King of Classical Music

A professor's lounge was kept to a high standard, always comfortable and spacious. It was especially so for Akkad's, which was well-lit and elegantly decorated.

Before Akkad took the lounge, the college had already prepared almost everything, including a safe with a double lock. Of course, Akkad had also brought his things over, such as. . .

A beautiful record player.

Pathe was a famous record player brand from Britain. From the first rough-grained phonograph to the Compact LP type with 33 RPM, the century-old brand witnessed the history of record player development. It was one of the oldest brands in Europe.

The record player in the lounge was designed for Akkad during Pathe's centennial celebration a few years earlier. The name "Reed Akkad" was engraved on the arm.

When Qi Mu first met Akkad, he was attracted to the elegant record player. Records were the best medium to preserve the quality of symphony music. In the classical music industry, most chose to record with black vinyl if there was no cost-calculation.

While Qi Mu took the record from the safe, Farrell prepared the record player. When Qi Mu entrusted the album to him, Farrell asked, "Where did you get such a beautiful record, Angel?"

Qi Mu didn't keep any secrets. "Min Chen gave me this record, Master Farrell, when I was in Vienna. He recorded some of Liszt's works such as ?Danse Macabre? and ?Reminiscences de Norma?."

Farrell was stunned. He carefully placed the record on the player and said, "Oh, it was Auston's. . . Angel, Auston is very kind to you. He rarely records his playing and seldom releases albums."

Qi Mu nodded unequivocally.

He knew Min Chen seldom released albums. He only owned one Chopin Complete Works and Beethoven's Selection in his last life. So, when Min Chen gave him the record, he was astonished. If he hadn't been so busy for the past few months and had a record player, he would have listened to this record over and over again.

Qi Mu smiled. "As far as albums go. . . Min Chen doesn't record much, but, Mr. Farrell, I've listened to all his albums on the market. I think they're great."

Farrell completed the last of the preparations and looked at the young man. Qi Mu called Auston by his actual name. He chuckled and shook his head, convincing himself that, "Young people are like that, they must be closer to each other than older people."

"Well, Angel, look at the time. . . We might as well listen to the record, haha!"

Qi Mu nodded, and Farrell lowered the needle onto the record.

The record buzzed as it turned. Qi Mu sat on the bench next to the record player and waited for the music to start. Farrell sat a little farther away, enjoying it leisurely.

Few could surpass Auston Bertram's piano. Even Farrell didn't mind enjoying his music and readily agreed to it. Of course, it would be better if he had another cup of coffee.

After a brief silence, a beautiful gliding melody rang out. It was Liszt's ?Danse Macabre?.

It seemed like the pianist played five variations, but from the fast dance music, Qi Mu could feel the speed and intensity of its rhythm. Because he had seen Min Chen playing it half a month ago, when he heard it now, the scene played out again in front of his eyes.

Farrell was also delighted. He tapped his fingers along with the rhythm, and his smiling expression was full of praise——

Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and Dresden Symphony Orchestra were the best orchestras in Germany. In recent years, the former had widened the gap. Although he didn't want to, Farrell had to admit it was Min Chen and Christole who created such a miracle.

Min Chen's contribution was more apparent. At least in Dresden, no one could play such a beautiful and moving ?Danse Macabre?.

After ?Danse Macabre? ended, ?Grand Galop Chromatique?immediately began to play. Then, there were ?Rigoletto?, ?Reminiscences de Don Juan?, ?Hungarian Rhapsody No. 3 and No. 7?. By the end of ?Reminiscences de Norma?, Qi Mu was immersed in the world of piano sonatas, unable to shake himself free.

Liszt wasn't crowned the King of Hungarian Piano for show. Like him, there was no mistake when Min Chen was touted as the King of Contemporary Piano.

Although Qi Mu couldn't hear Liszt since he lived and died over a hundred years ago, he believed the magnificent piano he listened to now would not lose. It might even be. . . comparable.

After 30 seconds of silence, Qi Mu said, "Maybe it's over. Mr. Farrell, is it okay to just lift the needle and turn the record over?"

Two meters away, Farrell nodded and whispered, "Right, Angel. You just need to turn it over."

Qi Mu tilted his head. His fingers gently pinched the silver-white arm of the needle, ready to lift it, when he heard a low, magnetic voice: "Qi Mu?"

Qi Mu paused, his eyes wide. He looked at the black record, still playing static incredulously. He couldn't respond to what he had just heard.

Farrell raised his eyebrows. "Hey? Did Auston speak on top of recording? What language is that? Was it Chinese? Was that Angel's name?"

Without giving them time to react, the voice spoke again.

"Qi Mu." The man repeated, carefully, solemnly.

Qi Mu's hand on the record player's arm froze. He returned to his senses but still couldn't figure out what was going on.

Why did Min Chen record his voice? Why did he keep repeating his name. . . ?

A strange emotion surged in his heart, and Qi Mu's fingers clenched. He almost understood, but it quickly escaped his grasp.

Qi Mu didn't realize it was this hesitation that prevented him from stopping the record.

"Qi Mu. . ."

"I like you."

The young man's eyes widened. He instinctively lifted the arm and removed the needle from the record. In his two seconds of hesitation, the pleasant voice already reverberated in the lounge. Farrell heard it clearly.

Even if it was in Chinese, Farrell had been to Huaxia more times than he could count in the past 40 or 50 years of his music career. He couldn't understand complicated words after such a long time, but he could speak simple greetings like "Hello" and "Good Morning."

And among what he understood. . .

The phrase that expressed love in such a simple sentence——

?I like you.?

The maestro, who was always gentle and ever-steady, looked at the youth beside the record player in a daze. After a long while, he asked, ". . . Angel. . . That, what Auston said. . . Does he like you?"

The young man before him had his head tilted down. He turned his face toward the wall.

From that angle, Farrell couldn't see that the young man's eyebrows were knitted and his lips were pursed. But, his ears were red, almost dripping blood. The blush spread to his cheeks until his whole face was scarlet.

Qi Mu's heart pounded in his chest, his face burned and his fingers trembled as he moved the record player's arm away.

The whole world was covered in a veil, and his ears felt waterlogged. Even Farrell's voice seemed far away. The only thing he heard——

?I like you.?

It echoed in his ears.

This. . . What the. . . What the heck was going on?!

Just now. . . What he heard just now. . . What exactly was that?!

Qi Mu kept trying to hypnotize himself. Though, there was no way he could have misheard at such a close distance, not with his ears.

Farrell's exclamation fished him out of his thoughts.

"Good heavens! Reed!!! Auston confessed to Angel!!!"

In an instant, the ?Little Angel's Violin Room? group chat exploded.

Min Chen: ?. . .?

Daniel: ?Ah?!!!!!?

Daniel: ?Ah?!!!!!?

Reed: ?Damn it, Auston!!! You really eyed my lovely student!!! You devil!!!?