Chapter 111: The Love Story of Their Parents

Outside voices surged like a storm, yet Lin Qihua did not lose himself amid the clamor. He knew that his performance that night had been marked by too many fortuitous moments; to replicate it was nearly impossible. More importantly, the brilliant song he sang was not truly his own creation. Only when he could compose music of that caliber would he have the right to feel proud. For now, it was best to remain humble. The more praise he received, the more modest he needed to stay. Over time, Lin Qihua had learned to adopt this mindset. Beyond his own experiences, his mind absorbed countless lessons, allowing him to keep a clear head.

The next day, Shen Manni and her entourage flew back to Yanjing, while Lin Qihua returned alone to Jiangzhou. His father’s birthday was approaching, and as an only son, Lin Qihua felt it was no excuse to claim busyness at work and avoid returning home.

Lin Yilun’s birthday was celebrated quietly, just a simple dinner with the family of three at home, no grand festivities. Yet Lin Yilun was extraordinarily happy, his face beaming with smiles. This year, his wife and son were both by his side, and more importantly, his son’s career was finally showing promise. It filled his heart with profound contentment.

“We followed every episode of your competition. Well done,” Lin Yilun laughed heartily.

“That’s right. We always sat down right on time in front of the TV. After the show, your father would gather all sorts of reviews—it kept us entertained for a whole week,” his mother added with a smile.

“Who was the one always crying their eyes out while watching?” Lin Yilun teased.

“I was touched. It shows that Xiaohua’s performance was outstanding, moving people with emotion. He did very well.”

“Sure, sure,” Lin Yilun chuckled. “Honestly, we never expected you to appear on that stage, let alone perform so brilliantly. Both the song and your stage presence were excellent. Your parents are proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mom and Dad,” Lin Qihua said happily. Receiving their praise was far more gratifying than any outside flattery. “Having gone through so much, thought deeply, I’ve gained some inspiration. The songs I compose won’t be mere empty sighs; they’ll be grounded in reality and touch people’s hearts. That’s the only way to go.”

“Of course,” his mother said with conviction. “In that respect, traditional Chinese music has drifted away from the common people. Everyone knows it’s exquisite and elegant, and they enjoy it, but it isn’t suited for daily listening. It’s fitting when heard occasionally in films or games, but not as portable music. That’s the hard truth about traditional music — it’s like the lofty ‘Yangchun Baixue’ compared to the folk tunes of ‘Xialiba Ren,’ which are closer to people’s daily lives.”

Lin Qihua knew his mother had long been troubled by this reality, but it was unavoidable. Pop music was rooted among ordinary people, which made it more widely accepted, whereas traditional music was too classical and disconnected from everyday life.

“Traditional music was the pop music of ancient times; there’s nothing to be done about that. Still, Chinese people love it very much. It doesn’t conflict with pop music—it’s just suited to different occasions,” he could only comfort her this way.

“Perhaps,” she murmured.

Seeing his mother’s mood dip slightly, Lin Qihua retrieved a gift from his room. The first was a birthday present for his father—an ancient book he had stumbled upon in an old bookstore in Xiangzhou. Knowing his father’s fondness for such things, he had bought it. Though not a rare or precious tome, it was enough to delight his father, who had been a lifelong bibliophile and appreciated the gesture.

The second gift was for both parents: two of the latest smart holographic communication devices.

Lin Qihua displayed the devices. “These are the newest holographic communication terminals. With these, you can talk to me anytime, anywhere. It’s almost like speaking face to face.”

“That’s a wonderful function,” his mother said, pleased at the prospect of seeing her son’s face during their conversations. They both understood these devices were expensive, but since their son had bought them, their filial piety came first; there was no need to scold him for spending extravagantly. Moreover, they knew well the ups and downs of the entertainment industry: talent and popularity determined success, and the divide between the famous and the unknown was vast. Lin Qihua was undoubtedly among the rare elite.

“I’ve prepared a gift as well. It’s in your study,” his mother added with a smile.

“Come, let’s open the gifts,” Lin Qihua said, pulling his parents toward the study, curious about what his mother had prepared.

“This child,” his mother laughed, following them in.

The study was a classic old-style room. A long desk occupied the center, surrounded by bookshelves crammed with volumes. On the wall hung a famous Qing Dynasty painting. The desk was neatly arranged with brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone. The entire room was suffused with the scent of ink.

“I truly miss this fragrance,” Lin Qihua breathed deeply, lost in the moment.

“Ha ha, you weren’t like this as a child,” his father said with a satisfied smile.

“That’s right. Back then, your father made you read and practice calligraphy. During summer and winter vacations, you either stayed in this room or the music room. Looking back, you hardly had a normal childhood,” his mother said with a touch of sadness, the image of a crying little boy practicing calligraphy flashing before her eyes.

“That was because I was young,” Lin Qihua said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I was playful and resistant at first, but after my first standing ovation on stage, I fell in love with these things. Since then, it was different. Now I realize your insistence gave me precious knowledge and things others don’t have. I should thank you for your perseverance. To be different, one must pay a price others cannot. True, I missed out on a normal childhood’s playtime, but this was my childhood. Maybe, compared to others, it was even more meaningful. Though I’m not as learned as Dad or as dazzlingly elegant as Mom, I am skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, and all kinds of instruments. I face everything with calm and laughter—that foundation was laid in my youth.”

“Well said,” his father clapped his hands. “We don’t often talk about childhood training anymore, but from ancient times to now, no elite child grows up without strict cultivation. I’m glad you understand this. Though you didn’t follow our path, the principle is the same: ‘A man’s charm comes from his learning.’ I believe your reading has prepared you to face the entertainment industry’s storms calmly and to fully express your musical talent without being blinded by its glitz.”

“Enough with the praise,” his mother said, rolling her eyes at them. She picked up her gift from the bookshelf and placed it on the desk.

Upon opening it, they found an ordinary vase.

“That?” Lin Yilun’s eyes brightened as he examined it closely, touched. “After all these years, you still remembered this?”

“It was a coincidence,” his mother smiled gently. “I was performing nearby recently and decided to revisit the old place. There, I saw this vase and bought it.”

“Such thoughtfulness. I really like this gift,” Lin Yilun said softly, stroking the vase’s patterned surface with unusual tenderness.

His mother remained silent, standing quietly beside him. For a moment, a unique atmosphere filled the room.

“There’s a story, isn’t there?” Lin Qihua sensed something and interrupted their nostalgia. “What’s the story behind this vase?”

“You mean this vase?” His parents exchanged a knowing smile. “It’s not really an antique, just a special porcelain piece with a unique mark. That’s how I recognized it immediately. In fact, it’s our matchmaker.”

“Matchmaker?” Lin Qihua asked excitedly. He had never heard this story before and was intrigued.

“Yes,” his mother recalled fondly. “Thirty years ago, in that small town, it was drizzling. I was performing there and stopped by an antique shop. I saw this vase and admired it for a long time. Just then, your father came over and was also admiring the vase. That was our first meeting.”

“Actually, I walked over on purpose,” his father said, blushing slightly. “I wasn’t really interested in the vase—I was captivated by the woman standing in front of it. So I pretended to admire the vase and used it as a chance to strike up a conversation.”

“Smooth,” Lin Qihua gave his father a thumbs-up. “Clever and brave.”

“Is that so?” his mother said calmly. “I already suspected it then, but what did it matter? You were gentle, cultured, and eloquent. My heart was fluttering like a startled deer.”

“Ha ha, when the golden wind meets the jade dew, it outshines countless worldly encounters—truly the perfect union of a talented man and a beautiful woman,” Lin Qihua clapped with delight.

“Exactly. This vase really was our matchmaker,” his mother said, gently caressing its smooth surface. “In that misty, rainy Jiangnan town, your father and I met just like that.”

“And then?” Lin Qihua’s curiosity flared.

“Well,” Lin Yilun laughed, “I shamelessly followed her troupe to every performance, accompanying her until I finally won the beauty’s favor.”

“So that’s how I came to be?” Lin Qihua looked at the ordinary vase with a strange sense of intimacy.

“Thirty years have passed. This vase, after many twists and turns, has returned to us. It must be fate’s design. I thank it for bringing me the best gift—you,” his father said softly, holding his wife’s hand.

“I feel the same,” his mother murmured gently. “Under that bright moonlight, like colorful clouds returning home, I thank you for loving me steadfastly all these years.”

Seeing his parents draw closer, Lin Qihua quietly left the study. This moment belonged to them.

“What a romantic and beautiful love story,” Lin Qihua thought, deeply moved. “Holding hands through life’s journey—where will I meet my own love?”

That night, Lin Qihua dreamed. The stories of his parents, Ma Xiaoqian, Zhao Wanting, and others all appeared in his dream, along with the exquisitely beautiful vase and the ethereal grace of Gu Yuhan. Together, they wove a splendid vision where time and space shifted and beauties appeared like living paintings.