Chapter Eight: The Duel of the Strings

At half past ten in the morning, Zhou Miao stepped out of the program team's car and gazed at the piano shop before him, his face full of emotion. Li Feifei also looked at Wang Jiang in astonishment.

“Wow, seriously? Wang Jiang, are you giving Zhou Miao a piano as a gift?”

Zhou Miao gave Wang Jiang a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Good brother! I appreciate the thought, but I already have a piano at home. No need to go to such expense.”

“Giving a piano? Uh… you’ve got it wrong. Actually, the thing is… well, never mind. You’ll see when you go inside. It’s really all the director’s idea, nothing to do with me,” Wang Jiang replied awkwardly, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

So they weren’t here to gift a piano? Then what was the point of coming to a piano shop?

The three of them entered. At this hour, there weren’t many customers, only a receptionist at the entrance. The director happened to be coming out of the office, conversing with a middle-aged man with long hair, gesturing in Zhou Miao’s direction.

The long-haired man walked straight over to Zhou Miao, who frowned as he saw him—this man looked oddly familiar.

The man reached out his hand. “Hello, I’m Zhang Liangkuan, the owner of this piano shop.”

His voice was hoarse and harsh.

At the sound of his name, Zhou Miao’s eyes lit up. He took the man’s hand. “I’m Zhou Miao. I’ve listened to your ‘Scent of Hair’ and even have that album in my collection.”

“Oh, there are still young people who’ve heard this old man’s songs? That’s rare!” Zhang Liangkuan’s smile grew even brighter.

Then, changing tack, he asked with a grin, “Which track from ‘Scent of Hair’ is your favorite?”

That album was so old, older than Zhou Miao himself, and its style was nothing like what young people liked nowadays. Zhang Liangkuan suspected the program team had tipped Zhou Miao off, hoping to win some favor.

Zhou Miao thought for a moment. “‘Across Mountains and Rivers.’”

Zhang Liangkuan was surprised; clearly Zhou Miao had really listened to it, otherwise he wouldn’t have named that track. “That’s a piano piece. How come you like it?”

Zhou Miao laughed. “At first I was confused—why was there a piano piece on a pop album? I even wondered if I’d bought a pirated copy.”

“I later found out it was your own original composition. I really liked the melody. As a kid, I often used it for practice.”

“That’s a challenging piece. How long have you been playing?” Zhang Liangkuan asked.

“Since I was four—this year makes it twelve years.”

Zhang Liangkuan nodded, flipping open the lid of a nearby black grand piano. “Do you still remember ‘Across Mountains and Rivers’?”

Zhou Miao nodded. Zhang Liangkuan stepped aside. “Try this piano and see what you think.”

Zhou Miao understood—he was being tested. Still, he wasn’t at all nervous. He sat down with confidence, back straight, and the moment his hands touched the keys, he was transformed. The laid-back air he usually had vanished, replaced by calm assurance and a certain coolness.

With the first note, Zhang Liangkuan felt a chill run up his spine.

This melody—how many years had it been since he last heard it?

Back then, after he became famous, he poured his heart and soul into creating the ‘Scent of Hair’ album, writing every song himself. It was the pinnacle of his personal style. Yet, to his regret, the album didn’t make much of a splash in the market. Worse still, after its release, his voice was ruined by years of smoking and drinking, and he faded from public view. Since its debut, he had never played ‘Across Mountains and Rivers’ again.

Time had passed. Now, after so many years, hearing the piece once more, played by a young man, he couldn’t help but recall the excitement he’d felt composing it.

It was beautifully played. Even Zhang Liangkuan, as exacting as he was, couldn’t find the slightest fault with Zhou Miao’s performance.

The others present were left speechless, as the wild, soaring music filled every corner of the shop.

Zhou Miao’s slender fingers danced across the keys like sprites—at times gliding gently, at others striking boldly, the stirring melody exploding in everyone’s hearts.

Wang Jiang stared in a daze. He’d never liked piano music before, but Zhou Miao’s playing let him experience its true power for the first time.

As the melody climbed ever higher, at the climax Zhou Miao’s hands abruptly paused, then ended the piece with a beautiful, resonant bass note.

He let out a quiet breath. It had been days since he’d last practiced—his hands felt a little stiff, but he hadn’t made any mistakes.

The others were stunned for a moment, just registering that the performance had ended and preparing to applaud, when suddenly a fiercer burst of piano music erupted in the shop.

They turned to see Zhang Liangkuan seated at another grand piano behind Zhou Miao, eyes half-closed, fingers flying, the complex notes swirling around them like a swarm of bees.

“The Flight of the Bumblebee.” Zhou Miao’s lips curled in a slight smile. He knew this piece well. It wasn’t the hardest in terms of technical difficulty—many people could play it—but to play it well, and fast, was another matter.

And for someone like Zhang Liangkuan to play it at such breakneck speed was rare indeed. More importantly, by following Zhou Miao’s performance of ‘Across Mountains and Rivers’ with an even more challenging piece, Zhang Liangkuan was issuing a clear challenge—a piano duel.

As if accepting the provocation, the very instant Zhang Liangkuan’s music stopped, before the audience could even raise their hands to applaud, a rapid cascade of notes from Zhou Miao drew all eyes once more.

Zhang Liangkuan steadied his breath. From the first notes, he recognized it: Chopin’s Etude in C-sharp minor. The difficulty jumped another level above the Flight of the Bumblebee. Most people’s fingers would seize up just looking at the sheet music—this piece demanded extreme speed and power, plus huge leaps with the left hand. For Zhou Miao to play something so difficult at sixteen… what a prodigy.

As the two played ever more complex pieces in rapid succession, the audience finally realized what was happening—a piano duel, the clash of hidden blades and unspoken challenge shining through Zhou Miao’s playing.

Zhang Liangkuan flexed his fingers, his expression turning serious. He drew a deep breath, and the moment Zhou Miao’s last note faded, he struck down hard on the keys.

Chopin again—this time the Etude in A minor, one of the most challenging in Chopin’s oeuvre, demanding not just speed but also tonal quality and musicality.

But as Zhou Miao listened, his brows drew together. Zhang Liangkuan was playing fast, but some passages were blurring together—it seemed time had left its mark on the older man.

Sweat rolled down Zhang Liangkuan’s cheeks, soaking his white shirt through. In recent years, he’d focused solely on the business side of the piano shop, and it had been ages since he’d attempted such fiendishly difficult pieces.

He’d thought he could manage—his foundation was still there. But as soon as he began, he felt a jolt of alarm; he’d made a mistake, and his heart sank.

Yet, at the very next musical turn, an even stronger surge of piano joined in. Zhou Miao’s fingers darted madly across the keys at a dazzling speed, shoring up the faltering rhythm and taking over the lead, easing the pressure on Zhang Liangkuan, who shifted to a supporting role.

Together, the two of them played the Etude in A minor so beautifully that the audience was utterly spellbound—so much so that when the final note faded, no one thought to applaud for a long moment.

Li Feifei hesitated, raising her hand only after confirming that the duel was truly over. Then she broke into a storm of applause, snapping everyone else out of their reverie. The applause rose, feverish and excited. Spectacular!

Zhang Liangkuan let out a long breath and said with a wry smile, “Young people these days are remarkable. At your age, I wasn’t half as good as you.”

Praised so generously by a veteran of the music world, Zhou Miao grinned with delight. “You flatter me.”

Just then, a little boy who had been standing at the door for some time turned tearfully to his mother. “Mom, I don’t want to learn piano anymore. Can you sign me up for taekwondo?”

“Uh, let’s go then.” The mother, seeing everyone look over, hurried off with her child, embarrassment plain on her face.

Zhang Liangkuan, who had been caught up in his own emotions, suddenly panicked. “Hey, don’t go! Piano’s not hard at all—it’s fun to learn…”

Watching Zhang Liangkuan chase after them, Zhou Miao suddenly laughed. “So this is the gift you prepared for me?”

He stood, stretching his stiff fingers, and said with a smile, “I really like it.”