Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Path Ahead Is Clear

It was not unusual for contestants to take the stage wearing masks. In past piano competitions, such participants were not uncommon—they often wished to conceal their identities, yet sought to prove their abilities through these contests. Among them were true virtuosos and mysterious newcomers alike, and the official organizers of the Gibberish Competition imposed no prohibition on such displays.

In the inaugural Emperor and Four Kings Piano Competition, a world-class pianist from the North American division entered the fray donning a clown mask. From the preliminary rounds onward, he cleared every hurdle, emerging as the year's greatest dark horse, though he ultimately fell just short of the regional top three. After leaving the stage, his identity was swiftly leaked, causing some disruption in his life. Yet, during his ensuing concert tour, every performance was sold out; he became one of the most sought-after, highest-paid pianists of his time.

For the audience, such tactics were indeed novel at first, drawing immense attention. However, as the first and second Emperor and Four Kings Competitions were successfully held, people’s patience for the ever-increasing number of masked contestants wore thin, and their expectations of such performers’ abilities soared ever higher.

To flaunt oneself, one must be backed by genuine strength. Without it, stepping onto the stage masked would only attract harsher scrutiny. Should their performance fall short of expectations, elimination was inevitable, and some even faced boos or the occasional water bottle hurled in protest—there were precedents for such reactions.

Moreover, while wearing a mask added an air of mystery, it diminished the power of emotional resonance. Just as with singers and dancers, a performer’s facial expressions and bodily movements, when expressing their artistry, can deeply move an audience. It is essential to invest real emotion into a performance; expressions and demeanor should be natural, not forced. Merely playing for the sake of performance would only backfire—a failed imitation, a mockery of the original intent.

For instance, in his previous life, the world-renowned master pianist Lang Lang was famous for losing himself in his early performances, his face contorted with exaggerated expressions, so much so that he graced the covers of music magazines worldwide. Liao Yuan knew this was a true expression of heartfelt passion—Lang Lang genuinely loved the piano, feeling restless and uneasy if deprived of it for even a day, regarding the instrument as his very life.

Such seemingly mad, eccentric playing was at the time unique, often misunderstood. Yet, no matter the criticisms, Lang Lang’s pianistic prowess remained universally acknowledged among the world’s elite. He made his voice heard through a single piano, leaving his mark on the Olympic Games, the Grammys, the World Cup, the Spring Festival Gala—countless classic moments witnessed by the world.

But the release of emotion need not always be reflected on the face.

The performance at one’s fingertips can be just as soul-stirring. Even Lang Lang, as his style matured, gradually shed his earlier abandon, returning to simplicity—eventually, with only his hands, he conquered the world. In the words of many international piano masters, Lang Lang was hailed as one of the world’s top three pianists.

Then there was Horowitz—his face forever a stoic mask, devoid of extraneous gestures, yet his playing brimmed with emotional power. He was considered one of the twentieth century’s greatest pianists. In truth, aside from a few “expressionists,” most world-class pianists poured their emotion into their hands.

Thus, Fu Xiaoci’s proposal was entirely feasible. Wearing a mask would not unduly affect Liao Yuan’s performance.

“Let me think about it.”

After hanging up the phone, Liao Yuan searched for the Emperor and Four Kings competition rules on his computer. Once he finished reading, he fell into deep thought.

Musicians need resonance. Liao Yuan did not wish to become a lonely performer, dancing alone in the darkness, unseen, without flowers, applause, or praise. No matter how great one’s passion, in solitude it would be consumed.

In his heart, he longed for the stage.

Yet with this desire came overwhelming fear. In his previous life, he had flourished in the limelight, his masterpieces dazzling the world, but such brilliance attracted envy. In his final days, he was kidnapped and brought to an abandoned factory, spending dozens of hours in pitch darkness. The only smells were the stench of garbage, the only sounds the wind’s mournful howl and the gnawing of rats.

That fear was beyond words.

Given another chance at life, he resolved to be more discreet, to hide his light. Yet the lure of fame and fortune seemed only to drive him ever closer to the edge of ruin. More than that, his predecessor’s unwavering devotion to music had planted an irresistible seed deep within his soul.

Whenever he touched an instrument, his every nerve seemed to vibrate with pleasure—a soul-deep ecstasy, addictive as opium.

Liao Yuan shut down his computer, went to the living room, switched the camera to video mode, lifted the tablecloth, opened the S-277 piano lid, and sat down gently.

With the first note, it was as if someone strolled through the depths of his soul, smiling with a flower in hand; someone else sat cross-legged, applauding a brilliant move on the chessboard; yet another danced beneath the spotlight, tears streaming as they waved passionately to a hundred thousand roaring fans.

But most were solitary travelers, trudging through the darkness alone.

Yet, when they looked up, Liao Yuan saw that they all bore his own face.

His hands, playing the piano, were once again enveloped in a sacred, ethereal light. The entire room brimmed with desolation and hope, ruin and sorrow, passion and war, home and friendship, death and blades, shared dances and growth.

But I am no longer myself.

I am the prelude to dawn, the symphony of the heavens—the eternal blackness and night.

This piece was called “Last Reunion.” As it rang out, a broad and radiant avenue unfurled before Liao Yuan, shining, dazzling.

He strode forward boldly.

Suddenly, he turned back, reaching out to the lonely child sitting on the floor, gazing up at him, and smiled:

“Brother, the path ahead is bright and clear. Shall we walk it together?”