058 Showed Off a Little

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This new understanding that had just dawned on him left Yang Tang both amused and exasperated.

He Jia-ni was also entertained by Yang Tang’s casual nonsense. “Hehe, can you really play the piano tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Yang Tang replied, sounding quite confident. “Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, but definitely within a week.” After all, the skill solidification period never lasted longer than seven days.

“Then I’m really looking forward to hearing you play!” As she spoke, He Jia-ni couldn’t help but cover her mouth, stifling another giggle.

Just then, Fang Yu-hua returned and asked, “What are you all laughing about?”

He Jia-ni whispered the story to her, and Fang Yu-hua burst into laughter as well, then playfully smacked Yang Tang. “Hey?”

“What?” Yang Tang glared at her.

“You think playing the piano is that easy?”

Yang Tang shook his head, feigning nonchalance. “It’s really not that hard.” Of course, he knew perfectly well that, without the help of his dreams, he wouldn’t become a piano virtuoso even if he lived two lifetimes.

“Well, I’ll be waiting to see what you can do!”

Night came—the fourth dream.

Within the golden mist, Yang Tang once again saw the sculpture. This time, he noticed with surprise that the small red dot within the six-pointed star seemed to have faded a little. The change was so subtle that, without his eagle eyes, he wouldn’t have noticed at all—he even wondered if it was just his imagination.

Entering the fourth dream was uneventful. Presented with several manga scenes featuring supposed piano prodigies, Yang Tang randomly entered "The Bonds of Deduction"—specifically, the moment just before Kiyotaka Narumi, age twenty, abruptly announced his retirement from the piano world. Yang Tang spent four hundred seconds holding Narumi’s hand, copying his skill as required by Enlightenment. Narumi nearly mistook his intentions, and after Yang Tang let go, he almost wanted to kill him.

Back in the golden mist, Yang Tang was puzzled. Without the fortyfold cycle multiplier, copying a piano genius's skill would take only ten seconds—something he found hard to accept.

Unexpectedly, Enlightenment popped up with a half-baked explanation: while Narumi’s intelligence and mental strength far surpassed ordinary people, he was still only human.

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’re suggesting I’m evolving beyond humanity?”

Enlightenment did not respond.

“Damn it, I want to exchange for Narumi’s piano technique!”

Exchanging this skill will cost one hundred thirty-three merit points. Do you wish to proceed?

“Yes, exchange it for merit.”

One hundred thirty-three merit points deducted!

Current merit: three hundred twenty-two point five.

The cost to solidify a single skill in the fifth dream will be one hundred forty-six point four merit points!

Do you wish to solidify the skill: Narumi’s Piano Technique?

“Solidify.”

Skill solidification time: forty-nine minutes.

The skill cannot be used before solidification is complete.

One skill slot used for solidification.

Solidification process started.

Current available skill slots: fifteen.

Hearing this string of prompts from Enlightenment, Yang Tang was stunned. “Wait, don’t I need to enhance my physical abilities or anything?”

Enlightenment remained silent.

When Yang Tang woke the next morning, he found it hard to believe. Last night’s fourth dream had been almost too simple: eighty merit points to exchange for a cycle, a little over a hundred to get a skill, and that was it? Looking at his hands, they were long-fingered, but hardly the hands of a pianist!

Well, the solidification would be done in less than an hour; he’d see for himself soon enough. There was no need to keep overthinking it.

Comforting himself, Yang Tang put the matter out of his mind, washed up, and went with his parents to buy offerings: paper money, a brazier, and other items.

Today was Qingming Festival. According to the customs of their old hometown, if one returned to the ancestral home during the Spring Festival to pay respects at the graves, then Qingming only required a distant tribute—burning some paper money and making symbolic gestures. On the other hand, if the Spring Festival had been too busy for a visit, then Qingming was the day one had to return home to tend the ancestors’ graves in person.

This past Spring Festival, before Yang Tang was reborn, he remembered it clearly: on those rare few days off, he had gone home and wept bitterly at his grandparents’ graves.

While they were still alive, Yang Tang had promised them that one day he would ensure their comfort in old age, allowing them to enjoy a peaceful life. But both had passed away early due to illness, and those words became empty promises. As the college entrance exams approached and memories surfaced, he was overwhelmed with guilt toward his ancestors, and tears flowed uncontrollably.

After burning offerings to his ancestors in a vacant lot outside the hotel, Yang Tang turned and saw He Jia-ni and Fang Yu-hua standing gracefully at the hotel entrance. Behind each girl stood several others, arms laden with bags of paper money, incense, and candles.

It seemed they too were about to perform their own distant rituals. Out of courtesy, Yang Tang and his family merely nodded in greeting as they passed, not wanting to disturb them, and went straight into the restaurant for breakfast.

When the two girls returned, their expressions weren’t exactly cheerful. Yang Tang was really just an ordinary friend—hardly close enough to offer comfort. At that moment, Enlightenment’s voice descended from the heavens: Narumi’s piano technique solidification complete!

Well, well, perfect timing. Time to cheer them up!

With that thought, Yang Tang quickly finished his breakfast, closed his eyes to recall Rimsky-Korsakov’s orchestral miniature, “The Flight of the Bumblebee,” and, under the incredulous gaze of his parents, walked over to the piano Fang Yu-hua had played the day before and sat down.

“Hey, look at what your Tang Tang is doing!”

“He’s not my Tang Tang,” He Jia-ni denied in a fluster, though her eyes couldn’t help but follow Fang Yu-hua’s pointing finger. “Ah, is he really going to play?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’ll actually surprise me for once.” Fang Yu-hua smirked.

At this moment—

Yang Tang clumsily poked at the keys, one finger at a time, testing the sound.

This awkward display caused a stir among the guests. Even a fool could see his unfamiliarity with the instrument; it was as if he was insulting the hotel’s imported Challen grand piano.

Just as someone was about to step up and stop Yang Tang from further desecrating the piano, the stiffness in his fingers vanished, replaced by flowing agility.

A stream of notes, ethereal as meteor showers, seemed to descend from the heavens, brushing lightly past everyone’s ears—a light, distant sensation, as if one were standing amidst fields of flowers and grass. Those who fancied themselves connoisseurs and had been eager to drag Yang Tang off the stage instantly forgot their indignation. Even others who hadn’t paid him any attention now longed to lift their heads and seek out some imagined, fragrant meadow.

But the meadow faded with the diminishing notes.

Just as the crowd regretted the last glissando fading from their ears, a rapid, continuous, yet not irritating melody began to ring out clearly.

“What is this?!”

“Sounds like bees...”

“It must be bumblebees—bumblebees in flight!”

Some whispered, but as the main theme grew faster and faster, all voices gradually fell silent.

Everyone in the restaurant listened intently, including Yang Tang’s parents, whose mouths hung wide open. If anyone knew, it was them—Yang Tang had, at most, studied piano for a few months in the second grade. After Yang’s father was framed, nearly causing the downfall of the family, Yang Tang’s piano lessons had come to an abrupt end.

“Does Xiao Hong really have such talent?”

“I have no idea!”

The bumblebee danced, its wings buzzing, the tempo ever quickening, ever more urgent.

Everyone was dumbfounded.

Then—the music stopped abruptly.

Sitting at the piano, Yang Tang had to marvel at the brilliance of Narumi’s technique. He’d heard many versions of “Flight of the Bumblebee” in his past life, including internet knockoffs performed at breakneck speed, but none had sounded as seamless and crystalline as the piece he’d just played with his new skill—not even Maksim.

Of course, Maksim’s rendition was already quite polished compared to many others, at least not as jarring as some bootleg versions. The difference lay not just in the piano, but in the fluidity of the fingering. After all, the melody itself wasn’t difficult—just a series of chromatic runs—making it easy to adapt to different instruments.

At that moment, Fang Yu-hua, having recovered from her shock, ascended the stage with graceful steps. She approached Yang Tang and said softly, “I never imagined you could play piano—let alone play so wonderfully. You’ve really been hiding your talents!”

Yang Tang replied with genuine modesty, “I haven’t played in years, honestly. I’m just showing off a little, that’s all.”

“As if I’d believe that!” Fang Yu-hua rolled her eyes at him, then asked curiously, “What was that piece you just played? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

Yang Tang replied offhandedly, “It’s called ‘Flight of the Bumblebee,’ by a Russian composer—” Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t recall a Russian composer named Nikolai.

“A Russian piece? Impossible!” Fang Yu-hua was skeptical. “If a Russian had composed the piece you just played, it wouldn’t be so obscure. Are there any famous Russian composers? I can’t think of any.”

Yang Tang could only say, “I just misspoke earlier. I composed it myself!”

“No wonder I’ve never heard it!” Fang Yu-hua nodded in sudden understanding and nudged Yang Tang playfully with her elbow. “Send me the sheet music later. I have to learn this piece from you!”