I Became an All-round Artist

After spending a few days at the company, Lin Yuan’s winter break officially came to an end. Schools across the country were gradually reopening, including Qinzhou Academy of Arts. Putting his work on pause for now, Lin Yuan returned to campus life.

This was a new semester, and there was a new course added to his schedule—a course that Lin Yuan actually found quite agreeable: piano lessons.

For composition students, mastering every instrument wasn’t necessary, but having some knowledge was essential. The piano, in particular, was a crucial instrument that every composition student had to familiarize themselves with.

At school, Lin Yuan was undoubtedly a diligent student. Although the system claimed his piano skills were already at a professional level, Lin Yuan still dutifully attended the piano class—not just for the credits, but also because someone had recently suggested his piano skills weren’t quite up to par. He thought this might be a good chance to improve.

“Alright, everyone,”

The piano teacher, a man of short stature but handsome features, with long hair tied in a small ponytail that gave him an artistic flair, addressed the class. He also set a bit of a rebellious example—since the school didn’t exactly encourage students to keep long hair.

“You are students from the composition department of Qinzhou Academy of Arts. Most of you probably already have a basic understanding of the piano, and some of you might even be quite skilled. So, when you saw piano lessons added to this semester’s schedule, I’m sure some of you couldn’t wait to show off your skills, right?”

This opening line hit the mark with many students in the class.

Then the teacher introduced himself: “My name is Huang Benyu. You can call me Mr. Huang. I’ll be your piano teacher from now on.”

The class of fifty students applauded.

With a slight smile, Huang Benyu added, “Every year, composition students think they’ve got it all figured out in the first piano lesson. But let me tell you, don’t think just because you’ve played a bit of piano, you can slack off in my class. Apart from Gu Xi, who I consider beyond my ability to teach, the rest of you still have a long way to go, so stay grounded and work hard!”

This was his way of laying down the law.

Huang Benyu lazily leaned back in his chair, “You’ve all learned the theory in previous semesters, so this class will focus on practical playing. Let’s start with something simple to ease you in. I’m sure all of you know ‘Qin Tune,’ right?”

The students nodded.

Most of them had learned similar pieces when they first started piano, and "Qin Tune" was a classic beginner piece.

“Good,” Huang Benyu said lightly. “Then let’s have someone play ‘Qin Tune’ first. You all want to show off, right? Here’s your chance.”

Immediately, hands shot up across the room.

The corners of Huang Benyu’s mouth lifted into a smirk. He loved this part—picking someone who thought they were good, letting them play, then pointing out all their mistakes from a professional standpoint. It was a tried-and-true method he used with every new class—finding someone confident enough to perform and then shattering their confidence, reminding them their skills weren’t as polished as they thought.

Ah, the excitement in their faces.

It reminded him of his own youth—overloaded with adrenaline and hormones, all eager to impress. Especially the students in the front row, all with their hands raised.

Wait.

Suddenly, Huang Benyu noticed someone in the front row who hadn’t raised their hand. Among the sea of eager faces, one student stood out—Lin Yuan, both for his non-participation and for his striking appearance.

Not raising your hand? Is this some reverse psychology tactic?

Huang Benyu locked eyes on Lin Yuan. “You, do you know how to play?”

“A little,” Lin Yuan replied.

So, it was reverse psychology! Pretending not to know much while everyone else was eager to show off. You’ve successfully caught my attention, kid.

“Well then,” Huang Benyu said with a smile, “why don’t you come up and give it a try?”

“Alright,” Lin Yuan reluctantly stood up. He found the teacher’s choice odd—so many students had raised their hands, yet he picked the one who hadn’t.

As Lin Yuan walked to the piano, several students put their hands down, disappointed they hadn’t been chosen.

Lin Yuan sat at the piano.

He knew how to play "Qin Tune," and since the teacher hadn’t specified a particular version, he decided to play his favorite one—a more challenging arrangement.

Spreading his fingers across the keys, Lin Yuan’s right hand began to play the opening chords with a strong, resonant sound. His left hand followed, and soon, both hands were dancing across the keys.

“A re-arranged version of ‘Qin Tune’?” Huang Benyu’s brow furrowed. There were many versions of this piece, but Lin Yuan had chosen one of the most difficult. Even Huang Benyu himself wasn’t confident he could play it perfectly.

Lin Yuan became fully immersed in his performance. The cascading notes flowed like a rain of arrows, with clear contrasts in dynamics and smooth transitions, each accentuated note perfectly placed.

Huang Benyu’s expression gradually changed.

By the tenth measure, Lin Yuan’s playing displayed remarkable control and precision. Although there were a few instances of minor note overlaps, even Huang Benyu knew that those were nearly impossible to avoid.

This was a mature technique...

The small embellishments in Lin Yuan’s interpretation were delicate, his phrasing crisp, and the melodic motifs beautifully crafted, clearly expressing the mood of the piece.

Not just Huang Benyu—many of the students were wide-eyed, with some of the girls gazing dreamily at Lin Yuan.

“The final section,”

As a long note rang out, the students familiar with the piece realized it was nearing the end. This was the most emotional part of the composition—a passage filled with sadness and regret.

Lin Yuan’s hands moved rapidly, his arms sweeping across the keys. His fingers struck the keys with intensity, and the final note echoed like a mournful cry.

Lin Yuan finished playing and sat up straight.

Anyone with even a basic understanding of piano could tell how well he had played. The class broke into applause. Huang Benyu stood up, his mind slightly dazed.

What?

What just happened?

You call that "a little"?

Your "little" looks like that?

Teaching piano at this school is too much! Having a student like Gu Xi, who never attends my classes yet still earns her credits because she’s a piano prodigy who’s performed at the Golden Hall—fine, I can deal with that. I’m not even mad anymore. In fact, I’m relieved she doesn’t come to class; I’d constantly be worried she’d start teaching me.

But now there’s another student just as talented?

A student whose piano skills are practically on par with mine?

How am I supposed to teach this class from now on?

As the applause died down, the classroom grew quiet. Huang Benyu swallowed hard and cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “If all of you were at this level, I’d go straight to the principal’s office in the next building and resign.”

The class burst into laughter.

Huang Benyu turned to Lin Yuan, “What’s your name?”

“Lin Yuan.”

“Who taught you piano?”

“My mom,” Lin Yuan lied smoothly.

Huang Benyu’s expression turned serious. “And which master is your mother?”

In his mind, a list of renowned pianists who had performed at the Golden Hall flashed before him.

Lin Yuan thought for a moment and then replied, “She’s the music teacher for fourth grade, class three, at Yongning Village Elementary School.”

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