Chapter Forty-Eight: Under the Cherry Blossom Tree

Ren Qian never harbored any aversion to traditional styles. He had once meticulously appreciated all the works of the first generation Song God. Pieces like “The River Flows East,” “Red Cliffs,” and “Creation of Heaven and Earth,” composed in the Song God’s early years, were so powerful that even before the last note faded, the profound heritage and unyielding spirit of five millennia of civilization stood revealed in all their majesty.

And Ren Qian was not exaggerating in the least. Those melodies, though brief, surged through one’s body like the Yellow River and the Yangtze bursting their banks—irresistibly evoking in you memories of five thousand years of tumultuous history, and from these, a spontaneous sense of the nation’s grandeur and supremacy.

But the Song God’s crowning achievement—“Empire”—had expanded Ren Qian’s musical horizons even further. The entire song was accompanied solely by Shang dynasty bells. The grand array of bells and the sheer number of performers created a sense of layered complexity, the most direct effect of which was to produce the illusion of shifting spaces and even the flow of time itself.

With the opening note, ancient palaces, standing unbowed for a thousand years, seemed to materialize before one’s eyes. The palace gates opened in succession, and the sovereign of a great nation led his ministers in a solemn ritual to heaven and earth. The scene shifted: the land is in turmoil, shouts reverberate to the skies. Then, another monarch takes the throne and holds the founding ceremony atop the city tower...

The imagery was overwhelming. If Ren Qian were to offer a verdict, only four words would suffice: the music that upholds a nation!

One could cite a vivid example of its influence: in 1973, when the Empire’s lunar probe first landed on the moon, the first song played was “Empire.”

The Song God’s grand and resplendent ancient-style songs were so awe-inspiring that people often overlooked his bold innovations. In reality, his seamless integration of traditional instruments and ancient poetry into his lyrics was only part of his brilliance. His many albums made prominent use of Western instruments as well, and he himself had mastered them to perfection.

To Ren Qian, listening to the Song God’s albums evoked most directly the grandeur of a great civilization: inclusive, open, and receptive to all that was good. From then on, Ren Qian resolved to become a creator like the first generation Song God—broad-minded and eclectic, not only perfecting himself but, through relentless effort, inspiring all the creators of the Chinese music world to embrace such inclusivity.

So here, he had no qualms about using the piano.

Twenty minutes later, Ren Qian had finished composing the piece, just as Dai Quan arrived with several others to carefully place the piano in the center of the field.

“What is this big black box? What a strange instrument. Can it sound as beautiful as the guzheng?”

Ren Qian was left speechless.

“Did you know? They say cherry blossoms fall at a speed of five centimeters per second. If that is the speed at which cherry blossoms drift to the ground, then at what speed must you move to close the distance between you and her? And at what speed will you meet your destined one beneath the cherry trees?

A song—‘Under the Cherry Tree’—for all of you.”

Ren Qian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The gentle, exquisite melody of Hins Cheung’s “Under the Cherry Tree” was in fact perfectly suited to the piano. In a previous life, he’d once had a sudden inspiration to try it, and after that first attempt, he could not stop.

The flowing, gentle music of “Under the Cherry Tree” and the pure, white-sand clarity of the piano made for a match made in heaven. In the trembling strokes of the keys, it was as if one could hear the petals quivering from the branches in the breeze.

As the piano’s notes flowed gently onward, the hundred-odd listeners around fell into instant silence. Some tilted their heads to listen; others stared in a daze at the cherry trees lining the road, their petals still vivid and bright, and a feeling called “being moved” welled up in their hearts.

So the piano could be this beautiful.

They needed neither a commentator to explain the story behind the piece, nor anyone to analyze its form, counterpoint, or musical structure. Under Ren Qian’s nimble fingers, they experienced a quiet serenity, and from the depths of their hearts, fell in love with this sensation—

In a fleeting moment, it was as if the cherry blossoms along the avenue bloomed all at once, then slowly drifted down, bringing with them a tender mix of nostalgia, sweetness, and a touch of melancholy.

Why do simple words feel so romantic?

Do cherry blossoms really fall at five centimeters per second?

After thoroughly enjoying his solo piano rendition of “Under the Cherry Tree,” Ren Qian improvised for another thirty seconds, then segued into the song’s prelude. This time, he began to sing.

Because the emotional atmosphere had been so fully prepared, as soon as the first line emerged, the listeners were utterly captivated, unable to extricate themselves.

“In the shade of the tree, there’s a cicada,
Falling by your side,
Startled, it stumbles forward,
And then lands upon my shoulders.
Now you look shy, like ten thousand cherry blossoms,
Recalling those two beautiful years in high school,
Hoping your youth never fades,
Even now—
I still remember the cherry blossoms in bloom,
Still didn’t know how to confess my love to you,
When early spring came, we made a promise, to keep waiting—
Living in this great era,
Throwing ourselves into competitions again and again,
We were once apart—once in love,
Waiting—for the petals to fall again,
And only then realizing, this is love,
A love I’ve never known, but somehow warm,
The path home, riding our bikes,
Listening to your singing along the way,
Unable to hear it again and again, your emotions hidden,
Holding on to a friendship that was always mistaken,
Helpless, it can never be corrected,
Too steadfast.
I still remember the cherry blossoms in bloom,
Still didn’t know how to confess my love to you,

When early spring came, we closed our eyes, longing for the future,
Living in this great era,
Throwing ourselves into competitions again and again,
We were once apart, once in love,
Waiting—for the love that never was with you,
You ask, isn’t it sad?
It’s the subtle changes in-between, this tiny world,
Perhaps longing can never be overcome, as the streets are dismantled—
The young lady grows older with the years, walking faster and faster,
If one day the cherry blossoms bloom again,
I hope I can confess my love to you,
That garden back then, now covered in moss,
If one day beyond the city gate,
Taking the tram across the sea—
In haste, we meet each other’s gaze, without a word,
Tomorrow’s flowers—already bloomed yesterday...”

Sung in one breath, the beauty of the lyrics needed no embellishment; as you listened, there was a romance in the countless cherry blossoms, and a faint melancholy in their drifting fall.

When the song ended, it felt as if one had relived the hazy love missed in youth: regretful, yet somehow beautiful.

The lyrics were the proud work of Lin Ruoning, Lin Xi’s protégée. Before this, his lyrics had always been derided as imitations of Lin Xi, such as with “Satisfied Heart.” It was only after “Under the Cherry Tree” that he gained public recognition.

“What a beautiful song, and in Cantonese too!”

“I must learn to sing in Cantonese—even though I don’t understand the lyrics, I’m already so moved. If I could, would I be moved to tears?”

“I always thought watching cherry blossoms was romantic, but now I realize, watching them while listening to the piano is so romantic it makes me want to cry.”

In truth, many people do cry while listening to music—not out of affectation, but because they truly relate. When a song becomes intertwined with a certain memory or relationship, you can no longer control your emotions.

As soon as the melody plays, you might shed tears—in a café, out shopping in a mall, or even showering at home.

It’s not that you can’t forget someone, but that you still can’t let go of that fruitless devotion and the fierce love that was wasted.

This is the real reason songs resonate with people. Clearly, the piano solo “Under the Cherry Tree” possessed such power.

No one could remember how many petals had fallen by the time the song ended, before the venue erupted into long, thunderous applause.