Thirty-seven missed calls, ten from Dai Yanzhi, seventeen from Lin Su, six from He Tiantian, and four from Wang Zhen. Wang Zhen rarely calls me, so I realized the seriousness of the situation.
I had to return to Beijing. I caught the earliest flight in the morning and as soon as I landed, Wang Zhuo initiated a lengthy conversation with me, lasting the whole day. He started by showing concern about my life in Europe, helped me analyze the contract with De Zhi, told me a lot about Lu Sang's recent situation, hinted at our relationship with Wang Zhen, and overtly and covertly urged me to continue pursuing my Ph.D. He said that after completing my Ph.D., if I didn't want to pursue a career in government but wanted to continue teaching and researching in universities, he could arrange positions for me in music academies across the country. Whether it's at the Central Conservatory of Music, the China Conservatory of Music, or the piano department of the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, I could choose freely. I used to be indifferent to these offers, always thinking that as long as I played the piano well, everything else would fall into place. In a recent interview, I told the host, "Success is ninety-nine percent talent plus one percent effort."
Listening to Wang Zhuo, I realized that Lu Sang still maintains a practice routine of at least eight hours a day. I felt even more convinced. I only practice for five hours a day, and only in the last half-month before a performance will I practice for eight hours a day. I refuse to turn myself into a piano-playing machine; excessive repetition will only dull the artistic spirit. Actually, I don't look down on Lu Sang. I just rarely compare myself to others. Spending more time on my own affairs is more important than comparing myself to others, especially considering that the past seven years of study and work have consumed all of my time.
In this conversation, Wang Zhuo, for the first time, told me that besides focusing on playing the piano, I should also pay more attention to the people and events around me. He also advised me to reconsider pursuing a Ph.D.
When faced with things I don't want to do, I always try to be as polite as possible. In response to what he said, I either nodded or smiled. When he got enthusiastic, I would laugh out loud, but a few laughs neither confirmed nor denied anything. To outsiders, even though I'm only twenty-four years old, it seems like I'm already mature and experienced. In reality, I'm very sensitive, even negative, towards constraints. Being polite is just a facade because I've already ruled out the possibility of reaching an agreement before negotiating with others. I've already made my decision in my mind.
After the meeting, when I returned to the hotel, I discussed the possibility of backing out completely with Dai Yanzhi. He scolded me for getting too close to Wang Zhen, and for the first time, I got angry in front of him.
"Wang Zhen isn't that kind of person!" I drank some wine during dinner with Wang Zhuo, and my emotions were amplified at that moment.
"She isn't? At least her father is. We've never been the same kind of people as them. They are born into the upper class, while we started from scratch. Actually, they look down on us from the bottom of their hearts. So, why was Wang Zhuo so earnest today? Isn't it just to ensure that you obtain a title so that you're qualified to be his son-in-law?"
"The situation may be more complicated than you think. Actually, Wang Zhuo may not necessarily want me to have any titles in such a high-profile manner."
"What do you mean?"
"He's doing this just to ensure that I'm deeply tied to him. There are many things in the future where he wants to have the upper hand."
"I see. Actually, there's something I haven't told you these days, and I know you're already irritated enough."
"What is it?"
"Lin Su has become Lu Sang's agent."
"...No wonder Wang Zhuo said those things to me today."
I suddenly recalled a conversation from a few years ago in Japan, where Lin Su and Dai Yanzhi mentioned a fellow alumnus from Sichuan Conservatory of Music. I vaguely remembered his disappearance was due to his father's obstruction. He had not completed his studies in Hanover, returned home prematurely, took on many low-quality commercial performances, became a money-making machine, and gradually faded out of the music scene. The road to fame cannot be walked alone. Talent is important, but without a suitable stage, it's a tragedy. To have talent but be unknown, or to become famous after death, there are too many such people, and it's hard for the world to make their own judgments; only authoritative words can convince them. Thinking of this, I suddenly began to fear the power of the media, and I started to worry about what methods Wang Zhuo would use if I were to disobey him. I began to understand Wang Zhen's nonchalance; her behavior was a secondary form of rebellion. The more favors she accepted, the heavier the shackles, but she didn't have the courage to break free. So, she seemed to intentionally wander far away, roaming in different rooms around the world.
Dai Yanzhi seemed to sense my fear. He looked at me with a twisted expression, unusually serious.
"Let's go to Europe."
"Are you suggesting I run away?"
"It's not really your style, but I think developing overseas might better suit your current aspirations. Overseas, the rules of the game are essentially the same. Although it's difficult to become mainstream and maybe you won't achieve the same level of fame as you have now, at least there are more stages, and you'll be freer."
"Freedom or fame, can we only choose one?"
"Yes. You can't be too greedy in life."
"Easy for you to say. Do you have resources?" I lit a cigarette.
"He Tiantian and Bai Jingrui do, and you have your own too. You're in contact with Seiji Ozawa, right? And there's Ding Ha, who has done many tours in Europe and North America. Although there have been some issues with Beijing's management companies, the contracts you signed previously shouldn't have any problems. Oh, and IME has recently contacted me."
That night, Dai Yanzhi and I talked a lot. Development in Europe and America, other record companies, He Tiantian's contacts in the US. We talked until 4 in the morning. He said he would send me IME's information early in the morning.
The next day, I woke up unexpectedly early, checked my email as usual, and found a yellow-starred email at the top, with a 500mb attachment. Who would be foolish enough to send me an attachment over 20mb? But why does this email have a yellow star? Is it from someone important? I glanced at it; it was from Yan Feng.
Since I told him we were breaking up, it's been three months since I last contacted him. I opened the email, and it turned out to be a master tape. No, not a master tape, it was sheet music and the original score. There was also a paragraph he wrote. Perhaps this is fate's arrangement; I am a superstitious person. Could it be the logic of nature? How could he know what I am going through right now, my state of mind, my needs?
If he hadn't sent this email at my vulnerable moment, perhaps we would never speak again. If Dai Yanzhi hadn't told me about IME's affairs, He Tiantian and Bai Jingrui's relationship in the UK, the future management companies, and so on, perhaps the name Yan Feng would never appear in my life again. His email came so timely; at the moment when I first felt constrained in my life, he made me feel that I still had the possibility of freedom. I always thought that as long as I was in the kingdom of music, I would always be the undefeated king. But unfortunately, this world is not just about music; there are always so many irrelevant people and things. Perhaps I really need a spiritual elopement, and he reached out to me at this moment. The song he wrote is truly for me; this melody, with its classical arrangement, is perfect. The orchestral accompaniment, paired with the piano, depicts the scenes of our drifting over the years.
In the past, I was too self-righteous, always thinking that he had his fame, and I had my interests. We were just making wedding clothes for others. Perhaps our wishes for each other are the only things we truly possess. I've always been afraid to face true emotions; same-sex love can never be blessed. Even though I constantly emphasize that many artists have same-sex inclinations, their same-sex inclinations always exist outside of legitimate marriage. Like him, I use "bisexuality" as an excuse, unable to face the reality, a coward trying to please the masses with fair excuses. Now it seems that fame and fortune are such foolish things. I think of the sayings of many wise men: "All his initial dreams and desires eventually led to his painful fate. Those who pursue power eventually perish because of power, those who pursue money eventually perish because of money, those who grovel perish because of groveling, and those who seek pleasure perish because of pleasure." (Hermann Hesse, "Steppenwolf")
I recall Leslie Cheung's "Chasing," he had long understood his own new intentions, Tang Sheng's feelings. In the eyes of others, he died from a love tragedy, but in reality, he just had an incurable disease. What does it have to do with his love? I remember what Professor Dan said many years ago, youthful friendships are incomparable. While others seek something from us, perhaps Yan Feng never did. He cares for me, purely admires my talent. I once told Wang Zhen, others either want my heart or my body. Wang Zhen doesn't care because she doesn't care about me, Yan Feng doesn't care because he truly cares about me.
I should take that step now, face our feelings, face my future, his future.
"The melody you sent me is excellent, the accompaniment and chord source files are in the attachment, take a listen. Also, I'll write the lyrics for this song."
After writing these two sentences, I realized I miss him. Missing someone is loving them. I want to hear his voice, afraid I'll miss him if I'm even a second late. Some say, "It's only meaningful to meet when you also want to see me." If we both think this way, we'll miss each other. If you truly love someone, why care who speaks first? Since he already did, I don't want to remain silent anymore. Since he has shoulders for me to lean on, I don't want to pretend to be strong anymore. Admitting vulnerability is also a kind of strength. Moreover, I've seen him cry, seen his vulnerability.
I thought of three chords that can represent "I love you." In his song, it's no longer his one-sided confession. Every time he sings this song, when I play these three chords, he'll know it's the echo of our love.
"I've written it, I love you." When he asks if I love him, I'll say it like this.
I said this, and he cried, though almost restrained, I could still hear from his erratic breaths that he truly loves me. At that moment, despite numerous worldly matters needing attention, when he mentioned coming to see me, I wished he would appear before me the next second.
Until the concert in Taipei ended, he was still waiting for me at the back door of the concert hall, wearing sunglasses just like before. I finally walked towards him without hesitation; it was the shortest and longest journey in the world. No longer was I driving; he was driving the Jaguar into the underground parking of the hotel. All the pressure, all the constraints of these days disappeared. "I love you," these three words are the shortest spell in the world. For the one who hears them, for the one who says them, it's like a key, releasing doubts, unlocking shackles, leading to each other's souls. I no longer need to hide, no longer need to look back. In love and passion, I freely roam.
This time, it wasn't him who first touched my lips. When he stopped the car, I hugged him and passionately kissed him, then fervently removed his coat. Revisiting this long-lost, warm body. The sense of strangeness created by our long separation once again stirred up a sense of freshness. His skin seemed darker and healthier than before, clear lines in his black suit, a light blue shirt acting like another layer of beautiful decoration, shimmering with a wheat-colored luster. His body was enticing, his soul dependable, his music resonating with mine. I greedily enjoyed everything he could give me, no longer guarding myself.
He suddenly embraced me, locking me in his arms.
"Xixi, you're different today."
"What's wrong?"
"You love me more than ever before. I can feel it."
"I love you." I no longer hesitate with those three words.
He responded with delicate, raindrop-like kisses.
"I love you too. Let's never be apart again."
I didn't speak anymore; I leaped onto his driver's seat, and between our lips, a storm raged. Each gap between kisses extended into the sweetest downpour in the world. Pieces of clothing fell onto the narrow backseat until we both laid bare, this time seeing each other's souls through our skin. He saw my vulnerability and beauty; I saw his strength and sincerity. We understood each other better than anyone else; we were each other's only ones. Our bodies penetrated each other's textures, he delved into my softest core. Our hair intertwined, forming a complex network like the touch of every nerve. This was the touch of souls; in every friction, I felt his surging love. Every swaying strand of his hair was the trembling of his heartbeat, representing the frequency of his love for me. I responded with more intense breaths, each breath saying "I love you."
"Do you love me, Xixi?" He was nearing the peak of our souls.
"Yan Feng. I love you."
We embraced, shedding the armor of the long day, rushing towards each other's vulnerabilities.