Chapter 83: Undercurrents

When the student in charge of organizing the exam called out for Cheng Xiaoyu to get ready, Cheng Xiaoyu stepped forward early to the front of the classroom, waiting for the penultimate candidate to finish playing.

It was obvious that those who performed after Duanmu Linsha did not do well; the bespectacled girl currently playing stumbled through her piece, and when she reached Chopin’s Op. 10, No. 4, “Étude in C-sharp minor,” her nerves got the better of her and she forgot the score entirely. Sitting on the bench, helpless, she began to cry.

The examiner announced the end of her exam, offered her some comfort, and told her to try again next year. The girl could only stand up, tears streaming down her face, and leave the classroom.

Cheng Xiaoyu stepped up to the piano and bowed.

The elderly, white-haired male examiner in the center said, “Cheng Xiaoyu, right? You’re the last one. Play well, don’t be nervous.” This was the first time an examiner had called a candidate’s name.

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled slightly and replied, “Thank you for your concern, sir. I’m not very nervous.”

At that moment, standing outside the classroom, Duanmu Linsha was actually more anxious than Cheng Xiaoyu. She hadn’t left after her exam but waited outside for him, wanting to hear for herself just how good his piano playing was.

Cheng Xiaoyu sat at the piano with confidence and announced that he would be playing a piece in B-flat minor, B853.

The teachers’ faces remained expressionless, but it was clear they thought the piece was far too easy.

Yet the very first note Cheng Xiaoyu struck took all three teachers by surprise. Such exquisite and precise sound emerging from a student’s hands was hard to believe. They immediately set aside their previous dismissive attitude and listened intently to his performance.

Cheng Xiaoyu displayed the layers and allure of Bach’s fugue with excellence. When he played slowly, each note seemed to leap out individually; when he played fast, notes flew like sparks, dazzling to the eye.

When playing Bach, Cheng Xiaoyu imagined his left hand as one person, his right as another, as if the two were conversing. The mood of the piece distinguished the scene—sometimes it sounded like an argument, sometimes as if the two were whispering sweet nothings, sometimes like two old ladies chattering about the price of groceries.

He distinctly brought out the independence of both hands; the left hand was not merely an accompaniment, but a wholly separate melody.

What was even more impressive was Cheng Xiaoyu’s remarkable control over tempo and rhythm. He maintained an even speed throughout, unwavering and precise, like a human metronome. The lines flowed naturally, and he used accelerando and ritardando appropriately, making the performance pleasant to the ear.

He finished the entire piece without a single flaw.

Yet, though there was nothing to criticize, it was hard to point out any truly outstanding moment. The entire performance was textbook perfect—played exactly as written in the score, not a note out of place.

This was the standard answer for an exam. But as a piano performance, it lacked a personal touch. Ordinary students wouldn’t even notice that Cheng Xiaoyu’s command of the piece was so powerful.

To the three teachers, each had their own opinion. Most preferred students with a more distinctive personality in their playing, as such students had the potential to become masters. A student like Cheng Xiaoyu, on the other hand, seemed more suited to teaching.

Usually, this kind of performance was hard for the judges to grade: the technical level was low, but the execution was flawless.

But since Zhou Peipei had spoken to them in advance, passing wouldn’t be a problem; even without her intervention, they agreed that his level was more than sufficient for the preliminary round.

What was in question was how to assess this performance—not from an exam standpoint, but as a performance.

From the perspective of the exam, this would score full marks; as a performance, it was more conflicted.

But the three examiners had no time to dwell on it, as Cheng Xiaoyu was about to begin his next piece.

For the Chopin étude, Cheng Xiaoyu chose a minor key—the “Torrent” Étude.

This piece focuses on left-hand leaps, is not especially fast, but is emotionally intense.

It was not particularly difficult.

When Cheng Xiaoyu finished, he immediately began the next piece without pause.

The next piece involved contrary-motion chords in both hands, with a beautiful and pleasant melody. Cheng Xiaoyu himself believed this was the most melodious of Chopin’s études.

The challenge lay in the 4-to-6 polyrhythms and wide arpeggiated chords.

He played both pieces flawlessly, strictly according to the score. There was not the slightest error, but also no hint of personal interpretation—everything was performed exactly as marked.

The white-haired examiner, after so many years of invigilating, had never encountered such a student. Was he a genius? The pieces weren’t difficult—he simply played exactly as written. But could a non-genius play so perfectly, so flawlessly according to the score? Many teachers couldn’t manage that, let alone a student.

The examiner paused, tempted to ask if Cheng Xiaoyu could play a more difficult piece, but remembering Zhou Peipei’s request, he simply said, “Well played. You may go.”

Cheng Xiaoyu stood, bowed, and replied, “Thank you, teachers,” then calmly left the music classroom.

The three teachers silently packed up their things, their minds still full of thoughts of this odd student.

Duanmu Linsha was not yet able to truly judge Cheng Xiaoyu’s level; she only knew his playing was smooth and the tone beautiful. When she saw him come out, she hurriedly asked, “How did it go?”

Cheng Xiaoyu was a bit surprised that she was still there. “You haven’t left yet?”

Blushing, Duanmu Linsha said, “You still haven’t given me your phone number!”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, “You could ask your friend; she saved my number, didn’t she?” As he spoke, he handed her his phone.

Duanmu Linsha took the phone, called her own number, and saved her name, smiling, “It feels more sincere asking directly.”

Cheng Xiaoyu took his phone back and walked out of the school beside her, not noticing He Mingzhe following behind.

He Mingzhe had listened to Cheng Xiaoyu’s exam too, but his own level was not enough to catch the subtleties. He only noticed that Cheng Xiaoyu chose three very simple pieces. In his view, no matter how flawlessly he played, such easy pieces would never get him into the Shanghai Theatre Academy—unless he had connections.

Therefore, he felt he must do something to ensure Cheng Xiaoyu would not make it through the doors of the Academy. Watching Cheng Xiaoyu and Duanmu Linsha walking away together, He Mingzhe felt a wrenching pain in his heart. Only the thought of Cheng Xiaoyu soon being expelled from the school brought him a little comfort.

At the school gate, Cheng Xiaoyu bid farewell to Duanmu Linsha, saying, “See you at the next round.”

He watched as she got into an Audi and sped away.

Cheng Xiaoyu turned back toward the school parking lot, thinking that the extra walk would serve as exercise—he might as well treat it as weight loss. Opportunities to stroll around campus with a beautiful girl were rare, and he’d be a fool not to cherish them.

He took a deep breath, as if the air still carried Duanmu Linsha’s alluring fragrance.

If it were the Cheng Xiaoyu of his previous life, he would never have let such a stunning girl slip away. But now, mixed with his homebody nature, he found himself strangely reserved about romance.

Physical pleasure was important, of course, but what he wanted more was a meeting of souls. At this thought, Cheng Xiaoyu almost wanted to slap himself—“A meeting of souls? What nonsense! That’s something to worry about later.”

He reflected that after all this time since his rebirth, he still hadn’t had his first kiss, and a wave of sorrow came over him. He resolved to ask Wang Ou for a movie that night to soothe his lonely body.

—————————————— Glamorous Divider ——————————————

The list of candidates for the second round was posted at noon the day after the exam.

Cheng Xiaoyu had no interest in checking the results himself; he passed to the next round with no suspense at all. Aunt Zhou called to tell him.

Duanmu Linsha also sent him a congratulatory text—clearly, she had gone to check the list.

Nearly five hundred people were eliminated—eighty percent had been cut. In the next round, another seventy percent would be eliminated. It was a brutal selection; in some ways, the arts entrance exam was even harsher than the national college entrance exam.

Many chose the arts exam out of desperation, not realizing that such a choice demanded even greater sacrifices and relentless effort—and might not even pay off.

The second round was the next day. Cheng Xiaoyu planned to go home early to practice the pieces he had chosen. Though with his current skill level, nothing was likely to go wrong, he still wanted to refine his performance to perfection.

Unbeknownst to him, a storm was already brewing against him, and he was but a lone boat tossed in the surging torrent.

Lurking in the shadows, He Mingzhe went to a shady internet café, logged in with a secondary account, and posted a thread on the Shanghai Theatre Academy forum and message board titled: “The Shame of Shanghai Theatre, Today I Weep for the Campus Belle!”

Then, logging in with his admin account, he pinned the thread to the top.

This suggestive title immediately drew a flood of clicks.

Many students opened the post to find that it was about Cheng Xiaoyu, the wealthy student who had crashed into the campus belle Pei Yancheng last year, and who now had the audacity to apply to the Academy. Not only was he scheduled to take the last exam slot, but he had also played only three very simple pieces and still advanced to the next round. The post claimed that, according to informed sources, Cheng Xiaoyu’s relatives had arranged everything in advance, bribed the examiners, and secured him a place, even boasting that the Academy was “an easy pass.” There were also photos of Cheng Xiaoyu at the exam and snippets of the pieces he played.

The post ended with a heartfelt call to action, lamenting, “For five thousand years, our great nation has nurtured generation after generation of elites. Now, even the ivory towers of our universities are threatened by the ugly forces of power and money. Students of the Academy, with reason, knowledge, and a sense of collective concern, we must stand up to protect the purity of our school—our last sanctuary. For the sake of Pei Yancheng, for the Academy, for justice, we must demand that Cheng Xiaoyu be disqualified from the second round!” The post linked to numerous articles from last year accusing Cheng Xiaoyu of being uneducated and unruly.

The message board and school forum exploded. Many wondered how a degenerate like Cheng Xiaoyu could sneak into the Academy. Countless replies called for people to show up in person tomorrow. Admirers of Pei Yancheng began organizing a crowd, vowing to make a scene.

Having posted and pinned the thread, He Mingzhe returned to his dorm to monitor its progress. As events unfolded exactly as he had hoped, he couldn’t help but let out a satisfied laugh.

When he heard his roommates discussing the post, he even treated them to a late-night snack and invited them to join the “spectacle” the next day.

He Mingzhe didn’t really think this alone would force the school’s hand—he had another trump card to play tomorrow!

That move, the real killer, would ensure Cheng Xiaoyu could not recover.