First, then, love.

With a new car, life should have been going smoothly.

But Shu Yao is in trouble.

The symphony orchestra has a new music director and principal conductor who has returned from further studies in Europe.

His surname is Lin, he is in his forties, demanding, and possesses the neuroticism and obsession typical of artists.

Wednesday, rehearsal hall.

Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1.

The cello section is playing together.

"stop!"

Conductor Lin suddenly slammed his baton against the music stand, producing a piercing "smack" sound.

The entire rehearsal hall fell silent instantly.

Conductor Lin's face was grim as he looked down at the lead cello player.

"Shu Yao".

He called out names, his voice cold and stern, showing no mercy.

"What are you doing with your cello? This is a concerto, not your solo recital! Your voice is too sharp, too projective! Are you fighting with the piano?!"

Shu Yao tightened her grip on the bow.

"Director Lin, this piece of music is meant to be a powerful emotional outburst, I think it should be played with strong notes..."

What do you think?

Commander Lin sneered and interrupted her.

"Music doesn't need your opinions. Your playing style is too impetuous, full of aggression, lacking the restraint and composure that classical music should have. In your current state, you simply can't lead the entire section properly!"

The musicians around them looked at each other, the atmosphere so oppressive it was hard to breathe.

Shu Yao bit her lower lip, tasting the metallic flavor of blood.

She has always been the pride of the orchestra, the former conductor's most prized student, and her skills are impeccable.

Now, in front of dozens of people, he was criticized mercilessly.

"Let's start again! Begin from measure 45. If you can't get down, let the co-principal play the melody for you."

These words were like a resounding slap across Shu Yao's face.

*

I get off work in the evening.

The newly purchased SUV is parked in the underground garage.

He Zheng opened the car door and saw Shu Yao walking over with a cold face.

Before he could reach for the cello case, Shu Yao slammed the bag heavily into the back seat.

The car door slammed shut, shaking the entire carriage.

He Zheng got into the driver's seat and started the car.

"Who upset you?" He rested one hand on the steering wheel, glancing at her livid face out of the corner of his eye.

"Leave me alone."

Shu Yao leaned against the car window, closed her eyes, and her chest heaved violently.

*

back home.

As soon as I entered, the God of War wagged his tail and came over.

"Get out of the way!" Shu Yao pushed the dog's head away impatiently, changed into slippers, and walked straight into the study.

She slammed the cello case onto the floor with a thud.

He Zheng changed his shoes and followed them inside.

He leaned against the doorframe of the study, watching her pace anxiously back and forth in the room.

"Tell me, what exactly happened?"

He Zheng's voice was deep and commanding, with his usual tone.

Shu Yao stopped in her tracks, and the anger and grievances she had been holding back all the way exploded instantly.

"The orchestra's new conductor is a lunatic! He said I'm impetuous! He said I lack self-control! He said if I don't play well, I should go and take the assistant principal's position!"

Her eyes were red and swollen, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"I started playing the piano at five! I've won so many awards! What gives him the right to deny my style! I think he's just using me to establish his authority!"

She grabbed a cushion from the sofa and smashed it hard on the floor.

To vent, to feel wronged.

She waited for He Zheng to come over and hug her as usual, and to follow her lead in scolding the commander.

But He Zheng did not move.

He stood at the doorway, his dark eyes cold and calm.

"Do you think he's trying to establish his authority?"

He Zheng spoke, his voice cold and hard, like a cold iron hammer striking her taut nerves.

"Otherwise what! He simply doesn't understand my approach!" Shu Yao raised her voice.

He Zheng looked at her.

"You are the orchestra's concertmaster."

He walked over, bent down to pick up the cushion from the floor, and threw it back onto the sofa.

"In the SWAT team, if an assault soldier feels that my tactical arrangements are problematic, he has two options."

He Zheng looked directly into her somewhat flustered eyes.

"First, prove me wrong with real-world results and slap me in the face."

"Second, if he can't do it, shut up and go back to practice drawing his gun 10,000 times until the movement is perfect."

He stretched out his right hand and pointed to the cello case on the ground.

"You feel wronged, you feel he's being unfair."

"Then use your skills, use your instrument, to shut him up. Make sure he can't find anyone else who can hold that position besides you."

"He's throwing tantrums, smashing things, and crying here."

He Zheng sneered.

"It serves no purpose other than proving that you are indeed guilty and that you are indeed impetuous."

The words were harsh, cutting to the bone, and showed no mercy.

Shu Yao stood there, frozen, tears welling up in her eyes.

She gritted her teeth and stared at He Zheng.

Several tens of seconds passed.

Shu Yao took a deep breath and turned around abruptly.

With a "snap," the lock on the cello case opened.

He pulled out the zither and took out the bow.

He pulled over a backless wooden chair, sat down, and set up the violin.

"I'll practice."

She squeezed out two words through gritted teeth.

He Zheng didn't say anything.

He walked to the corner of the study, pulled over a single sofa, and sat down, casually placing his right hand on his knee.

His dark eyes were calm, like a gatekeeper guarding the position.

"Practice. I'll be with you."

"squeak."

The strings emitted a sharp, screeching sound.

Shu Yao frowned, her fingers dancing rapidly on the fingerboard.

"No, it's too heavy."

She stopped, rubbed her sore wrists, and started arching again.

First time, second time, tenth time.

Deep red marks were left on my fingertips from pressing the strings for so long, and the edges of the old calluses started to ache.

Sweat trickled down his forehead.

He Zheng remained seated on the sofa.

He doesn't understand classical music, nor does he understand what restraint or outburst means.

But he knows how to persevere.

He didn't look at his phone or doze off; he just stayed with her, occasionally getting some fruit or pouring her a glass of water.

Whenever Shu Yao felt so frustrated that she wanted to smash her bow, all she had to do was look up and meet his calm, mountain-like black eyes.

the next day.

The music started again.

This time, there was none of the previous irritability and sharp edge.

The force of the bow hair rubbing against the strings became deep and lingering. Emotions were no longer a reckless outpouring, but rather like a volcano suppressed beneath an ice layer.

Restrained, yet brimming with suffocating tension.

The last note slowly faded away in the study, its lingering sound echoing around the beams.

Shu Yao put down the bow, her chest heaving slightly, her fingers trembling.

She turned her head and looked at the man on the sofa.

He Zheng stood up, walked to her, and reached out his hand, covering her red and trembling fingertips with his large palm.

"Found it?" he asked in a low voice.

"Found it." Shu Yao looked up at him, the confusion and anxiety in her eyes vanishing.

A rare smile appeared on He Zheng's lips.

"Okay. Then this afternoon we'll go and beat that commander's face to a pulp."

He bent down, slipped one hand under her knees, and scooped her up from the chair into his arms.

"Now, I want to take a nap with my wife in my arms."