Chapter 15 A Song Called Xiao Yan
That talk with Ruoyu did not end well.
She left soon after, citing her schedule.
After that, I went back to the Nursing Home.
I stayed with Aunt Zhan and a few of the elders, played the Piano, and did whatever needed doing.
After a few days, the elders in the courtyard more or less guessed I carried some unhappy history.
They kept a quiet agreement among themselves and never asked.
Later, I used Aunt Zhan’s story as inspiration.
From the emotional angle of a mother who had lost her child, I wrote a Piano piece.
I named it Xiao Yan.
When I finished playing it in the courtyard, every elder applauded.
Aunt Zhan stood to the side and cried.
In those days, with help from Chen Heng and everyone else, Aunt Zhan’s mind slowly improved.
She came to understand that I was not Xiao Yan.
Her Xiao Yan had already gone somewhere very far away.
Dean Lin learned how to livestream on his phone.
When he found out I had once taken first place in an international Piano competition, he insisted on holding a livestream launch for the new piece I had written.
On the day we set, the elders across the courtyard busied themselves for me.
Lin, who knew sewing, measured me and made a formal dress.
Zhao, who knew styling, did my hair and makeup.
Song, who could drive, rented a high-end car from town for the sense of ceremony.
He picked me up from my house, circled the small county once, and delivered me to the Nursing Home.
Colored lights hung from the grape trellis in the courtyard.
On the wall behind the Piano hung a banner Ge had written himself in calligraphy: Pianist Xin Xin’s Solo Concert.
That day, Xu and Shen, who had once studied broadcasting, put on suits again after a long time.
They stood in front of the phone camera and announced me with clear, formal diction.
I looked at that group of lovely people in the courtyard.
Something warm moved through my chest.
For the first time in my life, they made me feel that I was someone people cared for and protected.
Days passed like that, one after another.
In the spring of the second year, I finally published the finished recording of Xiao Yan online.
In less than a week, Xiao Yan, carried by its raw emotion, passed a hundred million plays on short-video platforms and blew up beyond its circle.
Invitations for solo concerts and endorsement deals started coming in.
Some production teams even tried to cast me while the heat lasted.
I turned none of it down.
A person should not set limits on herself.
I was supposed to take every chance that might work in my favor.
But someone always wanted me to suffer.
After crews “returned” me three times in a row, I finally noticed something off.
So I went to Chen Heng.
“Can you help me with something?”