Chapter 68: The Master of Dazzling Techniques

As the final note faded, Meng Han rose to his feet. Amidst the thunderous applause, he offered a gentlemanly salute to those around him, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his features. His gaze drifted purposefully toward Liao Yuan, who stood not far away. Witnessing this, the crowd erupted with excitement.

As the applause died down, every eye turned to Liao Yuan. The silent commotion was more daunting than any noise; a tremendous pressure swept over him like a gale, like the surging tide. Liao Yuan had remained quiet all along, but now, as everyone’s attention converged on him, a look of surprise appeared on his face.

Were they pushing him onto the stage?

A faint smile curled at Liao Yuan’s lips.

“Don’t go!” Gao Feiliu cautioned, “Meng Han is deliberately making things difficult for you. If you take the stage, you’ll fall right into his trap.”

Zhang Chao added anxiously, “Mr. Liao, patience in small matters prevents disaster in larger ones. You must keep your composure. You’re a composer—having written ‘Journey to the Western Regions’ is already more than enough. There’s no need to compete with him in piano performance.”

“In my opinion,” the host in a white tailcoat appeared at Liao Yuan’s side at some point, “this is a fundamental skill for any great pianist. If you wish to make a name for yourself during this exchange, to reveal your true ability, it’s best to let go of any intention to hide your talents.”

He continued, “In this war without smoke or gunfire, if you truly possess the skill, I hope you will show respect to the pianists present—and, in doing so, show respect to yourself.”

Liao Yuan glanced at him in surprise, nodded slightly, and stepped forward.

“You have courage,” Meng Han remarked as he left his seat, turning back to look at Liao Yuan before exiting the stage. His voice was calm. “I hope your courage is matched by your ability.”

Liao Yuan responded with a nonchalant “Oh?”—his expression almost regretful. Then he turned and took his place at the piano. Raising his hands, he began to play.

Boom—

In that instant, it was as if a wild wind rose and dark clouds blanketed the sky. Amid lightning and thunder, the piano’s voice transformed into bolts of lightning, shaking everyone to their core.

“That sound—it’s so familiar!”

“Again… it’s ‘The Tempest Sonata’! And the third movement, no less!”

Exclamations rippled through the crowd.

Even Meng Han’s expression changed.

To have two different performers play the same piece, at the same time and place, was the most direct way to compare their skill.

Everyone had expected Liao Yuan might play another original work, one to rival “Journey to the Western Regions,” to make up for any lack of technique. No one anticipated he would meet the challenge head-on.

Was this a path to ruin, or did he have confidence in his own mastery?

The crowd buzzed with excitement.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Zhang Chao muttered gloomily. “Mr. Liao is being too rash!”

But Gao Feiliu pricked up his ears, excitement in his voice. “Don’t be so quick to judge. I think there’s a chance!”

Meanwhile, on the second deck, Lin Weiyin gazed at the man playing below, propping her chin on one hand, her face alight with interest.

“Who is he?”

No one answered her. Only the river wind stirred her hair beside her ear.

The music soared, leaping over the crowd, across the river, above the city, drifting up toward the clouds.

Liao Yuan’s ten fingers danced across the keys, transforming into streams of elusive light, leaving everyone numb with awe, mouths agape.

Though it was the same piece, when Meng Han played, his excellence was taken for granted. But when it was Liao Yuan’s turn—perhaps because of preconceived notions—the impact was staggering.

At that moment, by Liao Yuan’s side, it felt as if wind chased rain and rain pursued wind. And within that storm, an elderly man in a gray-white tailcoat seemed to appear at Liao Yuan’s side, sitting gently, raising his hands, joining Liao Yuan in a four-handed duet on the piano.

Life begets the soul; hope begets new life. In the midst of the storm, Liao Yuan and the old man’s figures seemed to meld into one.

The wise never claim to be wiser than others; fools always believe their own judgment infallible!

Child, go and feel the chill of the tempest!

Prove to the world: I never accept defeat!

Liao Yuan felt a burning pain in his fingers, but the rapture in his soul was beyond words. As the piece reached its climax, he seemed to hear the old man’s whisper:

“For six years, my body has suffered… yet I cannot say to them: ‘Speak louder, I am deaf’…”

“You must have felt despair then?”

“Yes, I was in despair. I did not take my own life because art kept me here. Until I have fulfilled the mission I feel within me, I cannot leave this world.”

“What is your mission?”

The old man did not answer. The radiance at his fingertips grew brighter, his ten fingers danced across the black and white keys like the raging waves of the northern sea, rolling and roaring. The raindrops became notes neatly arranged on the staff, each chasing, pursuing, and racing the next.

Countless notes transformed into light, swirling around everyone’s ears.

When the final note landed on a solitary D, the third movement ended—so too did the tempest!

Thunderous applause erupted!

“Emotion! I could feel such rich emotion!”

“His skill is already at the highest level. What’s truly frightening is that, when he played ‘Journey to the Western Regions,’ I naively thought he was only a composer!”

“The emotional expression in ‘The Tempest Sonata’ was masterful. Within this music, you hear Beethoven’s late anxieties, his solace, his devotion to music, and a newborn hope!”

“I can hardly believe it—until today, I’d never even heard of such a pianist in the industry!”

“His compositional talent is unmatched, and his performance skill is consummate! This man has made a stunning debut; his future knows no bounds!”

“Compared to Meng Han, his technique is every bit as strong. In terms of detail and emotional nuance, Mr. Liao even surpasses him!”

The crowd buzzed with passionate discussion about Liao Yuan’s performance.

Meanwhile, Meng Han’s face was livid throughout. Beside him, Xu Sanguan asked in a trembling voice, “Meng Han, if this doesn’t count as the mark of a great pianist, then what does?”

Meng Han nearly spat blood in fury.

Oppressed, he glared daggers at Xu Sanguan, his eyes blazing with anger. If not for the many eyes and ears around them, he would surely have burst out cursing.

A wave of defeat crashed over him.

Yet, under the scrutiny of the crowd, he could only swallow his rage, and instead, a fighting spirit welled up—he was ready to take the stage again!

But after Liao Yuan bowed, he did not leave. Instead, he sat down once more and, with his right hand, pressed several notes on the keys.

Ding-ding-ding-ding—

His right hand raced across the piano while his left hand, elegant as a ballerina, began to dance.

“That’s—Liszt’s ‘La Campanella!’”

“An even more difficult piece than ‘The Tempest Sonata’?”

All eyes refocused on him.

Soon, someone gasped, “Four and five-finger trills!”

“Incredible—he’s even executing them with a high finger technique!”

“Amazing! His technique rivals any so-called piano saint!”

“This man is truly exceptional. You have to know, ‘La Campanella’ is a staple among showpieces for virtuosos!”

“No, no, all of Liszt’s works are written to dazzle!”

“This piece is among the most difficult in the world’s piano repertoire!”

“One of the inhuman works by the great pianist Liszt.”

“I’m not exaggerating—this piece took me three years to play decently, and even then, I could never keep perfect tempo. Compared to a true master, there’s still a huge gap.”

Now, the pianists in the audience were in a frenzy. Even the fair and charming socialites could not suppress their excitement.

“I could swear I just saw afterimages! My God, am I watching a tape? Did it freeze?”

“Heavens, isn’t that the speed of my fingers when grabbing a red envelope?”

“That hand speed is terrifying—like the return of the legendary Six-Fingered Piano Demon!”

“With such speed, I wonder if there are any mistakes? Impressive as it is, I still think Meng Han is even more incredible!”

“Wake up! There are plenty here who can play ‘La Campanella’ from beginning to end, but those who can play it well are few and far between!”

“President Xi, please, you must introduce me to Mr. Liao! I’m absolutely smitten. Even if he doesn’t like women, I accept it—those ten fingers are miraculous, I just want to be his friend!”