Chapter 81: Shadows

Zuo Yan knew He Mingzhe, but she was well aware that he hardly stood a chance. Yet she believed that Cheng Xiaoyu was even less suited to win Duanmu Linsha’s affection, despite recognizing Cheng Xiaoyu’s undeniable talent.

But Linsha was her best friend—her dearest confidante, the pride of Gezhi Academy. In Zuo Yan’s eyes, Duanmu Linsha was a princess, destined for greatness as if she had saved the galaxy in a previous life—a heroine straight out of a television drama. Her long, glossy black hair framed a face of gentle, exquisite beauty, and her eyes shimmered with the depth of spring water, captivating all who beheld her. Outstanding grades, striking looks, a perfect figure—she was so flawless it was almost unreal. Over three years of high school, countless admirers had pursued her, but she had never found anyone worthy—not even He Mingzhe before her, nor Hu Nan from the neighboring class, who was himself quite handsome.

It was telling: the boys of Gezhi, when asked to name their dream girl, chose not any celebrity, but Duanmu Linsha.

Zuo Yan had been classmates with Linsha since middle school—nearly six years now—and had never seen her take the initiative to get to know a boy. Zuo Yan always felt herself to be Linsha’s guardian; people joked that anyone seeking Linsha’s heart must first win over Zuo Yan. She believed that if Linsha ever considered a romance, she ought to consult Zuo Yan first. Yet today, Linsha’s enthusiasm toward Cheng Xiaoyu surprised her, and she could not reconcile Cheng Xiaoyu’s lack of princely charm with her friend’s apparent interest.

Cheng Xiaoyu, meanwhile, was oblivious to the tangled emotions among the three. He concentrated on cutting his beef into bite-sized pieces, calmly eating even as the others watched him, finding nothing amiss.

All four studied music, so their conversation revolved naturally around the upcoming arts exam that afternoon.

Duanmu Linsha, intrigued, asked, “Xiaoyu, what piece will you play for your exam this afternoon?”

Cheng Xiaoyu, surprised by Linsha’s warmth toward him, glanced up at her and suddenly realized how much she resembled Park Hyomin—her figure and appearance alike, though her skin was even more fair and luminous, soft as silk. Her looks were serene and gentle, yet a subtle sensuality emanated from her, her features bearing the solemn grace of a goddess.

He could not help but stare for a moment, which caught He Mingzhe’s eye, deepening his dislike for Cheng Xiaoyu. Mingzhe’s heart churned; he himself had never dared gaze at Linsha like this—how could this fool be so bold?

Cheng Xiaoyu, noticing his lapse, apologized, “Sorry, you look very much like someone I know.” Then, setting down his utensils, he continued, “For my exam, I’ll probably choose the Twelve-Tone Fugue in D minor, b853.”

Before Linsha could reply, He Mingzhe scoffed, “Isn’t that a bit too easy? Why not pick a five-part fugue—at least a four-part one?”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, “I just chose at random. I feel comfortable with this one. Anything more difficult is beyond me.” His selection was simply because he found this fugue pleasing, knowing it wasn’t the most challenging, but aware that playing it well was no easy feat.

He Mingzhe now thought less of Cheng Xiaoyu’s piano skills, feigning concern as he shook his head, “If that’s your level, you’ll never get into the Shanghai Conservatory. You’d better try more schools!”

Linsha grew annoyed at Mingzhe’s words—how could he speak such ill-omened things before the exam? She retorted, “His musicality is certainly higher than yours. Don’t flaunt yourself when you’ve nothing to brag about. You’ve never won first place in a competition, after all.”

Cheng Xiaoyu was indifferent to Mingzhe’s disdain; he was confident he’d be admitted to the Conservatory, so he replied casually, “I won’t be applying anywhere else—getting in shouldn’t be a problem.”

He Mingzhe sneered, unable to comprehend where Cheng Xiaoyu’s confidence came from.

Zuo Yan, too, felt Cheng Xiaoyu was overestimating himself. The Conservatory was one of the most prestigious institutions in China—not a place for amateurs to walk in and claim admission.

Stung by Linsha’s criticism, He Mingzhe redirected his frustration toward Cheng Xiaoyu, laughing coldly, “I didn’t get first place because I lost three times to Su Yuxi, alright? The teachers say Su Yuxi is the most promising pianist in China in recent years, likely to become an international master and possibly win the Chopin Competition. Losing to her isn’t shameful. Besides, I’ve won first place at the Shanghai International Piano Competition, and second or third at many others. You know my level.”

Linsha acknowledged Mingzhe’s piano skills, but her intuition told her Cheng Xiaoyu must be exceptional—a blind trust in her idol. She didn’t see his choice of a three-part fugue as a sign of lacking ability, only as the mark of a genius who defies expectations. She admired his humility and self-reflection; although Cheng Xiaoyu wouldn’t bother to argue, she felt compelled to defend her idol. She shot Mingzhe a glare, “Your first place only came because Su Yuxi wasn’t there—the competition was beneath her. Even I could randomly play and come in second. What’s there to boast about?”

Seeing tempers rise, Zuo Yan interjected, “Weren’t we discussing the exam? How did we get onto competitions? Cheng Xiaoyu, have you ever entered any piano competitions?”

All eyes turned to him. Cheng Xiaoyu was distracted, realizing Su Yuxi was so famous, and paused for a moment. He remembered his last contest: the five-yearly Chopin International Competition, where he happily called his mother to share the news of his third-place finish—only for tragedy to follow soon after. Uncertain whether to mention it, just then Aunt Zhou called.

Aunt Zhou, a dance academy examiner, couldn’t invite Cheng Xiaoyu to lunch, so she called to check on his mindset. Cheng Xiaoyu replied he was eating, and Aunt Zhou assured him she had spoken to three teachers already; he shouldn’t be nervous, just perform as usual, and everything would be fine.

Knowing he was the last to take the exam, Cheng Xiaoyu felt Aunt Zhou had gone to considerable lengths for him. He felt it unnecessary, but her kindness touched him, so he replied, “Thank you so much, Aunt Zhou. I’m embarrassed you’ve worked so hard for me.”

Aunt Zhou said it was nothing, offered a few more words of advice, and hung up.

Her words were innocuous, but those listening picked up on them. Mingzhe and Zuo Yan suddenly realized Cheng Xiaoyu had connections, explaining his confidence, and their disdain for him grew even stronger. They no longer cared whether he had entered any competitions.

Mingzhe asked curiously, “You have a relative at the Conservatory?”

Cheng Xiaoyu saw no reason to deny it and nodded, “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.

By now, Cheng Xiaoyu had nearly finished his steak. He drained his drink, told Linsha and the others he’d see them later, and left his seat. At the counter, he paid for the entire table.

The meal cost over a hundred per person, totaling more than five hundred—not cheap. Reflecting that Linsha, dazzling as she was, liked his music, he figured it was worth it. Who knew—they might soon be classmates, so buying this meal was a good investment. He paid without hesitation, not one to lavish generosity on mere acquaintances.

As Cheng Xiaoyu left, Linsha wanted to ask him to stay, but felt too shy. She tugged at Zuo Yan’s sleeve, who remained silent, so they simply watched Cheng Xiaoyu depart.

With the troublesome person gone, Mingzhe immediately seated himself opposite Linsha, complaining, “Linsha, if there’s something I’ve done wrong, just tell me. Why use someone so insignificant to provoke me?”

Linsha, annoyed by Mingzhe’s arrogance and his disparagement of her idol, felt her anger rising. Though she couldn’t claim to like Cheng Xiaoyu as a person, she adored his music and eagerly hoped to connect with him musically. Above all, she longed to hear him perform “Dragon Inn” live for her. Earlier, she had feared Mingzhe might scare Cheng Xiaoyu away, and restrained herself; now that Cheng Xiaoyu had left, she no longer hid her distaste for Mingzhe. “He Mingzhe, could you please stop pestering me? I really don’t like you. I like Xiaoyu.” Realizing she’d been too blunt, she added, “I’ll never like you.”

Mingzhe, stunned by such a harsh rejection, could hardly believe it. Anger bubbling, he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean? You’d rather like that pig than me? Why humiliate me like this?” Linsha’s repeated expressions of affection for Cheng Xiaoyu forced Mingzhe to accept the truth, however unwillingly. It was fortunate Cheng Xiaoyu wasn’t present, or there might have been another storm.

Zuo Yan, feeling a bit sorry, said, “Cheng Xiaoyu is very talented—he’s the keyboardist for Crown of Sin.” Fearing Mingzhe didn’t recognize the name, she added, “Crown of Sin is that popular band online—Linsha’s been obsessed with them lately.”

Linsha ignored Mingzhe, leaving her meal unfinished and calling for the bill.

The waiter approached. “The gentleman earlier already paid for you.”

Mingzhe had never heard of Crown of Sin—he rarely went online. But seeing Linsha refuse even to look at him, his fury rose to the boiling point, though he dared not vent it at her. He pulled out his wallet and shouted at the waiter, “Who needs that idiot to pay? Am I broke?” He yanked out a wad of cash and flung it at the waiter without counting.

Linsha frowned, her dislike of Mingzhe’s lack of manners deepening. She told the waiter, “Sorry, I don’t know him,” and left the restaurant with Zuo Yan.

Only Mingzhe remained, stunned and alone.

The waiter quietly gathered the money and placed it on the table. Mingzhe’s mind seethed with resentment; all his hatred now focused on Cheng Xiaoyu. As he left, he took the money from the table, already plotting how to make Cheng Xiaoyu suffer.

For anyone who made his life difficult, he would make them pay tenfold.