“It’s called… It’s called ‘Untitled’!” Wang Xu exclaimed. He turned to Jiang Cheng. “Hey, Jiang Cheng, wanna tell Lao-Xu about it?”
“‘Untitled’?” Lao-Xu blinked. “Is there a piano piece with that title? Who’s the composer?”
“Um…” Jiang Cheng hesitated. He thought it would be a little too slapdash to simply name it ‘Untitled,’ but he didn’t want to ask Gu Fei about it, either. “The title hasn’t been…decided.”
“Not decided?” Wang Xu said, stunned. After a long pause, he finally said, “Don’t tell me you wrote this yourself! The fuck?”
“Oh, no. No.” Jiang Cheng waved the thought off. “It wasn’t me.”
“Then why is the title undecided?” Lao-Xu pressed.
Jiang Cheng suddenly felt a little apprehensive. Knowing Gu Fei, he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to come out and tell Wang Xu and Lao-Xu who wrote it. “Let’s rehearse first,” he said, pointedly avoiding Lao-Xu’s question. “I’ll…tell you later.”
“Hey!” Wang Xu yelled, a little unhappily. “Trying to keep secrets from me again?!”
Jiang Cheng looked at him. “Huh?”
“Ugh, Jiang Cheng, you’re the worst… Fine. I’m going to the bathroom.” Wang Xu turned around grumpily and stalked out of the music room. “You can tell Xu-zong in private. Geez! Keeping secrets from your own duet partner… You just have to keep everything from me…”
Jiang Cheng opened his mouth, watching his retreating figure, but didn’t manage to make a sound.
Lao-Xu sat down beside him, seeming to vibrate with excitement. “Did you write it yourself?” he asked.
“It really wasn’t me,” said Jiang Cheng.
“Then who?” Lao-Xu asked, eyeing him in anticipation.
Still, Jiang Cheng was silent. At last, he said, “If you need to submit information for the program, just put my name down for the arrangement.”
Lao-Xu was quiet for a long moment. “Is it…Gu Fei?” he asked haltingly. Jiang Cheng turned and stared at him in shock. “Is it? It is!” Lao-Xu stared back at him. “I knew that kid used to play in a band when he was in middle school, but I never asked him about it. It’s way too hard to get through to that kid, way too hard…”
“Wha—” Jiang Cheng was still shocked. “Sir, how do you know he played in a band?”
Lao-Xu sighed. “I make an effort to get to know every single one of you students so I can live up to my duty as your teacher. The band was something Gu Fei’s mom mentioned to me once, otherwise I wouldn’t even have known that he could play the guitar.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet.
“Gu Fei is a good kid; it’s just so hard to communicate with him. I’ve failed him in that regard as a homeroom teacher.” Lao-Xu pressed on a piano key, suddenly seeming a little dejected. “Everyone always says to never give up on any student, but it’s so hard to hold on to every single one… For a kid like Gu Fei, I could fall over myself trying to win him over, but I still can’t get through to him…”
Jiang Cheng still didn’t say a word. This time, he really didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t expected Lao-Xu to open up to a student like this. It was awkward, but he also felt a little wistful.
“I’ve seen the photos Gu Fei takes,” Lao-Xu said. “What a talented kid! Such talent! It would be a shame for him to keep wasting his life the way he does.”
Jiang Cheng was at a loss for words. All he could do was sigh quietly along with Lao-Xu.
When Wang Xu came back, Lao-Xu rose from the bench and sat down on a nearby chair. “Go ahead with your rehearsal. I want to listen.”
“I don’t even know the music yet,” said Wang Xu. After a trip to the bathroom, all his grumpiness was gone. His excitement rose all over again as he picked up his guitar. “Play the chords for me, Jiang Cheng. Just tell me when to come in.”
“Okay.” Jiang Cheng pulled out the music he wrote and marked down the chords for Wang Xu, then played it once through for him. If Wang Xu ever paid half as much attention in class as he was right now, Lao-Xu would have probably burst into tears on the spot.
Once he’d memorized his part, Wang Xu tried playing through it a couple of times. “Like this, right?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng nodded. “Let’s try it together.”
As Wang Xu strummed his guitar along to the piano, Lao-Xu stood up in delight and walked closer to stand beside them. After a few bars, Jiang Cheng stopped to mark down some changes on the sheet.
“Shit.” Wang Xu ran his finger over the strings absentmindedly. “I suddenly feel like a master.”
“I’m the master,” Jiang Cheng told him.
Wang Xu laughed. “You know, you really are shameless sometimes.”
Jiang Cheng swept a glance over him. “I can afford to be.”
“Shit, can you try being a little more modest?” Wang Xu looked at him. “What am I supposed to say to that?”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Jiang Cheng set the music back on the stand. “All right. Let’s try that again.”
Wang Xu was a failure as a class tyrant, but as a part of an instrumental duo, he wasn’t bad. He reacted quickly enough, and the only mistake he ever made was occasionally coming in half a beat late.
“How was that?!” Wang Xu gesticulated wildly as they came out of the music room. “What do you think?!”
Jiang Cheng nodded. “Pretty good.”
“Damn, I’m parched. I’m gonna go buy a drink. Want me to bring something back for you?” Wang Xu said. “What do you want?”
“Lime black tea,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thanks.”
Wang Xu turned to Lao-Xu. “What about you, Xu-zong?”
“I’m going back to my office for my own tea,” Lao-Xu said. “I can’t drink that stuff you kids like. One sip and the sugary taste stays in my mouth all afternoon.”
Wang Xu went off to buy the drinks, and Jiang Cheng walked with Lao-Xu. When Lao-Xu turned to head to his office, Jiang Cheng called out after him, “Xu-zong?”
“Yeah?” Lao-Xu turned around.
“Arrangement and performance by Jiang Cheng, guitar by Wang Xu,” Jiang Cheng said. “That’s it. I’ll think of a title for the song and tell you in the next couple of days.”
“Oh.” Lao-Xu nodded, looking a little disappointed. “Sure. Okay.”
Jiang Cheng stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled slowly to class.
The title of the piece… What should it be?
The melody felt at the same time elusive and repressed, and the lyrics evoked the same feeling. Listening to it made him feel an urge to violently shatter the restraints that held him down from all sides and break free.
He had made some changes to the music when he wrote it down. Some parts he couldn’t remember very clearly, and some parts felt too repressive. When he played it, there were a few places where he wanted to press down hard on the keys, to swing the notes up, to cry out.
I want to run wild without a care
In your eyes.
I want one look to last
A lifetime.
He took out his phone and called Lao-Xu. “Xu-zong,” he said, “the piece is called ‘Run Wild.’”