Mr. Lizard Outside the Window - Chapter 49
Chapter 49: Apology
When people spoke of Beethoven, they often thought of grandeur, of solemnity, of a heroic defiance of fate. But listening to Zhang Qinyun's performance of the Beethoven Violin Concerto, the audience closed their eyes, transported to a different world.
It was as if the great composer had poured all the tenderness and joy of his life into this concerto.
The five beats of the timpani were like a gentle knock on the door, the orchestra's rich, resonant melody a grand tapestry unfolding, a story beginning.
And then, the violin entered, gradually swelling, like the heroine making her entrance: beautiful, vivacious, occasionally temperamental, yet burdened by a difficult fate, a young woman navigating the cold, harsh world, her heart touched by both kindness and cruelty.
The orchestra faded, the violin's voice unwavering, her spirit unbroken, her heart filled with a deep, enduring tenderness, a mother's love for her child.
The music painted a vivid picture: a young mother, her child in her arms, walking through the bustling city, her own life mired in poverty and hardship, yet determined to give her child a better life, to place them on the brightest, purest stage.
And then, the final movement, the tumultuous emotions subsiding, a quiet peace descending, the mother and child returning home, their life together simple and serene, the music ending on a note of quiet contentment.
Thunderous applause erupted. Zhang Qinyun lowered his bow, the music still echoing in his mind.
He suddenly remembered the girl's words backstage: "Only a pure heart can create true music."
She had been so arrogant, her feet propped up on a chair, her pale face, her sharp chin, her dismissive gaze, not even bothering to look at him.
But despite her arrogance, he had to admit that her words, her challenge, had spurred him on, pushing him to reach a new level of musical expression, a state of pure, unadulterated artistry.
He looked down at his violin, then out at the audience, his gaze searching.
A middle-aged woman in a plain grey coat, her face hidden in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The judges, impressed, wrote down their scores, many of them marking his name with a small asterisk, a sign of their approval.
It will be hard to surpass that performance, many of them thought. He's practically guaranteed the gold medal.
Backstage, as Banxia's turn approached, Xiao Lian paced nervously, his tail twitching, his usual composure gone.
"If you're not feeling well, you don't have to go," he pleaded, not for the first time.
Banxia sighed and patted his head. "It's okay. The medicine helped. I'm feeling better."
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Apart from her slightly pale face and unusually bright eyes, she looked normal, despite the waves of pain washing over her.
Xiao Lian seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense her emotions, her pain, her sadness, even when she tried to hide it.
But she couldn't focus on that now.
Her stomach cramped painfully, as if a demon's hand was twisting her insides.
But she was used to this. She could be playful and affectionate when she was feeling well, but when the pain hit, she retreated into herself, her usual cheerfulness replaced by a quiet stoicism.
She took a deep breath, took off her coat, and walked towards the stage, towards the light.
In that moment, Xiao Lian saw the moon rising above the ocean, its radiant light undimmed by the dark, twisted shadows clinging to it, its slow, steady ascent unstoppable.
He followed her for a few steps, then stopped, watching her, his moon, ascend the stage, bathed in the spotlight.
At the judges' table, a judge looked at the program, a flicker of regret in his eyes.
The next contestant was also playing the Beethoven Violin Concerto.
He remembered her from the preliminaries and semi-finals. She was a talented young woman, her performances impressive. He had been looking forward to hearing her play in the finals. It was a shame she had chosen the same piece as Zhang Qinyun.
After Zhang Qinyun's flawless, emotionally charged performance, anyone playing the same piece would inevitably be at a disadvantage. Even a brilliant performance would be overshadowed, the audience's appreciation dulled by the repetition.
And in the minds of many judges, Zhang Qinyun's performance had set a high bar, a standard unlikely to be surpassed.
The young woman walked onto the stage, her violin in hand.
She was slender and graceful, her simple white dress shimmering in the spotlight, like moonlight.
The orchestra began to play the opening theme.
Banxia stood in the center of the stage, her face pale, her eyes bright, bathed in the cool, ethereal light, and raised her violin.
"She seems… different tonight," Fu Zhengqi said, sitting up straighter, his voice low, as he spoke to the judge beside him. "Zhang Qinyun was excellent, but I'm still curious to hear this young woman's interpretation. I wonder what kind of Beethoven she'll give us."
The elderly musician, his eyes shining with anticipation, didn't notice that Jiang Lin, sitting beside him, had his head down, his face hidden in his hands, as if he couldn't bear to look at the stage.
The grand orchestral introduction faded, and the violin entered, its voice clear and strong.
The first note, firm and decisive, a bold declaration: I am here.
A collective intake of breath from the audience and the judges. Her entrance was completely different from Zhang Qinyun's gentle, lyrical opening.
The clean, pure melody soared, like a lone eagle soaring above the ocean, free and untamed.
Fu Zhengqi smiled, his wrinkled face beaming.
Yes, this is Beethoven!
The heroic, romantic Beethoven. Not the sentimental, lovesick Beethoven of a thousand mediocre performances.
Beethoven, the musical giant who, despite his personal struggles, his deafness, his isolation, had given the world the "Ode to Joy," a testament to the power of the human spirit, a celebration of universal love.
The young violinist on stage played with a fierce determination, her interpretation of the lyrical second movement restrained, yet deeply moving, the joyful finale a powerful expression of resilience, of unwavering hope.
If her music evoked the image of a mother's love, it was a mother with strong, outstretched arms, welcoming her children into a sunlit field, a flower-filled courtyard, a world of warmth and safety.
If it spoke of love, it was a love born of resilience, of a young woman embracing life, finding her own path, choosing her own companion, a love free from the clinging vines of need and insecurity.
There were no excessive glissandos or vibrato, no sentimental flourishes. Her playing was simple, yet profound, its power not in technical brilliance but in its emotional depth, its universality.
Midway through the performance, a student in the audience whispered, "Is that… her own cadenza?"
His teacher nodded silently.
At the judges' table, two judges exchanged surprised glances.
She wrote her own cadenza?
Backstage, Zhang Qinyun, listening to the music, suddenly turned towards the stage. That cadenza… is that… original?
He stood up, drawn towards the music.
He had once considered writing his own cadenza, but had ultimately chosen a safer, more conventional path.
She had done what he hadn't dared to do.
A cadenza born of her own heart, her own unique understanding of the concerto, perhaps less technically brilliant than those written by the masters, but a perfect expression of her own musical vision.
Such a bold, unconventional choice, such a fearless display of artistry."True musicians judge music with their hearts and ears, not with gossip and videos," she had said.
Now, her music was speaking to him, challenging him. Could he put aside his own biases and truly listen?
Zhang Qinyun clenched his fists. The young woman on stage, her bow dancing across the strings, her face pale, sweat dripping from her forehead, her music a tapestry of joy and sorrow, of defiance and vulnerability, a powerful, deeply moving performance that connected her, in that moment, to the spirit of the great composer himself.
In the audience, thirteen-year-old Lin Ling touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet with tears. "I'm crying!" she whispered, her eyes shining as she watched Banxia. "She's so amazing! I have so much to learn!"
Backstage, Zhang Qinyun closed his eyes and sighed, the music washing away the years of resentment, of insecurity, of unfulfilled ambition.
At the judges' table, Fu Zhengqi's eyes shone with delight, his hands clasped tightly together. He almost stood up to applaud.
Beside him, Jiang Lin, his head down, his face hidden in his hands, seemed to be in pain.
As the music ended, thunderous applause filled the concert hall.
The girl in white bowed, a few drops of sweat falling from her forehead onto the stage floor.
The waiting rooms backstage were connected to a long hallway that led to a side exit.
The competition was still ongoing.
In the hallway, a middle-aged woman in a grey coat was talking to Zhang Qinyun.
"I haven't heard you play like that in years," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "It was beautiful, Ayun. Heavenly. No matter what the judges say, you're my champion."
She clutched his arm, wiping away tears with her other hand, unable to contain her pride. The fire exit door opened, and Banxia, wrapped in her coat, stepped out, pausing as she saw them. The middle-aged woman in the grey coat quickly let go of Zhang Qinyun's arm, her face flustered. Though Banxia hadn't said anything, the woman, as if feeling the need to explain herself, said quickly, "I'm… I'm Qinyun's… housekeeper. I just came to bring him something."
She tugged at her scarf, her head down, gave Banxia a nervous smile, and turned to leave. Zhang Qinyun grabbed her wrist.
"Ayun?" the lady said nervously.
He held her hand and wouldn't let go. He took a deep breath and said, "This is my mother."
"This is my mom, who specially came to watch my performance." He turned to face Banxia and said seriously, word by word, "She was just joking with you."
Though unsure what was going on, Banxia politely nodded at the woman. She envied anyone who had a mother, especially now, feeling so weak and vulnerable. Holding the staircase railing, Banxia watched the mother and son slowly walk down, step by step, until they reached the theater's back door. Pushing open that door revealed a road with cars coming and going.
Perhaps the all-consuming competition had drained all the strength from her body, and the pain she had forgotten on stage now came back multiplied. She just needed to walk out this door, cross the pedestrian bridge over the road, to return to the hotel and rest. But her legs felt like they were stepping on cotton, her whole body in such pain that she was about to convulse. She could barely move a step and could only slowly sit down by the stairs, leaning her sweat-soaked head against the cold stone wall.
The competition had been going on all day, and the sun was about to set. The red sunset hung on the horizon of high-rise buildings, its orange-red light slanting over, landing on her body, not warm at all.
"Where has Xiao Lian gone at this time," Banxia thought as her stomach cramped painfully, wave after wave. Sweat blurred her vision, and she closed her eyes, feeling confused. "If only Xiao Lian could hold me right now, it would be better," she thought. "What's wrong with you?" a voice spoke beside her.
Sitting on the ground, Banxia opened her eyes, blurred by sweat, and saw Zhang Qinyun's face.
"My mother said you don't look well and told me to come check on you," he said. Banxia squinted her eyes and waved her hand weakly, "It's nothing, just an old problem."
What was this about? Weren't they just arguing moments ago? "Do your parents accompany you? Give me your phone number, I'll help you call," Zhang Qinyun took out his phone. Banxia said nothing, just shook her head and closed her eyes, "I have no parents."
Zhang Qinyun suddenly recalled the only dialogue he had heard in the video he recorded.
"Why are you talking to me like this? Where is your mother? I want to see her!"
"My mother passed away from illness six years ago."
He held his phone, looking at Banxia leaning against the wall. The girl's face was completely bloodless, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, cold sweat soaking her black hair. Thinking about it now, her complexion before the performance was already very poor. She was already ill, which was why she had been sitting motionless in the chair, speaking. Performing on stage with such illness and pain, yet producing such beautiful music. Zhang Qinyun bit his lip, opened his phone screen, and deleted the video in front of Banxia.
"I deleted the video..." The words of apology rolled in his throat, difficult to express. With much effort, he awkwardly squeezed out, "This was my fault. I'm sorry." The last bit of orange-red sunlight passed through the gaps between the high-rise buildings, falling on Banxia's shoulders. Wrapped in her coat, she could barely stand, her face as white as paper.
Even so, she managed to draw a powerless but forceful smile from the corner of her mouth, waving her hand, "Let's just forget about it." From the first time he saw her, this girl had carried a pride, both stubborn and aloof.
Even now, when she was this sick, she still refused to show any weakness, never abandoning her own pride. Zhang Qinyun felt something soften in his heart. He reached out to Banxia, "Let me take you to the hospital."
A male arm suddenly extended from the side, grabbing his wrist. The last bit of light between the high-rises shone on that jade-like white and powerful arm, looking almost luminous. Zhang Qinyun turned around and met a pair of ink-black pupils.
Those pupils were deep and cold, like ice. Being stared at felt like being watched by a cold-blooded creature with dilated pupils. "No need to trouble youuself." the man's cold, clear voice rang out.
AHHHHHHHH
ReplyDeleteHOW WONDERFUL
I WOULD HAVE CLAPPED SO MUCH EVEN WHEN THE PERFORMANCE WAS LONG DONE
AND XIAO LIANNN <3<3
I'm also happy that Zhang found himself... I hope he lives happily with his mom!!