Qi Mu practiced every day were handed to Dylan next door, it would take him at least a week to prepare.
The deadlines Akkad set for Qi Mu were never more than 3 days.
Such strong pressure concerned Farrell. But, to his surprise, the beautiful young man in front of him shook his head. âMr. Farrell, Professor hopes I can graduate early, so donât stop him. He knows my limits. Please donât worry.â
The bright sunshine illuminated the pristine room like a golden awn. It shone from behind Qi Mu, surrounding him with a thin golden halo, hazy and gentle.
Farrell was stunned. He automatically reached for his phone and unlocked the screen. He had to make sure this scene was captured.
Qi Mu frowned. âMaster Farrel, did you. . . ?â
âOh, Angel, youâre so cute! Your teacher hasnât seen you for a long time, he must miss you a lot, eh? I took your picture and sent it over to show him his lovely student. Now heâs even livelier!â
Qi Mu: â. . .â
I really donât know what these maestros are thinkingâŚ
Qi Mu started to practice the next piece Akkad gave him.
The master at his side, whose head was bowed as he tapped on his phoneâs screen, only offered an occasional comment as he chatted in a very active group chat.
What? Was it possible that Farrell, who was already over 60 years old, could be savvy with his phone?
Well, he had followed the footsteps of time and refused to be left behind by youngsters!
In a group chat calledăLittle Angelâs Violin Practice Roomă, the otherwise quiet chat exploded with the release of the picture. Although there were only three people in the group, two were chatterboxes, and the third was particularly hyperactive. Rapid-fire lines of text filled the screen.
Farrell: ăAngelâs been practicing ăThe Larkă very well, Reed. I think he can use this piece as the performing track for the assessment. Itâs very good! By the way, your Angel looks particularly cute today!ă
Half a minute passed. . .
Reed:ăFarrell! Who allowed you to take my lovely studentâs picture?!ă
Farrell:ăI took it fair and square, Reed. Donât insult me.ă
Daniel:ăOh, itâs already time for the second assessment. Hey. . . This picture of Little Angel is beautiful. My sweetheart became his fan after seeing him perform ăDance of the Goblinsălast month. I have to save it and show it to my baby when I get back.ă
FarrellăHaha, Daniel, youâre a bad one!ă
Reed:ăDaniel, you baldy! Youâre not allowed to keep pictures of my student! Wait a minute, why are you in this group chat? Where did you come from!!!ă
. . .
After spending the day practicing, the sky outside was dark. In the summer, the sun went down at 8 oâclock, giving way to the moon. Qi Mu carefully wiped away the rosin powder on his violinâs panel then placed it in its case.
Picking up the case, he prepared to leave. He saw Farrell on the sofa, still gazing at his phone. He didnât know who the master was texting.
After spending three days with this maestro, Qi Mu decided he liked Farrell.
He was a talented master with a good temper and lots of patience. It was no wonder he was ranked third on the poll for the best-tempered conductor, right after Boswell from the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and Dorenza of the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.
Of course. . . If he could stop calling him âAngel,â Qi Mu would rank him number one in his heart.
âMr. Farrel, are you ready to leave? Almost everyone has left already.â With violin case in his hand, Qi Mu said, âIf you donât mind, we can walk together. My place is closer than yours, but I can accompany you half-way there.â
Farrell was still typing like a madman on his keyboard. Finally, he said, âAngel, could you wait a little longer? Just ten minutes, then weâll leave together.â
Ten minutes wasnât long, so Qi Mu agreed.
There wasnât anything to do, Qi Mu thought, turning his eyes left and right. He picked up his phone but remembered something before he could unlock it. There was an excellent record player in his professorâs lounge.
Qi Mu already brought the record to the university, intending to borrow Akkadâs record player. But until now, he had been too busy to use it.
Now was a great opportunity.
Qi Mu set down his violin case, leaving it in the violin room, and moved to the lounge.
As for Farrell? He was having the time of his life in the group chat.
Daniel:ăDamn it! Min saw me try to send the picture to my sweetheart! How did he manage to sneak up behind me and steal a peak? What a devil!ă
Farrell:ăHuh? You havenât left the orchestra yet? Is Bai Ai that busy, Daniel?ă
Daniel:ăWeâre preparing for the next tour and the one after that. No, Auston is #%^%#^. . .ă
Daniel:ăFarrell, where are you?ă
After a while,
Farrell: ă. . . Auston?ă
Reed:ăDamn it, Auston! What are you doing here?!!ă
Daniel: ăAre you in Paris, Farrell?ă
Reed: ăShut up! Shut up! Donât talk!ă
Farrell: ăIâm in Reedâs violin room. He asked me to take care of Angel in his absence. It just so happens the orchestra is on holiday, so I came.ă
Daniel: ăItâs. . . little past 8 in Paris. Youâre still in the violin room? What about Qi Mu?ă
Farrell: ăAngel? He seems to be out just now, I told him to wait ten minutes before we go. Let me tell you, Angel is such a lovely child. Heâs been practicing violin all day until now. He wanted to leave earlier but couldnât bear to leave me alone, so heâs waiting for me. ă
Daniel: ăPut down your phone. You should go back now, Farrell.ă
Farrell: ă. . . ?ă
Reed: ăFarrell, you dare to make my lovely student wait for you?! Donât tell me you havenât had dinner yet!ă
Farrell: ăNo, we ate a loaf of bread, Reed.ă
Daniel: ăFarrell, you can go back. Itâs late now, itâs time to rest. Berlin is very close to Dresden, I can visit you next quarter. When do you want me to go?ă
Farrell: ă. . . Auston? Well, you might be right. I should go now. Then, Iâm going next door to call Angel over. Goodbye.ă
DanielďźăWell, be careful on the road.ă
Farrell reluctantly set down his phone and went to the lounge. When he opened the door, he saw the handsome young man place a brand-new record on the player, preparing to put the needle on.
Startled, Qi Mu turned to him. â. . . Mr. Farrell?â
Farrell nodded, then asked, âWhat are you doing, Angel?â
Qi Mu smiled. âI wanted to listen to a record while waiting for you. Have you finished your work, Mr. Farrell?â
Farrell wanted to say, âNo hurry, if you want to listen to the record, I can wait.â But the threatening words from the group chat still lingered, fresh in his mind. The mild-tempered conductor sighed helplessly and said, âIâm a bit busy, Angel. Itâs getting late so letâs leave first. You can listen to the record tomorrow.â
Qi Mu hesitated for a moment but finally nodded. He put the record back into the kraft bag then placed it in Akkadâs safe.
A certain man in Berlin tossed the phone back to its owner. Eyes closed, he thought, today. . . he should have listened to the record already, right? He should have.