Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Storm

The grandeur and desolate heroism revealed in "Record of Journey to the Western Regions" left everyone present profoundly shaken.

"Melody, emotion, technique, rhythm—all are of masterful caliber!"

"The piece isn't difficult to play, probably around grade four or six in terms of technical requirement, but it relies heavily on rhythm and emotional expression. Ordinary performers can hardly achieve absolute perfection, but there's no doubt that such a piece will easily become popular."

People watched the young man standing elegantly before the piano, discussing and evaluating, each gaze filled with astonishment.

When did such a virtuoso emerge in our country?

When the piece ended, Professor Yu Chengjiao, guest lecturer at Eastern Music University, was the first to applaud, his eyes unable to conceal his admiration. "Is this original? Remarkable! Our nation's world of composition has gained another formidable talent!"

Gao Feiliu clapped his hands until they were red, shouting excitedly, "Brother Yuan, you're incredible!"

Zhang Chao was so delighted he could barely contain himself. He bowed and made fist gestures to the surrounding pianists, basking in pride as if the glory belonged to him.

Amid thunderous applause, nearly everyone present wore smiles, their expressions radiating goodwill.

They were all industry experts. "Record of Journey to the Western Regions" was indeed an epic composition. Though it was only a solo and could not fully reach epic heights, it did not affect the pianists' judgment.

With this piece in his repertoire, the young man before them, even if ordinary from here on, would be remembered in history.

However, composing ability is one thing; judging solely by Liao Yuan's current performance, his playing seemed somewhat lacking in the eyes of the hundred pianists present.

Even if he played from memory.

But nearly every pianist who reaches professional level has experience with memorized performance. Once you know a piece inside out, playing from memory is naturally effortless.

"President Xi, your sister's lifelong happiness is in your hands!"

In a corner, a group of socialites chattered around Xi Yun, each with peach-tinted cheeks and faces like blossoming spring. One voluptuous, exquisitely beautiful woman clung affectionately to Xi Yun's arm, whining, "I adore 'Ghost Blows Out the Lamp.' I listen to the show every night before I sleep. I never expected to meet my idol, Ah Yuan, here. Please, sister, introduce me! I'm not like these flashy girls—I promise! You know, I'm proficient in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting..."

Xi Yun's face took on an unusual expression. Looking at these alluring women, a sudden flame seemed to ignite within her. She forcefully shook off the beautiful woman's arm, replying coldly, "He isn't interested in women."

Not interested in women?

The socialites were stunned.

At that moment, someone stepped forward, blocking Liao Yuan, who had already risen. "The piece is commendable, but I believe, brother, your performance is far from the foundation needed to become a grand pianist, both emotionally and technically. Are you concealing your true ability?"

Liao Yuan reluctantly caressed the piano keys one last time, then lifted his head with casual indifference and replied, "Are you out of your mind?"

The man was dumbfounded. "What?"

Seeing this, Gao Feiliu stepped up and called out, "Meng Han, what are you trying to do?"

Zhang Chao hurried forward too. He recognized Meng Han, but given his previous status, he had never interacted with such an internationally renowned pianist—simply not qualified. Yet, he immediately took his place behind Liao Yuan, glowering silently at Meng Han, though he had no idea what had just transpired.

Meng Han cast a cold glance at Liao Yuan, then said to Gao Feiliu, "Am I wrong? The piece is decent, but it doesn't demonstrate a pianist's true skill. You can't tell me you didn't notice. His playing technique is at best average."

Gao Feiliu stiffened his neck. "So what? What's it to you? Mr. Liao is my guest; it's not your place to criticize."

Meng Han smiled faintly. "You're right, it isn't my concern."

With that, he turned and sat at the piano, raising his hands and pressing the first key.

Dong—

A heavy note sounded, followed by a cascade of bright, crisp tones, like pearls dropping onto a jade plate, firing outwards like bullets.

Everyone felt a powerful surge rushing towards them!

Next, Meng Han's long fingers leapt across the keys in large octave jumps. After a brief arpeggio, a storm of notes surged in people's ears, as if a tempest had arrived!

Like wind and thunder, the roar was deafening!

Many people instantly gaped in amazement.

"This is... 'Storm Sonata,' the third movement!" someone exclaimed excitedly.

"Storm Sonata" was composed by Beethoven after observing Shakespeare’s final work, "The Tempest."

At that time, Beethoven’s hearing was deteriorating, facing many personal hardships and setbacks, even penning his will and contemplating death.

In such a mood, Beethoven pondered life's meaning, art, ideals, reality, and myriad questions, finally creating this monumental work.

"Storm Sonata" consists of three movements. The third movement, which Meng Han was playing, is the product of spiritual purification through the first and second movements.

The entire piece is rhythmically swift as wind and rain, immersing listeners in a torrential storm, yet its passion is interwoven with elegance and subtlety. Overall, it is a primarily minor key composition with frequent modulations, leaving the audience with intense anticipation.

This piece is a staple for music academy exams both domestically and abroad, far more difficult than the "March of Revolution" used for art college entrance exams, and on par with the technical demands of "Brilliant Polonaise." Both are grade ten pieces, but in terms of emotional mastery, "Storm Sonata" is undoubtedly more challenging and dazzling.

"Brilliant! No wonder he was a finalist in the Chopin International Competition—Meng Han’s foundation is truly solid."

"Meng Han started as an opera house pianist, amassing extensive live performance experience. When it comes to improvisation, few can rival him."

"Opening with such a difficult piece—is he demonstrating to Gao Feiliu and Mr. Liao?"

"Actually, Gao Feiliu can play the entire pulse of this piece, but in emotional expression, Meng Han is clearly superior."

"The difference in experience and age is vast. No matter what Gao Feiliu performs, his technique may be flawless, but emotional maturity is something his age cannot compensate for."

When the performance ended, the hall was filled with sounds of admiration.

The socialites’ eyes lit up.

For both visual effect and intonation, Beethoven’s "Storm Sonata" clearly surpassed the so-called "Record of Journey to the Western Regions," prompting them to praise, "Teacher Meng Han is truly spectacular; compared to him, Ah Yuan the broadcaster is utterly outmatched."

"This is the ideal pianist in my heart! Teacher Meng Han is so handsome!"

"Every time I see him, I can't help but want to greet him, but always miss the chance. Maybe we're just not meant to be, sob!"

"I secretly declare myself a die-hard fan of Meng Han!"

As the women chattered, Xi Yun suddenly said, "Liao Yuan can play this piece as well—and not any worse than Meng Han!"

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ps: This chapter was written on my phone. You may not believe it, but the power company restored electricity in the evening, yet the community’s cables were burned out. Upon inquiry, repairs will take two or three days; we’re still without power. I’m preparing to go to a hotel—tired and hot. I owe three chapters, and will pay back this week... orz...