110. If the Hardship Is Worth It

Following Li An’s suggestion, Chen Xuan had mentioned in the parents’ group chat last night that today’s rehearsal would require parental accompaniment.

When Li An pushed open the door and entered the rehearsal room, besides the nine teachers and students practicing, there were also four parents present.

The children’s collective sideways glances made Chen Xuan aware of Li An’s arrival, but she did not pause and continued directing the music.

With a few hand gestures, she called the children’s attention back, and the trembling musical lines in the air gradually returned to their proper course.

Li An nodded to the parents before quietly sitting down to the side.

Thanks to the adjustments made yesterday, the rehearsal’s progress was already evident in today’s ensemble.

After unifying each player’s articulation and attack, the phrasing in the ensemble was now aligned, no longer chaotic as before.

Although some children’s pitch accuracy had improved, the overall melodic flow had begun to take shape.

After listening for a while, Li An thought the biggest issue remaining was the accompaniment’s rhythmic precision.

The rhythm in an ensemble differs from that of a solo.

In professional chamber music, every participant must cultivate a shared sense of collective rhythm.

Even if the children could not reach the proficiency of adult performers, the awareness of cooperating and even yielding to one another was essential.

As Chen Xuan lowered her hands, the music’s finale abruptly ended in the slightly stuffy air.

“Five-minute break.”

The children scattered excitedly, some setting down their instruments to drink water, others heading to the restroom.

Seeing Chen Xuan approach, Li An offered her a bottle of water with the cap already twisted open, complimenting, “It’s getting better and better.”

“Thank you.”

Chen Xuan took a sip, surprised by the outcome of this afternoon’s rehearsal.

Setting down the bottle, she remarked, “Isn’t your wrap-up a bit early?” It was just past four o’clock, and Li An usually rehearsed until five.

Her tone still carried a subtle, unnoticed unease, likely lingering from his earlier remark in the hallway before rehearsal: “It’s not like there won’t be another Qixi Festival next year.”

Li An chuckled, “You can’t hear me through the wall?”

Leaning in, he whispered with pride, “Even old Dong said I should be paid separately for my rehearsal lessons.”

Chen Xuan silently approved of old Dong and smiled softly.

At this moment, Li An noticed a hint of fatigue in Chen Xuan’s eyes. He assumed it was from their late-night phone chat and the lack of rest at noon.

“Sit down and rest for a bit.”

Chen Xuan sat, gazing absentmindedly at the music stands nearby.

Since parting with Li An in the hallway earlier, she had been somewhat dazed.

In truth, she knew he was fine—she had heard what he said.

Her words were meant merely to convey a wish not to delay his work because of her.

This time, the sentiment of “not wanting to hold you up” was different from previous workplace contexts.

It was like saying, “I can manage dinner on my own; you focus on your work without rushing home to accompany me.”

It was a sense of empathy.

It was an involuntary emotional progression after Li An’s playful transgression.

“Next year, it’s not like there won’t be another Qixi Festival.”

Such a strongly suggestive phrase inevitably stirred Chen Xuan’s imagination.

Was Li An implying that they would be together at next year’s Qixi Festival?

She did not resist the idea; it was just that she had not yet allowed herself to contemplate such a question about their relationship a year from now.

When Li An said it, it struck her like a forceful wave because it contained so much she had never experienced—simply imagining it made her feel enveloped in happiness.

But after that intense impulse, she was inexplicably anxious.

Why was Li An so certain she would want to spend next year’s Qixi with him?

His confident tone seemed to imply he had already claimed her heart.

This made her wonder if their interactions over the past few days had crossed some boundary.

Though they were still in a phase of ambiguity, it already felt like a couple’s intimacy.

Yet he had never once said, “I like you.”

She noticed that Li An’s attitude had become bolder and more passionate these days.

Was it, as Sun Yuman said, because she had agreed too casually?

She admitted she enjoyed the pleasure his changing demeanor brought her, while also recognizing that she had overlooked the fact he was a seasoned player in matters of the heart.

Now, reflecting on all this, she could not help but wonder: was Li An the same with every girl?

Using experience and observation, then applying different words and emotional tactics at various stages to control and influence them, ultimately achieving his goal.

Then what was Li An’s goal tonight?

Chen Xuan did not know.

For a moment, she felt like a prey aimed at by a hunting rifle.

Yet the next moment, catching sight of Li An’s focused expression as he carefully studied her full score, she dismissed that strange thought and denied all such worries.

---

Only love and coughing cannot be concealed, it is said Marx once remarked.

Sun Yuman said that ambiguity is the security checkpoint before love; adults’ ambiguous phases do not last longer than a month.

If someone shows ambiguity toward you, it means they love you; but if someone only shows ambiguity without any concrete actions, it means their love is insufficient.

Chen Xuan believed she could distinguish what counted as genuine action.

—

When sensitive people fall into the whirlpool of love, the closer they get to its center, the more sensitive they become. They inevitably magnify emotions—not playing up, but a necessary path toward love.

Sensitive Xiao Mi was no exception.

Though she continually rediscovered herself through this fresh life experience, as a novice in love, she did not realize that love sometimes blinds people and triggers wild imaginings.

Something as simple as “There’s always next year’s Qixi Festival” was like Li An saying, “I’m cold.”

She could have just thought, “Oh, he’s cold, but what does that have to do with me?”

Yet she involuntarily wondered, “Why is he cold? Is he feverish? Should I check his temperature? Is there a pharmacy nearby? What if the pharmacy has no thermometer?”

A single sentence could inspire an entire story in her mind.

But that was precisely what made Chen Xuan so endearing.

Her truth was utterly unguarded.

“Li An.”

Li An looked up at her voice, seeing her eyes brighten again, and smiled. “Yes?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to call you.”

Chen Xuan turned and clapped her hands, instantly quieting the noisy rehearsal room.

“Rehearsal.”

—

The second half of the rehearsal began.

After some discussion, they divided responsibilities.

Li An took four children from the accompaniment section to drill rhythm issues, while Chen Xuan focused on solving pitch and tone quality problems in the melody section.

Before starting, Li An asked Chen Xuan to wait.

“Everyone, during this next rehearsal, you must learn to listen.”

Seeing Li An had something to say, Chen Xuan stepped aside.

Li An stepped forward.

“Listen to the volume on your left and right, listen to the overall sound of the eight of you. Don’t just focus on your own playing.”

He then looked at the four playing the melody line.

“You four must control your volume. Don’t think because you’re playing the melody you have to blow as hard as you can. When someone in the audience can clearly hear one person playing solo, the performance has failed.”

“Got it?”

Led by Chen Zitong, the four nodded.

Then Li An looked at the four accompaniment players.

“Similarly, you must adjust your volume according to the melody. When the melody is strong, you need to be strong; when it’s soft, you should consciously play softer.”

“Got it?”

The four accompaniment players nodded.

“Alright, you four come with me.”

—

An hour flew by, and as the workday neared its end, each group finished rehearsing one after another.

In the now-empty hallway, only the flute’s melody lingered, occasionally accompanied by a few piano notes.

Qin Yong curiously peeked into Li An’s rehearsal room, seeing him seated at the piano, demonstrating rhythmic patterns to several flute players.

He could vaguely hear Li An discussing legato, articulation, breathing, accents, and note attacks.

In his professional conductor’s opinion, Li An was hitting the mark.

Smiling, Qin Yong turned away.

Two young people working through Qixi Festival—rare indeed.

—

Having completed the final synchronized rehearsal of the accompaniment, Li An felt the issues were mostly resolved and led the children back.

Chen Xuan had also nearly finished her work.

Their eyes met, both filled with anticipation.

It was time to test the day’s training results.

The accompaniment section rejoined the group, and the eight children lined up once more.

“Let’s begin.”

—

Repetition after repetition, each run improved beyond the last.

Time slipped away silently with each pass, showing no mercy.

Chen Xuan grew a bit unsteady toward the end, and Li An took over conducting, inviting her to sit down and rest.

With his expertise in flute technique and familiarity with the score, Li An helped the children identify lingering issues while explaining the characteristics of polyphonic music.

Chen Xuan propped her chin on her hand, her slightly tired, beautiful eyes quietly fixed on Li An’s busy figure.

In this moment, she felt as though she were experiencing her very first Qixi Festival.

—

Half an hour later, Li An returned the conductor’s baton to Chen Xuan, stepping aside to pick up the full score and a pencil again.

“One last time.”

Chen Xuan stepped forward.

Once all the children’s eyes were on her, she set the tempo in her heart and gently raised her left hand.

In an instant, the delicate prelude melody floated softly over the children’s heads.

After four measures, her right hand began to move.

The equally gentle harmonic accompaniment arose, subtly lifting the melody.

Two measures later, the eight voices gradually converged into one sound, finally gathering under Chen Xuan’s hands.

At that moment, her hands seemed infused with magic. As she waved them, the theme from “Kiki’s Delivery Service” came alive in the children’s flute tones.

The innocent minor melody bore no sadness, only a beauty that brought tears to the eyes.

Li An, who had been busy marking problems, unknowingly stopped writing. Perhaps today, at this moment, music could transcend right and wrong.

Judging by this run, a bit more refinement tomorrow should meet Chen Xuan’s requirements for the upcoming program review.

He lowered the score, lifting his head to become a listener.

—

As Chen Xuan concluded, an unknown parent started applauding.

Soon, several adults joined in.

The children’s clear laughter rang out amid the applause for a long time.

They had succeeded!

—

All the parents left with their children, and the entire ninth floor of Yudong fell silent.

The two returned to the office, collapsing into their chairs.

Though the workload wasn’t comparable to a 996 schedule, prolonged exposure was still taxing on their ears.

Rehearsal, especially, was exhausting.

The clock showed 6:37 p.m., and outside, the city lights were blooming—neon lights in myriad colors fitting the evening’s mood.

According to Li An’s original plan, they should now be seated in a restaurant he had reserved, chatting over exquisite dishes.

But compared to that, he more wished to see even half the assurance in Chen Xuan’s eyes at this moment.

As for the other half of her expression—the hint of apology—he regarded it as a very special Qixi gift.

“Let’s go,” Li An stood and smiled.

Chen Xuan nodded, straightened her overalls, slung her little duck bag over her shoulder, and quietly followed Li An.

—

They stepped out of the elevator and into the bustling street.

Li An was unsure where to go next.

Clearly, the original plan had fallen through.

It was too early to watch a movie, and both were still hungry.

They had to eat first.

Thinking for a moment, Li An hailed a taxi.

Just as he reached to open the front passenger door, Chen Xuan suddenly grabbed his arm.

After a silent elevator ride, she finally spoke.

“I want you to sit next to me.”