Chapter Eleven: My Wild Passion for Music

There were only two classes in the afternoon. After they ended, students who had club activities could attend their clubs. Wang Ou was a member of the school’s athletics club. Those who were not involved in any clubs were free to go home. Many of the senior-year students enrolled in off-campus college entrance exam prep classes to intensify their practice for the exams, especially those in the science track.

After school, Su Yuxi needed to go to the headquarters of Shanghe Records in Lujiazui, located not far from the S Landmark Financial Tower, in the Jinmao Tower. Su Yuxi was one of the trainees in Shanghe Records’ soon-to-be-launched national idol project.

In this timeline, Korea was far less developed than in the previous life. Its economy, culture, and entertainment were deeply influenced by Huaxia; K-pop had no soil in which to grow. The entire East Asia region was dominated by Huaxia culture—wuxia dramas, palace intrigue series, and cop dramas were all the rage in Korea, Japan, Malaysia, and other neighboring countries. Huaxia’s TV and movie stars, as well as pop singers, were celebrated idols across Asia.

Fans of first-tier Huaxia celebrities could be found all over the world. This year’s top-rated television series worldwide was the forty-episode wuxia drama “The Return of the Condor Heroes,” starring Gu Dongliang and Chen Enna, who became global sensations overnight. Rumor had it that Hollywood’s latest blockbuster, “The Amazing Spider-Man,” intended to invite Gu Dongliang to star, while Chen Enna was inundated with offers from major advertisers.

At this time, pop music was almost entirely dominated by artists with strong musical prowess. Idol singers, apart from performing to earn a living, did not sell many records and thus were not highly regarded. Until recently, when Japan launched a live-action girl group reality show, “AB and Forty-Eight,” which unexpectedly created a ratings storm across Asia. Seizing the opportunity, Japan’s King Records released the AB48 album, generating tremendous buzz. The major record companies began studying the idol group model.

Shanghe Records also started preparing its own idol group, conducting auditions across the country. In this timeline, there was not yet a complete idol training system, nor the professional, systematic approach of Korean companies from the previous life. Selection was based entirely on appearance—whether the candidates looked sweet enough. Singing ability and dance foundation were hardly considered, since for record companies, idol groups were seen as a quick way to cash in on a trend.

Because Su Yuxi had joined the project, Shanghe’s idol plan received a bit more attention, but investment in resources remained very limited. After all, Shanghe Records was renowned as the home of divas—three of the four great female stars of Huaxia were signed to Shanghe. Of course, none of this had anything to do with Cheng Xiaoyu at present. No matter how capable he was, he was still merely the “crown prince” of Shanghe, and in Huaxia’s entertainment circle, which valued seniority and experience above all, nobody took him seriously.

During his hospital stay, Cheng Xiaoyu had studied Huaxia’s pop music in this world and found it strikingly similar to the golden era of Hong Kong pop in the 1990s of another timeline, only magnified and prolonged many times over. Here, due to the existence of the Huaxia nation, the Black population in America was much smaller than in the previous timeline, and with Huaxia’s cultural influence penetrating the US, Black music did not have as profound an impact on global pop music as before.

R&B (including pop and rap) was still in its embryonic stage, and rap music circulated only within a few Black neighborhoods. Before returning to Huaxia, Cheng Xiaoyu lived in Hunters Point, San Francisco, a Black-populated district. Racial discrimination in America was not as severe at this time, and due to the smaller numbers, there had not been large-scale Black civil rights movements. Ironically, racial discrimination was most severe in Huaxia, where Blacks held low political and social status. There had been mass protests, and Ma Dejin, a Huaxia citizen of African descent and Tsinghua graduate, had delivered a stirring speech during the civil rights movement "Plum Blossom and Dream" in the 1980s, which was brutally suppressed. Yet since then, the status of Blacks in Huaxia had improved, and anti-discrimination laws were even enacted. Still, Blacks lived at the bottom of society, undertaking most of the hard labor. Black music’s development was closely tied to racial status and civil rights movements.

But for Cheng Xiaoyu, this was not good news. It takes a long time for a musical genre to grow from its beginnings to maturity and popular acceptance. Take Jay Chou for example: when he first started writing songs, the big stars rejected him, calling his style strange. Even Wu Zongxian, who launched his debut, was reluctant to sing his songs at first. At that time, America—the cultural hegemon—was already dominated by R&B. The Chinese music scene, even when it hadn’t yet conquered the world, was still conservative and self-satisfied. All the more so for Huaxia, which considered itself the Middle Kingdom.

Cheng Xiaoyu had thought deeply about what he could do next and concluded that, apart from going to college and studying diligently, there was no other sure path.

Readers with experience in transmigration stories might be cursing by now: “Damn, aren’t you going to plagiarize songs, books, make movies, and hook up with a few superstars? Why did you even bother crossing over!” Cheng Xiaoyu felt a bit helpless too. The R&B he excelled at didn’t exist in Huaxia yet. Rock? At this point, rock in Huaxia was still underground, not fit for the mainstream. Plagiarize songs for money? The classic pop songs of the era were already impressive enough; even if he copied a few, what would it matter to others? How much could he really earn? Besides, Cheng Xiaoyu’s current circumstances were not lacking in money. More importantly, this wasn’t an age for singer-songwriters! To become famous by writing and performing your own songs wasn’t as simple as copying a few tunes.

As for copying books, that would be the easiest way to succeed, but for him, the effort of writing would be better spent inheriting the family business, and besides, he hadn’t read that many books to begin with.

Making movies? Forget it. Do you really think watching a few dozen films qualifies you to direct? Don’t be ridiculous. Never mind the funding—do you understand how to write a script, frame shots, shoot scenes, light a set, record sound, and do post-production editing?

For any successful person, acquiring knowledge is an unavoidable journey; there are no shortcuts. Getting into the Shanghai Theatre Academy, interning at Shanghe Records after graduation, starting from the bottom and becoming a successful and outstanding musician—that was Cheng Xiaoyu’s life plan. For him, this was the perfect script. Right now, the most crucial thing was the college entrance exam, and the most important step was to hone his piano skills.

After school, Wang Huasheng drove Su Yuxi to the headquarters of Shanghe Records. Cheng Xiaoyu called Wang Huasheng to say he had something to do and would take a taxi home later. Then he went to find the music teacher Ji Xin to borrow a piano practice room.

When Cheng Xiaoyu arrived at the teachers’ office, he only found the homeroom teacher, Wang Wei, an old scholar nearly sixty who taught history. Before Cheng Xiaoyu could even ask about Ji Xin’s whereabouts, he was subjected to a lengthy lecture. By the time he got Ji Xin’s phone number, the sun was already slanting toward the west.

He found Ji Xin in the school’s small auditorium, where she was rehearsing “Ode to the Yellow River” with the school choir.

Cheng Xiaoyu waited for Ji Xin to finish, then approached her. “Teacher Ji, I’m Cheng Xiaoyu, the one who called you earlier. I wanted to ask if I could borrow the school’s piano room to practice.”

Ji Xin was the epitome of a Jiangnan beauty: willow-shaped brows, almond eyes, cherry lips, her hair elegantly coiled in a low bun, dressed in a long-sleeved apricot lace blouse and a black pencil skirt. Although not particularly tall, her well-proportioned figure, with alluring curves, made her look exceptionally graceful and serene. She appeared to be in her early twenties but was actually in her thirties, with a child already in elementary school. She was at the peak of maturity, every movement exuding natural charm and an air of infinite allure.

Ji Xin found it odd. Cheng Xiaoyu had transferred in as a student with musical talent. Even with good grades, getting into Fudan Affiliated High School without some background was difficult, not to mention he arrived in a Ferrari—no one would believe he didn’t have a piano at home. So she asked, “You don’t have a piano at home?”

Fortunately, Cheng Xiaoyu was a seasoned old hand; lying came as second nature. With only a slight hesitation, he replied, “My family opposes me studying music. They want me to study economics and management. But I feel like there’s nothing I want except piano. Ever since my mother passed away, music has been the force keeping me going. I must get into the Theatre Academy!” He spoke with resolute determination, and finished with a look of barely suppressed sorrow.

Ji Xin, having always lived in the ivory tower, was a graduate of Huashi’s music education program. She too once dreamed of admission to the Theatre Academy or the Central Conservatory, but her skills fell short. After graduate school, she came to teach music at Fudan Affiliated High School, rarely exposed to the world’s harshness. On top of that, she loved melodramatic romance novels. Instantly, her imagination filled in the details—family conflict over succession, a wicked stepmother’s abuse, and so on—completely ignoring how this plump, rosy-cheeked boy hardly fit her vision of a tormented waif. A wave of maternal sympathy surged in her heart. How could anyone not feel for a child so devoted to music? Ji Xin gently said, “I understand, I do. But the school only has one piano room, and it’s used by the classical music club. I’m afraid I can’t lend it to you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t show any disappointment; he knew there would be more to come. Ji Xin took out her phone and began scrolling through her contacts as she said, “Wait a moment, I’ll ask my teacher to see if there’s a way.” With that, she walked off to make a call.

During this time, the choir’s chatter never ceased, and more than once Cheng Xiaoyu heard giggles directed his way. He didn’t mind; taking advantage of Ji Xin’s absence, he boldly looked around at the choir girls. After scanning the group and finding nothing of particular interest, he gave up. Not long after, Ji Xin returned with a smile. “You’re lucky. My teacher just transferred to the Fudan Art Department, and they’ve only just started offering piano and dance classes this year. There’s only one class of students, so the piano rooms are mostly empty!” Cheng Xiaoyu was overjoyed. Until his own piano room was ready, he’d have a place to practice, and he had no intention of using Su Yuxi’s piano room anyway.

Immediately, Cheng Xiaoyu bowed to Ji Xin and said, “Thank you, Teacher Ji! I’ll practice hard and won’t let you down.”

Ji Xin smiled, thinking the boy was truly sensible, not at all like a spoiled rich kid. She added with concern, “But the piano room is rented. If you have financial difficulties, I can help you!”

Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t know that Aunt Zhou had already been cast as the wicked stepmother in Ji Xin’s mind. He flashed a bright smile. “It’s fine, I still have a piggy bank at home! My mother left it for me.”

Thinking of her own daughter, who had just started first grade, Ji Xin was even more moved, finding the chubby boy’s pimples endearing. She saved his number and said, “If you ever have any trouble, call me. I’ll help you. If necessary, I can even talk to your parents!”

Cheng Xiaoyu quickly waved his hands. “Please don’t! If you did, I’d have even less chance of fulfilling my dream.” Ji Xin sighed in response.

Originally, Ji Xin planned to give Cheng Xiaoyu her teacher’s number and let him make contact himself, but her overflowing motherly instinct made her take him under her wing. She asked the choir president to continue leading rehearsal, and personally took Cheng Xiaoyu to the Fudan University Music Department to find her teacher.

At this time, S City’s layout was excellent, unlike the fragmented campus system of Fudan in the previous life. Fudan Affiliated High School was right next to Fudan University; from the high school’s back gate, it was just a short walk across a small road to the university’s north gate.

Ji Xin led Cheng Xiaoyu to the Music Department and introduced him to her mentor, Professor Hu Weilan, whose hair was a crown of silver. Cheng Xiaoyu waited outside the professor’s office, not knowing what Ji Xin told her, but he saw Professor Hu kindly pat his shoulder and encourage him to practice hard, and to come to her with any questions. Then, Professor Hu called over a middle-aged man and told him to rent a piano room to Cheng Xiaoyu. Cheng Xiaoyu thanked Professor Hu and Teacher Ji politely, then left the office with the man.

Normally, university piano rooms weren’t rented to students from other schools. There were free rooms for university students, but the paid rooms were of better quality—though only to a certain extent. Cheng Xiaoyu could barely count as half a Fudan student, but free rooms were out of the question, and he didn’t mind the fee anyway.

The Fudan Art Department hadn’t yet been upgraded to a full-fledged college, but the arts were flourishing, and plans for the upgrade were underway. The piano rooms were newly built and quite nice. Cheng Xiaoyu picked the most expensive room, which was still only thirty-five yuan per hour. The room was small and didn’t have a grand piano, just a domestic Pearl River upright, the Kaiserburg 130a.

Cheng Xiaoyu tried the keys and found the instrument better than expected. The touch was a bit heavy, and the tone somewhat dark and lacking brightness, but for the price, there was little to complain about. He’d previously played on a Yamaha 5, which, in terms of acoustic quality, was no better than this Pearl River. As for the feel and responsiveness of the keys, that was a matter of personal preference and habit. For example, players in Huaxia preferred heavier keys, while in America, lighter ones were favored.

He began with twenty minutes of Hanon exercises, followed by over an hour of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, and finished with dexterity drills, playing Czerny’s Op. 840. Piano practice wasn’t nearly as glamorous as outsiders imagined; its tedium and monotony could only be understood by those who had been through it. In truth, most things in the world are like this. You might think computer games are fun, but if you had to play the same game for three or four hours a day, every day, for years, could you stick with it?

All the world’s successes are never born of chance. We always see the brilliance of the successful and marvel at their luck, but we never consider how long they spent in obscurity, how much endurance and persistence it took to get there.