Chapter Thirteen: A Song in Pursuit of the Way

Lin Yi's words left everyone momentarily stunned.

Du Liang playing the piano was clearly meant for Li Zhihan; no one could blame him for that. Besides, Du Liang came from a wealthy family and had received top-notch education from a young age—he was well-versed in both music and art. But for Lin Yi to step up as well, wasn’t that a deliberate challenge to Du Liang?

Many people shook their heads in secret, mocking Lin Yi for overestimating himself. The piano is an art, not just anyone can play it. It requires not only talent, but also emotion. Take Du Liang’s performance of “Für Elise” just now—perhaps not quite at the level of renowned masters, but certainly on par with many university professors of music. And Du Liang was only seventeen—truly a prodigy.

For Lin Yi to step up now seemed like asking for humiliation.

Someone laughed out loud, “These days, there’s all kinds of birds in the forest.”

It was Fang Qing who spoke, her expression haughty. “The piano is a refined art, not something a country bumpkin like you can play with.”

Yang Yujia watched coldly from the side, her mind made up: when she got home, she’d have that woman fire Lin Yi. What kind of family tutor was he? Just an arrogant fool with no real talent, only good at embarrassing himself.

Du Liang shook his head with a gentle smile. “Since our friend here is so interested, why don’t we all listen?”

Though his voice was mild, anyone could hear the irony and arrogance beneath Du Liang’s words. He had great prestige among this group, and many echoed him: “That’s right, let’s see what he’s got.”

Lin Yi’s face showed no joy or sorrow. With steady steps, he walked toward the piano in the corner of the stage.

Li Zhihan, though curious about Lin Yi’s piece, couldn’t bear to see him make a fool of himself. She offered, “How about we just forget it? It’s the thought that counts. Let’s have some cake first.”

“Don’t be like that, Zhihan! A single song won’t take long,” Fang Qing said, pulling at Li Zhihan’s soft hand.

Lin Yi turned back, gave Li Zhihan a faint smile, and sat down at the piano bench.

A single note rang out.

Lin Yi gently pressed a key, then began to play.

He wasn’t performing any famous master’s work, nor any piece from books or the web. It was his own composition, titled “The Quest.”

As Lin Yi began playing, many people instinctively closed their eyes, quietly listening. In their minds arose the image of a young man, traversing mountains and rivers in pursuit of his dreams.

Lin Yi’s fingers danced lightly, the melody twisting and turning—sometimes gentle as a breeze, sometimes bold as a torrent against the current.

A thousand years of solitude—who could know?

The mark of a great performance is whether it can move the heart. Lin Yi not only played his own feelings, but wove his insights into every note. If any true practitioner had been present, they would have gained much from it.

Soon, the piece came to an end. Lin Yi’s fingers fell still, but for a long moment no one stirred, all still immersed in the music’s atmosphere.

“I didn’t expect ‘The Quest’ to have such a unique flavor when played on the piano,” he mused quietly.

Lin Yi sighed softly. This piece was originally written for the guzheng, but since there was only a piano here, he played as he pleased—and hadn’t expected such a good effect.

After ten seconds, Lin Yi pressed another key lightly.

With a crisp note, everyone seemed to awaken from a dream.

“Bravo!” someone called, and a thunderous applause burst from the audience.

They might not understand the nuances of piano music, but they could tell the difference between good and bad.

Du Liang’s playing had been impressive, but merely pleasant to the ear. Lin Yi’s piece, though, had enchanted everyone—perhaps even renowned masters couldn’t have played it better.

Li Zhihan’s eyes sparkled. She hadn’t expected such a delightful surprise from Lin Yi.

Yang Yujia’s mouth hung open as she stared at Lin Yi in astonishment. Maybe the private tutor that woman had found really did have some talent.

“What was that piece, Zhihan?” Yang Yujia whispered.

“I’ve never heard it before either,” Li Zhihan replied, shaking her head. It was the first time she’d heard this composition.

“No way—even you, the little piano prodigy, haven’t heard it?” Yang Yujia was amazed; Li Zhihan’s piano skills were on par with Du Liang’s, and her memory was excellent—she could recall most pieces after a single listen.

“Why would I lie?” Li Zhihan said.

“Fine.” Yang Yujia didn’t press further, but her gaze on Lin Yi grew more complicated.

Down in the audience, Du Liang’s face darkened with anger. He cursed silently, “Damn it!”

That applause should have been his. Now it had been stolen by an outsider; even Li Zhihan was looking at Lin Yi with admiration.

Fang Qing pursed her lips jealously and clung to Du Liang’s arm. “So what if he plays well? He’s still just performing for others.”

Then, in a coy voice, she added, “Isn’t that right, Du?”

Du Liang felt a bit better at that. When the rich play music, it’s cultured; when the poor do it, it’s just for show.

Lin Yi paid no heed to the applause. He had played partly in gratitude for Li Zhihan’s kindness and partly on a whim.

He quietly returned to his corner. Li Zhihan, her cheeks tinged with red, walked over. “Thank you for your gift. I really liked it. Could you tell me what that piece was?”

Many others pricked up their ears in curiosity.

“‘The Quest,’ my own composition,” Lin Yi replied.

“Your own?” Li Zhihan was astonished. Lin Yi looked no older than his twenties, yet his mastery of the piano was so profound.

At that moment, Lin Yi added, “Actually, this was originally a guzheng piece. If you want, I can give it to you.”

“Give it to me?” Li Zhihan’s heartbeat quickened with excitement. If she could get this piece and study it thoroughly, perhaps her own piano skills could reach a new level.

“Yes,” Lin Yi said with a smile.

To him, a single composition was nothing—he had long since come to regard such things with indifference.

“Thank you,” Li Zhihan said again. If he sold this to a famous musician, it would fetch a fortune. Yet Lin Yi was willing to give it to her, which stirred a spark of curiosity in her.

“I can’t let you take a loss. I’ll buy it for two hundred thousand,” she said.

Lin Yi shook his head, his tone indifferent. “If I say I’m giving it to you, then I’m giving it to you. Besides, do you really think this piece can be measured in money?”

“I—I didn’t mean it like that,” Li Zhihan stammered, flustered.

“What’s with the attitude? So you can play the piano—what’s so special about that?” Fang Qing interjected with a frown.

Lin Yi glanced at her and said nothing more. Li Zhihan, too, dropped the subject of money.

Yet Yang Yujia’s gaze drifted toward Lin Yi from time to time.

After the cake was finished, Li Zhihan’s birthday party wound to a close.

In the taxi, Yang Yujia regarded Lin Yi with a complicated expression.

“What is it?” Lin Yi asked with a smile.

“If you’re so talented in music, why are you working as a private tutor for me?” Yang Yujia asked, curiosity piqued.

Lin Yi’s musical talent was undeniable—even Du Liang and Li Zhihan couldn’t compare. Why would someone like him give up his field of expertise to become her tutor? Yang Yujia couldn’t understand.

“Musical talent,” Lin Yi chuckled softly.

Across a thousand years, music was hardly the only thing he’d mastered—he had tried and excelled at nearly every profession the world had to offer. But there was no point in saying that; no one would believe him.

So he simply said, “Music is just a hobby.”

Yang Yujia frowned, dissatisfied with his answer. She pursed her lips and said coldly, “Forget it. If you don’t want to talk, I’m not interested in asking.”

Soon, the car reached the bustling Li neighborhood.

When Yang Yujia got home, she locked her bedroom door behind her.

Yang Junqi sighed and asked softly, “Lin Yi, Yujia didn’t cause you any trouble today, did she?”

“No,” Lin Yi replied truthfully. Though Yang Yujia had a temper, she was not someone who caused trouble without reason. After a moment, he added, “She went to a friend’s birthday party today.”

“A birthday party?” Yang Junqi breathed a sigh of relief. She had worried her daughter might fall in with the wrong crowd.

Then she pulled out her phone. “Lin Yi, I really have to thank you for looking after Yujia today. I’ll send you a big red envelope.”

Lin Yi didn’t refuse. Yang Junqi generously sent a hundred yuan—nearly a day’s wage for him, given his rate of ten yuan an hour.

Click.

At that moment, Yang Yujia’s bedroom door suddenly opened. She poked her head out and called, “Hey, you—come here for a second.”