Tang Xien thought for a moment and ultimately held her tongue. She gazed vaguely at Ji Zhenshi—or more precisely, at the hand holding the violin.
This was the first time she had deigned to take on a student, so her expectations were naturally sky-high. Had she not long studied Ji Zhenshi’s background and talent, she never would have agreed to mentor her.
An awkward silence settled between them. At last, Tang Xien spoke. “Actually, you can stick to your original style. No instrument demands a fixed way of playing. You should develop your own unique flair.”
She picked up the remote from the table and switched on the display screen mounted on the wall. “You don’t mind if we relive your shining moment together, do you?”
The video showed Ji Zhenshi’s performance at the school celebration—the clip that had gone the most viral online.
Ji Zhenshi hadn’t expected Tang Xien to pull up her video so directly. She smiled sheepishly. “Of course not.”
Tang Xien beckoned her over with a crook of her finger. “Then have a seat. You’re not a schoolkid facing the principal—no need to be so stiff.”
They watched the full performance together. Just as Ji Zhenshi thought Tang Xien might point out her flaws,
the teacher’s gaze—never once wavering—flickered with a trace of melancholy. Lowering her eyes, she murmured almost inaudibly, “She really does look just like her.”
When she wasn’t deliberately playing the good girl, the resemblance was uncanny.
That hint of wildness even lent her features a similar cast. For a fleeting moment, it felt like gazing at the same person.
Strange. Was it just excessive longing playing tricks?
“Like who?” Ji Zhenshi was sitting fairly close to Tang Xien, but she hadn’t quite caught the words. Glancing over, she caught a glimpse of tenderness softening those stern features.
How was that possible? This woman was all severity—yet here she was, looking so gentle.
It was downright startling.
Snapping back to herself, Tang Xien smoothed her expression seamlessly, replying flatly without even glancing her way, “Nothing.”
“Then was there something wrong with that performance? Teacher Tang, please speak freely. I know I have plenty of shortcomings that need work.” Ji Zhenshi’s thirst for knowledge burned bright; she desperately wanted some guidance.
Still holding her violin in one hand, she leaned in earnestly. “I don’t have a glass heart. I’m not fragile at all. Go ahead and critique me however you like.”
Tang Xien, who had been propping herself up with one hand on the table, eyed Ji Zhenshi edging closer. She didn’t budge. “I have no intention of coddling fragility. If something’s off, I won’t hold back. And if you feel underutilized here, you can request a switch from the company anytime.”
Tang Xien wouldn’t lose sleep over a complaint.
Her contract had only six months left anyway, and the company could barely hold her as it was.
“Or, to put it bluntly, if you’re rotten wood that can’t be carved, I might just make you cry. You might not know this, but back at the International Violin Association abroad, I reduced plenty of contestants to tears—girls your age, and plenty older too.”
She wasn’t one for mincing words; better to lay the harsh truths out upfront.
“…”
Without a second thought, Ji Zhenshi replied, “That won’t happen. I’m no rotten wood, and I’m not afraid of a scolding. Teacher Tang, you’re incredible—I truly admire you. If anything, you’re the one slumming it with me. I’m honored to be your student.”
The admiration shining in Ji Zhenshi’s eyes for this senior was utterly genuine, perhaps laced with that pull toward strength, that relentless pursuit of mastery in the field.
Tang Xien had long seen through all sorts of people in the cutthroat world of fame and fortune. What souls hadn’t crossed her path? Yet this undisguised gaze of respect coaxed a faint smile from her.
Her tone remained coolly even. “Quite the sweet talker. Do you butter up every teacher like this?”
Ji Zhenshi wasn’t fazed by the distance in her voice. She kept smiling. “No, you’re my first real teacher, strictly speaking.”
Tang Xien’s cool gaze settled on her. The next instant, she jabbed the remote against Ji Zhenshi’s shoulder, keeping their distance wide.
Thwarting any hypnotic eye contact, Tang Xien asked with keen interest, “Why am I your first? No interest classes before? No professional boot camps? Don’t your university teachers count? Ji Zhenshi, if you truly want to be my student, at least be honest about it.”
Art school hopefuls built their skills brick by brick with private tutors, and someone like Ji Zhenshi—who had already shown real promise on violin—likely had some hidden master guiding her.
Frankly, she outpaced her peers by miles. Few second-years at Beinan Music Academy could represent the school in national competitions and snag awards.
So that line rang a bit too contrived in Tang Xien’s ears—a clumsy bid for favor.
Ji Zhenshi rubbed her shoulder where it smarted. Wasn’t this just normal conversational distance?
Tang Xien seemed excessively standoffish. Ji Zhenshi scooted back a touch and explained, “I’ve done professional classes, but those teachers had tons of students, same as at university. Strictly speaking, only someone I respect as truly capable counts as my real teacher. So yeah, you’re the first. Call it buttering you up if you want—I admire anyone better than me, and you fit the bill perfectly, Teacher Tang.”
Tang Xien was the serious, terse type who clearly had the goods. Ji Zhenshi saw her as a true mentor, someone from whom she could learn volumes.
“Mm. I admire those better than me too—and driven young people.” With a faint acknowledgment, Tang Xien grudgingly accepted the explanation.
Clever girl, that one.
“So what are we doing today, Teacher Tang?” Ji Zhenshi asked, eyes alight with anticipation.
Truth be told, she was dying to see this legendary violinist—who commanded fees worth a fortune—perform live. Now that she was officially her student, snagging a front-row demo via back channels shouldn’t be off-limits, right?
“Do you know why I showed you your own video?” Tang Xien unscrewed her thermos, and the intense aroma of chrysanthemum tea wafted out. Her gaze stayed fixed on Ji Zhenshi—no sign of picking up the violin to demonstrate.
First meetings called for something memorable.
Ji Zhenshi shook her head. “Not just to bask in my so-called glory together, I hope?”
Tang Xien had watched in silence, murmuring only that unclear bit about “like”—like what?
She had a story, clearly. But Ji Zhenshi wasn’t curious; only her skill mattered.
“That’s your first lesson: be yourself. Your performance screams you, Ji Zhenshi. The music you play is yours to command—infuse it with your essence, and it becomes yours. So be yourself. Don’t rein it in, not for me, not for an audience.” Tang Xien took a light sip of her tea, paused two beats, then fixed Ji Zhenshi with a suddenly piercing stare. “Want my honest take on that performance?”
“Huh?” The sudden pressure hit harder than their first glance, chilling her to the bone. Ji Zhenshi frowned slightly and pointed at herself. “Me?”
Hadn’t Tang Xien just implied it was decent?
She swallowed hard. “Teacher Tang, lay it on me. I really want the truth.”
“Hypocritical.” The word shot from Tang Xien’s lips, striking Ji Zhenshi’s heart like a blow and leaving her breathless.
It was meant in jest, but Ji Zhenshi was a violin prodigy—top scorer in evaluations, three years of scholarships on the trot. Those merciless words hit her like a slap, stunning her speechless for several seconds.
“I…” Her voice came out oddly hoarse. For the longest time, she couldn’t muster a reply. Her face paled as she stared down at her hem, twisting it. “Hypocritical? Of all things…”
Tang Xien flipped moods faster than turning a page; Ji Zhenshi couldn’t keep up. This woman had a mercurial edge.
Hypocritical? Why call her performance that?
It could be “bad”—but hypocritical? Was it her, or the music?
She had practiced those pieces endlessly; the performance was flawless. She poured her all into it. No fancy techniques needed, but still—hypocritical was too much.
Drained in an instant, Ji Zhenshi didn’t know how to react. The word cut deep, an unforeseen verdict from her idol, impossible to swallow.
Minutes ticked by. Tang Xien watched Ji Zhenshi’s dismay unfold, waiting until the sting fully sank in before curving her lips faintly. “Ji Zhenshi, remember that moment. Next time you feel the urge to tame your nature, recall that suffocating instant. On stage, just be you. You won’t match anyone else anyway—faking it is hypocrisy toward the music itself.”
Without pause, she added, “How many times have you watched my videos? I’m guessing the solo I did three years ago at my friend’s concert abroad?”
Same piece.
Ji Zhenshi had been deliberately mimicking her vibe, all to craft that perfect first impression.
This girl was something else— even her little schemes were endearing. No wonder she seemed so familiar.
That old friend of hers.
Ji Zhenshi choked, a chill racing up her spine at being seen through so thoroughly.
She drew a deep breath, tugged off her well-worn baseball cap, and revealed a head of golden hair. “Sorry, Teacher Tang. I just wanted to make a good impression. Didn’t mean to botch it.”
Tang Xien pressed on. “I’m not perfection incarnate. I’m not violin personified. To master the violin, master yourself first. Aping the walk of Handan’s locals and forgetting your own is betrayal—of music, of the violin. Got it?”
Memorable enough?
Ji Zhenshi nodded. “Got it, Teacher Tang.”
Tang Xien inclined her head. “Ji Zhenshi, head back. Lunchtime. I’ve taught you everything for today’s first lesson. See you tomorrow.”
This was her own near-miss; better to warn the girl early.
Ji Zhenshi, never forget hypocrisy.
“What?” Ji Zhenshi stared at Tang Xien in bewilderment, utterly thrown. Which side was the real her?
“Tomorrow.” Tang Xien grabbed her bag and strode out.
“What the hell?” Ji Zhenshi muttered, baffled at being reamed out only for Tang Xien to bail.
That word—hypocrisy—still echoed in her ears. Her legs went weak as she slumped against the sink, patting her racing heart.
What an odd woman.
Ji Zhenshi’s Dormitory
“Xiao Zhen, you at the dorm?”
“Nope, Sister A-Yun. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just checking.”
“Got it. I’m in the company practice room. I’ll call you later.”
“Mm.”
The elevator dinged at the target floor. Li Yunli pocketed her phone, fished out her keys, unlocked the door, and stepped slowly inside.
The company had set Ji Zhenshi up here—officially a dorm, but really a cozy two-bedroom apartment. The whole building housed company folks.
Not a bad setup; company-managed for rising stars, it offered solid privacy, security, and mid-to-upper-tier amenities.
Only Ji Zhenshi and Xia Siyuan roomed together from their cohort, so it was just the two of them.
Li Yunli had just confirmed—they were off at the practice rooms, not home.
Ji Zhenshi’s viral video had been hot grist for the company’s mill; they’d capitalized, set up her account, and built a following of tens of thousands over months.
More crucially, amid training and contests, she’d racked up strong results in violin events under the company banner.
All told, she was swamped.
Xiao Zhen hadn’t dropped by the coffee shop for coffee in ages.
Their promised graduation trip sat forgotten. These days, Li Yunli was lucky to see her once every couple weeks.
She missed the kid, worried how she was holding up—so here she was, dropping in.
She hesitated at the entryway, unable to tell whose slippers were whose among the two pairs—no spares. Barefoot it was.
The white curtains were drawn even in broad daylight, leaving the place dim. But even in the gloom, Li Yunli’s eyes locked on the instant noodle takeout carton atop the table. The space was sparse: essentials, a piano, nothing else.
Li Yunli frowned. Was this how Xiao Zhen was scraping by?
The girl who’d whine about cafeteria food hurting her stomach—now surviving on ramen and delivery? She’d waste away.
No signs of cooking in the kitchen. The living room wasn’t trashed, exactly, but far from tidy.
With so few things, Li Yunli figured, it couldn’t get too messy anyway.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, at a loss where to start.
“Xiao Zhen, what kind of life is this?”
Two bedrooms, but Ji Zhenshi had told her which was hers. First time or not, Li Yunli zeroed in and pushed open the door.
Just as expected: not messy, per se, but unkempt.
An unmade milk-yellow duvet with a panda print, a half-read book tossed on the bed, a folder stuffed with scribbled schedules.
Tangled wired earbuds knotted up, yesterday’s clothes slung over the bedfoot and chair, shoes kicked off on the floor. The notebook on the desk was shredded down to scraps, balled-up sheets scribbled with notes littering the surface—several on the floor.
Couldn’t she keep them? Off they went at the slightest dissatisfaction.
Li Yunli picked up the scraps, smiling helplessly.
Xiao Zhen’s quirky habit—always had been. Wouldn’t change.
She lifted the pink blouse draped over the bed, pinching the collar lightly. Ji Zhenshi’s scent lingered: fresh and clean, matching her own body wash brand.
Oddly, the same stuff smelled faintly floral on Ji Zhenshi—especially after a light sweat, when it bloomed strongest.
Li Yunli’s lips curved faintly, her brow easing. Comfort washed over her.
Xiao Zhen’s scent—it soothed like nothing else.
