Chapter Seventy: Appearances Can Be Deceiving

As soon as Wei Zijun finished speaking, on the other side, Gao Feiliu immediately called out, “Meng Han, weren’t you the third place winner of the Chopin Piano Competition? Why are you suddenly playing the coward? You were the one who issued the challenge earlier, and now you want to slip by without a word? Where in the world does such luck exist? Or is it that you, Meng Han, are the one truly at the level of the common folk?”

Zhang Chao shivered as he heard this. After witnessing Liao Yuan’s skill, he instantly realized this was the true beginning of Liao Yuan’s ascent, so he stiffly echoed, “If you have the guts to challenge, have the guts to accept as well!”

The audience erupted in commotion.

In the piano world, such direct, confrontational exchanges were exceedingly rare. Each piano duel would become a celebrated tale, recounted endlessly within the circle and cherished as a favorite topic of conversation.

At this moment, Madam Ji Shilian, the chairwoman of the Donghai City Musicians’ Association Piano Committee, also spoke up: “I think young Feiliu makes a good point. We can set aside the performance of the symposium’s theme for now. The contest between Comrade Meng Han and Comrade Liao Yuan is a meeting of masters. Winning or losing isn’t what matters most. What’s important is letting everyone witness the artistry and style of the top performers in our field. I agree that the contest between the two should continue.”

Madam Ji Shilian, now at an age of wisdom and with her official standing, had spoken with finality. At this point, the host Wei Zijun set down her microphone and looked toward Meng Han, who stood amongst the crowd.

Meng Han’s face flushed, then paled, his regret turning his insides sour. Why had he been so rash as to step forward and issue a challenge?

After Liao Yuan performed the “Tempest Sonata” with skills equal to his own, Meng Han was filled with regret.

In that instant, he realized he would likely become nothing more than a stepping stone for Liao Yuan’s fame.

Yet he still harbored the hope of tripping Liao Yuan up, of casting his own shadow across Liao Yuan’s path to glory, so that in years to come, when this symposium was discussed, Meng Han’s name would stand as the great mountain that Liao Yuan had to climb, inseparable from Liao Yuan’s story.

But unexpectedly, Liao Yuan immediately launched into the third piece from the famous “Paganini Variations” — “La Campanella”!

Even for Meng Han, without prior preparation, this piece was fraught with risks of error, let alone the challenge of balancing technique and emotion.

Most crucially, after witnessing Liao Yuan’s rendition of “La Campanella,” Meng Han knew that no matter how meticulously he prepared, there were certain details in which he simply could not match Liao Yuan’s level.

For example, the rapid tremolos with the fourth and fifth fingers—Meng Han simply could not achieve them.

So, Meng Han decided on the spot to try to quietly gloss over this chapter.

Yet who could have guessed that, before Liao Yuan said a word, that brat Gao Feiliu would jump up and turn the tables on him!

At this moment, cold sweat streamed down Meng Han’s back; he was trapped, unable to advance or retreat.

What to do?

Was the reputation he had worked so hard to build about to be destroyed in a single night?

At this thought, Meng Han shot a venomous glare at Xu Sanguan. The latter, catching his eye, trembled with fear.

“In that case, I shall do my humble best!”

In the end, Meng Han steeled himself and stepped forward, once more taking his seat at the piano.

But he did not dare play “La Campanella” recklessly. He knew that he must find another way if he wanted to avoid defeat in this contest.

Meng Han’s expertise lay in the works of Beethoven and Chopin.

So, under the gaze of all present, Meng Han began to play the third movement of the “Pathetique Sonata,” the piece he had practiced most in his early years.

This composition is one of Beethoven’s early masterpieces, renowned for its rich emotion. Its beautiful melody is tinged with restless uncertainty, reflecting a wavering state of mind—much like Meng Han’s own feelings at that moment.

At Dongyin University, this piece is considered a level-nine work, but if played with strict technical demands, its difficulty far exceeds level ten.

From the very beginning, the piece cascades like a shower of pearls, brimming with youthful clarity and irrepressible vitality.

Yet, though the contrasting theme in the major key is bright, its rapid movement hints at the instability of the composer’s mood.

Perhaps due to nerves, when Meng Han played the third movement of the “Pathetique,” his performance was somewhat rushed. Though he made no mistakes, his handling of the details and his expression of emotion left much to be desired.

Halfway through, sighs could already be heard from the audience.

The third movement of the “Pathetique” is a piece familiar to most high school students and is often performed at major concerts. The audience knew it inside out, and Meng Han’s choice meant he would face their most exacting scrutiny.

“What a dramatic turn of events!”

“Who would have thought that Teacher Meng would falter so badly tonight? This really makes A-Yuan’s talent stand out even more!”

“After the symposium, I must get a photo with A-Yuan!”

“President Xi, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to formally pursue Liao Yuan!”

“Yes, yes! While A-Yuan is still unknown, if you catch him now, you’re guaranteed to win!”

“Such a talented young man—his writing is exquisite, and his piano playing is stunning. Truly a gifted youth!”

The socialites were abuzz with excitement. Most were mid-level executives from various companies, or fashion and jewelry designers, or editors-in-chief from trendy magazines. Most were around thirty, so with their own exceptional qualities, they had even higher standards for a partner. Such gatherings were their usual haunt.

Xi Yun, however, was there purely out of her love for music, having asked for an invitation to this event on the Costa ship. Until now, she had only the most passing acquaintance with the other socialites.

Hearing these comments from women whose qualifications matched her own, Xi Yun felt a sudden pang of jealousy. She gazed blankly at Liao Yuan in the distance, only to see him suddenly turn his head and look her way.

He clearly saw her!

Yet his gaze was strangely unfamiliar, lingering only for a moment before shifting away.

Xi Yun pressed her lips together, left the crowd, walked to a corner, and took out her phone to send Liao Yuan a message: “The world has changed, but you still look as you did in high school.”

The message went through, but it was as though it vanished into the sea, leaving Xi Yun’s heart to gradually sink.

When the “Pathetique” concluded, Meng Han stood up at once. All the conviction and composure he’d had at the start were gone; his voice was hoarse as he announced, “I think I might have a fever. I’m not feeling well. Everyone, I’ll take my leave now.”

With that, he turned and walked into the interior of the ship.

Everyone saw Meng Han’s wretched state and took it to heart as a warning.

Just an hour ago, no one could have imagined that an internationally renowned concert pianist would fall to an unknown nobody.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, nor measure the sea with a bucket!”

A middle-aged man clicked his tongue in amazement, then turned to his student and solemnly advised, “Remember these words—they will be your lifelong treasure!”

The student nodded vigorously. After witnessing the entire contest, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly:

Never pretend to be something you’re not, or you’ll be struck down by fate…