The last piece at the New Year's Eve concert was the song I wrote with Yan Feng. Before this song, there was Chopin's Nocturne Op. 48, No. 1, my favorite piece in my collection of Chopin's nocturnes. The length of this particular nocturne matches Yan Feng's birthday. The progression of this nocturne mirrors the story of Yan Feng and me.
The piece follows an ABA structure. In the A section, the harmony shifts from a melancholic minor key to a hopeful major key. The third phrase begins, and the music seems to lose its direction, unsure of where it's heading. Then, a long string of sixteenth notes crescendo, finding its way to the first climax.
In the B section, the texture changes noticeably. Both hands play columnar chords simultaneously, with the same melody played across two octaves. The music moves from a sorrowful C minor to a warm C major, as if all previous sadness has dissipated. However, the melody and rhythm dominated by neighboring note motifs are repeatedly echoed, like questions that go unanswered. It also seems to reflect Chopin's endless longing for love and home in his solitude. In the second phrase of the B section, a new voice emerges abruptly, seemingly unrelated to the main melody at first glance, but it is derived from the neighboring note motif. This new voice had already been hinted at in the A section, like seeds sown earlier now beginning to sprout and grow into a large tree. After this build-up, triplets are about to become the most crucial element of this nocturne. Two chords create a tug-of-war of emotions in the heart. The octave triplets rise like a flood, gradually overwhelming the lyrical and melancholic main melody, as if finally releasing long-suppressed emotions.
The third section repeats the content of the A section, bringing the emotions to their peak. The melody of the A section reappears, but now at twice the speed of its first occurrence. The continuous crescendo and the increasingly frequent asymmetric rhythm of four against three give us a sense of struggling against fate, with a heavy and tragic grandeur.
At measure 72, the piece is expected to end. However, Chopin clearly did not want a predictable and uninspired conclusion. Instead, he used a surprising Neapolitan chord, which was also used earlier in the A section, to prolong the piece where it should have ended. This raises the tension once again.
In the gradually weakening volume and a series of ascending, thin single-note melodies, it feels as though all previous struggles and despair are once again restrained. The piece concludes with a questioning ending, as three C chords repeat, reminiscent of wedding bells—this is the answer I was seeking.
(Schumann's "Davidsbündlertänze" also ends with six identical C chords, evoking the imagery of wedding bells. At that time, Schumann and Clara had been engaged for two months.)
I was reminded of Schumann's "Davidsbündlertänze," where he prefaced the score with a line of poetry: "In every moment, joy and pain are inextricably linked; in joy, remain devout, and in pain, take courage." Inspired by this, I included a poem by Tagore in the concert:
"I believe in myself, in dying like the quiet beauty of autumn leaves, not in abundance nor disorder, graceful like smoke. Even in withering, I retain the pride of a lush and clear-boned being, profoundly mysterious. I hear love. I believe in love. Love is a struggling pond of blue algae, like a faint, mournful wind passing through my bloodless veins, upholding the belief of the ages."
As the nocturne concluded, I sang our song, the song I wrote with him. On the large screen above the stadium, a montage of all my life's highlights over the past thirty-one years played. When I sang, "No one can reveal the secret," I followed with, "I love..." The screen displayed a photo of us at the Hong Kong Coliseum concert. The entire audience began to cheer.
If he had agreed to be a guest at my concert, would things have turned out differently?
After the concert, I returned alone to Palm Springs, arriving home at two in the morning. Yan Feng was still in Nanjing and couldn't return to Beijing that day. The sweet warmth of the blanket accompanied me as night fell, and my anticipation kept me awake. I tossed and turned all night until I received a call from Dai Yanzhi early the next morning. He told me that CCTV news had mentioned I "expressed feelings through song." By then, it was widely known, just as I had wished.
To some, this might appear as: An artist exposing themselves in public, destroying the valuable mystique of their art that could be sold. My identity as an artist is dead, replaced by a reputation for entertainment. To others, it could be seen as: A pianist leaving the piano bench to sing for a loved one, embracing love and fighting against societal norms with a brave disregard for risks, all to seek affirmation from the beloved. What a passionately crazy artist, loving in a uniquely independent way.
These perspectives are irrelevant to me. The best parts of love and art are always dramatic, even tragic. If it's quiet and unremarkable, where's the drama? I will make my private moments public and then quietly wait for the storm. Intensity is my way of life and the soil in which art lives within me. Through the cleansing of the old year's end, the past and future arrive simultaneously. I start to grapple with the outdated version of myself. This old self awakens me; the brief dimness has passed, and I am still the invincible genius, born to do as I please. The old self is now distant from me because the lofty flower has fallen into the mundane mire, willing to perform a grand show for the one I love.
This performance, which he turned into a farce with his own hands, left me as the fool in this farce.
I still don't understand why he could both need to embrace me and simultaneously push me into the abyss.
In the first few days of the new year, I didn't receive any messages from him. I thought he was still in Nanjing and very busy. The waiting made me anxious, and the cold wave on New Year's Eve triggered a high fever.
At 2 a.m. on January 4, Dai Yanzhi called.
"What's going on?" he asked, leaving me confused.
"What do you mean?" I asked in return.
"Don't you know?" he sounded a bit annoyed. "Check social media."
Yan Feng had publicly posted on the largest social media platform at the time, stating that he liked girls and announcing that I liked girls too. The post read:
"I didn't want to write this because it's so boring! But with so many news stories, I decided to write it myself to avoid any misunderstandings. I am heterosexual, and Ye Xi also likes girls. What exactly is the situation with Feng and Ye? Maybe it's just a joke or entertainment news, but I still hope everyone can distinguish between what's true and what's nonsense! Sorry for my straightforwardness, but I care a lot about the authenticity of news about myself."
I read the post word by word, and Yan Feng called.
Before I could process the authenticity of the post, I answered the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying; my mind kept replaying the scene from over a decade ago when we first met at the Summer Palace, over and over again. It was as if I had fallen into the frozen Kunming Lake, with countless icicles stinging my face. My shouts were drowned out underwater, with no echo, only resonating within myself. When he said something, I hung up the phone.
At four in the morning, my phone lit up again. The text read: "Xi Xi, my family disagrees. For years, the company has been under their control. It's not the right time to be firm. Can you wait while I resolve the financial issues? Could you help me by reposting a clarification?"
Lack of sleep and persistent high fever. Dai Yanzhi once said, "In romantic relationships, the person who wants to go public is always the woman." This was just the literal meaning, but I think what he meant was that the person who takes the initiative to go public is usually the more vulnerable one in the relationship. The more you care, the more vulnerable you are, and most of the time, it's the woman who cares more. I also don't understand when it started that I loved him more than he loved me.
It must be a flaw in my memory. I searched for evidence that he loved me more and calculated the likelihood of his rejection. Before going public, I was confident, believing the failure rate was only one percent. Perhaps I had unfortunately fallen into some tragic parallel universe. In this universe, I fell silently while he continued to cause confusion.
"Xi Xi? Promise me, okay?"
Promise him what? A proposal? The same words can be either a tragedy or a comedy.
"Okay."
I agreed. The same affirmation could be love or a hopeless love. I edited a string of words on my phone, blurry and unclear.
The next afternoon, I reposted Yan Feng's message with a comment: "We are good friends. I'm sure we both like girls, so please stop making wild guesses and fabrications."
In the following months, I drowned myself in work. February was filled with a tour, March with recording a new album, April with officially taking on the role of committee member, and May with returning to my alma mater as the appointed vice dean of the piano department. Yan Feng called me many times, but I told him to resolve his family matters before contacting me again. It wasn't until November that he posted an announcement, publicly revealing his girlfriend. Her name was all too familiar: Bai Jingrui.
He wrote:
"For the past few years, many of you on social media have been commenting, 'Quickly find your Forever Love.' I'm fortunate to have met a girl with whom I can hold hands and share a future. Since she is not in the entertainment industry, you don't know her yet, and I would prefer that you don't learn about her through other channels. Her name is Bai Jingrui, she's 27 years old, and she is currently studying at Columbia."
Without thinking too much, I called He Tiantian.
"Would you be willing to be my girlfriend?"
"Ha ha. Although I've broken up with her, don't think I'm unwanted," she said, almost mocking me.
"Didn't you like me before?"
"Yes, but I don't anymore."
"Could you do me a favor? Help me post an announcement."
"Ye Xi, are you crazy? The internet is already accusing you of creating hype, and now you want to stir up trouble with Yan Feng's announcement? He's always been a top-tier celebrity with more fans than your audience. He never admitted to any of your previous rumors, but you were too proactive. If you respond to his announcement on the same day, I can't imagine how much more online abuse you might face."
"Where are you now?" I asked, feeling somewhat incoherent.
"In Beijing."
"Can you come over? I'd like to treat you to a meal."
"…Sure. I'd like to go to Jingzhaoyin."
"Alright."
At the traditional courtyard outside Yonghe Temple, with its red walls, black tiles, and blue bricks, the branches were bare and the courtyard was adorned with the sharp fragrance of blooming plum blossoms. Upon entering the private room, the warmth was accompanied by a subtle, pleasant scent, similar to the one I remembered from He Tiantian.
After a few minutes, she arrived.
"Master, what's going on with you and Yan Feng?" He Tiantian asked eagerly, not yet settled in her seat.
"And what about you and Bai Jingrui?" I countered.
"Don't mention it. I lived with her abroad for a while, but the reality of cohabitation wasn't as ideal as I imagined. To put it simply, I just don't love her anymore. It's not that complicated."
I smiled bitterly. This was the life I once longed for with Yan Feng. He Tiantian and Bai Jingrui had already experienced what I had hoped for with Yan Feng, and it didn't end up as ideal. I knew that intense love eventually wears away in mundane life. Perhaps, conversely, simple love is what can grow in the everyday. It seemed like a common understanding.
Thinking of mundane love and ordinary marriage made me very sad.
"I just didn't expect Jingrui to agree to Yan Feng," she suddenly lowered her head, sharing the same sadness as me.
At that moment, I couldn't find any other way to get back at Yan Feng.
"Consider it as me owing you, He Tiantian. Help me post an announcement. No, I'll do it myself," I said, taking a photo of her.
"Are you taking a picture of me?" She looked up.
I wrote:
"Today I'm very happy. Everyone should love genuinely and be loved! My 'her' is He Tiantian, 25 years old, a Columbia graduate, whom I met last year. She's very kind! I hope to have you accompany me on my future musical journey! Thank you for your continued support."
"Give me your phone," He Tiantian extended her hand.
I clutched the phone tightly.
"You're really crazy. Ye Xi, I've never seen you like this before." He Tiantian took a sip from her teacup. "Don't you think this is childish of us?"
In my heart, I thought that although it was childish, it seemed like there was no other way.
"It won't happen again," I muttered to myself as I pressed the send button. The photo of He Tiantian appeared on the screen. "You might have some trouble because of this. I'll compensate you—three million enough? Maybe up to five million."
"Artists are indeed crazy, and that's no lie," she said with a half-smile, "After all these years of struggling in the world of fame and fortune, you haven't changed."
"What hasn't changed?"
"Doing as you please, being arrogant and unrestrained. Just like when you play the piano."