96. Guiding on Site: A Teacher Is Not a Magician

During his time at university, Li An participated with his professor in the compilation of the “Piano Ensemble Guidance” section of the national arts education project of the Thirteenth Five-Year Plan. Although his role was limited to searching for example scores and checking for typos—a task so minor that his name did not even appear in the acknowledgments—he realized in retrospect how much he had truly learned from the experience.

At the very least, he was able to use his payment to treat his girlfriend to grilled fish and a night at a hotel, which was a tangible benefit. Yet the greatest reward came two years later, when his professor invited him to attend another academic piano conference and recommended him for a masterclass in piano ensemble led by the renowned Russian pedagogue, Sergei.

In the end, he and a junior female colleague performed Saint-Saëns’ “Danse Macabre” as an eight-hand piece together with two of Sergei’s students at the closing ceremony of the conference. From rehearsal to performance, though they had only a week and had to rely on a less-than-reliable student as an interpreter, Li An gained invaluable insights.

It was through this experience that he truly understood the meaning of piano ensemble, and he mastered the mindset required for ensemble rehearsals. The key, he realized, lay in the sheet music each child held.

Just as he had mentioned earlier, practicing separately was a necessary preparation before collaboration. But to what extent must individual practice progress before meeting the minimum standard for cooperation?

“Now I’m assigning a task: everyone needs to look for problems within their own parts,” Li An recalled the master’s words in his mind. “Wherever you don't understand, circle it with your pen and make a mark.”

“I’ll give you twenty minutes. Let’s see who finds the most issues.”

“Begin now.”

With that, he took Tian Yu’s full score and went to Wang Meili to print a new copy. By the time he returned to the rehearsal room, the children were already chattering and discussing with one another.

Though the atmosphere was chaotic, it was a good sign. A classroom that was too quiet would be counterproductive for teaching; what Li An needed was the children’s active participation.

Seeing that Li An had returned, Xu Mengjie raised her hand. He walked over.

“Teacher, does this mean to slow down?” Xu Mengjie pointed to the word “risolute” on her score.

“Resolute and powerful,” Li An corrected her. “Write it down beside it.”

At that moment, something unexpected happened.

[Teaching Point +1]

“Hm?”

So even those not on the potential student list could contribute teaching points to him. A major discovery!

Li An’s left eyebrow lifted in surprise, and an idea began to take shape in his mind.

“Teacher, teacher!”

Zheng Bowen’s affectionate call brought him back to the present.

And so, one question followed another. Li An resembled a smart learning device, always ready to respond, though not every question warranted an answer.

If a question could be solved in a sentence, he answered it directly. For more complex issues, he marked them on his own score for later, intending to address them all together.

“Teacher Li, I found another issue.”

Li An wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over to address the new problem.

More than ten minutes had passed. By this point, nearly every child had raised a question—except for Che Lin, who had spent the entire time fiddling with her pen cap, head down.

Li An stopped by her side and asked gently, “Do you have a question?”

Che Lin looked up blankly and nodded.

Li An smiled inwardly; if there was a question, why not ask? “Let’s bring it out for discussion.”

She gazed at him for a moment, then turned and fetched a tattered copy of Czerny’s Op. 849 from her piano bag.

Li An: ...How unusual.

But he didn’t stop her. Che Lin flipped to Exercise Six, pointed at the sixth measure, and looked at Li An.

With a glance, he understood the problem. “When your right hand ascends to the last note, be sure to play the note for its full value, using your arm strength to send the sound all the way to the end.”

As he spoke, he walked to the piano and demonstrated the measure at moderate speed, standing and pressing the keys with crisp, forceful sound. Children from across the room craned their necks to watch.

“Any questions?” Li An withdrew his hand and turned to approach another child who had stood up in the distance.

Suddenly,

[Che Lin’s teacher-student index has risen to 39]

Twenty minutes passed swiftly.

At first, the parents felt nothing in particular. But as the classroom grew increasingly lively, they began to wonder why their children, who had studied music for so long, still had so many questions.

Some parents began to suspect: Had Teacher Tian not taught them properly before?

The more perceptive among them remembered that today was already the fourth rehearsal, as Li An had said: “We’ve already had three previous ensemble lessons.”

What, then, did Teacher Tian cover in those sessions?

It was not entirely fair to blame the parents for such thoughts. The truth was plain to see—each child had some confusion about their own part in the score.

Previously, Tian Yu hadn’t introduced this self-checking process, so the children struggled to discover their own blind spots. After all, most young musicians only reached the first level—simply playing the notes as written.

But this did not mean Tian Yu was not diligent. As Li An had overheard in the hallway the day before, his evaluation was: “From certain segments, it sounds quite decent.”

Coming from a professional, “quite decent” was genuine praise for Tian Yu’s work with this group.

To bring together eight children of differing abilities and achieve such a result in a short time was indeed commendable.

But “quite decent” did not equal “pleasant to the ear.”

The parents, lacking musical knowledge, had just heard their children’s disjointed ensemble as they entered—music does not lie, and parents are not deaf.

Most parents of young piano students only appreciate music at the first level—whether it sounds good.

Since the ensemble was neither pleasing nor harmonious, and now, seeing so many issues arise, how could the parents remain unmoved?

Impossible.

Li An, too, knew that these problems could not be solved in a matter of minutes. Teachers are not magicians.

But the first step is to help the children recognize their shortcomings, so they can begin to address them.

If a child cannot even realize that after the last note of a slur they must lift their wrist, how could you expect them to understand phrasing? That would be wishful thinking.

Once each child became consciously aware of the slur, at least most ensemble segments would end cleanly.

This was the first step toward producing something pleasant.

Until the end of today’s rehearsal, Li An did not have the children play as an ensemble again.

Once he had explained all the collected issues, he let each child practice freely—focusing on the problems they had discovered.

During this time, he moved quietly among them, stepping in to demonstrate and explain whenever a problem arose.

Some parents, bored, picked up their phones, while others watched the lesson attentively.

With five minutes left before the scheduled end, Li An returned to the center of the classroom and clapped his hands.

The eight children gradually stopped playing and looked over, and the parents put away their phones. Soon, the room was quiet.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s play through once before we finish.”

Now it was time for a preliminary test of progress.

Under the watchful eyes of all, Che Lin once again led by pressing the first note.

The flowing melody reached the fifth measure.

All the children lifted their hands and pressed the keys together.

Suddenly, the classroom was filled with rich, harmonious sound.

But this time, no one lagged behind.

All eight moved forward in unison, hands rising and falling together into the next measure.

At this, Li An turned and walked toward the door, reassured. As for how they would play the rest, he knew well.

It would not, and could not, be much better than the first attempt.

After all, this was only the first lesson.

But it was already a step above the starting point left by Tian Yu.

And that was enough.