King of Classical Music

Once evening fell, the temperature gradually dropped. Without the warm sunshine of daytime, the autumn nights of Paris were layered with desolation. Bleak, cold wind whistled through the streets, forcing pedestrians to draw their coats tight.

It was still afternoon when Qi Mu boarded the bus to the Philharmonie de Paris with the other orchestra members. When he saw the leaves outside Feng Moow, he knew it was freezing outside.

The orchestra practiced in the concert hall\'s rehearsal room for the entire afternoon. After an hour, the official performance would begin.

A steady stream of patrons descended from their cars and into the concert hall. Just then, Dylan went behind the curtain to sneak a peek. Although there were some vacancies in the 2400 seats, at least half of them were occupied——

The promotion for the performance was splendidly successful.

They were the students of the Paris\' National Conservatory of Music, after all. Their love for going on strikes aside, the French were very supportive of their own people.

The last time Qi Mu came to the Philharmonie de Paris was for Bai Ai\'s concert. But now, he was going to lead an orchestra. It felt unreal, and he had no choice but to confront the challenge.

"Seven! You know who I just saw? It\'s Mr. Leonid! I didn\'t expect him to come!" His face red with excitement, Dylan said, "Last time he exclusively wrote a review on you… I wonder if he will write one for us this time around. If he writes an article about me… God! My whole life would be worthwhile!"

Zuckerberg shook his head. Turning a deaf ear, he said, "Dylan, the concert is about to start. Why are you still daydreaming? Wake up, man. For Mr. Leonid to write about us, you really have to dream big…"

Dylan snorted. Softly, he muttered, "What if… Mr. Leonid is observing us by mistake?"

Helplessly watching the two bickering, Qi Mu thought, So, you think that if Mr. Leonid wrote about you… It would only be by mistake…?

The atmosphere backstage grew tense as the time for the performance approached.

Although the college orchestra had performed in many theatres and concert halls in Paris, to perform in Philharmonie de Paris——

This was the first time.

Every one of them was nervous, some too nervous to even read the score.

This was why a good concertmaster was so important. Qi Mu calmly comforted the members, telling some jokes to distract them.

Even Helen, a girl famous for her timidity, raised her hand. With a smile, she asked, "Seven, if… if Mr. Leonid really writes a review about us, can we go to your house for hot pot?"

As soon as her words fell, the backstage immediately boiled with murmurs.

"I want to eat instant-boiled mutton."

"No way, fresh tripe is better."

"No, no, no, Napa cabbage is the best."

As time went on, they argued which was better; hot pot with clear broth or hot pot with spicy broth.

Qi Mu: "…"

He didn\'t agree to make hot pot!

Timidly, Helen said, "Oh, Seven… I\'m just joking. It\'s fine if you… cough. If you can\'t. I\'m just saying…"

Seeing her sad expression, Qi Mu finally decided to relent. "Actually, I have no problem making hot pot for everyone. It\'s just… my apartment is small, it can\'t accommodate so many people…"

Someone immediately shouted, "I will volunteer my house, free of charge!"

Things had already reached that point, so Qi Mu could only smile and nod. "Well, if Mr. Leonid really writes a review about us, then I will… Is authentic Sichuan hot pot okay?!"

"Okay!!!"

Ten minutes before the performance started, the backstage changed from fear of failure and embarrassment to the determination to eat spicy food and quarreling about which was best.

As a bridge of communication among humans, food once again cleared the road for a harmonious society.

As Qi Mu got ready for the performance backstage, Leonid sat in the audience. He read the repertoire carefully, then took out a pen. Intermittently, he wrote a note in his book.

Although it was long past the age of electronics, Leonid was fond of using pens on white paper in his process——But, it had nothing to do with an opinion that handwritten characters were more beautiful than typed. His handwriting was far from elegant. He always thought that the image of black ink spreading on white paper was a unique view…

"Your handwriting is as ugly as ever, Leonid."

Leonid: "…"

Enraged, Leonid turned around and scolded through a whisper, "Handwriting doesn\'t represent anything. Who dares to say my writing is…"

Ugly.

He didn\'t say the last word. When Leonid saw the man who dared call his writing ugly, his eyes widened in surprise. Seeing the man\'s calm, profound eyes, he couldn\'t say a thing.

Raising the sunglasses on his nose, his long, narrow, Phoenix eyes stared at Leonid. Shifting his eyes to the writing in his notebook, the man\'s brows furrowed. The orchestra\'s name was written on the first line.

After seeing the name of the conductor and the concertmaster on the second line, he reached out for Leonid\'s pen. Crossing out the name Qi Mu, he wrote it with the fluidity of practice.

Each of the strokes were like exquisite carvings from nature, gorgeous and polished. Even after the ink dried, they still appeared lustrous. In just a few graceful strokes, he outlined a few English letters——

Qi Mu.

Farrell once said, "Auston\'s writing is so beautiful! I\'ve never seen such beautiful writing. Oh no, Seven… Your German is not inferior to Auston."

Leonid was in no mood to appreciate how much better Auston\'s writing was than his. It was miles away from what he wrote. The writing was so out of place in his notebook full of graffiti-like scrawls.

Slamming his notebook shut, Leonid whispered, "Auston, what are you doing here? Didn\'t you have a recital last night? Isn\'t Bai Ai\'s tour going to start soon, too? You have enough free time to watch a college orchestra?"

Gently capping the pen, Min Chen replied, "A Chinese writer once said time is like water in a sponge. As long as you\'re willing to squeeze it, . I\'m not that busy, Leonid."

After a slight pause, he added, "Write the way I did. Practice will cure your handwriting."

Leonid: "…"

What Chinese writer?! The only Huaxia sayings that he knew was——

!!!

Accustomed to the man\'s poisonous tongue, Leonid could only accept his reality. "I\'m just habitually writing the repertoire, anyway. I don\'t need to practice writing the names of the musicians."

"No."

The man\'s firm tone shocked Leonid. Min Chen went on, "You need to practice writing this name, because… You will have to write it more later."

Leonid: "…Hah?"

Soon, the light dimmed. The performance was about to begin. Taking off his sunglasses, Min Chen revealed his handsome, indifferent face.

Leonid didn\'t understand why he would write this name more in the future. Although he wrote a review on the excellent young man in the past, there were very few musicians he wrote about twice. The only exception so far was… Christole, the young violinist.

Min Chen deliberately lowered his voice. "Leonid, let\'s make a bet."

An ominous premonition immediately rose to the forefront of his mind. "…What? …Well, what\'s the bet?"

"If tonight\'s performance is beyond your expectation, then… You will write a review on them in 《World of Music》." Pausing, Min Chen\'s eyes narrowed. He turned his attention to the students filing onto the stage. "If… You think their performance was lackluster, then, Leonid, I will write a short piano piece for you."

Leonid was completely shocked. "Wait, Auston… What\'s the expectation? What\'s the standard?"

Min Chen turned. Staring indifferently at the man, he said, "The standard… If you think they\'re excellent, write a review."

Testing the water, Leonid asked, "So… If I insist the performance isn\'t excellent, no matter how the orchestra actually performed, it\'s your loss? You\'re still going to write me a piece?"

"Yes."

"…I don\'t have a good education. You\'re not trying to fool me, are you?!"

"No."

"…Auston, did you take your medicine when you went out today?"

"…I don\'t have a fever."

After confirming that the younger man really wouldn\'t take it back, Leonid wore an expression that said "I sympathize with you." In his mind, he was laughing joyfully. Helplessly, he said, "Okay, Auston, my dear friend. I hope you can give me your piece soon. I will listen to it ten times a day!"

Seeing Leonid looking as if he won the lottery, a smile flickered in Min Chen\'s dark eyes. He raised his eyebrows and said lightly, "Sure. I hope… You won\'t go back on your words."

Small bets are good for you. But big bets… Will hurt you!

Leonid, you\'ve already lost once. Do you… Have a short-term memory?!

Under the stage, the applause grew more enthusiastic as time went on. When the applause turned thunderous, the man\'s Phoenix eyes grew warm. Just as he turned his gaze to the stage——

A young man walked out from the backstage.

Translator(s): Kuro

Editor(s): Empress

Kuro:

Leonid just made a big Ooof. Let\'s light a candle for him.

Ayn:

Light a candle for him +1