151. In Mozart's Kingdom

Tut, tut, tut.

Holding Chen Xuan's hand and saying such tender words.

Did she say she would marry you yet?

What more could one ask for?

Shameless.

But to be fair, Chen Xuan completely fell for this routine.

Just like the heroine in a cheesy romance novel, she simply loved hearing these words.

Listening to them made her heart feel as if it had been coated in honey, looking as though she would never grow tired of hearing you say it again and again.

After lingering affectionately in front of the computer for a moment, Chen Xuan wrapped her bath towel tighter around herself and returned to the bedroom.

"You keep busy, I'll clean up by myself."

She didn't stop to think how much work awaited her in that bedroom, expecting to tackle it all alone.

Chen Xuan was that kind of person: outwardly rational, yet harboring a deeply emotional little woman inside.

Once her emotions were stirred, she could become hotter than boiling water.

Just think back to when she first helped Li An tidy up apartment 2501. At that time, could the two of them honestly claim to have had anything more than the faintest hint of ambiguity between them?

Not necessarily.

And yet what did she do? She stayed up alone, working for the better part of the night.

She didn't even know why she did it, she simply wanted to do something for Li An.

Li An was the exact opposite. On the surface, he seemed emotional, warm and generous with everyone, easygoing in his interpersonal dealings, never contending with others, and never fussing over a little extra effort here and there.

Yet deep down, he was rational.

Calming down to rethink the matter, he decided it would be wiser to first explore the repertoire for the open group finals before making a final decision.

Li An was not the sort of person whose decisions were swayed by momentary emotional impulses.

For him, every choice meant throwing himself into it with everything he had.

Chen Xuan's words had indeed touched him, but saying things was easy, while actually doing them was a completely different story.

Compared to an uncertain competition, he believed that solidifying his present life was of the utmost importance.

Dreams above, life below.

The lower level determines the upper level; a dream that cannot take root in daily life is nothing more than a flower in a mirror, the moon in the water, or castles in the air.

Li An picked up his phone, intending to listen to K271 first.

Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 9 in E-flat major, one of the designated pieces for the youth group finals.

The graceful strings began with a festive bustle beneath grandeur. Within the span of two breaths, the piano parted the curtain of strings with exquisite form, peeking out with just the right amount of witty charm, evoking a sense that it ought to be precisely thus.

Just a single opening, and goosebumps rose all over the arm Li An used to hold his phone.

Master Uchida's performances of Mozart were always like this—maintaining a certain relaxed, indolent ease amidst marvelous wit.

How beautiful.

-

Carrying his phone into the bedroom, Li An joined the ranks of tidying up.

Upon learning of Li An's thoughts, Chen Xuan still encouraged him to strive for it.

"Actually, you don't need to have so many misgivings."

She folded the clothes in her hands, stacked them neatly to the side, and after a moment of thought, persuaded him: "Give yourself a chance. How can you know the result if you don't give it your all?"

"Hah."

As Li An shifted the wardrobe, he looked back, panting, and said: "When it comes down to it, my repertoire is just too thin—"

Rip!

His knees scraped harshly against the floor, emitting a piercing screech.

With a final push, Li An finally straightened the wardrobe.

Then he bent over, supporting his knees with both hands, taking several long breaths.

A moment later, he raised his head and continued from where he had left off:

"If I had practiced these two pieces before, I wouldn't be hesitating and looking over my shoulder so much right now."

-

After a flurry of activity, the two finally got the bedroom clean. Before going to sleep, they discussed tomorrow's schedule, and Li An mentioned that he needed to finish making the courseware on musical modes tomorrow morning.

"I have to hand it in to Qin Yong tomorrow night."

Chen Xuan suddenly recalled that during Monday's morning meeting, Li An's mood had seemed a bit off when he returned from Qin Yong's office. She had originally wanted to ask about it, but got busy and forgot.

"What on earth happened that day?"

"It's nothing."

Li An roughly explained the course of events. "Let them use it this time. I suspect Qin Yong will still need me to write study materials for sight-singing and ear-training in the future, and next time I'll make things crystal clear with him."

After hearing the account, Chen Xuan didn't say much, but in her heart, she felt that Blue Sky Academy had acted unethically.

The night passed quietly.

-

The next morning, after dropping Chen Xuan off downstairs at Yudong, Li An went to the morning market to buy some groceries.

Today was Thursday, and he had a legitimate morning off.

Upon returning home, he mass-emailed the competition charter for the Xinghai Cup to the parents of his seven students.

This competition also featured a children's group, divided into amateur and professional categories.

Those interested could participate to gain experience; a competition of this scale was well worth having the children attend.

First, it would build psychological resilience and train their stage-performing ability.

Second, it would broaden their horizons and let them observe the state of piano performance among other peers outside the Yudong circle.

-

For him, it was also a convenient way to add a few lessons.

Take someone like Wang Xiaohu, whose family was well-off and whose current enthusiasm for learning the piano was high. If he registered for the competition, wouldn't he need to book a few extra lessons during the preparation period?

Making money, after all, was nothing to be ashamed of.

At 12:07 PM, accompanied by a crisp press of the enter key on his keyboard, Li An accomplished his mission.

The content on musical modes was complete.

Of course, as the section occupying the largest space in music theory, the content of modal systems extended far beyond these dozen or so PowerPoint slides.

However, considering that it was aimed solely at middle school art students, he had consulted Wei Sanwan and two other teachers from the Chengdu Conservatory of Music during the design process. After listening to opinions from various sides, he decided that in the current set of courseware, the study of modes would be restricted to Western major and minor scales, church modes, and national pentatonic scales.

As for subsequent topics such as modulation analysis, intervals and chords within modes, and a series of other knowledge points, he deemed them severely beyond the syllabus for middle school students.

Not to mention children, even quite a few enrolled students at conservatories might not fully digest this area of knowledge.

Recent graduates went without saying; for many music students, the peak of their music theory prowess occurred right before their art entrance exams.

Last time in the office, Xu Hongxin and Wang Panpan had even argued over the mnemonic for church modes.

Wasn't it just "Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, Locrian"? Li An couldn't bear to listen any longer and announced the correct answer, ending the war.

Modes weren't that difficult.

In this set of courseware, he had used an analogy: comparing a musical mode to a kingdom.

In every kingdom, there could be and could only be one king.

This king was the tonic of that mode, while all other notes were the subjects of this country.

They had to stand behind the king in strict hierarchical order.

This was the most basic concept of a musical mode.

For instance, in the C natural major scale, C was the tonic, C was the king.

Standing behind him were six notes: D-E-F-G-A-B.

Then you might ask: since a mode is a country, what if note D isn't willing to remain a mere subject—can it overthrow King C and become king itself?

Of course it can.

When note D inside the C major scale becomes the tonic, congratulations, you already understand what modulation is.

Is music theory truly so dry and boring?

Perhaps not quite as dry as it seemed.

Li An reviewed it from start to finish. Ensuring there were no typos, he saved the file and sent it to Qin Yong's email.

The courseware matter could be temporarily put to rest.

Next, he called Wei Sanwan to ask if the teacher would be home in the afternoon, as he wanted to borrow the sheet music for those two Mozart concertos.

Wei Sanwan: "Come over around two o'clock."

-

Because he had to go to Jinhua for lessons at four-30 PM, Li An ate lunch, rested for a little bit, practiced Czerny for a while upon waking at two, and then headed out.

When he arrived at Wei Sanwan's home, two scores were placed openly on the piano in the living room.

They were precisely the ones he needed.

"Have you made up your mind?"

Wei Sanwan asked with a beaming smile. Li An had asked him for the scores of K271 and K466, which clearly meant he was aiming for the open group.

A student with ambition made him happy.

As for the Wei school lineage, the only two graduates currently capable of participating in the open group competition were Li An and Lin Youyou. While there were good seedlings among the undergraduates, they hadn't yet reached the threshold of this category.

Yet after a few words, he learned that Li An still hadn't fully made up his mind.

Listening to Li An's explanation, Wei Sanwan sighed, completely understanding.

"Think it over yourself. Registration is still more than ten days away anyway, so don't rush."

Wei Sanwan had a professional lesson to teach sophomore undergraduates shortly and didn't keep Li An long, offering final parting instructions regarding the accompaniment lessons: "Put a little more heart into the child Li Muyan."

Li An nodded. "Teacher, go ahead and be busy. I'll return the scores to you once I've had them copied."

Wei Sanwan waved a hand. "Keep them."

-

Turning left out of the school gates, Li An went to a print shop and made two copies of each of the two scores.

On the way to Jinhua, he roughly skimmed through both works.

Compared to K271, he probably liked K466 even more.

That wasn't the main point; the key was that the music in his headphones consisted of more than just a piano.

Even though this was a piano piece.

Yet it lacked no sounds of string, woodwind, and percussion instruments woven throughout.

And yet the score before him consisted of only one or two lines for the piano's left and right hands.

-

Regarding the concerto form.

The official definition refers to a large-scale instrumental suite in which one or more solo instruments collaborate with an orchestra, displaying the individuality and virtuosity of the solo instrument.

Simply put, a piano concerto is a musical work where an orchestra accompanies a single piano.

Most piano concertos begin with the orchestra playing an introductory section to guide the listener, or presenting the musical theme right from the start. After a few measures or dozens of measures, the piano soloist enters, fluttering back and forth among the instrumental voices like a delicate butterfly.

Just as Charles vividly described the concerto: "The most important fact is that when listening to a piano concerto live, the audience waits for the pianist's entrance, and when the pianist stops playing, the audience waits for his entrance once more; yet it is undeniable that the pianist is merely a part of the stage."

Starting from Charles's perspective, it was not difficult to see the role of the orchestra in a piano concerto.

He did not believe that the piano soloist and the orchestra could be separated.

Li An didn't know Charles, but he shared the exact same view.

He had practiced three piano concertos before, including one experience performing on stage with a full symphony orchestra.

That stage experience had left an exceptionally deep impression on him.

He sat at the piano playing, backed by a massive orchestra.

Even the conductor had to defer to him for the handling of certain passages. At that moment, he felt like a deity, commanding the various instrumental voices with his piano and dominating everything on the stage.

Therefore, upon receiving another piano concerto, his vision was no longer confined merely to the two lines of piano music before his eyes.

Listening to the music, he could almost visualize the vibrato of the violins, the pizzicato of the cellos, the articulation of the flutes, and the low, echoing drone of the bassoons.

And so on and so forth.

Closing the score and looking out the window, a gust of autumn wind swept by, tearing two yellowed leaves from a branch. They drifted aimlessly with the wind toward some unknown destination, just like the clarinet note that had just faded in his ears, sobbing as it was swallowed by the overwhelming surge of the strings.

Replacing it was a witty, sharp flute—nimble and deft, yet harboring a sort of fatal danger within.

So did the flute play a specific role?

What sort of scene had been in Mozart's mind when he penned these very notes?

Thinking of this, Li An smiled absentmindedly.

He desperately wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Regrettably, his bus stop had arrived.

Unplugging his headphones, he packed away the scores, stepped calmly off the bus, and stepped back into the mortal world amid the autumn wind.

At least for that single moment just now, his consciousness had traveled back more than two hundred years.

Perhaps he had seen the cobblestone path beside Schönbrunn Palace, or perhaps he had glimpsed the slender waists of aristocratic maidens beneath their puffed gowns.

Perhaps he had seen Mozart wearing a pink wig, gazing out toward the mountain streams of Salzburg while rapidly sketching down the motive of the music before its next modulation.

Who would be the next king?

Li An didn't know. What he knew for certain was that not far away, Wang Xiaohu was leaning against the iron railing of the school gate, staring at him with a foolish grin.

Taking two steps closer.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Teacher, your zipper is down."

Impossible.

-

Finishing his lessons at Jinhua, Li An sent a text message to Chen Xuan: No cooking tonight, let's order takeout.

Upon returning home, he chased Bawu off the piano, washed his hands, pulled out the score for K466, and sat down at the keyboard.

He had to admit that compared to Beethoven's *Les Adieux* Sonata, he felt a much stronger passion for K466.

Li An loved Mozart.

Spending another 10 minutes glancing through the first movement, imbued with a sense of mission, he extended his right hand.

Staring intently at the score, he counted out an empty beat in his heart, then lowered his thumb vertically, striking a faint A.

He frowned.

He pulled his hand back.

"This feeling isn't right."

After trying three or four different ways of touching the keys, he finally found a hint of the timbre he had imagined.

Again.

This time he completely relaxed his shoulders, angled his elbows slightly away from the keyboard, and feeling almost no exertion in his wrists, he dropped his thumb once more.

Almost simultaneously, a resonant hum echoed from the piano's soundboard.

Soft yet full, light yet unhurried.

Li An dared not let his mind wander. With a well-honed, refined motion, he led into the next note: an octave-higher A.

Two consecutive notes sounded. His gaze shifted to the final beat of this measure, and he struck the keys again.

In a single breath, he completed the legato phrasing of the first measure.

Three quarter notes sounding in succession amidst a soft, unsaid quietude seemed to harbor a trace of faint melancholy.

Entering the second measure, Li An's right-hand dotted rhythm continued to carry the musical emotion. As he depressed the key, his mouth parted slightly, involuntary, as if even breathing had to be done with extreme caution. Before his right index finger descended on the second beat, his left hand firmly struck a group of third intervals. Moving in tandem with the start of the third beat in both hands, he applied a tiny bit more force, attempting to shape an expressive musical extension.

Yet elegance did not shield against force; an abrupt forte disrupted the musical feeling he had built up from the first measure, shattering it to pieces in the blink of an eye.

Again.

-

Time slipped away quietly, stroke by stroke, "again" by "again." When Chen Xuan returned carrying dinner, she didn't disturb the figure at the piano.

She quietly slipped into the bedroom.

Both of them had experience; at a time like this, interruptions were to be avoided at all costs.

It wasn't until 8:30 PM that Li An concluded the first phase of his practice.

After dinner and preparing the lunch box he would bring for tomorrow morning, he returned to the piano.

He continued practicing until it was time to shower and sleep.

When he woke up early the next morning, the very first image that popped into his mind was last night's musical score—specifically the measures right before he ended his practice.

It hadn't been resolved properly.

Arming himself with the problem and the score, Teacher Li bypassed his office entirely early that morning, walking into Classroom No. 4 with a steamed bun in one hand and soy milk in the other, stuffing his mouth frantically as he walked.

Suddenly, he froze.

One second.

Two seconds.

"Hiccup!"