Chapter 63 (1/2)

On the sixth day of his enrollment, Qi Mu finally entered the music room marked “Reed Akkad” for regular classes.

The first time he saw it, the room was bare. At the time, he even made a mental note of the sole violin he recognized. Now, it had only been a few days, but the room was drastically different.

Italy was rich with artists. Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael. . . Countless famous artists were born and risen out of the country, becoming some of the brightest shining stars in human history. The renaissance era alone birthed numerous outstanding paintings and symphonies.

When Qi Mu entered the piano room, it was impossible to place Professor Akkad amongst the ranks alongside these artists with profound aesthetic. . . this was, Qi Mu felt apologetic toward da Vinci.

The fifty square meter room was decorated in tones of red and white. Displeased with the soundproofing, Akkad also had them put up another layer of insulating wallpaper.

That wasn’t all. Qi Mu looked around and saw a Huaxian knot to one side and a red lantern on the other. It was enough that he couldn’t look directly at any of it.

How to say it. . .

Painting a tiger didn’t mean you could also paint a dog.

There was also the common sense. . .

Huaxian restaurants in Europe and America tarnished the name of Huaxian cuisine!

Akkad touched his chin with a smile, “I know that Small Seven is Chinese, and it’s hard to study in Paris. Teacher specifically prepared a room for you! Are you happy?!”

Qi Mu nodded, unable to do anything else. “Happy, very happy.” . . . If you dare pick the four red lanterns.

Akkad laughed, “This surprise is good. Such a beautiful music room, you’ll be able to practice with all your heart.”

“. . .” Believe me, that’s impossible.

He spent the morning talking to his professor about authentic Huaxian style. When he finally convinced Akkad to remove the. . . room full of lanterns, knots, and paper flowers, his professor sighed, “Pity. They were meticulously designed by me.”

Qi Mu: “. . .”

To deform aesthetic like this, by an Italian no less, Akkad really was something.

That afternoon, in the clean, tidy music room, Qi Mu sat with Akkad and poured out cups of rich coffee.

Akkad scented the white mist that rose off the coffee and said, “Small Seven. When Farrell personally handed your album to me, I didn’t really think I would become your teacher. But Farrell says your music has emotion, and it touched him.”

Qi Mu shook his head and said, humble, “I didn’t know Master Farrell thought so. . .”

“You know. Farrell’s a good guy, but he rarely gives out such high reviews to an unfamiliar violinist. I thought since you’ve managed this already, why do you need me as a teacher? Farrell should be introducing you to Dresden, not recommending you to me.”

“But, after I listened to your sound, I understood. . . I understand why Farrell and Min decided to recommend you to me instead of directly drafting you into an orchestra.”

Akkad’s critique stunned Qi Mu, and he straightened in his seat, staring at the gray-haired old man in seriousness.

The world-famous violinist solemnly stared back at him. “Small Seven, how far are you from Auston Bertram. . . ?”

Qi Mu blinked, owlish in surprise, then dithered for some time. “Teacher, I. . . Min Chen and I are. . . far apart. . .”

Akkad shook his head. “You don’t walk the same path since you have no desire to compose. Of course, I’m not saying to compare yourself with Auston, I meant your violin. How far is it from his piano?”

Akkad broke in a pause then continued. “In the end, music is interoperable. Auston’s violin is just noise, his skill on the violin is trash, so don’t bother comparing yourself to it. But, his piano, his piano is better than you. . .”

Qi Mu sucked in a breath and waited in perturbed silence for Akkad’s final declaration.

Akkad held out his right hand, thumb and forefinger pinched together.

“By only this much.”

Qi Mu’s eyes burst wide open, and he stared, disbelievingly, “Teacher, this. . . are you joking?”