See for yourself.

Timid people are always fully prepared for unexpected events.

That’s why Li An believed himself to be fearless, even possessing a remarkable capacity to endure.

‘Countdown initiated. Please, Teacher Li An, make your selection promptly.’

[Option One: Take it. The item will be automatically stored in your inventory.]
[Option Two: Abandon it. Your chance of obtaining a rare reward at next upgrade will be tripled.]

Small text below: The current probability of obtaining a rare item is 10%.

Indeed, the system had classified this as a rare item—while abandoning previous rewards only doubled the probability for the next upgrade.

But so what?

‘Take it.’

This time, there was no reason to hesitate.

The screen flickered briefly, returning him to the main panel.

“Acquired: Fragmented Diary.”

Li An eagerly opened his inventory.

Skipping the introductory guide, his focus shifted to a sheepskin scroll glowing softly with purple light at the side.

A moment later, the scroll floated gently before his eyes.

It was as if a brand-new world of the piano was about to reveal its mysterious corner.

As the scroll unfurled, a dazzling violet light flashed.

When Li An opened his eyes again, a passage had appeared before him.

‘Piano performance requires the simultaneous balance of a calm mind and a fiery heart—neither can be lacking. — Samir Feinberg’

After reading the words on the front page, Li An’s first reaction was understanding; his second, uncertainty.

From his current perspective, these two qualities seemed to be in conflict on many levels.

Especially during piano performance, it is difficult to harmonize emotional expression with a clear, logical approach; inevitably, one will dominate.

Either the performer remains unaffected by the venue or mood, stepping onto the stage and following a predetermined plan from start to finish—this is the rational school.

Or, the performer responds to their emotions that day—even a cough or sigh from the audience can alter their approach, smashing through a passage intended for soft chords with abrupt, striking staccato.

---

This path belongs to the emotional school.

Li An considered himself a purely rational performer. When he acquired a piece, he would analyze its era, the composer’s style, and the structure rigorously, establish a framework, and practice each segment until it met his expectations. No matter when or where he performed, he would always adhere to that version.

The original owner, however, was entirely emotional. Whether practicing Chopin or Czerny, Beethoven or Bach, his playing broke all frameworks, pouring forth his mood with exquisite spontaneity. Even after a kiss with a senior in the practice room, he could infuse a revolutionary étude with the scent of love.

There is a certain talent in that—something Li An admitted he could not achieve.

Reflecting on this, Li An began to understand why the original owner endured four years of rebuke at university.

In his memories, Wei Sanwan was a hot-tempered teacher with extremely strict demands for performance style, and it is no surprise that he clashed with the original owner, whose introverted personality sought to express individuality.

Most teachers seem to favor obedient students who learn according to their guidance. Li An, too, felt this urge—“I am the teacher; you should listen to me.”

But is diverging from the teacher’s approach entirely wrong?

Upon reflection, perhaps the original owner wasn’t so mistaken; it was a matter of stages. If he had worked harder in college, solidifying his fundamentals, persisting in practice, perhaps he would have found his own path.

Imagine if everyone practiced within the same framework—fifty years later, all performances would sound indistinguishable.

Judging by the current feedback from the congested music market, audiences have begun to complain about this very issue.

“Piano performance requires the simultaneous balance of a calm mind and a fiery heart—neither can be lacking.”

With a sigh, Li An’s gaze returned to that phrase, his heart stirred.

Though he still didn’t quite grasp its full meaning, his reflection on performance styles led him to reconsider how, as a teacher, he might approach students of all kinds from new perspectives.

Perhaps the principle of tailoring instruction to each individual should be taken further. Maybe a future virtuoso is waiting for him on his teaching journey.

With these thoughts, he calmly turned the page.

‘Behind the freedom and emotional richness of performance, there always lies rigorous logic and profound thought.’

‘Art and life are tightly entwined. We must never focus solely on form, but seek out the hidden content in a work from every possible angle. It is always embedded in life.’

A master, truly a master—reaching the realm where art and life are interwoven.

Li An, inwardly praising, continued to turn the pages.

Page after page, time marked his expressions and gaze.

Sometimes he paused for thought, sometimes frowned or grimaced.

Li An was like a drought-stricken plain suddenly blessed with nourishing rain, absorbing the sustenance with abandon.

He had no idea an hour had already passed.

He turned the page.

‘On the fingers.’

---

‘Master the most unpredictable, critical moment of striking the keys—the instant your finger presses a key and the hammer actually hits the string.’

‘1. Each finger should be distinguished and trained individually. Finger technique practice must have clear purpose, but must also be objective and reasonable.’

‘2. The content of finger practice should be much simpler than the technical difficulties found in a piece. Teachers or performers must devise exercises that are easy to grasp and repeat.’

‘3. Reasonably resolve difficult passages in a piece, break them into smaller parts, practice step by step.’

‘4. Arrange practice time sensibly. In the short term, plan logically, set clear goals and training content, and regularly assess progress. Performers must not overly rely on finger muscle memory.’

Reading this, Li An felt as if he had grasped something vital.

“Don’t overly rely on finger muscle memory.”

“Don’t overly rely on finger muscle memory.”

Muttering, his eyes quickly returned to the first point, “Finger technique practice must have clear purpose, but must also be objective and reasonable.”

Don’t overly rely… Clear purpose… Objective and reasonable…

Of course!

His struggle with his thumb stemmed from the fact that he relied too much on his own finger muscle memory during practice, while the muscle memory of these fingers wasn’t truly his, causing conflict between the two.

His solution had been to hope, through repeated practice, to overwrite the body’s original muscle memory with his own.

But isn’t this body now his?

Answer: Yes.

So why not build a new finger memory on his own body?

Suddenly, Li An’s mind cleared.

There was no need to erase anyone’s existence.

What once belonged to him was not necessarily perfect.

At this thought, the stifling breath in his heart slowly eased.

Turn the page, turn the page!

‘Experienced teachers or performers can substitute one fingering for another when required.’

Even alternative fingerings are mentioned…

Li An swallowed, suddenly forgetting what “fragmented diary” meant.