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He Shines Like a Star
墨書 Inktalez
June 2012.
The weather in London is unpredictable, much like a cantankerous old man, shifting between sunshine and rain. This morning it was overcast with light rain, but now it is bright and sunny with clear skies.
In the magnificent London Grand Theatre, which can accommodate a thousand people, Fu Weiheng sits alone in the audience, his eyes lightly closed, his dark lashes fluttering slightly, appearing quite relaxed.
A year ago, he and Ye Yinhua co-founded the h&y Symphony Orchestra, and they began their European tour at the start of this year. Tonight marks the final stop at the London Grand Theatre.
For tonight's concluding performance, the orchestra has been engaged in intense rehearsals since one o'clock in the afternoon. Listening to the nearly perfect performance on stage, Fu Weiheng's brows furrow tighter. He slowly opens his eyes, stands up, and walks onto the stage. His natural commanding presence immediately diminishes the sound of the performance by half.
"Stop." His calm and cool voice is neither too loud nor too soft but carries an imposing aura. The entire concert hall falls silent as all performers stare at him in confusion, their minds racing.
Ye Yinhua puts down his conductor's baton and smirks slightly, thinking: Here we go, the great maestro is about to nitpick.
“Cello.” He raises his right hand, his bony index finger pointing at the cellist in the second row. “What’s wrong with your ear? Did your intonation rush to thousands of miles away?”
Upon hearing this, low laughter erupts from below. The cellist being called out is a shy German girl who immediately tests her pitch and realizes that her A string is indeed a bit sharp; her face turns red with embarrassment. “Sorry, I’ll be careful next time.”
“And you.” He shifts his finger and glares sternly at a violinist who is laughing heartily in front of him. The hall goes silent again. “How could you laugh out when you left two beats?”
The violinist is a young American boy who feels embarrassed and annoyed but has no choice: “Fine, I’m not laughing now.”
He then looks towards the principal flute player, his tone softening slightly: “More softly in the beginning of the melody.”
After that, he took a small step forward and beckoned to the girl violinist in front of him. The girl was taken aback, gazing into his deep black eyes, her ears slightly reddening as she understood and handed him the viola she was holding.
Fu Weiheng took the instrument and placed it on his shoulder, trying out a few notes before calmly addressing the violinist present, "You can reduce the beats appropriately during this bar line." After saying this, he raised his right hand to begin demonstrating.
The rich and melodious sound of the viola echoed in the vast concert hall. Whether it was due to his beautiful music or his steady and handsome posture while playing, everyone held their breath and listened intently.
Fu Weiheng gently lowered the bow, concluding this brief demonstration. He carefully handed the instrument back to the still-dazed violinist before returning to the conductor's podium.
He placed his hands in his pockets, his sharp gaze scrutinizing all the performers on stage. In a standard British accent, he said, "After two hours, if you still play in such a hellish state, there won’t be any vacation next year. It is no way!" He then turned his head slowly to glance at Ye Yinhua, "Ivan, don’t tell me you can’t even conduct 'Pavane.'"
Ye Yinhua's brows twitched slightly as he thought to himself that Fu Weiheng truly did not regard him as a brother-in-law, even taking the opportunity to undermine him before leaving. Watching Fu Weiheng's distant figure, Ye Yinhua rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
In the afternoon, London Park was bustling with people strolling and enjoying themselves. Fu Weiheng strolled along the gravel path, his handsome and tall figure attracting the attention of many young girls around him.
Suddenly, a melodious and steady sound of a cello reached his ears, causing him to pause instinctively and look toward the source. A girl was sitting on a bench with a cello between her legs, her posture upright and her performance skilled; her emotions and techniques were no less than those of the cellists in the orchestra. He stood there in a daze, noticing her long black hair shining under the sunlight, calm and captivating.
From too far away, he could not see her face clearly. The number of onlookers around the bench gradually increased until they blocked his view. Slightly startled, he snapped back to reality and hurried toward the bench.
Just as he prepared to push through the crowd to reach the bench, the music abruptly stopped. The gathered crowd began to disperse, but the figure on the bench had vanished in an instant. He looked around; tourists were bustling about while that figure with the cello had already hurried away.
The piece she played was "Amazing Grace." If it weren't for this throng of people and that genuine sound of music, he would have almost doubted that it had all been just a fleeting dream.
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