Chapter 400: Don't Do That

A pluck, a sweep, a twist, a flick.

It comes easily to hand, yet carries its own rhythm, as if a spring breeze brushes the face and chaotic flowers fill the eyes.

Liu Hao had never imagined that just looking at a pair of hands playing an instrument could make one involuntarily develop a sense of "pleasing to the eye and heart." Cheng Nianjia sat to the side, her upper and lower teeth clenched together, her cheeks slightly puffed out.

As the music poured into her ears like demonic sounds, two lines of poetry involuntarily surfaced in her mind: "The warbling of orioles is slippery beneath the flowers, the sobbing of a spring is difficult beneath the ice."

Could it be that this was not a description, but the poet's true portrayal?

Wan Fengyun sat bolt upright, eyes unblinking. Ren Zhuo knitted his brows, his face full of conflict.

Precisely because they were Experts, they could not figure it out: since it was a lost technique, why could Lin Sicheng play it, and play it so well? To put it bluntly: even if one wanted to learn, wouldn't there have to be a place to learn it?

While secretly pondering, Li Jingting nudged his chin, signaling slightly.

The two were startled, and when they looked closely: beside Lin Sicheng, Zhao Guanghua's eyes were bulging, his mouth open wide enough to fit a fist.

He was, after all, an old Expert of fifty years, yet he was shocked as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

When it came to knowledge and understanding of musical instruments, Zhao Guanghua was certainly more professional than them. If even he could be shocked to this extent, it showed just how incredible Lin Sicheng was.

Li Jingting could not fathom it: "Where did he learn it?"

Wan Fengyun and Ren Zhuo shook their heads in unison: Heaven knows?

Self-taught, or divinely inspired?

What a load of crap...

While secretly pondering, Ren Zhuo suddenly paused, as if a light had flashed through his mind: he remembered the Dunhuang Musical Scores, and those score characters that Lin Sicheng had copied out from them.

Shao: Rapid Masking, press and release immediately, like an arrow piercing the air.

^: Linked Plucking, double strings plucked in succession, like pearls falling onto a jade plate.

Qian: Snake Movement, single-hand pitch shifting (three-fret displacement), like wind sweeping through bamboo gaps.

:: Mi, ten strings in one second, sudden as Rain Beating on Banana Leaves.

Yu: Staccato, rapid pause and vibrato, like metal and stone bursting apart.

These were the translations of the score characters in the first volume of the Dunhuang Musical Scores, numbered P. 3808. The Japanese scholar Lin Qian San, and the Chinese musicologists and music historians Ye Dong and Chen Yingshi had all translated them.

What Lin Sicheng had copied were Chen Yingshi's translations of the score characters. At the time, they had felt Lin Sicheng's actions were inexplicable: you are arranging music, even if you are copying, you copy musical phrases, why copy the techniques for playing the instrument?

And he even re-translated them, adding his own understanding?

Thinking about it now, these were, nine times out of ten, the techniques for the Five-String Pipa.

While suspicious, Ren Zhuo narrowed his eyes, staring at Lin Sicheng's hands:

Press and release immediately, Rapid Masking... double strings plucked in succession, Linked Plucking... three-fret displacement, Snake Movement... ten strings in one second, Mi... rapid pause and vibrato, Staccato. Then closing his eyes, listening carefully: when fast, it was like an arrow piercing the air; when continuous, like pearls falling onto a jade plate; when sudden, like Rain Beating on Banana Leaves; when broken, like metal and stone bursting apart. So, what was the difference between these techniques, these sound effects, and the score characters Lin Sicheng had transcribed?

Ren Zhuo opened his eyes wide, as if unable to believe it: "These techniques... did he translate them on the spot?"

Li Jingting and Wan Fengyun were stunned for a moment, then shook their heads decisively: How could that be possible?

If they were translated on the spot, wouldn't one have to learn them, wouldn't there have to be a process?

It was impossible to be this proficient right from the start, to the extent that it would make a performer like Zhao Guanghua drop his jaw.

While they were still suspicious, Ren Zhuo pointed: "Listen: Opening... Conflict... Climax... Transition..."

The two were stunned, their pupils shrinking rapidly: what Ren Zhuo was talking about, were those score characters that Lin Sicheng had translated later?

Qian, Yu: Opening, Snake Movement Probing the Formation → Staccato Power Accumulation.

Shao,..., Shao: Conflict section → Rapid Masking Triple Strike.

??,? Ling,:: Climax section → Sixteen Linked Pearls.

Xin, Kou: Transition → Trembling Branch Falling Flower.

T, Xie: Conclusion → Converging Breath Closing Posture.

These twelve score characters were part of P. 3539 and P. 3719, which were the last two volumes of the Dunhuang Musical Scores: the back of the Record of the Buddha's Original Acts; Upali Chapter, and the back of the plain text of the Erya.

Because they were fragments, there had been no record of them being translated until now, yet Lin Sicheng had translated twelve of them in one go.

At the time, they had even thought, if Lin Sicheng could translate these two volumes of fragmentary scores, what need would there be to translate the "Liu Yao"?

Not to mention one hundred percent accuracy, if he could just translate half of it correctly, the Ministry of Culture would have to award him a gold medal.

Looking and listening now: it was unknown whether Lin Sicheng's translation was correct, but placed here, combined with these harmonies, it felt seamless and perfectly appropriate.

So, where did these techniques he was playing now come from, if not translated on the spot?

The three of them looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

It was the feeling of having one's understanding of half a lifetime suddenly overturned...

While they were stunned, the melody suddenly paused, and the clapper sounded four times.

The three of them suddenly realized: was that part just now the "Prelude" section of the Yan Music Grand Suite?

But when they played that part before, why didn't they hear it?

Because it wasn't marked on the score, and the Five-String Pipa and Thirteen-string Zheng were playing too chaotically.

Then what about next, the Middle Prelude?

No, Lin Sicheng hadn't arranged any "singing" musical phrases at all, which was equivalent to skipping this part entirely.

Next, it must be the "Break" section: it was time to start dancing.

Sure enough: Lin Sicheng nodded slightly, signaling to the two dancers.

Everyone's spirits lifted.

First was the Fangxiang, but it only played once. Before the lingering sound faded, the Zhazheng and the shakuhachi sounded in unison.

One was like a poetess chanting softly, the other like a flying crane piercing the clouds.

Suddenly, Zhao Guanghua performed a Reverse Finger Flick on the strings, the sound of the Zheng like wind brushing against a bead curtain, fine yet crisp.

The two actors entered with small steps, their figures graceful, their movements light.

Staring at Zhao Guanghua's hand flicking the strings, the Thirteen-string Zheng master was dumbfounded: wasn't this the part on the score where it could clearly be swept with a plectrum, yet Lin Sicheng insisted he use the edge of his palm to touch the strings?

At the time, he was particularly uncomprehending, feeling that Lin Sicheng was making things difficult for people, but now he finally understood: why were there such strange requirements? If he had been allowed to sweep across with his artificial nails, the sound effect of this segment would definitely have been like war drums beating in succession, the entire army launching an attack.

Come now, just ask, how are these two actors supposed to dance?

But when changed to Teacher Zhao, it was like striking ice and shattering jade, round and smooth as pearls?

It just felt perfectly in sync with the two actors' dance postures, movements, and forms.

But to be honest, was it merely because Teacher Zhao played well?

No, it was that Lin Sicheng's composition was well-written, and what was even more rare: his understanding of an extremely obscure ancient musical instrument like the Shisan Xian Zheng had reached a terrifying degree.

Subconsciously, the zheng player looked at the pipa player beside him: he finally understood a little, why did Zhou Mei have that kind of expression the moment Lin Sicheng's zither music sounded?

Amidst the sighing, the two actors had already entered the stage; the rhythm of the Zhazheng and Shisan Xian Zheng suddenly slowed, and the Five-String Pipa was just right.

With a twist of the three strings and a "Zheng" sound, the two actors lightly raised their slender hands, their cervical vertebrae stretching backward in unison.

Their jade arms were slender and long, their necks thin and white, like swans.

Zhou Mei spat out two words: "Capping the Vault!"

The zheng player didn't hear clearly and was just about to ask "Capping what," when with a "whoosh," the Five-String Pipa played another glissando.

It was very coherent and very silky, yet it gave one a feeling of distinct musical scales, arranged in an orderly fashion?

At the same time, the two actors bent their waists and puffed out their chests, their upper bodies leaning forward.

Zhou Mei's eyes went straight: "Pushing the Moon!"

Immediately, Lin Sicheng plucked with four fingers in succession, the strings trembling incessantly, colliding into circles of sound waves.

The two actors' left arms trembled slightly, their sleeves swinging open like ripples. At the same time, they thrust their hips and pushed their lumbar vertebrae forward, their postures exceptionally enchanting. Then, Lin Sicheng pressed, pulled, and flicked; following a segment of soft notes, the two cloud hands swept across their chests and pressed beneath their cheeks.

Zhou Mei muttered to herself: "Shaking the Scales..."

Before the words had faded, as if fitted with a mechanism, the two right shoulder blades slid forward, four eyes drooped slightly, and a few traces of coquettishness appeared on the two actors' faces. For no reason at all, the zheng player's heart gave a slight jolt: this dance posture, this gaze, and this expression?

In that instant, he actually had a feeling of his heart fluttering and being stirred. It was as if he were falling in love?

Simply ghostly...

Just as he was shocked and at a loss, the zither music suddenly shifted, the two actors held their breath slightly, their right feet paused in the air, and then they turned, their skirts falling like flying clouds. The zheng player woke as if from a dream, his face slightly hot.

He lowered his voice and coughed to cover his embarrassment: "Teacher Zhou, what did you say just now?"

The pipa player was stunned and silent, as if lost in thought.

After a long while, she sighed: "Techniques of the Five-String Pipa!"

Moreover, techniques that only exist in literature.

Before, she had never understood: twisting strings is just twisting strings, why call it Capping the Vault?

Why is Pushing Tone called Pushing the Moon, and why is Rapid Shaking called Shaking the Scales?

Wheel Fingering is just Wheel Fingering, even if it is fast to sixteen notes per second, what does it have to do with "Falling Jade"?

Only now did she know: these sixteen soft notes can truly play out that sense of layering and granularity of "jade beads falling onto a plate."

And the actors' movements of raising their arms and curling their fingers were truly like jade beads rolling off their fingertips.

Therefore, the reason these techniques have such strange nicknames is because of the artistic conception embodied when the music played with these techniques and the dance postures become one.

Even she could feel it; others' feelings would only be deeper than hers.

Subconsciously, two terms surfaced in Xiao Yinan's mind: a match made in heaven, flowing clouds and moving water.

But she was not referring to the coordination between the various instruments, nor the actors' dance movements, but the music and the dance themselves.

A newly composed piece, not even rehearsed at all, just throwing a sheet of music to everyone and letting them play together?

Even though everyone present was a musician with rich stage experience, the tacit understanding was equal to zero.

Listen carefully, flaws could still be heard in many places, and quite a few at that: wrong notes, missed notes, and broken notes were common.

But often at these times, it would be covered over by the extremely unique, extremely smooth pipa sound, and quite naturally so.

A newly choreographed dance, newly set dance postures, only practiced for a day, how proficient could the two actors be?

The key was that the two actors were too concerned and exceptionally nervous.

Look closer: in many places, one could still see phenomena of rigid transitions and stiff limbs. Sometimes they didn't follow the beat, sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. Every time this happened, the pipa would either rush a bit or slow down a bit. It was as if the actors were not dancing to the music, but rather the music was playing according to the actors' rhythm.

What was astonishing was: the subsequent rhythm was not chaotic at all?

It was not that the accompanying instruments and actors were well-coordinated, but that Lin Sicheng's control over the details had reached a terrifying degree.

But, even if he were the author, this was a newly choreographed dance and a newly composed piece?

Xiao Yinan just felt that there was no way to explain it with reason.

And compared to that, the most amazing thing was: the degree of fit between the dance and the music.

Apart from terms like "water and milk blending" or "two swords combined," Xiao Yinan truly didn't know how else to describe it.

It seemed born to be: this piece of music was born to be paired with this set of dance postures...

The eight tones played in succession, dancing gracefully, the rhythm getting faster and faster, a dozen pairs of eyes shining brightly.

Until the Guqin trembled and chanted, and the long notes began to resonate.

The pipa's tail notes slowly dissipated, the skirts drifted down, the cloud hands swept across their chests, and the two actors bowed.

But no one moved, whether it was the musicians or the audience, as if they were still immersed in the lingering charm.

Still wanting more, yet with endless aftertaste.

Outside the door, Jing Zeyang clenched his fists, covering his mouth, his two eyeballs bulging out hard, wishing they would pop onto the ground.

No... where did this dance and this music come from?

He had only gone to run some errands and hadn't come for half a day, yet it felt like a year had passed?

Just as he was stunned, Lin Sicheng put down the pipa and stood up.

He first bowed: "Thank you for your hard work, teachers, thank you!"

The crowd woke as if from a dream, Li Jingting shouted: "Brilliant," and then clapped his hands.

Immediately, thunderous applause erupted.

Whether out of amazement, deep emotion, or a sense of shared pride, the applause lasted for nearly a minute.

Lin Sicheng pressed his hand down, waited for the applause to gradually subside, and then smiled at the two actresses: "You danced well!"

These four short words were like flipping a magical switch; Yu Jingsi's nose couldn't help but sting, and a mist formed in her eyes. Yang Lin wanted to say something, but her throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, unable to utter a single word. Her eye sockets grew hot, and tears couldn't stop sliding down. Jing Zeyang being fired and tormented by the General Manager was his own fault, a consequence of his own actions.

But he had caused them to be mocked, not to mention being left on the bench.

Might their professional careers even be cut short because of this?

No one knew how anxious and tortured they had been during this time.

But suddenly, in the despairing darkness, a light had shone?

They were not Experts, let alone professors; in terms of professional level, they were not even as good as the several directors present.

But they were actresses; every gesture, every dance move, and even every trace of emotion was presented and conveyed by them. Regarding the harmony of the dance music and the perception of the overall effect, no one could compare to them.

They dared to guarantee that the artistic achievement of this dance piece surpassed any work they had performed in the past, including the ones that had won awards. And this "not bad" from Lin Sicheng was as good as setting it in stone: just let the two of you dance it...

No one spoke, but as if by prior agreement, the two actresses bowed in unison.

Then they stood up, their eye sockets gradually moistening, and Lin Sicheng's figure gradually blurred, yet grew larger and larger...

Not far away, Li Zhen watched coldly from the sidelines and let out another sneer.

Xiao Yuzhu's heart trembled, and she quietly tugged at her sleeve: "Senior Sister, don't..."