Chapter 149: Chopin Reincarnate

Cai Yafang chimed in, "I’ve attended Professor Tan’s piano recitals. That Rachmaninoff's Third is insanely brutal. If I remember correctly, the piece is over fifty minutes long, right?"

Tan Shan smiled and nodded.

Zhao Yan gasped in amazement, "That long? Professor Tan, you don't just play the whole thing in one breath without stopping, do you?"

Tan Shan gave a wry smile and said, "What choice is there? Of course, I have to play straight through."

Cai Yafang recounted with a hint of exaggeration, "I was dumbfounded the first time I heard Rach 3. Professor Tan played continuously for nearly an hour, and by the end, I felt like he was utterly exhausted and drained of all life."

Zhao Jing imagined the scene and remarked, "That really is a bit extreme. Give me two spoons and let me tap on cups for ten minutes, and my arms would probably ache. Brother Tan, having to play the piano for nearly an hour straight while remembering such a complex piece is seriously impressive."

Tan Shan sighed with emotion, "It's just heavy labor. Sometimes I really envy Lang Lang. Lang Lang is a true born piano master. Not only is his technique superb, but what we piano performers admire most is his boundless physical stamina. Every time Lang Lang gives a piano recital, he can carry the entire performance through with high energy from start to finish. I'm not like that. Every recital feels like running a marathon; I get dehydrated, lose weight instantly, and my physical strength simply can't keep up. Especially since my recitals always feature ultra-long pieces like Rach 3, it's truly torturous."

Hearing Tan Shan say this, the sisters Zhao Yan and Zhao Jing finally realized that playing the piano was not as light and graceful as they had imagined; it was actually heavy physical labor. No wonder those performers were always breaking into a sweat—playing the piano was just like running a marathon, how terrifying!

Tan Shan continued, "The physical torment of playing Rach 3 is only part of it; the psychological pressure is also immense. I remember back in 2001 when I performed Rach 3 publicly, I had a nightmare-like experience. Sitting there on stage, facing a sea of dark audiences, my mind suddenly went completely blank. I completely forgot the melody, and my fingers left the keys and just froze stiffly in mid-air for a good half a minute... At that time, I felt like I was about to die. That descent-into-hell feeling left a psychological scar like a recurring nightmare that hasn't completely faded to this day. Every time I perform this piece publicly, I still feel that terror, like a bone stuck in my throat. I don't dare take a full breath until the performance is over."

Huang Guolun deeply empathized with what Tan Shan described, "I completely understand that feeling, Professor Tan. I also experienced a brain freeze back when I used to participate in piano competitions. That instantaneous memory loss is truly terrifying, more agonizing than death."

Han Yue chimed in with a lofty attitude, "Teacher Huang, you merely forgot your sheet music during ordinary piano competitions. That's not the same thing as Professor Tan forgetting his music during a solo recital. Forgetting the score in a competition at worst means losing the game, which doesn't cost you too much; you can always dust yourself off and try again. But if Professor Tan forgets his score during a recital, his reputation is ruined. He wouldn't be able to hold another recital for the next year or two, and his career could plummet. That kind of pressure is definitely not something an ordinary person could bear."

Zhao Yan asked with incomprehension, "Is the competition in the piano performance world that fierce? A single mistake costs you any future chance of holding recitals?"

Tan Shan explained, "It depends on the kind of mistake. If you commit a rookie mistake like forgetting the score, that is a profound disrespect to the audience and an extreme dereliction of your professional duty. If such a blunder gets out, you'll be torn apart by critiques in the industry, and your career will undoubtedly suffer a severe blow. General improvisational mistakes, however, aren't that big a deal."

Huang Guolun remarked, "Regardless of the occasion, sitting in front of the piano when your mind suddenly goes completely blank—that level of intense pressure is quite agonizing for anyone."

Zhao Jing smiled at Huang Guolun and said, "Yet I feel like every time you sit at the piano to play, you look so effortlessly suave and natural. You can even sing while playing without a single trace of nervousness."

Huang Guolun replied, "Playing the piano in a place like a duck joint, my mindset is naturally relaxed. This isn't a proper stage. If I were holding a professional piano recital like Professor Tan, I reckon I'd be extremely nervous too, certainly not as relaxed as when I play here in the shop."

Cai Yafang was very interested in Huang Guolun's musical talents, especially since she had been listening to the Zhao sisters hype him up for so long. She smoothly transitioned, "Teacher Huang, duck-duck and the others say your composition skills are formidable. Have you ever written any piano pieces? Care to play one for us to listen to?"

Zhao Jing eagerly egged him on, "Yes, yes! Show off a little for Professor Tan and Teacher Han to see."

Huang Guolun chuckled, "These are professors from the conservatory and master performers. If I play the piano in front of them, won't I just be making a fool of myself?"

Tan Shan smiled, "Teacher Huang, you exaggerate. We're all people in the music industry, just casually exchanging pointers. Duck-duck and the others all say your musical talent is exceptionally high. If you've truly written piano pieces, I'd actually love to hear them."

Zhao Yan also persuaded Huang Guolun, "Why don't you play one? Professor Tan just performed for us in our shop earlier, playing a Chopin nocturne that was just gorgeous."

Han Yue corrected her, "To be precise, Professor Tan played two—Nocturne Opus 9, Number 1 in B-flat minor, and Number 2 in E-flat major."

Tan Shan nodded slightly. He had indeed played these two nocturnes without a break. Anyone with even a slight understanding of Chopin's music should have been able to tell.

Zhao Jing asked Tan Shan, "Did Chopin write a lot of serenades?"

Han Yue gave Zhao Jing a slightly disdainful look and corrected her, "What Chopin is most famous for are nocturnes, not serenades. Nocturnes and serenades are two completely different genres."

Zhao Jing blinked in surprise, "Ah? These two aren't the same thing?"

Tan Shan explained, "No. Serenades only depict evening scenes, whereas nocturnes can be the author's expression of any inner thoughts during the night. In Chopin's nocturnes, there are very few that actually depict night scenery. He wrote twenty-one nocturnes in total, and every single one of them is exquisitely moving, poetic, and picturesque."

Zhao Jing absorbed the lesson and said, "So that's how it is. No wonder he's called the 'Poet of the Piano'."

Turning her head, she unexpectedly asked Huang Guolun, "Teacher Huang, have you ever written a nocturne?"

"Well..." Huang Guolun hesitated for a moment before saying, "I suppose you could say I have."

Han Yue smiled and asked, "What does 'suppose you could say I have' mean?"

"I majored in pop music composition in college, and my usual creative work focuses primarily on the pop music field, rarely touching upon traditional or classical directions. However, when I practice the piano, I occasionally improvise and play some piano pieces, among which are nocturnes in a style similar to Chopin's."

Before his mind was enlightened, the original Huang Guolun certainly had never composed classical music works. But after the enlightenment, his mind was flooded not only with many classical piano pieces he had never heard before, but also with numerous master-level orchestral works.

With his own abilities, he could never have written such magnificent and sweeping orchestral suites, yet these pieces had simply appeared in his head. Perhaps this was what they called an explosive burst of inspiration. Anyway, since they appeared in his head, he might as well treat them as his own creations.

Hearing Huang Guolun put it that way, Han Yue deliberately intended to build him up only to knock him down, saying, "You're quite something, being able to improvise compositions right during practice. I'd really love to hear what a Chopin-style nocturne improvised by you sounds like."

Tan Shan was also quite interested in Huang Guolun's compositions and suggested, "Teacher Huang, don't hold back. Since you've composed one, why don't you play it for us?"

Huang Guolun modestly replied, "Alright, then I shall make a fool of myself in front of experts. I'll play the Nocturne in E-flat major, just a brick tossed to attract jade."

This was hardly a mere brick Huang Guolun was tossing; what he was about to unleash was one of the most widely beloved and brilliantly luminous of Chopin's nocturnes from another realm!

The style of this nocturne bore clear traces of traditional nocturnes, carrying the typical characteristics of Chopin's early works—accessible, graceful, and brimming with poetry. Anyone with even a modicum of musical literacy, upon hearing this nocturne, would instantly associate it with the four words: "Poet of the Piano."

In that other realm, when listening to Chopin's nocturnes, Arthur Rubinstein's version reigned supreme. The tempo of his fingertips' execution, alternately compressed and stretched, attained the ultimate in effortless mastery. This water-ripple-like caressing of the keys infused the music with infinite inner depth.

The Nocturne in E-flat major that exploded into Huang Guolun's mind was precisely Rubinstein's crowning masterpiece.

At that moment, the group moved to the outer lobby.

Huang Guolun sat down at the Kawai piano. His posture appeared steady, lacking the literary flair of a virtuoso like Tan Shan; he looked more like a down-to-earth music teacher about to play the piano for his students.

Looking at Huang Guolun's steady, almost clumsy back, a flicker of inadvertent, scornful amusement curled the corners of Han Yue's lips.

She guessed that this Teacher Huang probably possessed at most the compositional skill of a high school music teacher. His claim to have improvised a Chopin-style nocturne was likely just a clumsy imitation, churning out some awkward hybrid that neither looked nor sounded right.

With the mindset of someone waiting for a good show, Han Yue anticipated watching Huang Guolun make a laughingstock of himself in front of high-level professionals.

Tan Shan purposefully observed Huang Guolun's finger-rubbing motion. He noticed that Huang Guolun's slightly thick fingers did not appear particularly nimble.

Could fingers like these really play a nocturne as romantic and poetic as Chopin's style?

Amidst the skeptical glances of these two professionals, Huang Guolun quietly and unassumingly began his rendition of the nocturne.

As if possessed by the spirit of Rubinstein, the moment he started playing this nocturne, a unique, poet-of-the-piano aesthetic gradually emanated from Huang Guolun's being.

Under his fingers, the piano began to chant poetically with its own distinct voice, the individuality of the music and the characteristics of the instrument harmonizing as seamlessly as water merging with milk.

Savoring the melancholy, meditative, and lingering atmosphere permeating the nocturne played by Huang Guolun, the expressions of the two professionals, Tan Shan and Han Yue, slowly froze.

The further they listened, the more profound their shock became.

This was merely a nocturne improvised by Huang Guolun during routine practice?

A nocturne as poetically graceful and brilliantly lively as this could easily be mistaken for a work written by a reincarnated Chopin!