Chereads / Wind stirs, leaves descend / Chapter 8 - Chapter 8. Tristesse

Chapter 8 - Chapter 8. Tristesse

Li Li indeed won the first place. The teachers were all excited, and Teacher Shan received another commendation. All the flowers clustered in the arms of the senior sister. She tightly held the bouquet with both hands. Her simple azure blue fitted dress was draped with a black veil. Oval, spoon-shaped, or needle-shaped petals adorned her slender waist in various dazzling colors. Adding any more decorations would make it too intricate.

Years later, reminiscing about this scene repeatedly, I would always recall the oil painting of Ophelia. However, Li Li would never wither, and no one would reject her. Every time she was on stage, even when bowing to acknowledge applause, she wore a smile that seemed natural. It conveyed the same rigorous confidence as her piano skills. This confidence was rational and traceable, leaving no room for doubt. At this moment, she was the center of attention for everyone. In my mind echoed Yan Feng's words: "You don't have to get first place," or "You don't need to get first place," or perhaps, "You can get first place, but there's no need to." I constantly explained the meaning of these words to myself. It seemed like I was starting to understand his intention, feeling a somewhat ecstatic happiness.

"What's wrong? Why are you so absorbed in your thoughts?" Yan Feng came over and patted my shoulder. "Nothing." I hesitated a bit. "The participants and teachers are taking a group photo on stage. Aren't you going over?" Yan Feng turned to look at me. "It's okay; this is a competition memento. I didn't participate in the competition." "Jealous, huh? Haha." "No, I just feel a bit embarrassed." I made up a reason. Yan Feng always sensed my subtle reactions, but sometimes he would attribute my reactions to the wrong cause. I half-closed my eyes, looking at the stage lights, as dazzling as ever. "It's okay. You don't have to get first place, but next time, you'll definitely get first place." Yan Feng put his hand on my shoulder, almost half of his body weight pressing down on me. I struggled to stand still, leaning slightly, and my head happened to rest on his shoulder. "I know."

"XiXi, come over for a group photo!" Senior sister called out to me loudly from the stage.

"Okay." I immediately agreed.

"Hey, I tell you to take a photo, and you won't go. Senior sister calls you, and you're so obedient." Yan Feng let go of me, his tone devoid of anger.

"Yan Feng, you come over too." Li Li put down the flowers and waved at us.

Yan Feng hesitated for a moment, suddenly a bit shy. "I think I'll pass. I'm just a volunteer."

"Katherine, come together!" Li Li called out to another volunteer.

"Okie dokie, we are heading to the stage!" Katherine walked out from the back seat, pulling me and Yan Feng towards the stage. We were dragged to the center of the stage by Li Li, squatting down neatly, our knees against the wooden floor. The coldness penetrated through my trousers. The photographer instructed us to move closer, and Yan Feng's arm came over. Through the thin white shirt, I could feel his warm skin. Li Li's hand rested on my shoulder, conveying a subtle strength. Teachers surrounded Li Li, and everyone was emitting a bit of warmth, concentrated and enduring.

At the photographer's command, I slightly raised my head, staring at the spotlight on the truss. My eyes didn't blink, leaving behind another rebellious freeze-frame. Since then, my mom often says I'm pretending to be serious, while Li Li says I'm an 800-year-old youth who is too mature. I always smile without saying a word.

After a heated conversation for a while, the crowd began to disperse, leaving our group. Teacher Dan and Li Li walked towards me. I felt I should say something serious. Just as they stopped in front of me, I said, "Senior sister, congratulations!"

"Haha, keep it up. The next first place is yours," she echoed Yan Feng's words.

"XiXi, this time you should have learned a lot about touch, control over the super octaves, stability. In addition to these technical aspects, accurate understanding of musical phrases and how to control rhythm, often requiring quick, precise, and ruthless actions while maintaining stability and avoiding rushing. Sometimes, there's a need for deliberate delays. Many times, the score doesn't indicate these nuances so finely, and subtle handling requires a lot of sight-singing and listening to aid understanding. There's also the expressiveness of the performers, the control of facial expressions on stage," Teacher Dan said earnestly, looking at me with great excitement, occasionally waving his arms. "But I believe that the next time you participate in a competition, you should make great progress."

"Yes, teacher. Each competitor has their own unique style. I will work even harder on piano practice when I return to Chengdu," I replied eagerly.

Teachers Chen and Zhou approached. "Li Li was outstanding this time, truly a perfect performance," Teacher Chen said. "But also, pay attention to the frequency of practice in the future. While excessive repetition can enhance technical skills, it may dull emotional expression. You've been practicing this piece for a year, and too much repetition can make emotional expression somewhat blunt."

"Yes, I agree with Teacher Chen. However, Li Li is already excellent. In the future, she will surely become an outstanding pianist. Keep up the good work!" Teacher Zhou added, patting Li Li's shoulder.

"Teachers, excuse me for interrupting, but tomorrow at 11:30 in the morning, we have to attend the luncheon hosted by the Chinese Ambassador to the United States. The flight to Beijing is at 10:30 in the evening," the translator teacher rushed over to inform us.

Hearing about another flight, I felt a mixture of fatigue and nervousness.

"Alright. We need to get up early tomorrow, so let's tidy up and head back to the hotel to rest," Teacher Shan responded to the translator teacher and then looked at us.

I began to meticulously pack up my belongings in the backstage lounge where I had spent the past few days. Due to the abundant indoor heating, I always took off my jacket when in the lounge. My several jackets, including the only one for the evening gown, were all draped over the sofa in the lounge. I wasn't good at tidying up; I only learned to do it well after turning 18. Before that, my mother helped me with almost every performance. This time, Yan Feng quickly picked up my scattered jackets, placing them on his arm.

"You're really like Kai," he muttered to himself, complaining, "Your future manager is going to have a hard time."

"No need to help me tidy up; I can do it myself," I said.

He remained silent, swiftly folding each piece and packing them into my backpack.

"Yan Feng, you've done enough, no need to help Xiaoxi tidy up. She can handle it herself; she should learn to do these things gradually. We can't have her mother do everything every time," Teacher Dan exclaimed loudly at the lounge entrance.

"It's okay; it's all packed now. I just wanted to tidy up quickly so we could go back and rest," Yan Feng stood up straight, shouldering his bulging backpack. "Let's go, go back and get some rest." He pushed my back lightly with one hand.

"Alright, thank you for your hard work these past few days. And, Katherine, thank you so much!" Teacher Dan said, shaking Katherine's hand. Yan Feng pushed me towards the door and reached out to shake hands with Teacher Dan.

We got into the business car, and I rolled down the window halfway. Above the boundary between the night and the earth, a massive black curtain fell, with tiny droplets forming a fine drizzle on the other half of the car window. It created small concave lenses, elongating and enlarging the sculptures of two longhorn players at the entrance of the concert hall. As the car moved, they gradually shrank into tiny black dots.

Back at the hotel, just like the previous days, we returned to our own rooms. I was genuinely tired, immediately jumping onto the bed, hands spread out, facing the ceiling, and shoes still on. The fatigue from watching others perform and performing oneself is almost equal. I always identify subtle differences between different performances—elasticity in tempo rubato, structural handling between phrases and measures, or the emotions in the coda. These aren't difficult, but the challenge lies in dealing with the differences between my expectations and their performances. Many times, different interpretations leave me feeling confused, and wrong notes can torment me. I often replay these misconceptions in my mind repeatedly.

"Tired. I'll go take a shower first," Yan Feng's words freed me from my musings.

"Okay."

After saying these two words, I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I didn't know how long had passed when I opened my eyes, and Yan Feng was already sitting or lying on the bed in changed clothes.

"You're awake. I've finished showering. It's your turn."

"Okay."

Turning on the hot water, the mental replay stopped. The misty vapor covered the bathroom mirror, and the warm flow spread over my body. I closed my eyes, surrounded by a white expanse, recalling a dream from many days ago. A logical explanation is that when you dream of a stranger and later encounter them in real life, the person isn't the one from your dream but a collection of familiar feelings, perhaps pheromones or hormones' chaotic signals. Upon careful thought, all the strangers in dreams don't have faces, yet you remember sporadic smells, touches, temperatures, or sounds from the interactions. Years later, I learned about deja vu, realizing that the essence of that dream was similar to deja vu. Even dreams built upon prior experiences hold a precious sense of familiarity, or a coincidental, almost instinctive alignment of hormones. All the instant connections are creations of the self, much like art.

"Are you okay? You've been in there for so long," I heard Yan Feng saying loudly outside.

"I'm fine, almost done." I quickly rinsed off the foam, dried my body, and put on pajamas.

"XiXi, when did you start learning the piano?"

As I approached the bed, I continued drying my hair. "At the age of seven, three years ago."

"Wow, you're not just a prodigy; it's like you've never drunk from Lethe. Typically, people start learning instruments at 3-5 years old."

"What's Lethe?"

"Lethe is one of the rivers in the Greek underworld, called Ameles potamos. Translated into Chinese, it means the River of Forgetfulness. Everyone who drinks from it will experience complete forgetfulness." He struggled a bit, translating word by word.

"It seems like Chinese mythology has something similar, called Naihe Bridge, right?"

"Meng Po's soup?"

"Haha, yes, that's it. I learned about it from watching horror movies. My mom even spanked me for watching it. How do you know about it?"

"Yes, my grandmother told me the story when I was very young in Taipei. Do you get spanked too?"

"Yeah, occasionally."

"Hahaha." Yan Feng suddenly laughed heartily. "I thought you were the perfect little angel in everyone's eyes."

Hearing him say that, I felt a bit upset.

"But I started learning the accordion at the age of four." I said, boasting a bit.

"You're really amazing. I envy you. I used to get spanked a lot when I was a kid. My older brother had excellent grades, and my younger brother is outstanding now. I'm the troublemaker in my family."

"Don't say that. You take good care of people and can play the violin. I feel like you're a bit down, so I'm trying to comfort you."

"Don't say that, little devil. Hahaha. Saying that makes me a bit reluctant for you to leave."

I made a silly face, sticking out my tongue and pulling my eyelids with both hands.

"See, a mischievous little devil, can't stand praise."

I tapped his shoulder with my hand, and he put my hand down, inviting me to sit on his bed.

"Come on, I'll play you a song. Do you usually listen to pop music?" he asked, turning on the TV.

I shook my head.

"Alright, let's listen to classical then. How about this one, Chopin's Étude Op. 10, No. 3." A foreigner with golden curly hair in a tailcoat started playing on the TV.

His name is Chrystian Zimmerman; I think you resemble him a bit."

"I don't know him. I'll play better than him in the future."

"Alright, no problem."

He shifted a bit, sitting beside me on the bed until the music ended. I fumbled my way back to my own bed, then heard his faint breathing, sounding somewhat peaceful. I gently turned off the bedside lamp, wrapped myself in the blanket, and drifted into a serene sleep. It was a night without dreams, only a delicate melody lingering in my mind, as if this journey to the end of the United States might not have another next time. I wondered if there would be days in my life with the companionship of an elder brother.