065. Nan Qinli (III)

As a slight wave of emotion rose within her, Nan Qinli at last found herself unable to maintain that ever-gentle demeanor she wore at all times. When the young man approached to confirm the song selection, Nan Qinli was startled to realize that her tone had grown sharp. The boy, however, paid her pointed words no mind, simply responding with a smile, "I should be able to play it." Though his words were uncertain, his confidence was unmistakable.

Nan Qinli was left speechless, uncertain what to say. The boy did not dwell on the matter; after sharing another gentle smile, he walked straight to the piano and set about his preparations.

What surprised Nan Qinli even more was what happened next. The young man played a short melody, clearly getting a feel for the instrument, which was unfamiliar to him. Yet even Nan Qinli, who knew nothing about the piano, could sense from that brief passage that this person was highly skilled. At the very least, he played with greater dexterity—one might say, with effortless ease—than the teachers in her vocal classes.

This realization eased much of the resentment in Nan Qinli’s heart. At least this person was not simply trying to show off without substance. When the accompanist signaled that he was ready, Nan Qinli exhaled deeply, understanding that she could no longer avoid the situation. Resolving herself, she nodded to the boy to begin.

The familiar introduction filled the air. Clutching the microphone tighter, Nan Qinli summoned the song from memory and began to sing.

The first step is always the hardest. Many things seem impossible not because you lack the ability, but because you lack the courage to try. Such was Nan Qinli’s feeling at this moment.

To sing before an audience was something she would once have found unimaginable. Although she had formed a school idol group with Honoka Kosaka and Umi Sonoda, Nan Qinli still harbored a certain fear of performing before many people. That was why, when her colleagues pushed her forward earlier, she had resisted so strongly, desperately seeking a way out.

Now, having no choice but to face it, Nan Qinli discovered that her feelings were not those of fear after all. On the contrary, she found herself enjoying it—relishing the act of singing, the attentive gazes of the audience, the chance to express her emotions through song, the sensation of standing center stage, and the thrill of shining brightly.

Perhaps this was why, deep down, she had always found being a school idol so delightful, Nan Qinli mused.

The boy’s accompaniment fit her perfectly, allowing Nan Qinli to sing at her own pace instead of adjusting her delivery to keep up with the piano. In some small ways, her rendition of "When Cherry Blossoms Dance" differed from the original—neither better nor worse, but uniquely her own. She was still singing the same song, still conveying the same sense of longing, but subtle changes—perhaps in the tremble of her voice or the extension of a note—infused it with her personal touch.

These delicate variations did not escape Jiang Yu, who, with a few deft adjustments of the piano, made it seem as if the song had always been meant to sound this way—seamless and natural.

Of course, Nan Qinli was unaware of these fine manipulations. She simply felt that her singing matched the accompaniment perfectly, as if the song existed precisely as she imagined it.

It was only when, startled by the crowd gathering outside the window, she nearly faltered in her voice—only to have a heavy chord from the piano neatly cover her mistake—that Nan Qinli sensed something amiss. She shot a quick, surprised glance at the boy, unsure if it was coincidence, then focused her attention, determined not to slip up again.

When the song ended, Nan Qinli caught her breath, and the lingering notes of the piano faded after a few final beats. The café fell into a momentary hush before erupting into enthusiastic applause; every gaze was alight, fixed upon the two performers.

Nan Qinli was a little startled by the intensity of the response. Instinctively, she turned toward the piano. The boy seemed unfazed by the attention, quietly exhaling to steady himself.

A gentle smile blossomed on Nan Qinli’s lips, her earlier annoyance with the boy vanishing completely, replaced by curiosity and gratitude. She walked over to him, paused by the piano, and extended her right hand, her voice as soft as ever: "Thank you."

She noticed the boy’s eyes flickering between her face and her outstretched hand. After a brief hesitation, he took her hand and stood up.

The café erupted in cheers and playful whistles, as if a celebrity meet-and-greet were taking place. The noise brought Nan Qinli back to her senses, and realizing it was the first time she had touched a boy her age, her face flushed a deep red.

Still, she couldn’t help thinking, His hand is really big…and it feels so warm and strong…

Embarrassed, Nan Qinli’s mind grew even more flustered at this thought. Both quickly withdrew their hands, one out of shyness, the other out of awkwardness.

After expressing their thanks to the crowd, the two left the center of the café and blended back into the audience. Nan Qinli, like an ostrich, burrowed herself among a group of maids, head lowered, her long hair cascading to hide most of her face, tuning out the teasing remarks of her colleagues and friends.

Jiang Yu returned to Aki Tomoya and Umaru Doma, chatting amiably with his friend and little sister, all the while watching the manager return to the stage to announce himself as the winner of the impromptu event.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Jiang Yu and his companions prepared to settle their bill and leave. As they paid, Jiang Yu suddenly heard behind him a voice as clear and sweet as a lark’s song.

Turning, he saw the lovely girl, now dressed in an outfit that looked very familiar to him, hesitantly say, "Um… excuse me, could you stay a little longer? Oh—it’s just about the prize, that’s all…"

Not far away stood several maids, giggling behind their hands, and the manager, beaming with delight.