Disappointment and affection are two very different emotions.

Wang Xiaohu’s voice, piercing the heavens, instantly became the focus of everyone’s attention.

Such deep affection between teacher and student.

Ji Yang glanced at Wang Xiaohu, wondering to himself whose child could be so bold, then strode confidently up to Li An.

At the same moment, Wang Xiaohu leapt onto the stage and rushed over to Li An as well.

Two bouquets, both looking rather expensive, were simultaneously thrust in front of Li An.

This time, Ji Yang caught the unfriendly glint in Wang Xiaohu’s eyes and widened his own in challenge.

Li An shook his head with a wry smile, wondering how his junior and senior could be at odds the very first time they met. He reached out and first accepted Wang Xiaohu’s flowers, then gathered Ji Yang’s into his arms as well.

“Thank you, both of you.”

Only then did Wang Xiaohu look at Ji Yang with triumph before stepping down from the stage.

Ji Yang didn’t bother to acknowledge him, simply offered Li An his congratulations, and left the stage too.

With a polite nod to the audience, Li An turned and headed backstage.

After the first four performers, there was a brief intermission, giving parents a chance to take their children to the restroom. Ten minutes later, the second half would begin with the remaining four.

Ni Hongjie took the stage, and applause continued to ripple through the hall.

...

When the two children went up to receive flowers from Li An, Chen Xuan had already returned to her seat.

When Li An came back, she handed him a tissue. He took it, wiped the sweat from his brow, and sat down beside her.

All three teachers who performed earlier had gone to sit among the audience. Chen Xuan didn’t ask why Li An hadn’t joined them.

So the two of them simply sat side by side, each with their phone, listening to Ni Hongjie, then Xu Nana, occasionally exchanging a few words.

Just moments ago, watching Li An play piano on stage from the backstage entrance, Chen Xuan recalled something she’d read on Weibo the night before:

“To harbor expectations of others without permission, and then to feel disappointed on your own, is the height of selfishness.”

That line struck her profoundly.

Li An hadn’t done anything at all; all the negative emotions she’d felt over the past two days came from her own unfulfilled expectations.

Especially after she sensed a spark had begun to grow between them.

She’d been so caught up in her own longing for a beautiful romance that she’d overlooked how her expectation of perfection was unfair to Li An.

There is never a right or wrong in adult relationships.

Now she could simply laugh it off and keep waiting for the person she considered perfect.

But only those who have lived through disappointment understand: disappointment is one emotion, affection is another, and there is no formula by which one cancels out the other.

When the tide of thoughts finally ebbed, Chen Xuan found her heart felt as exposed as if she were swimming naked.

Utterly bare.

She’d clearly wanted to invite Li An to lunch that afternoon, yet still made a needless effort to pretend there was nothing between them.

What exactly was she trying to hide?

—

After that afternoon, she thought she’d drawn a clear line between herself and Li An.

But in truth, all she’d done was childishly return his metronome, and then go home that night still thinking of him—thinking of him in the shower, in bed, dreaming of him, waking up and still, he was there in her thoughts.

No matter what Wang Panpan said about Li An, she had never seen it.

Looking back over these three months with Li An, all she could truly feel was the happiness and sense of security he brought her.

Like now, sitting beside him, she truly, deeply cherished this feeling.

Did she want a perfect man?

No.

Did she want someone who would always be by her side?

Not really.

Chen Xuan suddenly realized that, for her, affection truly seemed to outweigh everything.

As the second-to-last barrier in her heart began to crumble, she found herself wanting to hear Li An’s stories from the past.

She just wasn’t sure if he’d still be willing to share them.

“Chen Xuan.”

“Miss Chen.”

Interrupted by the voice at her ear, Chen Xuan startled and turned her head, her ears flushing under Li An’s curious gaze. She averted her eyes, a little flustered. “What is it?”

“It’s almost time for Mr. Tian. Aren’t you going to get ready?” Li An reminded her.

“Ready for what?” Chen Xuan quickly composed herself and smiled. “Isn’t it enough to just go on stage with my flute?”

“You’re not going to tune first?” Li An was puzzled. “Don’t you wind players always assemble and tune your instruments before going onstage?”

“You’re underestimating me.”

Unconsciously, Chen Xuan began mimicking Li An’s way of speaking, as if they’d gone back to when they’d first known each other for two months.

She turned to watch Xu Nana on stage, responding boldly, “I don’t need to.”

Li An blinked in surprise at her confidence, then turned his attention back to the stage.

“Tsk tsk, that’s our Miss Chen.”

You imitate me, I imitate you.

...

On stage, Xu Nana had reached the final section of Weber’s Second Clarinet Concerto, first movement.

In the history of clarinet compositions, Weber is regarded as a bridge between Mozart and Brahms, inheriting both old and new stylistic traditions. This Second Clarinet Concerto brims with the unique freshness and natural beauty of early German Romanticism. The performer must fully grasp the style and emotional depth of works from this period.

As the main theme returned, Xu Nana swayed lightly with the clarinet, moving gracefully to the music.

Then came a dazzling, technically demanding ascending scale of single tonguing.

Finally, she held a long, sustained high note.

—

The delicate, lingering note continued for nearly six measures before it faded away completely.

A wave of applause rolled through the hall.

“She played rather well,” Li An mused, wondering how Xu Nana’s performance would be scored.

Hearing Li An’s praise for Xu Nana, Chen Xuan said nothing.

Having graduated from the Wind and String Department of the National Conservatory, she’d heard plenty of accomplished clarinetists during her four years at university. Just listening to Xu Nana’s tonguing in the final passage, she could confidently tell Li An that Xu Nana’s fundamentals were not solid.

It wasn’t because Li An was praising another girl; she was being objective.

After Xu Nana, Tian Yu took the stage.

At that moment, Chen Xuan quietly drew her flute case from beside her.

As Li An turned to look, the instant Chen Xuan opened her case, he exclaimed in surprise.

“A gold headjoint?”

In his memory, Chen Xuan’s headjoint had always been silver.

She nodded, calmly assembling the golden headjoint and the silver body of her flute.

The gold, adorned with intricate engraving, fitted into the gleaming silver body, creating an impression of sheer luxury.

“How much did that headjoint cost?” Li An couldn’t help but ask.

Chen Xuan replied lightly with a number.

“Two hundred thousand.”

Li An drew a sharp breath, momentarily stunned.

“You’re not some rich heiress, are you?”

Two hundred thousand—what did that mean?

Enough to buy a top-tier, imported German piano.

Enough to buy a two-bedroom apartment in a good area back in his hometown.

Just then, a rapid right-hand arpeggio burst from the stage, and both of them turned to watch.

After a moment.

“I’m not a rich girl. My mother said this flute is my dowry for the future.”

Li An, watching the figure on stage, felt a sudden jolt of surprise, followed by relief.