King of Classical Music

Luckily for Qi Mu, Jenny wasn't that loud of a speaker.

The next day, he was busy tuning his violin before the next rehearsal when Jenny sat beside him. She flashed a smile that said, "I understand, you know. I'll keep your secret," after sending him a fervent look.

Qi Mu: ". . ."

Even though you say that, you don't understand anything! Ah!

When a professional orchestra began rehearsal, all members had to focus. They couldn't be distracted. Even Qi Mu, whose thoughts wavered, pinned all of his attention on Farrell's every command.

Some laymen may think the conductor was just someone that stood at the podium and gestured around, having little to no effect on the play itself. He didn't need to play, nor did he need to shoot a video. He simply gestured, waving his arms around. What exactly did a conductor do?

In fact, the conductor was the orchestra's soul.

The stage was the best place to experience music. Standing at the front, the conductor could hear every sound and could adjust and blend them together into something masterful.

The conductor decided the style, the rhythm, and how to salvage every unavoidable mistake.

Farrell stood at the podium with his hands raised. They dropped, and the orchestra fell silent. Then, he turned to the first violin group at his left and raised his left hand gently. A silvery, soft melody filled the air.

Although Qi Mu wasn't concertmaster or deputy concertmaster, Farrell gave him a good spot to see the conductor's movements for himself.

Qi Mu had served as concertmaster in the past with B City's Symphony Orchestra. This was the first time he would perform with a high-level orchestra since returning to Europe.

The youth's slender fingers danced along the fingerboard, and he along with the other members of the group pulled their bows like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. A fierce struggle soon churned in the air above the stage.

A moment later, the wind instruments roared. The melody grew in power, followed by the entire orchestra, and the fierce rhythm resonated throughout the entire rehearsal hall.

Each note in ?The Magic Flute? conveyed the tension, fear, hatred, and suspense belonging to the opera.

Aside from the two minor errors on the first day, Qi Mu hadn't had any problems.

When practice ended, and everyone took their afternoon tea break, Farrell waved his hand. He asked, hesitating, "Angel. . . can you distinguish each individual instrument in the orchestra?"

Though he hadn't expected the question, Qi Mu understood why it was asked, so he answered, "Yes, Mr. Farrell. My sense of sound is good. I can hear each of them."

Farrell looked at the youth with a conflicted gaze.

The spotlight overhead shone on the youth's black hair. Although his eyes were slightly hidden by his hair, it made his facial features stand out even more. Farrell knew from the moment he nicknamed him "Angel". . . That this youth was a lovely child.

But now, he hesitated some on the child's future.

Farrell sighed, "Angel, my perfect pitch was honed day by day with experience. Though I can hear every instrument and the musician that plays them, I will never be able to pick out a newly replaced string like Auston."

After a pause, he continued, "Auston's ability was given by God, not acquired. If you'd like, I can accept you as my student. I think. . . even Auston would be happy to accept you as his student."

Qi Mu froze. Only then did he understand what Farrell meant. He shook his head and smiled. "Mr. Farrell, I understand what you mean, but. . . I don't want that. I like the violin, and I don't want to do anything else. Besides. . ."

He looked up. "Mr. Farrell, do you think, if I became a conductor. . . could I defeat Min Chen?"

Farrell was stunned. He smiled. Then he shook his head. "That's too difficult, Angel. You are talented, but I have never been able to understand Auston. And. . . you're ten years younger than him."

Qi Mu asked a second question, "Then, do you think. . . I could create a piece better than ?Wandering??"

?Wandering? was Min Chen's most classic masterpiece. Because of its difficult technique and profound connotation, the piano sonata became popular at piano competitions.

Farrell shook his head again. "A good piece needs not only talent but inspiration. Even Auston himself doesn't know if he could create another ?Wandering?."

Farrell was no longer reluctant. "Angel, I'm glad you have your own goal, and I support you on your path. From the first time I heard your ?Liang Zhu? in Huaxia's S City, I knew you'd become great in the future."

This was the first time Qi Mu heard Farrell mention that time from so long ago. Eyes wide with surprise, he said, "Thank you, Mr. Farrell, but I still need to work harder."

A brilliant smile as warm as a spring breeze lit the child's face. It even comforted Farrell, and he couldn't help but exclaim, "Oh! Angel, I've always thought giving you such an apt name was the best thing I've ever done!"

Qi Mu: ". . ."

"Whenever I go somewhere, I can't help but say——'Hey, in the magical land of Huaxia, far in the East, I met a lovely Angel whose violin is so beautiful I can't help but be moved'!"

Qi Mu: ". . ."

"Look, Angel! I can't wait to show you off to my friends!"

Qi Mu: ". . ."

He asked, reluctantly, "Mr. Farrell, if I may ask. . . which masters have you spoken to about me?"

Qi Mu grit his teeth in wait, but Farrell didn't notice. The older musician smiled, "Boswell from New York, Dorenza in Vienna, and that Zayev from the BBC in the UK. . ."

At the familiar list of names, the stiff smile on Qi Mu's face became even more difficult to maintain.

That was basically saying——

This black-pink fan! Of course, now it didn't look like a fan at all, but a black fan (anti-fan) as black as a sesame seed!!!

The Dresden Symphony Orchestra had such intense rehearsals for the Opera Concert that summer. Vienna, however, was entering its calm hibernation. Except for the occasional small concert in some theater or another, few maestros performed solo concerts.

The hot sun shone out of the clear blue, hot enough steam billowed from the earth. On the first floor of a small two-story building near the center of the city, a window screen was pulled shut tight, not a glimmer of light allowed entry.

The room was so messy one couldn't bear looking inside directly. Materials of all kinds were sprawled everywhere, and there were papers even nailed to the wall.

At a table in the middle of the room, a man with messy hair stared at a stack of papers on the table, frustrated almost to the point of collapse.

"My God. . . What the hell is going on with this thing? Why is it impossible to find out who bailed him out of prison?!"

"Damn it," The man whispered to himself, "It can't be his parents. They're ordinary people, they don't have that much ability. . . Who the hell was it!"

The man broke down again. Just as he went to pick up his clothes to go out and search for more evidence, his assistant knocked on the door. Pushing it open, the assistant whispered, "Mr. Charles, a letter for you."

Charles, one of Vienna's famous private detectives, was surprised. "Mine?" he asked, "Where did it come from?"

The assistant shook his head. "There's no stamp. It was stuffed in the mailbox. Would you like to see it?"

Despite having seen every sort of danger, Charles took the letter and opened it.

It was impossible for such a thin letter to contain explosives or sulphuric acid. Puzzled, Charles looked at the white paper containing only a single line of an address.

"Strange. . . There's only one line of address, it's really. . ."

Charles' words halted when he saw the name on the paper.

The other side of the paper bore only a common Chinese name. Although it was only three characters, it was enough to surprise Charles. Those three words were——Luo Yu Sen.