Chapter Nine: The Guitar

The way things unfolded was completely beyond the director’s control. He had known that Zhou Miao had practiced piano for many years, but he hadn’t expected that, at just sixteen, the boy’s skills would already run so deep.

The persona the production team had painstakingly built for Zhou Miao—idle, whimsical, lacking ambition—was instantly shattered. Just moments ago, Zhou Miao’s intense musical duel with Zhang Liangkuan had left no doubt: wasn’t this, unmistakably, a prodigy of the piano world?

In that case, sending Zhou Miao to the reality show was itself a mistake. The audience would only blame the parents, the teachers, and the showrunners for failing to recognize the child’s talent and judging everything by academic results.

The director was left a bit shell-shocked; Zhang Liangkuan, too, returned with a face full of regret. He hadn’t even had time to advertise before the star guest walked away—what a loss for business.

Throwing an arm around Zhou Miao’s shoulders, he said, “Come, let’s sit down in my office. I heard you’re planning to apply to the National Conservatory? Which department?”

“Composition.”

“With your piano skills, why not apply to the piano department? The Conservatory’s piano program is second to none! With your level, you’d have no problem passing the entrance exam!” Zhang Liangkuan advised earnestly.

“Uh, I don’t think I can reach the required score for the piano department…”

“True, you did get sent to this show after all, so your grades probably aren’t that great. But if you really want to go for composition, you should prepare yourself mentally. My old roommate was a composition major—it was a brutal life, endless assignments.”

“What? Assignments too?” Zhou Miao exclaimed in surprise.

…

Everyone watched as the two, arms still slung together, disappeared into the office for a deep conversation. They stood around, exchanging awkward glances, not quite sure what to do.

After a while, Wang Jiang sidled up to the director. “Director, does this mean my reward is gone?”

The director sighed. “It’s not your fault. Solving a problem for someone who doesn’t really have one—that was the mistake. Don’t worry, you’ll still get your reward.”

Wang Jiang leapt up in excitement—this meant he could finally take his mother on that trip to Sanya!

Li Feifei paid no mind to Wang Jiang’s antics. Quiet as a mouse, she crept to the office door to eavesdrop, but with the door closed, all she could make out were a few muffled voices—and, now and then, the faint strum of a guitar.

“You play the guitar pretty well too. Young people really do pick things up fast. When I was a kid, just learning piano felt like life and death,” Zhang Liangkuan said with a sigh.

As the years went by, he found his energy waning, no longer able to summon the inexhaustible vigor and passion of his youth.

Zhou Miao smiled. “If I’d known I’d meet you on this program, I would’ve brought my album for you to sign.”

Zhang Liangkuan waved his hand dismissively. “Ah, what’s a signature worth? That’s all in the past now.”

Suddenly, his gaze fell on a guitar hanging on the wall. He hesitated for a moment, then took it down. “This guitar was with me when I first debuted. It’s just been gathering dust since I left the industry. If you don’t mind, I’ll give it to you.”

Zhou Miao was overwhelmed and quickly tried to refuse. “I really can’t accept this. Such a gift is too much.”

He wasn’t a novice; just by looking at the finish and material, he could tell this guitar wasn’t cheap. Even after all these years, it had been well cared for. The price was secondary—it was the meaning that mattered most. A guitar that had accompanied a musician for over a decade carried a weight all its own.

Zhang Liangkuan smiled, patting Zhou Miao’s shoulder. “Take it. It’s nothing valuable. If I leave it here, it’ll just rot away day by day. You, kid, I like you—make good use of it.”

Zhou Miao fell silent for a moment, then nodded firmly. “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. If you get into the Conservatory, you’ll be my junior. No need for such formality between brothers,” Zhang Liangkuan said with boisterous pride.

He was an interesting man—a true son of Beijing, from a comfortable family, who hadn’t made much money as a singer, squandering what he did earn with his friends. In the end, his voice was gone, the money was gone, and his buddies were too.

After thinking it over, he sold his house and moved to a small third- or fourth-tier city on the Yunnan border, where he opened a music shop and settled down.

Life in a small city was slow—so slow it made him forget the years of burning passion, so slow he had to admit this was no longer his era.

In Zhou Miao, he saw his own reflection: the same confidence, the same overflowing talent, the same reckless audacity.

“If you’re determined to walk the path of a singer, remember—don’t smoke, don’t drink,” Zhang Liangkuan urged him with all seriousness.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Zhou Miao replied with equal sincerity.

No one outside knew what was said within those walls, not even the cameras, which had been left outside. Li Feifei, who was leaning against the door, was puzzled by the sudden silence inside, when the door swung open and she almost collided with Zhou Miao.

“What are you doing?” Zhou Miao asked, puzzled.

“Uh, I was just about to come get you. It’s almost time for us to leave,” Li Feifei explained hurriedly.

The others were already in the car waiting. Zhou Miao and Zhang Liangkuan exchanged contact information and bid each other farewell.

Seeing Zhou Miao emerge with a guitar on his back, Wang Jiang asked curiously, “When did you buy a guitar? How much was it?”

“Kuan gave it to me.”

Wang Jiang reached out to touch it, but Zhou Miao swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch it. You’ll get it dirty.”

“So stingy!” Wang Jiang grumbled. If it hadn’t been for his idea, Zhou Miao would never have gotten that guitar.

By the time they returned to Buffalo Village, it was already noon. Zhou Miao was famished—the piano duel earlier had seemed just a matter of moving his fingers, but it had been draining.

During lunch, Wang Jiang announced that the production team had considered his task complete. Next, it was Zhou Miao and Li Feifei’s turn.

Munching on a roasted potato, Zhou Miao glanced at Li Feifei. “You first, or me?”

Li Feifei hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with Wang Jiang’s problem. “You go ahead.”

Zhou Miao nodded. “Then let’s talk in a bit.”

After lunch and a short rest, Zhou Miao shooed away Wang Jiang, who tried to eavesdrop, and walked with Li Feifei to the riverside. The camera was set up for filming, but Zhou Miao soon asked the crew to leave as well. With no outsiders present, the conversation could be more open.

“I’ve always been curious—do you ‘Shamate’ kids really think those firecracker-blasted hairstyles look good?” Zhou Miao’s first question made Li Feifei roll her eyes.

“I don’t know what the others think, but I don’t actually think this hairstyle looks good.”

“Then why have it?”

“I don’t care what others think of me. What matters to me is whether they look at me at all.” Li Feifei’s words left Zhou Miao momentarily baffled.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been to school in over half a year. My parents are getting divorced—I just can’t bring myself to care about studying.”

“They’ve been fighting ever since I can remember, so I hate being at home. Once I got to high school, the fights got even worse. They’ve smashed almost everything in the house.”

Li Feifei’s eyes turned red. Sitting by the riverbank, her fingers idly tapped the water, sending ripples across the surface.

“Sometimes I wonder why they ever got together in the first place.”

“Last year, they started the divorce process. Nothing I did could stop them. I asked everyone I could think of for help, but it was useless—they were determined to split. In the end, I was out of options…”

She looked at Zhou Miao. “Do you know the best way to deflect internal conflict?”

Zhou Miao shook his head.

Li Feifei laughed. “So there are things you don’t know? I thought you knew everything.”

“The best way to divert internal conflict is to introduce an external one to draw their attention.”

Zhou Miao was stunned for a moment, then realization dawned. His eyes widened. “So that’s what you…”