Chapter 120: Serious Music

Glancing at the time, Liu Qingshan nodded to Jin Xishan and then stepped outside alone to make a call. He instructed Shi Hui to bring some fast food along; the young assistant was already on the way, so this was the perfect moment to put him to use.

Upon returning, he found Liu Huan already seated at the piano, while Erbao was stationed at the recording studio’s control console.

“Teacher Liu is truly remarkable—just minutes after receiving the new song, he’s already attempting a recording!” a female student exclaimed in awe.

Of course, this wasn’t the formal recording but rather a rough demo or sound test. According to Liu Qingshan’s arrangement, only by combining it with a full symphony orchestra could the true impact of “Night” be realized.

The piece’s essence was aloof and esoteric; its niche style was the most authentic way to present “Night” in all its grandeur.

Yet even Liu Qingshan hadn’t anticipated that the moment Liu Huan’s fingers touched the piano keys, the music would conjure a sense of void—like a galaxy faintly shimmering with scattered stars against an inky black sky, gently rippling with the melody.

Meanwhile, Erbao adeptly used the synthesizer to weave organ and bell tones together, crafting an ethereal, unresolved atmosphere—an expansive emptiness that, though unreal, was palpably vivid.

After the strings and piano introduced this mysterious ambiance, Liu Huan’s voice began to chant, ushering the song into its main verse with a rich, heroic tone.

In this section, the two artists employed numerous semitones, allowing musical phrases to oscillate between natural and half-step notes.

The alternation between major and minor chords created a subtle dissonance, tricking the ear and forging new sonic textures, further enhancing the song’s elusive quality.

As the melody transitioned from verse to chorus, it ascended step by half-step, with Liu Huan’s voice reaching a full-voiced G4—a pinnacle of emotional expression.

Yet unexpectedly, he soared even higher, hitting a dazzling C5 immediately after the G4.

This was the legendary High C—every male vocalist’s dream note.

Except for Liu Qingshan, no one present realized that Liu Huan delivered this climactic passage in falsetto, elegantly resolving the song’s highest tension and imbuing it with a transcendent aura.

The piece then entered an instrumental interlude bridging the verse and chorus, where the piano and synthesizer unleashed spirited notes, heralding the song’s core.

The style was grandiose, intertwining human voices into majestic Gregorian chant harmonies, instantly elevating the music into a sacred realm.

Suddenly, the ringing of bells marked an abrupt end to the segment, signaling the final coda.

Accompanied by the bell’s toll, the song concluded with a powerful chord, while Liu Huan’s voice softly faded away after singing “loneliness.”

Stylistically, this composition fused classical, heavy metal, gothic, and religious chant elements into a sweeping, exhilarating opus—arguably the most stirring form contemporary popular music can offer.

No one absent from the room would believe such a monumental work was crafted by just two individuals.

Ending on a strong note gave the piece a crisp, decisive finish, like a resurrection, allowing listeners to instantly revisit the song’s profound meaning and awaken with newfound clarity.

At some point, the glass wall dividing the two rooms had become covered with faces—everyone drawn by the powerful performance unfolding inside the control room.

No applause broke the silence; the crowd remained enveloped in the sacred, luminous grandeur of the music.

When the piece ended, only Liu Huan lingered at the piano, deeply immersed. Erbao emerged, sweat pouring down his face.

He gratefully accepted a bottle of water from Xu Danni, downing it in one gulp before exclaiming with lingering excitement, “I never expected Brother Qingshan to compose such a song. This is serious music—a miraculous work that shatters conventional auditory expectations. You may not find it conventionally beautiful, but no one can remain unmoved!”

Clearly, comprehending this piece fully demanded an extensive musical background.

This wasn’t mere artistic showmanship; the composition inherently contained profound layers.

Yet these layers were not solely Liu Qingshan’s creation but a near-perfect fusion of Liu Huan and Erbao’s refined taste and sensibility.

“The phrase ‘exalted music appeals to few’ fits perfectly here. Still, that doesn’t stop those unaware of the background from appreciating it—the melody alone is breathtaking,” Liu Huan said, running his trembling hands through the hair at his temples as he walked.

His long hair, usually tied back, had loosened slightly after the intense performance.

Approaching Liu Qingshan, he didn’t speak immediately but instead punched his friend’s shoulder hard with his right fist.

Erbao glanced at the female students and said, “See? This is the real power of your teacher Liu. One piano can sound like an entire orchestra.”

Liu Huan smiled and shook his head. “No matter how skilled, it’s not quite the same as a symphony. No matter how magnificent the sound system, it can’t compare to a live orchestra. This song really shines when performed by a full orchestra accompanied by piano—that’s when its greatness truly emerges.”

Jin Xishan had been harboring doubts all along. To her ears, aside from the grand effects, she hadn’t discerned any particularly captivating melody.

Seizing the moment, she asked, “I think the credit really belongs to you and Erbao. Shanzi’s composition isn’t very melodious.”

Erbao laughed heartily. “‘Night’—from lyrics to melody—not only showcases extraordinary technique and artistic mastery but also conveys the image of a deeply emotional, virtuous, and broad-minded artist. It’s truly a masterpiece of music!”

Liu Huan added, “From a theoretical standpoint, this form is called ternary compound structure—a grand format capable of expressing layered, diverse, profound, and delicate emotions. Most pop songs use simple binary forms. The former is the only one that can reach philosophical heights.”

Not only Jin Xishan was a bit bewildered—Liu Qingshan himself found it hard to grasp.

His role in “creating” Night was merely that of a transporter, copying the piece.

Just as Liu Qingshan pondered how to explain this, Shi Hui and Park Hyun-hee arrived, each carrying large bags.

They quickly directed the students, “The food’s here! Help out, there’s more in the truck outside!”

The girls cheered and chattered excitedly, rushing out to unload.

Liu Huan sheepishly said, “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me.”

Erbao scratched his head. “It’s past one o’clock? We were so absorbed we forgot to eat!”

Everyone laughed heartily, politely passing around the boxed meals.