The fake heiress loves to act? The max-level boss isn't interested in playing along.

Fu Hua remained silent for a few seconds.

He spoke slowly: "Music is a container of time."

"But it's not a container for storage, it's a container for measurement. Like an hourglass, like a pendulum, it measures the length of emotions, the depth of memories, and the distance between souls."

Steinberg's eyes widened.

His hands, resting on his knees, trembled slightly.

"What about the technology?"

He pressed further, "What other techniques are there? Scales, arpeggios, chords... those things that many people have practiced for decades?"

"It's a tool."

Fu Hua said, "It's like a painter's brush, like a writer's brush. Without a brush, you can't paint a picture or write a word. But the brush itself is neither a painting nor a word."

She paused, then added, "Something's wrong... If you become too proficient with a tool, you'll forget why you need it in the first place."

These words, though spoken lightly, struck Steinberg's heart like a heavy hammer.

I never expected this girl to have such insights into music.

In fact, his current bottleneck is the same as Fu Chaochao's.

The technique was already superb, but the music... the music was dead.

Every note he played was correct.

But when put together, they become lifeless puzzle pieces.

"So you think,"

His voice tightened, "Are technique and music separate?"

"No."

Fu Hua shook her head. "It's water and a cup. Without a cup, the water will flow away. But when people drink water, they are tasting the water, not the cup."

The sound of gasping for air filled the room.

Commander Wang and the leaders of the Cultural Bureau looked at each other in bewilderment—

How could a teenage girl say such a thing?

Lin Jingqiu stared blankly at Fu Hua.

She thought of all the students she had taught.

Thinking about how they all pursued skill day after day...

The same thing happened when Fu Chaochao practiced "Moonlight" repeatedly in the music room.

They all lacked an understanding of music.

This was because they were going in the wrong direction from the start.

Steinberg took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

He looked at Fu Hua, his eyes filled with amazement and shock.

There is another kind of relief... a sense of liberation.

"Thanks."

He said softly, "Thank you, Ms. Fu Hua. You've cleared up my confusion of three years."

It was already evening when we finished talking.

Steinberg invited them to dinner.

Fu Hua did not refuse.

Steinberg is quite an interesting old man.

Dinner was arranged at a Western restaurant near the theater.

This was one of the few restaurants in Beijing that could accommodate foreign guests in the 1985s.

A crystal chandelier, a white tablecloth, and silver cutlery gleamed warmly in the candlelight.

Steinberg insisted on treating Fu Hua to dinner.

Fu Xiao and Fu Songchuan were also invited to accompany them.

Zhang Wen was initially hesitant to go, but Fu Hua stopped her, saying, "We agreed to go together."

Steinberg sat at the head of the long dining table.

Fu Xiao and Fu Songchuan sat on one side, while Fu Hua and Zhang Wen sat on the other side.

Commander Wang and Lin Jingqiu also sat at the end of the table.

After the appetizers were served, Steinberg brought up the topic again.

"Miss Fu Hua,"

He put down his knife and fork, his eyes serious.

"I still hope you can reconsider. Come with me to France, to the Paris Conservatory. You have talent."

It's not technical talent, but a more precious understanding of the essence of music.

I need students like you, and the music industry needs fresh blood like you.

All eyes turned to Fu Hua.

The candlelight flickered on her face, and the brown wooden bracelet on her wrist gleamed with a warm light.

She looked up at Steinberg, her eyes still calm.

"That's very kind of you."

Her eyes flickered slightly: "But I have my own path to walk."

"What path is more important than music?"

Steinberg was puzzled, "You clearly have a musical talent that others can't match."

"science."

Fu Hua interrupted him, her tone firm, "I want to do scientific research. To study physics, to study mathematics, to study things that can truly change the world."

Steinberg was stunned.

He looked at Fu Xiao, and the Chinese soldier nodded to him with support in his eyes.

"This was Huahua's own choice."

Fu Xiao spoke, his voice steady, "We respect her."

Fu Songchuan nodded in agreement: "My younger sister has her own ideas. Once she sets her mind on a path, she will walk it with unwavering determination."

Steinberg looked at the family, who all supported her decision.

Fu Hua's eyes held a clarity and persistence beyond her years.

He suddenly understood.

This girl isn't rebellious, nor does she lack appreciation for what's precious.

She really...saw things further away.

Steinberg knew he wouldn't be able to take on this student.

"All right."

Steinberg finally gave up, raising his glass. "I respect your choice. But Ms. Fu Hua, may I make one last request?"

Fu Hua looked at him.

"Two days later, there will be a Sino-French cultural exchange performance at the theater."

Steinberg said, "I hope you can come up on stage and play 'Castle in the Sky' with me. It's a piano duet—you play the melody, and I'll accompany you."

The room fell silent.

Everyone was looking at Fu Hua.

This is a compromise—not taking on apprentices, but collaborating.

It is the master's recognition of the younger generation.

It is also a dialogue between two souls through music.

Fu Hua remained silent for a moment.

She glanced at Fu Xiao, and her father nodded gently at her.

He glanced at Fu Songchuan again; his older brother's eyes were warm.

Zhang Wen squeezed her hand, her eyes sparkling.

"it is good."

Fu Hua said, "It is my greatest honor to be able to play with you."

Steinberg smiled, a smile that held both relief and regret.

He raised his glass: "To music. To freedom. To every soul that chooses its own path."

The wine glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.

The candlelight flickered, reflecting the complex expressions on everyone's faces.

Fu Hua took a sip of red wine, the slightly astringent taste melting on her tongue.

She looked out the window; the night was deep, and the streetlights were lighting up one by one, like sparks leading to the distance.

She chose this path.

She will keep going.

As for the music—like the candlelight tonight, it's enough to illuminate a journey and warm a moment.

The real Sky City is still further away.

And she will eventually arrive.

Fu Xiao pushed open the door to his home. The living room lights were still on, but it was unusually quiet.

Aunt Liu wasn't there either.

The piano lid was closed, and the piano benches were neatly arranged.

The half-finished sweater that Su Yurou used to knit was nowhere to be seen on the coffee table.

"Yu Rou?"

He called out.

No one answered.

Fu Xiao walked to the dining table and saw the note under the sugar jar.

It was Su Yurou's beautiful handwriting:

"Old Fu: I'm taking Chaochao to the outskirts of Beijing for a few days to clear her head. She's in a bad mood today and needs a change of scenery. We'll be back in three days. The food's keeping warm in the pot, remember to eat. Yurou left."

At the end of the note was a line of smaller print, written hesitantly: "As for Huahua... let her decide for herself."

Fu Xiao held the thin piece of paper in his hand and stood by the dining table for a long time.

The food in the pot was still warm; it was his favorite braised eggplant and rice.

There was also a small dish of kimchi on the side, which must have been prepared by Aunt Liu.

She always remembered everyone's tastes and preferences.

But for the first time, this home felt empty to him.