world class art fanatic

He Yuansheng sat in the office in a daze.

His eyes can see the familiar photo wall, his nose can smell the light floral fragrance, and his palm can feel the roundness and smoothness of the cane.

He couldn't feel his own existence.

Huisheng also passed away.

Thinking of this fact, he couldn't control the tears welling up, and stopped crying abruptly.

He has to protect his eyes.

There were whispers of English calls in the office.

Chairman Xie and his assistant called the dean of Lyric College and the curator of the museum respectively, and were very busy for He Yuansheng's temporary decision.

Finally, the discussion came to an end.

"Mr. He, don't be sad."

President Xie hung up the phone, looked at the honored president in a daze, and comforted him softly, "Mr. Bai definitely doesn't want you to be sad about his affairs."

"I am not sad."

He Yuansheng's words were still ruthless.

But his face was pale and his breathing was weak, as if his soul had died.

His numb eyes froze for a long time before slowly turning and landing on Chairman Xie.

"Why don't you keep in touch? The matter of Xisheng's donation to Lyric College is done?"

Chairman Xie looked at the phone nervously, not knowing how to answer, and had to give a reply.

"We have already contacted the dean and the curator, and of course they welcome one more collection in the museum, just, just..."

He has been the president of the Chinese Mutual Aid Association for six years and has worked in the Mutual Aid Association for 20 years. Of course, he knows the importance of Xisheng.

The grieving old man, with a haggard and pale face, forbids anyone to disobey his request.

However, President Xie still wanted to say: "Xisheng has always been the hope of Mr. Feng and Mr. Bai. If you donate it to Lyric College, people in Qingling Lake will definitely object."

"Let them object."

He Yuansheng blinked, raised his hand and wiped away his tears with a handkerchief, "If objection is useful, Master and Huisheng will not die. They will live healthy and healthy."

His words are slow and long, spanning a long period of time, and forged his stubborn theory.

President Xie hesitated to speak, seeing He Yuansheng continued to wipe away his tears, he could only swallow what he wanted to say, and obeyed the old man's stubbornness.

At this moment, the phone rang, piercingly breaking the silence.

Chairman Xie hurriedly pressed his cell phone, and found that the sound was still ringing, so he stared at the assistant viciously.

The assistant looked innocent and winked at the leader: It's Mr. He's phone!

The continuous ringing, has not been picked up.

Chairman Xie reminded: "Mr. He, your phone number."

"Oh..." He Yuansheng sighed slowly, and pressed the answer button slowly, "Hello?"

"Dear old chap!"

Wellard over there was as excited as the call a few hours ago, "If you are not busy, come to the Lyric Museum, you will see the oldest and most outstanding performance in the world!"

He Yuansheng knew that he was talking about Lyric's copied chime.

But he has no interest in playing.

However old and good they may be, he no longer hears the bells tolled by the best players, nor the proud announcements of the best successors.

However, he finally went out, and slowly headed for Lyric Academy with the support of President Xie.

Because Wellard said that it was a Chinese student who rang it.

He Yuansheng likes Chinese people and Chinese students studying abroad.

Each of them was as full of vigor and vitality as the original Huisheng, and when they played the Xisheng and played music, they radiated a brilliance that he had not seen for many years.

That was the brilliance he had hidden deep in his memory.

It was the light of his childhood.

So far he can clearly recall Xisheng's thick voice, and the gentle words in the voice——

"This sound is called Gong in China, and it corresponds to Do in the key of C in the West."

Then, when the gentle man could no longer teach him to chime the chimes, an innocent young man came.

He said: "Gong Shangjiao Zhengyu is the complete pentameter of our China. I will definitely find Shang Zhengyu who is missing Shang Zhengyu."

He Yuansheng looked at the unchanging scenery outside the car window.

More than 30 years later, he can still recall his feelings every time he went to Lyric College, and he can still clearly recall what Bai Huisheng said.

He said: "Uncle Shi, I am going back to China. Only China can play the Gongshangjiao Zhengyu I want."

"Mr. He."

Chairman Xie stood by the car door, waiting for the old man who fell into memory.

He Yuansheng got out of the car slowly, and walked slowly towards the museum. The greenery, streets, and buildings that had not changed for decades seemed to be still there when he first sent Bai Huisheng to report.

A familiar figure stood at the entrance of the Lyric Museum.

"Hey, Mr. He."

Wellard greeted him personally, very solemnly, "If you come a little later, you will miss an excellent musician."

"yes."

He Yuansheng didn't have any interest in exchanging pleasantries, so he walked straight in, "Can he be better than your electronic creations?"

Wellard studied chime bells and naturally played the music created by chime bells.

He led a group of students to create a piece of unique comfortable music according to the frequency in line with human hearing.

The perfect frequency, after strict adjustment and control, is known as the holy light of God, and no sound violates human hearing.

He Yuansheng also heard it.

That's it, not too bad, but more beautiful than a lot of random knocking, well worthy of Wellard's bragging rights.

However, at this time Wellard deeply disliked his creation.

"All I can say is that deliberate math and physics can make satisfying music, but never art!"

His tone was exaggerated, full of praise for Chinese students studying abroad, "I assure you, you will hear the real voice of art later."

He Yuansheng walked into the museum and couldn't even respond with a smile.

The voice of art?

In his heart, those who could make the sound of art died one by one.

No matter how beautiful art is, it is not the art he expected——

"Ding!"

The crisp bell sounded a melody when he approached the Warring States Chime Bell Exhibition Hall.

The long and soothing music, with the trembling of each bell body, weaves a familiar piece of music.

It is beautiful and deep, containing the clarity of lake water, like a pure natural creation, the chime is jingled by the wind, and the melody is illuminated by the light, without any artificial carving.

He Yuansheng thought he had heard it.

But he couldn't remember.

He walked into the exhibition hall, and saw a black-haired figure ringing the chime intently.

That is the Chinese student whom Wellard praised highly. In order to invite him to appreciate the creation of this foreign student, there are intimate seats and small tables next to the replica chime in the exhibition hall.

He Yuansheng stared at the young man playing, reluctant to look away, and sat down on the chair hesitantly.

"Listen, isn't it very unique?" Wellard asked.

But no one answered.

The old man was fascinated, staring at the hands holding the hammer in front of him.

That piece of rhythm passed into his ears, it was not unique, let alone art, but a kind of familiarity from memory.

It seems that he has heard this melody before, and it is not a complete melody, but intermittent, missing key scales, and it is difficult to connect the music——

Jingle "Re" "Sol" "La".

Ding dong ding ding "Shang", "Zheng" and "Yu".

In his mind, the melody played by the incomplete voice and the respected old man gradually overlapped with the voice coming from his ears.

The more overlapping, the louder and clearer the incomplete bell imitated by the old man's mouth in memory.

At the end of a piece of music, He Yuansheng finally regained the memory of many years ago.

It was a piece of music that Feng Yuanqing often played on Xisheng, but unfortunately the Xisheng was incomplete, and the only remaining bell body left one regret after another, so Feng Yuanqing could only rely on verbal imitation of the tone to complete the scale for He Yuansheng.

But in front of the old man, the young and strange Chinese played the music in its entirety.

When he turned around, He Yuansheng could see clearly.

He has jet-black hair, jet-black eyes, as bright as Bai Huisheng 40 years ago, as young and carefree as before.

"Mr. He, please have some tea."

A respectful middle-aged man came to the vacant seat next to He Yuansheng.

The man brought a cup of tea, he was polite and not angry at him at all.

"It's you."

He Yuansheng actually didn't hate Fan Chengyun, and even liked it a little.

It was a descendant of a musician, and even a descendant of a friend of his master.

He is very happy to participate in every concert of Fan Chengyun in the United States, and even more happy to chat with Fan Chengyun about Huisheng and Xisheng.

Unfortunately, with Bai Huisheng's death, the impression of this junior fell to the bottom in He Yuansheng's heart.

He always wondered suspiciously: Did Fan Chengyun encourage Huisheng to hide his illness from him, so as not to hinder Fan Chengyun's persistent plan to find the Yiyin Yashe musical instrument!

But Fan Chengyun's attitude towards him was the same as before.

Fan Chengyun sat down and said with a polite smile, "The one who played the chime just now is my apprentice, Zhong Ying."

"You should have heard Huisheng talk about him."

He Yuansheng had an epiphany.

Yes, his nephew once talked about Zhong Ying enthusiastically.

A young and talented child who can play Guqin, pipa, Erhu, and chime bells.

Countless audios were transmitted from Bai Hui's excited voice, which recorded Zhong Ying's many performances.

Those legendary musical instruments that existed in his memory revived with the playing of Zhong Ying.

He felt almost at the same time as Huisheng, maybe there are such young people, maybe they can fulfill Feng Yuanqing's last wish for them.

Memories ran through his mind, and He Yuansheng carefully looked at the young man in front of him.

He is very good, very good.

But he is not Huisheng.

"...Are you all for Xisheng?" The old man is not stupid, seeing such a battle, he understands what they want.

"Winard has already told you, my decision?"

"Mr. He."

Fan Chengyun always talked politely with He Yuansheng, "We came this time not only to fulfill Huisheng's wish, but also to fulfill Mr. Feng's wish."

"Mr. Feng has been waiting for this day for too long. You know better than me that he will not wish to enter the Lyric Museum."

When the name was mentioned, He Yuansheng's face became more serious and pale.

Of course he knew Feng Yuanqing's demands better than anyone else.

Because from the time he was born, from the time he remembered, Feng Yuanqing had been knocking on Xisheng's incomplete bell body, telling him constantly——

"I will retrieve this set of chimes and return it to China intact."

However, the old man looked directly at him and suddenly asked, "Have you met my master?"

Fan Chengyun replied respectfully: "Mr. Feng has been through the ages. I have known him for more than [-] years. Until his death, I dare not forget his teachings."

"have you seen."

He Yuansheng seemed to only need this answer, "Since you have met Master, you should know why I don't want him to return to China."

Zhong Ying quietly stood aside, waiting for the master to convince the stubborn old man.

But seeing the old gentleman's words, the master was stunned.

Zhong Ying was anxious and did not dare to speak out.

He could only walk over cautiously and stand beside the master, reminding the master who fell into deep thought for some reason.

Fan Chengyun glanced at Zhong Ying with complicated eyes, sighed leisurely, and said: "Mr. Feng's experience is infuriating, but he still does not change his ambition. I think we should respect his old man's wishes."

"respect?"

He Yuan's tone was not good, as if he was suppressing his anger, "I have always respected their opinions, but what will be the result of their insistence? You know better than me."

"I can't undo what happened to Master, but if Huisheng stayed in the United States, he should be alive now!"

"The United States has the best pancreatic cancer treatment center, even if I lose everything, I will save his life!"

The stubborn old man's eyes were full of anger.

His cane made a screeching sound when it hit the place name, he didn't drink the tea Fan Chengyun handed him at all, and he was about to leave here soon.

Zhong panicked and said aloud: "But in the United States, there is no five-tone twelve-tone, no Yiyin Yashe, and there is no Mr. Feng!"

He Yuansheng was interrupted by his shout, "What did you say?"

Even if he would offend the old gentleman, Zhong Ying had to say it.

"I am Master's apprentice, but I am also a student taught by Mr. Bai. I have taken every class of his seriously. He is not only grateful for his return to China, but also deeply loves our motherland."

"He said that the Chinese five-tone is the most beautiful rhythm, and the Chinese erhu is the best musical instrument. The five-tone played by the erhu can penetrate the soul, span time and space, and allow us to meet old people we will never see again."

Zhong Ying remembered every word Bai Huisheng said.

His teacher always reminisces about the old man who passed away.

"Mr. Bo respects Mr. Feng. He said that he wants to pass on Mr. Feng's erhu score and performance skills to more students, so that Mr. Feng's soul will live in the motherland forever with the performance of the students."

Zhong Ying admires Feng Yuanqing just as he admires Shen Ling, Chu Shuming and Zheng Wanqing.

They have already passed away, and because of the music, and because of the instruments of Yiyin Yashe, they will live in the music forever and ever.

That is the real eternal life of musicians, and it is also a piece of Chinese cultural inheritance.

Rather than enjoying life in the strange United States, they are definitely more willing to be the light that illuminates more people in the motherland where they grew up.

Chung should understand such expectations.

He was a naive child who grew up in such a vision of expectation.

He said: "I don't know why you want them to stay in the United States, but the teacher Bai I know and the Mr. Feng I heard have always been proud and proud of being Chinese and living in China."

"Their lifelong wish is to find the instruments of the Yiyin Yashe and let them play the Han Yuefu music again."

A generous speech, from a young and immature student of Bai Huisheng.

He Yuansheng stared at him blankly, as if seeing the young Bai Huisheng.

The same love for that distant land, the same sincerity without hesitation.

"How old are you?" He Yuansheng looked Zhong Ying up and down.

Zhong Ying answered truthfully: "Eighteen."

He Yuan smiled wryly, but his tone was ironic.

"You are still young, you have never met my master, and you don't understand what I am talking about."

The old man let out a long sigh and was about to leave with his cane.

"I can't keep them, but I will keep Xisheng for them."

These words almost mean that he will not change his decision to donate, and will not let Xisheng return to China.

"What I regret most in my life is that I didn't stop Master that year and let him return to China."

Zhong Ying has never seen such a stubborn old man, he said in a serious voice: "I don't understand your words, but I understand Mr. Feng."

"Mr. Feng has been to the United States, but he still chooses to return to China. He must hope to see the rising sun in the East with his own eyes!"

"Xiao Ying!" Fan Chengyun yelled to stop hearing the words.

However, it's too late!

Just now he had a calm face, but when he looked at the old man who treated Zhong Ying with tolerance like an ignorant child, his face suddenly turned pale.

He stared wide-eyed, raised his hand to support the back of the chair almost unsteadily, raised his cane angrily, and knocked down the small table next to him as if venting his anger.

The teacup fell to the ground and fell apart.

But the loud sound of glass shattering couldn't cover up the heart-piercing roar of the old man——

"He's out of sight!"

Zhong Ying stood there in panic, his description full of beautiful visions seemed to have touched the switch of He Yuansheng's worst memory.

The old man in front of him had tears in his eyes, trembling with anger, grasping the back of the chair with both hands, his knuckles turned white, and his heart ached with hatred.

"He's never seen again!"