Isn't it sweet?

As the end of the workday approached, Qin Yong left, and Li An also prepared to head to Guanshan No. 1 Residence.

Since he had become familiar with Ji Yang’s family, Li An had proactively suggested moving future Tuesday lessons up to seven o’clock, and the family had no objections. This way, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings, he could finish teaching at eight thirty, leaving extra time to arrange other matters.

With life gradually stabilizing, his next step was to adjust his daily rhythm to a more balanced state. A person shouldn’t simply become a work machine, after all—one still needs some free time to spend as they wish.

Noticing Chen Xuan deep in thought, Li An knew she was troubled by the revisions to her solo performance proposal.

“Wait for me a moment.”

Chen Xuan looked up as Li An pushed the door open and left. When he returned, he was holding a neatly stacked pile of A4 papers.

Handing over the results of his hard work from the previous night, Li An smiled and said, “Let’s solve this problem first. Tonight, we can discuss the duet piece.”

“Good luck,” he added.

Chen Xuan took the papers, glanced at them, and when she looked up again, Li An had already disappeared.

Her gaze returned to the lines of clear symbols and characters on the pages, and she instantly thought of Li An’s tardiness that morning. He must have worked late into the night on this. For a moment, she felt a gentle warmth wrap around her heart. She immediately put the papers away and hurried back to her office to work.

“Sister Xuan, aren’t you leaving yet?” Wang Panpan asked, having finished her own tasks and seeing Chen Xuan still buried in work.

“You go ahead, Panpan. I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Chen Xuan was not sentimental by nature. Since Li An had quietly helped her solve the most critical problem, she knew she should quickly finalize the first proposal they had discussed two nights ago. As Li An had said, next they needed to discuss the duet’s staging.

She had to make good use of her time.

...

On the way to Ji Yang’s home, Li An felt entirely at ease.

Staying up late two nights ago had not been in vain.

At first, he hadn’t even been sure this material would be needed. Given Chen Xuan’s personality, if he had simply handed it to her, she might not have accepted it so readily. But after Qin Yong’s intervention, it all fell into place naturally.

Most importantly, the quality of Chen Xuan’s program would undoubtedly improve as a result. If it could become the highlight of the wind instrument group, everyone would be delighted.

As he pondered, a thought suddenly struck him: from recent signs, Qin Yong seemed to be paying more and more attention to Chen Xuan.

Li An frowned. Could Qin Yong have other intentions?

He quickly dismissed the idea.

Qin Yong didn’t give the impression of a leader who would prey on his female subordinates.

At 7:00 p.m., Li An arrived punctually at Ji Yang’s house.

Hu Rong was away that evening. Aside from bringing fruit to the piano room once, Ji Chengguang didn’t appear at all.

A class that was usually three became just two, and Ji Yang felt much more at ease. Li An could understand—teenagers in their rebellious years rarely welcome parental supervision. He had been the same at that age.

Ji Yang played through the right-hand section of the piece Li An had assigned last lesson. Li An asked him to repeat it starting from measure nine.

“Slower.”

Ji Yang nodded, his fingers moving over the keys, one note at a time.

“Stop,” Li An interrupted, his tone serious. “Where did you go wrong?”

Ji Yang stuck out his tongue. “The fingering.”

“Continue from measure nine.”

Ji Yang resumed, and by measure eleven, he stopped on his own.

While his fingering had improved, Li An still found it unsatisfactory.

After a moment’s thought, Li An asked, “Does this fingering feel awkward to you?”

“A little, but it’s manageable. I probably just haven’t practiced enough,” Ji Yang replied, showing no doubt about Li An’s suggested fingering and blaming his own technique.

Li An had Ji Yang play the passage even more slowly, reciting the fingering aloud as he played:

“One-five, one-five, one-five, one-four, one-four, two-four, one-four, two-four, one-four, two-four, one-four...”

“Stop,” Li An said, interrupting as the last three fingerings approached. “Try one-four, one-five, one-five instead.”

Ji Yang switched from one-five, one-four, one-five to one-four, one-five, one-five as instructed and immediately felt much more comfortable.

Li An nodded. “From now on, play it this way.”

There’s no single fingering that suits everyone. Because of differences in ability and playing habits, the same passage can yield countless fingering variations among different players.

Take the passage from measures nine to ten of the third movement of “Moonlight”—the right hand section. In the last lesson, Li An had the student play all the bass notes with the thumb and index finger, resolving the issue where the fingers would tangle at higher speeds.

Just now, he’d helped adjust the order of the ring and little fingers for the high notes, solving the awkwardness in Ji Yang’s playing.

A good professional teacher can offer students the best possible fingering options. That’s why Li An always believed that unless a teacher had played a piece themselves, they couldn’t truly teach it.

Having never played it meant you could only vaguely discuss emotion or tone, yet music is constructed from the connection of every detail on the score.

Only those who have played it know—whether to use the fourth or fifth finger, whether the student should use the fourth, fifth, or even third finger.

After the fingering was revised, Ji Yang found practice much more comfortable. The problem that had troubled him all afternoon was resolved by his teacher in under ten minutes that evening, and he couldn’t help but shower Li An with praise.

“All right, enough. You also need to learn to work out these fingerings yourself,” Li An remarked.

“But I have you, don’t I?” Ji Yang grinned, picked up the neatly arranged fruit platter, and respectfully presented it: “Teacher, please help yourself!”

Li An couldn’t help but laugh. Kids these days—so quick with their words.

He took the fruit plate, watched Ji Yang practice a bit more, and then it was time for class to end.

As the lesson wrapped up, Li An asked, “How was Professor Yu’s class yesterday?”

“Oh, same as usual. He just said to keep practicing little by little,” Ji Yang replied, glancing toward the door before turning back, his expression lively. “Teacher, can I tell you something? Don’t tell my parents.”

“This morning, I overheard them in the living room talking about Professor Yu.”

Li An immediately perked up. “What did they say?”

Ji Yang replied, “I think they’re planning to stop having me study with Professor Yu.”

Good news!

Li An asked calmly, “How so?”

Ji Yang scratched his head. “I didn’t catch all of it. I think they want to change my teacher.”

Li An understood. If Ji Yang had heard correctly, it meant his parents didn’t intend for him to attend Rongcheng Normal University.

If that was the case, who would teach Ji Yang next?

“Teacher,” Ji Yang suddenly became a bit shy.

Li An glanced at him. “Yes?”

Ji Yang voiced his own thoughts:

“How about you talk to my parents and just keep teaching me from now on? That’s basically how it is already.”

As he spoke, his face grew sweeter. “Teacher... I want to study piano with you...”

Before Li An could respond—

“You’ve already eaten my ‘apprenticeship fruit.’”

“Wasn’t it sweet?”

Li An’s jaw, mid-chew, slowly came to a halt.