54. Ji Yang’s Little Secret

In the evening, as usual, Li An arrived at Guanshan No. 1 Residence. After today’s lesson, Ji Yang had five more classes left. If nothing unexpected happened, another three thousand yuan would be credited to his account before next month’s paycheck.

If only he could be Ji Yang’s practice partner every day, Li An thought he wouldn’t even need to bother with Blue Whale anymore.

Tonight’s accompanying lesson was rather easy for Li An. He listened to Ji Yang play through the Cramer Etude he’d assigned last time, then spent the rest of the session sitting off to the side, sipping tea and nibbling on fruit, barely saying another word.

It wasn’t that he was being lazy; Ji Yang was still working through the Black Key Etude at the pace set by Professor Yu. In the previous few lessons, Li An had already corrected a slew of problems in Ji Yang’s performance of this piece.

A teacher can explain, identify mistakes, and demonstrate, but in the end, true mastery must come from the student’s own practice and understanding.

By Li An’s estimate, Ji Yang would need about another week to fully digest the material.

So during this period, his job was mainly to keep him company.

During a break, Ji Yang asked, “Teacher, which is harder, the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata or the first movement of the Pathétique?”

The question was too broad. Li An first gave a technical comparison of the two different movements:

“The third movement of the Moonlight Sonata is mostly about a single type of technique—rapidly moving broken chords.”

“The first movement of the Pathétique involves more spatial sense and expressive tension.”

“Purely in terms of technique, the third movement of Moonlight is harder, but the expressive ceiling of the Pathétique’s first movement is also very high.”

After analyzing, Li An gave a personal answer: “For me, the first movement of Pathétique is harder to control.”

Ji Yang pondered for a while, then asked, “Which piece do you think suits me better?”

Li An arched an eyebrow. “What’s this—has Professor Yu assigned you a sonata?”

Ji Yang replied, a little anxious, “He told me to pick between these two movements and said he’d give me the sheet music next lesson.”

Why make him choose between the third movement of Moonlight and the first of Pathétique? What was Professor Yu up to?

Since they were still in class, Li An didn’t ask further. “For you, the third movement of Moonlight is easier to pick up. Let’s focus on the lesson for now—don’t get distracted.”

Ji Yang collected himself and resumed practice.

After class, at Li An’s suggestion, Ji Yang kept practicing, continuing the slow left-hand leaps from earlier.

Hu Rong accompanied Li An back to the living room on the first floor, where Ji Chenguang had already brewed tea.

Li An briefly summarized the lesson’s contents, then felt it necessary to take the initiative and ask, “Where does your child plan to apply? Is there a target?”

Coincidentally, Hu Rong had wanted to discuss this with Li An today as well. Seeing him bring it up, she answered straightforwardly, “The Music Department at Mox University.”

Li An almost choked on his tea at her reply, his heart thundering with disbelief.

He suspected Hu Rong might have been misled by some agency.

He wanted to correct her immediately: there is no Music Department at Mox University, only an Arts Department.

Furthermore, the Arts Department at Mox is even more corrupt than some domestic music schools; as long as you can pay, they’ll find a way to get you in, even if you’re a dog.

“Are you using an agency?” Li An asked.

Hu Rong nodded. “Teacher Yangyang arranged it. Last year, a boy a year older than Yangyang already got into the pre-college program this spring.”

Now he understood.

So it was this routine again.

He’d seen it countless times.

Professor Yu, under the guise of a university professor, sought out students from wealthy families, then used agencies to send them abroad, collecting lesson fees all the while and probably squeezing more money from the parents before the agency got involved.

When it came to the actual professional exam, passing wasn’t the issue—if you had enough money, you were guaranteed a spot.

And if the pre-college language test proved a problem, well, that had nothing to do with the piano teacher—it was the child’s fault for not studying hard enough.

Li An was certain Professor Yu was playing this exact game.

No wonder he’d given Ji Yang a choice between two movements; it didn’t matter which one he picked, the outcome would be the same.

Setting aside Yu’s teaching ability, his attitude from the start was clear: he didn’t see Ji Yang as a student, but as an ATM for the whole family.

Having figured out this sequence of events, Li An began to consider how he should respond.

Such matters were nothing new in their circle. In fact, many parents knew perfectly well what was going on, but still wanted to send their children abroad for the prestige. So they simply paid whatever the teacher asked.

But judging by these two parents’ attitudes toward their child’s piano studies, Li An couldn’t tell if they were pretending not to know, or if they genuinely didn’t understand the situation’s intricacies.

If it was the former, there was nothing more to say—one willing to hit, one willing to be hit; he had no desire to wreck anyone’s livelihood.

But if it was the latter, and the parents were hoping to send their child abroad in pursuit of art, he felt he ought to at least offer a warning: given Ji Yang’s current state, going abroad might not be a wise choice.

He paused, then asked, “Has your child started learning the language?”

Hu Rong shook her head. “Not yet. We thought she could do a year of pre-college first.”

Li An nodded, unsure what else to ask.

Seeing Li An’s hesitance, Ji Chenguang spoke up, “We only heard about the pre-college exam from Professor Yu last month, after that other boy passed. Professor Yu told us to use him as a reference. We’re still undecided. Do you think, given Yangyang’s current level, it’s the right choice to go abroad?”

So that was it; the parents hadn’t made a decision yet.

“If it’s just Mox University, your child’s level doesn’t matter much—it’s more about her state of mind,” Li An replied. “I’m not sure how she feels about going abroad, or whether she’s mentally prepared.”

“Studying music abroad is a complex matter. Going for undergraduate studies is very different from going as a graduate—it’s not something that can be explained in a few words. If you’re seriously considering this path, I suggest you do more research.”

“Professionally, I can only say that students don’t need to reach a certain level before going abroad. But as things stand, I’m not sure Yangyang would adapt well to the teaching methods overseas.”

Feeling he’d said enough, Li An added, “Of course, in the end, it depends on Yangyang herself.”

With that, he set down his cup and went to the guest bathroom.

Hu Rong looked at her husband and asked quietly, “What do you think?”

Ji Chenguang pursed his lips, a hint of reproach in his voice. “What I think hardly matters. I’ve been against sending her abroad for undergrad from the start. Now you’ve heard what Teacher Li said—you have to consider what the child wants, whether it’s the right time. Don’t just keep mulling it over by yourself.”

Hu Rong sighed. After hearing Li An’s words, her resolve wavered. She’d always thought, seeing other children get in smoothly, that Yangyang wouldn’t have any trouble either. At worst, it was just a matter of spending a bit more money. She still believed studying abroad had to be better than staying at home.

As for everything else, she truly hadn’t thought it through.