130. Two Photographs, One Reconciliation

Wei Sanwan graduated in 1985 and has remained at the university ever since. Over more than thirty years of teaching, he has nurtured countless outstanding graduates, authored twelve sets of piano teaching materials, and published over twenty professional papers. His contributions to piano education in Rong City and its surrounding areas are indelible.

During a mandatory interview arranged by the university, a reporter asked Wei, "Teacher Wei, why have you never served as a judge for piano competitions?"

Waving his hand hurriedly at the camera, Wei replied, "I just don’t want to."

A scholar must be pragmatic.

Wei Sanwan is a man of purity; throughout his life, he has only wished to excel in one pursuit—to teach well and repay the nation for its investment in him by cultivating students.

In his youth, Wei had a fiery temper, especially evident when teaching. If a student failed to meet his expectations, he would lose his temper.

Strictness is the remedy for a teacher’s laziness.

Wei did not fear students cursing him behind his back; he simply did not care.

Those batches of graduates who endured his rigorous methods have since blossomed and spread their branches throughout society.

Some have opened their own piano teaching institutions, others have become music teachers in primary and secondary schools, and some have returned from abroad to teach at private universities.

Of course, some disappeared without a trace after graduation.

Wei neither feared their whispered complaints nor cared how many still remembered him as a university teacher.

With less than two years before retirement, Wei’s greatest wish is simply to serve this final stretch faithfully.

After retirement, he looks forward to spending peaceful days with his grandson.

While many old colleagues have gradually moved away, and numerous people have advised him to do the same, Wei refuses.

Whenever he walks through the campus and sees the youthful faces before him, he feels joy.

Having taught all his life, he can never tire of seeing his students’ smiling faces.

Wei Sanwan, nearing retirement after over thirty years of teaching, harbors only one regret.

There was one child he failed to teach well.

A child who traveled thousands of miles from a small northern border town to study in Rong City.

When Wei first laid eyes on this child, he saw something in the boy’s eyes.

This child was gifted.

He soon learned the boy was naturally suited for piano.

No teacher could help but like such a child. Upon learning of the boy’s poor family background, Wei’s compassion deepened.

He cared for the boy not only professionally but also went beyond the call of duty in daily life.

On holidays and weekends, he would invite the boy home, cook fish and meat stew, and treat him like family. Even Wei’s own daughter would joke, “Looks like we’re adding another mouth to feed.”

Perhaps Wei truly regarded the boy as a half-son, which explained his even stricter demands.

While other children practiced three hours, this boy had to practice four.

While others might have minor rhythm slips, this boy was not allowed a single one.

Otherwise, he would be punished with scolding or worse.

The child endured four years under Wei’s strict and sometimes harsh tutelage.

Wei’s greatest regret was missing the boy’s graduation recital because he was angered by rumors at school about the boy’s personal conduct.

Little did he know, that farewell would last three years.

Since then, he has heard nothing of the boy.

He has no idea where the boy has been or what life he has led.

He often reflects, wondering if he had been less severe, would things have turned out differently.

He still remembers the first time the boy came knocking, carrying a box of milk.

Just as now, standing here and calling him “Teacher.”

Seven years slipped by so quickly.

Wei Sanwan studied the boy before him carefully.

He looked thinner, hair shorter, more capable—his eyes now held a vitality previously unseen. That spark seemed to have returned.

Good.

Very good.

Wei nodded, like an old man welcoming home a long-lost child. “Come in, come in. Don’t just stand there.”

Jia Mingyu stepped inside, followed by Li An.

Only then did Wei notice the bottle of wine in Li An’s hand, immediately suspecting the boy hadn’t come without a purpose.

At that moment, a figure emerged from the kitchen, hands dusted with flour, wearing an apron.

“Teacher’s wife,” Li An instinctively called out, comparing the woman before him to the kindly face in his memories.

Her hair was clearly dyed now, glossy and dark, though the wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes had deepened somewhat since years ago.

Seeing the visitor, Liang Huilan’s surprise could not be concealed.

She responded, wiping her hands on the apron. “If you’re coming, why bring something?” She then looked at Jia Mingyu. “You two, come in and sit. We’ll have dumplings for lunch.”

“I’ll help you, Teacher’s wife,” Jia Mingyu said, setting down her bag and exchanging a glance with Li An before taking Liang Huilan’s arm and heading into the kitchen.

Li An followed Wei Sanwan into the living room, taking care to observe the house where he had once eaten for free for four years.

A bookshelf greeted him, nestled against yellowed white walls, lined with neatly arranged sheet music.

If memory served, the first row held collections from composers of the Classical period.

Beside the shelf stood two pianos.

The one on the left was an old Shin-Hai with a brown exterior, worn and aged, Wei’s treasured instrument.

The one on the right was a black Yamaha, about twenty years old, used for lessons at the teacher’s home.

Every detail stirred memories buried deep in his mind.

His gaze was drawn upward to a row of photographs above the piano.

Every two pictures formed a pair: one with the teacher and each incoming freshman class, the other a graduation photo.

In a few glances, Li An found the photos belonging to his year—two boys and two girls standing on either side with the teacher in the center upon admission.

But in the graduation photo beside it, a boy was missing from the teacher’s left.

Looking at Wei Sanwan’s somewhat wistful smile in the picture, Li An suddenly felt he had been mistaken.

Yes—he had been mistaken. He did not know why, but everything felt different from what he had anticipated.

The notes he had prepared on the way here evaporated the moment he saw Wei Sanwan.

From the greeting “you little rascal” to now, he felt as if he had been swept into a river of time.

His four years of university life unfolded before his eyes like frames from an old film projector.

Each scene bore his own imprint.

“Yoyo will be returning home soon. She even called me last week, saying she’s preparing for her graduation recital. She asked about you,” came a sigh from behind.

“You two haven’t been in touch all these years, have you?”

Li An looked again at his graduation photo, his eyes resting on the smiling face that had replaced the spot where he should have stood.

In four years, the local girl from Rong City who had confessed to him during military training had blossomed into a graceful young woman.

“No,” he replied, turning away.

“Teacher.”

He bowed deeply to Wei Sanwan.

“I’m sorry.”

—

In ancient times, schools were established to teach and nurture, where teachers and students questioned and answered, explored and refined through repeated trials, patiently guiding one another.

Jia Mingyu, in the kitchen, had been listening to the conversation. Hearing her junior’s sincere apology, she was deeply moved.

She remembered when Li An, a first-year student, played Schumann’s Piano Sonata No. 1 at the end of his first semester.

Everyone thought it was excellent.

Yet the teacher publicly scolded him in front of other teachers and students, all because Li An had played two wrong notes.

Back then, she didn’t understand and even thought the teacher was too harsh.

Now, as a teacher herself, she somewhat grasped the teacher’s feelings.

Perhaps, in turn, the teacher should also apologize to his junior.

—

Whether Wei Sanwan eventually apologized to Li An is another matter. When Jia Mingyu brought steaming hot dumplings into the living room, she found the teacher and student chatting and smoking on the sofa, engrossed in a discussion worthy of state affairs.

During the meal, after hearing the summary of Li An’s past three years, Liang Huilan couldn’t help but sigh.

“Why stay in Rong City all these years and not say a word to us?”

Wei Sanwan had wanted to ask the same question when he first learned of this but refrained.

Why no word?

How did Li An explain it?

He made up a story on the spot.

“I just felt like those four college years were disappointing. I wanted to achieve something after graduation before coming to see you.”

Hearing this, Wei’s confusion lifted. He believed this was typical of Li An’s reserved character.

He felt both heartache and pride. In his heart, Li An had always been impressive.

Proud that Li An had been striving to prove himself.

Strong-willed and respectable.

“Do you still play piano now?”

Wei asked, seizing the moment without bringing up old grievances.

From Li An’s tone, he had assumed the boy no longer engaged with music.

“Every day,” Li An said, pausing. “About four hours daily.”

“Wow,” Wei exclaimed, eyes wide. “Where do you work now? What do you do?”

Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked again.

Li An scratched his nose and answered like a student submitting homework, “I’m a piano teacher at Blue Sky Fine Arts Training Center.”

Wei knew Blue Sky—it was a school run by an old friend.

That was not important.

Hearing Li An was teaching piano brought new wrinkles of joy to Wei’s eyes.

“Good.”

“How many students do you have?”

“Eight,” Li An replied.

Wei mused, “So, how does it feel to be a teacher yourself?”

Li An answered, “I can understand your dedication back then.”

At these words, Wei sighed deeply. Jia Mingyu, sensing the mood might sour, quickly interjected, “Teacher, you don’t know…”

Wei looked up.

Jia Mingyu smiled and said, “Your junior is now Blue Sky’s star teacher, excelling in both performance and teaching.”

“A while back, Blue Sky held a concert at the airport,” she continued.

Wei frowned, “Right, I even received an invitation but was too busy with the new semester to attend. What happened at the concert? Tell me.”

Li An shushed her, but Jia Mingyu said regretfully, “You should have gone, teacher. Several pieces were performed by your junior, and the audience loved it.”

Wei felt a pang of regret. Had he known earlier, he would have supported Li An in person.

“Is there a recording? Let me see it,” he said, setting down his chopsticks.

Liang Huilan shot him a glance. “What’s going on? Let the two kids eat first. Don’t you have a class?”

Jia Mingyu laughed, “Teacher, eat first. I’ll show you after.”

—

“All right, all right.”

Wei picked up his chopsticks happily again.

With Jia Mingyu’s help, the atmosphere at the table grew warm.

Li An finally got to savor the dumplings he once loved and chat familiarly with his elders.

“How are your parents’ health these past two years?” Liang Huilan asked kindly.

“They’re fine,” Li An replied.

“Then you’re not planning to go home?” she asked.

Li An nodded, “No. My family supports me here.”

Wei said, “Since you’ve decided to stay, work hard and try to bring your parents over someday.”

Li An nodded, though uncertain if he would remain in Rong City long term.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Liang Huilan inquired.

Jia Mingyu was curious about his answer, recalling the last dinner with Miss Chen—clearly a couple, yet both insisted they were just friends.

“Not yet,” Li An answered honestly.

Wei interjected, “Yoyo is great! Look how beautiful she is now, with a lovely personality. She’s coming back soon, and you’re more mature. Keep in touch.”

Jia Mingyu teased, “Teacher, better not meddle. Yoyo might already have a boyfriend.”

Wei glared, “Yoyo called me last week asking about him.”

Jia Mingyu could only laugh at her junior’s rampant love life.

—

After dinner, Jia Mingyu took out the video she recorded of the concert for Wei Sanwan to watch. Li An sat quietly by.

Wei praised enthusiastically after watching.

“This kid plays Bach well.”

After watching Liu Fengrui’s video, Wei asked if there was any footage of Li An.

Jia Mingyu was prepared and played the Mozart piece Li An performed during rehearsal that afternoon.

As Li An’s fingers struck the stage, Wei’s gaze sharpened, his demeanor shedding the old teacher’s image from earlier.

He was eager to understand what had changed in Li An over these three years.

The crisp articulation was unlike the Li An he remembered.

After the first movement of K.331, Wei asked, “Who have you been studying with these past three years?”

Li An shook his head, “Just figuring it out myself.”

Wei wanted to believe him. He encouraged students to seek other teachers as a sign of ambition.

But it was hard to believe. More than trusting people, he trusted music.

His own student was not someone he didn’t understand.

The K.331 performance, in tone and style, was unlike anything Li An should have played on his own.

If Li An had truly reached this level in three years by self-study, then Wei had indeed underestimated his talent.

“How long do you practice each day now?”

“Four hours.”

Wei felt a surge of satisfaction, then quickly asked, “What do you practice?”

“Scales, arpeggios, Czerny.”

“And pieces?”

“I don’t dare practice pieces casually. In these two years, I’ve only worked on some Beethoven and Liszt.”

Wei said “Good” three times in a row. “Come, play for me.”

Li An had awaited this moment.

Wei Sanwan, the illustrious Wei who had once refused an offer from the Ocean City Conservatory, wanted to hear him play.

At this moment, who Li An was mattered little.

He only knew that these three years of hard practice had finally earned a chance for appraisal.

He had not lied.

These three years, besides attending class, he practiced relentlessly.

Before receiving Samir’s notes, he struggled with finger issues.

Yet despite this, he diligently studied Beethoven and Liszt.

Though only four pieces, each was the fruit of tireless effort.

—

Just as Li An rose to sit at the black Yamaha, there was a knock at the door.

Li An hesitated, but Wei reminded him sternly, “Focus.”

The strict Wei Sanwan instantly returned.

Li An nodded.

Raising his hand, just then, outside the door came several youthful voices in unison:

“Happy Teacher’s Day, Teacher’s wife!”

Both boys and girls.

The next moment,

“Ding-dong—!”

Two powerful, resonant notes thundered from his fingers, filling the room.

The ceiling seemed unable to contain the sound as it surged out into the hallway, slicing past several young faces like sharp needles.