Chapter 357: Sound the Bell

Chapter 357: Sound the Bell

Wu Chen’s handwriting was beautiful, though that was hardly the point. An Menglan had been watching every word he wrote, and sitting across from him meant reading it all upside down, which was awkward work.

A good while passed.

Wu Chen was still writing.

At last An Menglan could not stand it. She rose, came around the table, and sat down in the chair beside him, leaning close and tilting her head to read.

Ordinarily a young, beautiful woman would not sit so close to a man she was not intimate with. Even longtime friends of opposite sexes generally kept a little space between them, if only to avoid giving the wrong impression.

An Menglan had not thought that far.

Her whole mind was on his lyrics.

Besides, that was simply her nature, forthright and free-spirited. There was nothing between them, so what was there to guard against?

About ten minutes later.

He finished the lyrics. All of it by hand, roughly four hundred Chinese characters.

Then he began on the music.

Annotations of every kind followed.

He even marked where the singer needed to switch between chest voice and falsetto, fixing the general feel each line should carry when sung.

It was extraordinarily detailed.

The whole process took about half an hour. Wu Chen filled three sheets of A4 paper, covering them with circles, lines, directions, and notes. They had the unmistakable look of working drafts.

Done.

He set the pen down, capped it, then turned to her with a smile. “That’ll do.”

As he spoke he slid all the pages across to her.

An Menglan picked them up and began reading carefully from the top, murmuring under her breath as she went, so softly the sound barely carried.

Wu Chen lifted his coffee, took a sip, and looked out the window.

A long while passed.

An Menglan had reached the second page. She had begun to hum without noticing, feeling her way into the song as she worked through the chorus. The toe of her shoe tapped lightly against the floor, searching for the rhythm.

“…the door is answered… an empty sleeve sways… the sunlight he once wore… is gone from his face… all his weathered years… despair… hope…”

An ache rose suddenly in her chest.

As an exceptionally accomplished musician, she could sink into a piece’s emotions with ease.

And now she understood what Wu Chen’s song was about.

It told of a wife, or perhaps a mother, waiting for a husband or a son who had gone away to war. Day after day she waited for a knock at the door. At last the war ended and the man came home, wounded all over, left disabled by what he had endured.

The man whose face had once been full of sunshine had become a battle-worn soldier.

He had known despair.

And he had found hope.

There was no ornate language anywhere in Sound the Bell. The lyrics were plain and simple, but set against the melody they genuinely made her heart hurt.

It was a story, and it spoke of the cruelty of war. At bottom it was an anti-war song, a call for peace.

She had no idea how much time passed.

“When the door is—” An Menglan’s voice suddenly rose, and she cut herself off at once. Instinct born of manners. One did not sing aloud in a Western restaurant.

She had been too absorbed. Only now did she come back to herself. She looked up, glanced at Wu Chen, and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wu…”

Then she looked around.

Only then did she notice the restaurant filling up.

It was already past eleven. Lunchtime was coming on, so of course customers were arriving. Many of them had spotted the superstar An Menglan and were looking her way.

And all of them could see her sitting with a young man.

“Well?” Wu Chen turned to her with a smile. “Satisfied?”

“Mm… it’s very good,” she said, though she sounded distracted, and glanced around again.

There were simply too many people now.

The troubles of being a celebrity.

Everyone who dined here had some standing, so no one had come over to bother her yet. But once the room grew more crowded, someone might well approach for a photo or an autograph.

Worse, someone could take a picture on the sly and post it online. That would spark dating rumors, and An Menglan had no appetite for pointless trouble.

She looked down at the manuscript, then up at him.

“Mr. Wu, would it be convenient for you to come upstairs with me? There’s a piano in my room. I’d like to try this song right now…”

An Menglan was inviting him up to her room.

She had thought nothing of it. They simply needed to move before people began staring, and she genuinely wanted to sing Sound the Bell. She could already tell it was a good song. Exactly how good could only be judged by performing it.

“Sure.” Wu Chen nodded, then smiled. “Wait for me by the elevators.”

An Menglan took a moment to catch his meaning.

They could not walk out together. It would draw attention.

“All right. Thank you, Mr. Wu.” She smiled, took out a mask and put it on, then stood with the manuscript in hand.

She left the restaurant first.

Wu Chen signaled a nearby waiter, paid for the coffee, and only then got up.

He walked out and down a long, luxurious corridor to the elevators that served the guest-room floors.

An Menglan was already waiting. With the mask on, no one she passed had recognized her.

They stepped into the elevator.

She swiped her VIP card, and they rode up.

The fifteenth floor.

The presidential suite.

A presidential suite at more than ten thousand yuan a night was expensive for a reason. At the Jiazhong International Hotel, for instance, they came with their own piano rooms.

Song Xuan had arranged this room for her. For a pop superstar like An Menglan, a presidential suite with a piano room was a particularly thoughtful touch.

She led Wu Chen inside.

He came through the entryway and stopped, one hand in his pocket, taking in the suite’s living room.

Luxurious.

Beautiful.

An Menglan, meanwhile, hurried to the sofa, her heels clicking fast. She slipped them off, changed into slippers, took off her mask, then turned and gestured to him.

“Mr. Wu, this way.”

She led him toward the piano room.

She hardly needed to point. Wu Chen could already see the piano in an open room beyond the living area, with a bright balcony on the far side.

She walked over, pulled out the bench, and sat down.

Changing shoes was simply practical. She was going to play, and working the pedals in heels was uncomfortable. Possible, but hardly ideal.

Flats were best.

Slippers would do.

An Menglan was a professional. She was highly proficient at both piano and violin.

“Ahem, ahem.”

She propped up the manuscript, opened the keyboard lid, set both hands over the keys, cleared her throat again, and took two deep breaths.

She came into her working state remarkably fast.

She meant to begin at once.

The song had left her impatient.

Dong…

A clear, cool piano line rang out.

After the introduction An Menglan began to sing Sound the Bell in her distinctive, rich, magnetic voice.

Playing and singing at once.

Although it was her first time performing the anti-war song, Wu Chen’s score was extremely clear. Vocally she would have no trouble with it. Whatever he had written, she could sing.

Wu Chen stood to one side, listening.

About a minute in he reached over, lifted the first page from the piano, and set it aside.

Time to turn the page.

She had forgotten to spread all three sheets out beforehand.

Her singing was excellent and her playing good, but she had only just been handed the lyrics and score. There was no way she had them memorized.

She had to play, sing, and keep her eyes on the manuscript all at once.

A little more than two minutes later.

The song ended.

An Menglan frowned slightly.

Something felt wrong.

“I’ll do it again,” she said.

She was fully in the zone now, intensely focused, and much of the courtesy between them had fallen away.

The clear, cool introduction sounded again.

She sang it a second time.

Then a third.

A fourth.

Her brows stayed faintly drawn. She was not dissatisfied with the song.

She was dissatisfied with herself.

It simply felt as though she had failed to bring out the feeling the song was meant to have.

“Why do you keep playing it wrong?” Wu Chen asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

An Menglan, about to begin a fifth run, stopped and turned to him. It took her a moment to gather herself before she asked, “You can hear that, Mr. Wu?”

“You miss a few notes every time. How could I not?” Wu Chen smiled. “How about I play and you sing? You may want to stand so you have enough breath support…”

She needed another moment to process that.

Then she asked, surprised, “You play the piano too, Mr. Wu?”

A familiar question.

Li Ruobing had once asked him the very same thing.