Andante Cantabile and the Glorious Grand Polonaise

The concert was over, and I returned to Beijing. Outside, rumors were spiraling out of control, and the entire company had devoted all its resources to public relations. We spent quite a bit of money on this, too. But to me, this kind of mishap was nothing anymore. If a little money could smooth things over, it wasn't really a disaster.

Though I experienced another blackout while practicing, I no longer resisted reading sheet music. Mom didn't say anything about it, but Dai Yanzhi… Every time I saw him trying to mask his nervousness, a fleeting thought would cross my mind—after all these years, has he stayed by my side just because I'm his cash cow?

But the thought quickly faded.

After staying indoors for three days, I wanted to check the comments on social media. At noon, Dai Yanzhi arrived with lunch and rang my doorbell. I absentmindedly opened the door, still holding my phone.

"What are you looking at?" He put the food down, sounding a little wary.

"Nothing." I set my phone aside.

"Don't look. There's nothing good to see." He sat down beside me.

"Come on, do you think I care about this stuff?"

"If you didn't care, would you still be looking?"

"You haven't read them, have you? Honestly, some of these comments are pretty creative—'a total train wreck,' 'a fallen prodigy,' 'crashing down from the pedestal,' 'the most humiliating performance of their career.'" I burst into laughter.

"Ye Xi," Dai Yanzhi lowered his head. "He's already married."

"Who?" I opened the cigarette pack in my hand and took one out.

"Stop playing dumb. You've been acting strange these days." His voice was firm. "At first, I was afraid you'd be heartbroken, so I didn't dare mention a word. You carried on as if nothing had happened, practicing every day, handling company matters with ease. I thought you'd moved on. It's been three years now. I don't think your current state has a direct connection to him, but—why are you still holding onto this cigarette case?"

He suddenly grabbed the hand I was using to hold the case.

"It's just a man. What's the big deal? You have status, money, fame. You're still young, and there are so many people chasing after you. Ye Xi, you're one of the chosen ones—you have no idea how much I envy you. I don't have your talent, so I chose to stay behind the scenes to support you. Just like they say in the movies: 'Those who can't create talent critique it. Just like those who can't be soldiers become traitors.' But I would never betray you, because you're my best friend. I can't stand seeing you like this anymore."

"Thank you," I said in my heart. A smile, unreadable and vague, remained on my face.

A long silence. I slowly rolled another cigarette.

"When did you start smoking this?" He sounded nervous. "My god."

He snatched the tobacco from my hand.

"I'll roll one too."

He started rolling.

I watched the smoke rise in front of me. On the table in the distance, the untouched meal sat quietly. Then, as if something had come undone, a multitude of colorful butterflies began crawling out of the bowls, fluttering toward me. They grew closer and closer, transforming into countless trembling threads—like the strings of a piano, like vibrant silk strands. I found myself dancing atop those lines, but they were growing thinner and thinner. Beneath them was an endless abyss.

Instinctively, I reached out, trying to grasp one. A single misstep, and I slipped. I grabbed onto a thread with all my strength. A sharp pain shot through my fingers. In the next second, blood appeared.

"Great. Looks like next month's performance will have to be canceled too." Dai Yanzhi held my dangling hand, breaking the bad news with a grin that wouldn't leave his face. "Look at you—so careless. A nine-figure hand, and you burned it with a lighter."

"When I was little, my dream was to be a piano master. At eighteen, I won the gold medal, and I thought—finally, I had earned the right to be called a master. But masters aren't that young, are they? Haha. The management company thought it would be better for me to play the role of the 'Piano Prince' or something like that.

After my performance of Prokofiev's Second Concerto, Ozawa told me, 'In twenty years, you'll be different.' And I thought to myself—he must mean that in twenty years, I'll finally become a real master.

For the longest time, I believed the piano was the most important thing. Lin Su once told me, 'Playing is just one part of it.' I didn't take it seriously.

I've played so many concerts, released so many albums. If I miss a note, no one in the audience looks particularly disappointed. If I miss three, at the fan signing afterward, they just say, 'Ye Xi, you look so three-dimensional in real life!' The more concerts I performed, the more I got used to them clapping between movements.

And the money never stopped. In fact, it kept growing. So many people sponsored my performances. Even if some of that money ended up in places I didn't know about, it didn't matter. I got what I deserved. Look at me now—I own dozens of houses. You know how it is, making money works like that.

But two years ago, Madam Chen started telling me that concert sponsorships were just small change, and brand endorsements weren't a big deal either. Her family had other ways—ways to make me even richer. All I had to do was teach her youngest daughter how to play piano."

The floating threads in front of me disappeared. I took another drag of my cigarette.

"Hmm." Dai Yanzhi took a drag as well.

"Did you see that? A star just fell." I pointed to the sky.

"That's the chandelier," he said.

"You have no reaction at all." I laughed and nudged him with my elbow. "You must have smoked plenty before, huh?"

"Keep talking." He pushed the cigarette back into my mouth.

"There's nothing more to say. Isn't this where we are now?"

"I'm a little hungry." He brought the food over to the coffee table, then went to the wine cabinet and took out a bottle of red wine.

"This is an '82 Lafite." I slumped into the sofa.

"So? Can't we drink it today?"

"Do whatever you want."

He opened the bottle and poured me a full glass.

After a few rounds of drinks, words no longer carried any weight.

"When I was a kid, my mom made her own teaching materials and taught me music theory. Later, Teacher Dan took me under his wing. Back then, when I played a piece, we scrutinized every note, refining every detail. When I started winning awards, no one dared to criticize me anymore. Then I got into undergrad—Professor Wadier was great. He would say, 'Do you prefer a crescendo here, or should it be played a little thinner? Either works.' I was a mature artist, after all—I was supposed to have my own artistic convictions. And of course, I did.

Zimmermann was no longer my idol. That gold ring I once wore to imitate him—I got rid of it a long time ago."

Speaking of the ring, I picked up my glass and took another sip.

"But now? I miss a few notes, hesitate for a moment in the middle of a movement, and suddenly everyone says I've fallen from grace. Hahahahahaha. What do they know?

If he were here, at least he'd have something to say to me."

"Hmm." Dai Yanzhi exhaled. "I heard his marriage was fake."

"Truth and lies, after pretending enough, the lies become the truth. Life has to go on. We both chose this kind of life—occasionally sleeping, playing each other's fool—what's the point? It's no different from actually selling ourselves. I pay, I tell her how to act, and she acts exactly how I want, clear as day." I took a drag of the cigarette. The white wall turned into the light of the sky again, and my vision started to blur.

"I recently got a new pair of glasses, a limited edition, only one in the world. Chen San Tai helped me reserve them, and they just arrived a couple of days ago. I'll show you later." I tried to get up, but he grabbed my arm.

"Eat first." He stared at me.

I started scooping rice, spooning out Mapo tofu, then picking up a piece of kimchi, followed by a big bite of water-boiled pork slices. Dai Yanzhi didn't know where to start. He stood frozen to the side. Oil dripped onto the solid wood table, leaving dirty marks. He grabbed a tissue, wiped the table hard, and the red stains disappeared. But the oil had already soaked into the wood grain, making the surface even shinier.

After finishing the meal, I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep. I don't know how much time passed before I woke up to find Dai Yanzhi's coat covering me.

"Hey, where are you?" I had been asleep for a while, and my head felt heavy.

"I'm here." His voice came from behind the sofa. "Are you going to the company tomorrow? They can't make decisions, so they don't know how to send out a public relations post."

"No need. I'll just write something and post it on social media. It's not a big deal."

"Alright, I know you." He said, "If it gets really bad, just read the sheet music."

"Yeah, I've been looking at the sheet music while practicing these past few days."

"I'll go back to the company for a meeting. Show me the post before you send it. There will be reporters coming in a few days. See if you want to accept the interview."

"No need."

Dai Yanzhi left, and the empty room felt loud with the sound of an incoming text message.

It was from Mom. I glanced at it, and my eyes started to water. But I didn't reply.

I edited a message and sent it to Dai Yanzhi, and he said it was fine. Then I posted it across all major platforms.

Night hadn't yet fallen. Every time I smoked, it felt like all my worries vanished, but after finishing, I felt even more lost than before. I turned on the stereo to play some music. Wan'er had played a random CD last time she came over—The Gaze of Ulysses. It was an early autumn evening, and the air started to crystallize into frost with the vibrations of the violin strings. Was this music fitting for the moment? Or was it out of place?

I turned off the music and called a number. The voice on the other end was soft and warm.

"Ye Xi, are you looking for me today?" Lin Hui asked.

"Yeah, the hotel from last time."

"What time?" She whispered, as if afraid someone might be listening.

"An hour later. I'll transfer the money to you first in a bit."

"Mhm, okay, okay." She smiled sweetly, deliberately acting a little cute.

I hadn't tried anyone else since the first time I had a physical transaction with Lin Hui, nor had I thought about switching to someone different. Of course, it wasn't out of loyalty—just a sense of security. Every time we went to a hotel, she would arrive first and leave last. We never visited the same hotel more than three times. Some five-star hotels were too risky because we might run into acquaintances, so she would pick out suburban hotels for me.

I never felt there was any risk. Besides, people of status all had affairs like this. And far more sordid things? They certainly existed.

We carried on as usual until one in the morning—a safe cutoff time. I rested my head on her chest, muttering a few drunken nonsense words, but it didn't matter. This time, she comforted me with more patience than usual, her fingers stroking my cheek back and forth. She had always been skilled at this, knowing just the right amount of tenderness—never prying too much into my privacy, never saying anything unnecessary.

"I know you're exhausted," she said in a soothing, measured tone. "But you'll always be admired. The halo around you will never fade. Just now, your hair was catching the light—like an angel. So beautiful. It nearly took my breath away."

"Someone once told me I looked like an angel too," I said, thinking of him.

"She wasn't as lucky as me. That girl didn't take good enough care of you," she replied with a smile.

"It was a boy." I let my guard down.

"A boy? That… celebrity?" For the first time, she asked me a question.

I sat up abruptly.

"Don't ask me questions. Never again." My voice was almost a snap.

She sat up too, silent, then slipped out of bed naked to boil water. I ordered her to fetch me a cigarette, but she knocked over the taupe lambskin cigarette case, scattering them across the floor.

"S-sorry," she stammered, suddenly nervous.

"Mm. You're tired too. Keep the case." I eyed the worn tear in the aged leather—time for a new one.

After I washed up, she brewed me a cup of Pu'er tea, as always. She carried her own teacup with her every time. She set it on the tray, letting it cool to the perfect temperature before handing it to me.

A sip of tea, and my body felt lighter.

The comfortable silence was shattered by urgent knocking at the door.

"I'll get it," she said, unusually eager.

"Wait." I grabbed her arm. "We don't know who it is."

I got up and peered through the peephole.

Outside stood two people dressed like hotel staff.

"I just ordered some room service. I'm a little hungry—haven't had dinner yet," she said.

After a moment's hesitation, I figured it wouldn't matter if we both looked presentable, so I opened the door.

The moment it swung open, the expressions of the two men outside shifted. They pulled out their badges from under their shirts.

"Police. You've been reported for solicitation."

Honestly, I didn't think solicitation was legally that big of a deal—until they checked my transfer records and chat history. Their tone was cold, their evidence ironclad, and they showed me zero respect. I didn't cooperate, nor did I want to escalate things. I figured I'd just call Dai Yanzhi, and within an hour, an old acquaintance would make a call to these two rookies, and I'd walk free.

"Ye Xi, the police already notified me. There might be a public statement tomorrow." For the first time, I heard powerlessness in Dai Yanzhi's voice.

"Did you call Lawyer Zhang?" I asked.

"Yes. Something's off here. This is a setup—you've been played." He sounded frantic.

I hung up and thought of Lin Hui knocking over my cigarette case earlier. Her fear hadn't been because of me.

I stared at her, my gaze not just icy but venomous. Whore. Then, suddenly, it struck me as absurd—she was a whore, after all.

Who? Who was behind this? My mind raced through possible suspects. Wang Zhen? Wang Zhuo? No, too much time had passed; their influence had waned. They wouldn't have the means to come after me now. Chen Santai? Wan'er? Lin Hui had been introduced by her. Or was the betrayal internal—someone from my own company? Lu Sang? Lin Su? Or those jealous old fossils from the Musicians' Association?

As the car moved, my thoughts churned, but I made no progress. What was the point of racking my brain like this? If someone had the power to set me up, they were undoubtedly more influential than me—retaliation would be futile. If their goal was leverage, using my scandal as a bargaining chip, then at least there was room for negotiation.

Only when we passed the West Third Ring Road did I think to ask, "Which precinct are we going to?"

"Chaoyang District," the officer replied tersely.

Beijing in the early hours was no longer congested. The streets were quiet, amplifying even the faintest sounds. From somewhere in the distance, a melody drifted over—a serene andante followed by the triumphant flourish of a Polonaise Brillante.

October. The season of the Chopin Competition.