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

The first time he saw it, the room was bare. At the time, heeven made a mental note of the sole violin he recognized. Now, it had only beena 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 renaissanceera alone birthed numerous outstanding paintings and symphonies.

When Qi Mu entered the piano room, it was impossible toplace 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 redand white. Displeased with the soundproofing, Akkad also had them put up anotherlayer of insulating wallpaper.

That wasn't all. Qi Mu looked around and saw a Huaxian knotto one side and a red lantern on the other. It was enough that he couldn't lookdirectly at any of it.

How to say it. . .

Painting a tiger didn'tmean you could also paint a dog.

There was also the common sense. . .

Huaxian restaurants in Europe and America tarnished the nameof Huaxian cuisine!

Akkad touched his chin with a smile, "I know that SmallSeven is Chinese, and it's hard to study in Paris. Teacher specifically prepareda room for you! Are you happy?!"

Qi Mu nodded, unable to do anything else. "Happy, veryhappy." . . . If you dare pick the four redlanterns.

Akkad laughed, "This surprise is good. Such a beautifulmusic 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 authenticHuaxian style. When he finally convinced Akkad to remove the. . . room full oflanterns, knots, and paper flowers, his professor sighed, "Pity. They weremeticulously designed by me."

Qi Mu: ". . ."

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

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

Akkad scented the white mist that rose off the coffee andsaid, "Small Seven. When Farrell personally handed your album to me, I didn'treally think I would become your teacher. But Farrell says your music hasemotion, and it touched him."

Qi Mu shook his head and said, humble, "I didn't know MasterFarrell thought so. . ."

"You know. Farrell's a good guy, but he rarely gives outsuch high reviews to an unfamiliar violinist. I thought since you've managedthis already, why do you need me as a teacher? Farrell should be introducingyou to Dresden, not recommending you to me."

"But, after I listened to your sound, I understood. . . Iunderstand why Farrell and Min decided to recommend you to me instead of directlydrafting you into an orchestra."

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

The world-famous violinist solemnly stared back at him. "SmallSeven, how far are you from Auston Bertram. . . ?"

Qi Mu blinked, owlish in surprise, then dithered for sometime. "Teacher, I. . . Min Chen and I are. . . far apart. . ."

Akkad shook his head. "You don't walk the same path sinceyou have no desire to compose. Of course, I'm not saying to compare yourselfwith Auston, I meant your violin. How far is it from his piano?"

Akkad broke in a pause then continued. "In the end, music isinteroperable. 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 betterthan you. . ."

Qi Mu sucked in a breath and waited in perturbed silence forAkkad's final declaration.

Akkad held out his right hand, thumb and forefinger pinchedtogether.

"By only this much."

Qi Mu's eyes burst wide open, and he stared, disbelievingly,"Teacher, this. . . are you joking?"

Min Chen's piano was the best in the world. The man startedat seven years old, and Min Chen had shown amazing talent since.

He was the youngest Xiaosai champion at twelve and had performedon the same stage as Wei Ai. When people mentioned Min Chen, regardless of his achievementsas a conductor and composition since, he was still called a pianist.

Qi Mu was confident in his skill but not to that high of adegree.

Min Chen's piano was on the same level as Akkad's violin. Ifwhat Akkad just said was true. . . the gap between Qi Mu and Akkad himself wasonly that much?!

Akkad nodded seriously. "Yes, Small Seven, you're not wrong.If God gave classical music a benchmark, Auston's come very close, and you. . .you are also very close."

"Small Seven, I didn't believe I should be your teacherbecause. . . I always thought my student would be like me, a child withordinary origin. Someone that worked hard, was diligent; someone I would mold intoa brilliant violinist under my own fingers."

Akkad had never said such to Qi Mu before, but when helooked at the old man across from him, Qi Mu's heart trembled with the essenceof destiny.

"When I heard your sound, I was surprised. . . Everything Farrelltold me was nonsense! He said when you were fourteen, you performed with theVienna Symphony, that you were a well-known music prodigy. Your parents werewell-known musicians in China. You're not short on money. You even have that beautifulpiece in a Swiss bank somewhere!"

Akkad cursed eccentrically then added, "I thought you werean arrogant brat, but after listening to you. . . Small Seven, you and I madethe same mistake."

Qi Mu set down his coffee cup and asked, "Teacher, I don'tunderstand. . ."

"You are not arrogant enough."

The answer was clearly beyond Qi Mu's expectation.

"I started learning to play the violin at six. After sixtyyears, I thought I was talented enough, hardworking enough. I becameconcertmaster of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra when I was thirty. At thetime, I still couldn't get rid of it. . . that one thing in my music."

"You know, Small Seven. My family was bad. I had to borrow astate loan to attend a music university. I believe that my poor upbringing gaveme the motivation to go up in life. I had to prove to everyone that I could doit better than them. But, when I was forty-five, I heard Farrell's music, and Ifinally understood. . . the distance between him and I."

Farrell was also an excellent violinist, and though he and Akkadwere both to be revered, Qi Mu believed Akkad was higher than Farrell.

Akkad's judgment now surprised Qi Mu.

"Farrell is really the darling of God. Back then, I guaranteethat if my violin counted 99 points, that abominable man could only get 90 andno more. But I knew that I was missing that one point, and Farrell. . . Farrellalready had it."

Akkad laughed a little, rare and profound, then he looked atthe stunned young man in front of him and said gently, "Small Seven, my pointis, in music, we are confident. But, Farrell, Auston, they have never doubtedthemselves."

"Small Seven, you are not confident enough."

The professor's words were few, but they were poignant.

"You're not confident enough."

Never had anyone ever said that to Qi Mu, in this life orthe last. Perhaps Min Chen and Farrell picked out that something was missing inhis music, but they couldn't find it intuitively.

Only Akkad, who had the same life experiences as Qi Mu, couldunderstand the core of the problem.

A poor family, the motivation to work diligently, but, atthe same time, the lack of freedom to what they wanted in their childhood.

To learn music, Qi Mu never knew what it was like to play asa child. When he was young, he delivered milk and newspapers and so on. Even whenhe was older, he played the violin at a café.

This accumulation of life experiences gave Qi Mu a uniquesentiment toward music, but from another perspective, it also. . . shackled him.

"Seven, you and Auston are only this one point apart, but. .. it's not so easy to get. Are you ready to surpass him in a year?"

Akkad's serious tone dragged Qi Mu from his thoughts of the past.The word "surpass" shook his heart. He looked up at Akkad and smiled.

The handsome young man wore a beautiful smile, but after awhile, a low, pleasant voice echoed in the quiet music room——

"A year is long, Teacher. . . can we shorten it?"

Translator(s): Bet

Editor(s): Bet