After a brief moment of excitement, Qin Jian looked around and found that there was nowhere to sit. Unable to sit in front of the piano for six hours, Qin Jian held his waist and sat down on the curb.
Ignoring the traffic and pedestrians coming and going, I stared at the phone screen carefully and studied the list carefully.
After going through the names of the twenty shortlisted people, Qin Jian found that the list was 70% consistent with the list he had drawn up in his mind.
This also strengthened his previous judgment.
"Sure enough, only by grasping the performance style can we better grasp the hearts of the judges."
Qin Jian narrowed his eyes.
Looking at the entire list, except for a few monsters who are obviously beyond the average level of the contestants as soon as they play, the actual performance level of the remaining players is not much different.
Who can take a step forward depends not only on on-the-spot performance, but also on the selection and processing of the tracks.
Qin Jian still remembers the first two contestants, both of whom chose Chopin's Torrent Etude, but now only the latter's name remains on the list.
These are all names that impressed Qin Jian very deeply. Not only did he play well, but among the twenty finalists, not only the teachers of Feng Ziyan and Zhao Yinuo were the judges in the audience.
"I wonder if the ones left in the end will all be students of the judges."
Qin Jian curled his lips, as if it was none of my business, and continued to swipe up the phone screen.
"Fang Zongyao."
Looking at the last name on the list, Qin Jian's mind flashed again to Matjepa on the golden stage, and his heart was still full of throbbing.
The last scene was really wonderful.
After thinking about it for a long time, Qin Jian turned off his low-battery mobile phone, stood up and stretched.
"But what's your next track going to be?"
…
"k280."
In an old stone house by the Yanjing Canal, in a neat and clean room, a young man sat behind three white pianos, his voice was very calm.
Concerto No. 7 in G major was playing in the room, and the Zen-like picture was full of harmonious beauty.
But as soon as the young man finished speaking, a low and confused question came from the other side of the piano, "Who allowed you to change the repertoire privately?"
A brief silence.
The questioning became more impatient.
"Didn't I tell you to play Plo's Third Sonata in the second round?!"
The man who spoke was the boy's father, and his face was completely broken at this time.
The woman standing next to the man saw that the atmosphere in the room was suddenly different and quickly interjected.
"Oh, let's forget it this time." He said and quickly pushed the man next to him with an angry look in his eyes.
As he spoke, he walked around the piano, came to the young man's side, and patted the young man's shoulder gently.
"In this round, you will perform according to the repertoire you signed up for. However, for the rest of the competition, my mother still hopes that you can complete it according to Teacher Fu's arrangements. And for your competition this time, your father has spent a lot of effort to win."
Now that the Leipzig Symphony Orchestra is on schedule for the New Year, you must understand the reason for this."
"Zong Yao, we know you have grown up, but you still have to be more cautious when making some decisions."
The young man blinked, followed the string group fighting in the darkness in his ears, and moved his mouth gently again.
"I just want to choose according to my own ideas."
…
The passionate music could not cover up the violent storm.
With a loud "thud" of the door closing, only the woman and the boy were left in the empty room.
"You two, father and son."
The woman shook her head and sighed slightly.
"Okay, let's get ready to tidy up. I have an appointment with Conductor Nelson at 7 o'clock. He wants to hear your opinion on Rasch's works."
The door closed again, but this time it was soft.
The room returned to calmness again, with one person, one piano, and a piece of music.
The young man raised his hand and began to play softly along with the melody in his ears.
Under his long eyelashes, a pair of dark pupils seemed unchanged, as if nothing had happened here a few minutes ago, it was just a gap in aerial photography. He turned his head and looked at the clock hanging on the wall.
"There are still 37 minutes left to practice."
…
Near the National Center for the Performing Arts, in a high-rise hotel with a wide view.
A young man sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window suddenly stopped and his brows knit together again.
He turned around and looked out the window at the dark sky.
In my mind, I tried my best to recall the stage one night, a very special arrangement.
"What set of chords are missing?"
On the table in front of the young man, there is a piece of old stained manuscript paper. Under the four words "City in the Sky" is a densely packed set of letters and numbers.
Looks like some mysterious combination of 'abc and 379'.
At this moment, a girl suddenly opened the door and said happily.
"Chi Heng, Sister Yaoyao is here."
"Let her wait."
The young man raised his head and answered.
"Hurry up!"
The girl closed the door gently with a click.
The young man once again moved his gaze to the manuscript paper in front of him, put down the pen, and sighed softly.
"It's better to ask for advice in person——"
"Mr. Zhao Yu."
Then he folded the manuscript paper and put it in the music folder aside, picked up another music book and left the window.
…
When Qin Jian returned to the hotel, the sky outside the window had darkened.
As soon as you enter the door, you smell the aroma of rice.
Hearing the door knock, He Jing sat up from the bed and took a few steps to the door of the room.
"Don't get up so early tomorrow morning to practice piano." But there was no blame in his words, "Hurry up and eat."
…
Two dishes and one soup, Qin Jian still likes it.
The two siblings huddled together on a small table.
"Sister, please run for me."
Qin Jian took a big mouthful of rice, as if he had been hungry for three days without eating, "Did you see any other notifications when you went?"
"Eat slowly."
He Jing had already put down the bowl and chopsticks and sat quietly opposite Qin Jian.
"You need to report to the stadium before 2:45 tomorrow afternoon. I guess there will be a rest room for you backstage."
"Starting tomorrow, the arena will be open." He Jing smiled, "Are you nervous?"
"Are you nervous?"
Qin Jian swallowed the last mouthful of rice, threw the empty disposable lunch box aside, and took out another box from the plastic bag next to it.
"Don't be nervous." He Jing said calmly.
"Then I'm not nervous either." Qin Jian continued to lie down and eat.
"Then what if I'm nervous?" He Jing raised her face slightly, and a pair of pear dimples crawled onto her face again.
This time Qin Jian put down his chopsticks, looked at the other party seriously, and sighed with difficulty: "Then you stay in the hotel and wait for me."
"Fuck you, eat your food quickly."
The only sounds left in the quiet room were the sounds of chewing and swallowing.
"Qin Jian, I find that you are becoming more and more edible."