During their earlier rehearsal, Lin Tian ca to a difficult realization.
Gan Yanyu perford better when they played together—not because of any technical flaw on her part, but because his presence gave her confidence. Confidence was what she lacked right now. She wasn't incapable; she simply doubted herself too much, which affected her performance.
But for Lin Tian, the issue ran deeper. When he tried to play without Gan Yanyu, it wasn't just about lacking confidence—it was an emotional disconnect.
The problem beca clear as he attempted to mimic Gan Yanyu's imrsive style during their duet. The more he forced himself to delve into the music like she did, the worse his playing beca. Yet, when he let go of those thoughts and focused solely on supporting her, everything flowed naturally again. His accompanint improved, blending seamlessly with her cello.
It reminded him of sothing else entirely—like trying to replicate the thrill of being with soone special while alone. Normally, solo efforts should feel more satisfying, but there was sothing uniquely magnetic about collaborating with Gan Yanyu. It wasn't just physical comfort or skill—it was spiritual synergy. No matter how hard he tried to analyze or imitate her technique, he couldn't recreate that magic by himself.
Frustratingly, the truth was undeniable: Lin Tian excelled only when he embraced his role as her support.
---
Lin Tian sat deep in thought.
Was this really it? Were they destined to rely on each other so completely? But that couldn't be the answer. Gan Yanyu had her own stage—the Starlight Cup—and Lin Tian had his arts exam. They couldn't always depend on one another forever.
He sighed and turned toward the cara setup. After weeks of preparation, their recording space had taken shape beautifully. A red carpet lay beneath the piano, adorned with a bouquet of roses. On the counter behind them sat a vintage gramophone and an old-fashioned radio. An oil painting of a dieval European figure hung on the wall, bathed in warm lighting. The atmosphere felt almost regal, like performing inside an ancient castle.
"Miss Gan," Lin Tian called out softly.
"Yes?"
"Nothing. Let's begin."
They were musicians after all. If answers existed, they would find them through music.
Though puzzled, Gan Yanyu nodded. Formal recording comnced.
As the bow t the strings, the cello sang its mournful yet elegant lody. Slow and understated, the notes carried a profound depth of emotion. This was Cello Concerto in E Minor—a masterpiece steeped in sorrow.
Through the music, Lin Tian imagined himself transported back a century to a war-torn era. He saw devastation everywhere—families torn apart, lives shattered. While Gan Yanyu effortlessly embodied these emotions, Lin Tian struggled to connect emotionally. But instead of forcing himself to emulate her, he decided to approach the piece from his unique perspective.
What was his advantage? Composition.
Even though he hadn't written the concerto himself, his knowledge of classical music's historical context gave him insight into its aning. What did he hear in this piece?
Gunfire. Cries of anguish.
But was this rely a lantation of suffering? Was Elgar, at 62, simply expressing his inner turmoil to remind listeners of war's horrors? No—it went beyond that.
Listening closely, Lin Tian discerned sothing else. Beneath the sorrow lay resilience. Like a gentle deer licking its wounds amidst the corpses of fallen comrades, the music conveyed hope despite despair. Even as it mourned loss, it urged listeners forward—to face the light, however faint.
This duality resonated deeply with Lin Tian. His piano accompanint grew heavier, each note imbued with saturated emotion. Instead of rushing ahead, he lingered purposefully, weaving his part intricately with Gan Yanyu's cello.
In that mont, Lin Tian finally understood Elgar—not through direct dialogue, but through the music itself.
Suddenly, a system notification appeared.
"Skill Breakthrough Achieved: Piano Skill (Erald) → (Diamond)."
A wave of warmth spread through Lin Tian's body. His fingers danced across the keys with newfound fluidity, creating lodies even more captivating than before.
anwhile, Gan Yanyu closed her eyes, fully imrsed in the music. Tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks. When she finished playing, she blinked slowly, still processing what had just happened.
Lin Tian stood before her, smiling gently.
"Lin Tian… you…" Gan Yanyu stamred, wide-eyed. "When did…"
"After the second climax, I stopped playing," Lin Tian explained calmly.
"What?" Gan Yanyu gasped. "So… the last part…"
"The final section was entirely yours," Lin Tian confird, raising a finger solemnly. "You see? You can perform brilliantly without ."
"Really?" Gan Yanyu hesitated, disbelief lingering. She was certain she'd heard the piano accompanying her throughout. How could it have been her alone?
"Miss Gan," Lin Tian began earnestly, "I owe you an apology. My insistence on practicing separately was misguided. We're partners, after all. Our goal shouldn't be independence—it should be learning to perform as if the other is always beside us, even when apart."
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