Chương 102: Chapter 100

The idea that I might end up, on top of everything, being short, takes root in my mind without my being able to help it, although then a part of my mind begins to reflect on the matter of heights and measurements in this world. Because, to be fair, I don't have a frame of reference, and for all I know, it could be that in this world everyone was like Lilliputians and we all measured ten centimeters tall.

But then, the part of my mind that originally noticed my height tells me that even if that were the case, I would still be shorter than the rest of the Lilliputian children. Although as an argument in my favor, the other part of my mind tells me again that my mother, from my perspective, must measure a little over one meter sixty. And my father has to be close to one meter eighty, if he hasn't already reached it.

And then there are my brothers, all of them strapping young men with a height similar to my father's, putting themselves on display as though they were models specifically hired to make it seem that imperial genetics produces good-quality goods.

These conclusions make my nervousness ease a bit and, finally, I tell myself in a mental tone that intends to be reassuring, that the most likely thing is that I'm a late bloomer and that at some point during the next few years I'll have my growth spurt, and I'll go from being a short Zhāohuán to looking more like my father, or my mother, either of the two will do.

At that moment Xia returns with a tray, which conveniently makes me push my small existential crisis aside to the corner of my mind where I store everything I don't want to think about, and I focus on the freshly made pizza and the teapot she brings. I thank her with a smile and, finally, I prepare to enjoy the party without further self-indulgent reflections about my future height. The rest of the party unfolds with the smoothness one would expect.

I play a couple of games of Tiàoyuè with a middle-aged official who seems determined to defeat me and who is left with a certain frustration when he only manages it after a long and strategically complicated game, I chat with several ladies who approach me to inquire about the recipes for the pizza and the hamburgers and who walk away with a polite disappointment when I explain that they have to ask Lianhua for those recipes later, and I maintain longer conversations with a couple of guests who have developed a genuine interest in Fǎnzhuǎn and who have even brought their own copies of the game to show me the modifications they've made to the rules, as though I were something like the supreme arbiter of the invention.

And when the party begins to draw to its end, with the sun already inclining toward the horizon and the golden light starting to tinge the park with the day's end, I decide that the moment has come.

"Xia", I tell her in a low voice.

"Go find Lianhua, please." Xia nods and moves away with light steps. She doesn't take long to return with Lianhua, who approaches my chair and slightly leans down so I can speak with her without raising my voice.

"Since the end of the party is now near, it's time for my recital", I tell her.

"Bring me the Guzheng and call the musicians for the accompaniment." Lianhua lets out a small sigh, that short and professional sigh that is the closest thing to a protest she allows herself in public, but she adds nothing beyond a curt "I'll do it right away, Zhāohuán Wen." She goes off for a moment and quickly returns with the Guzheng and accompanied by a couple of men who each carry a Xiǎotánggǔ, that kind of medium-sized Chinese drum that has the dry, deep sonority perfect for what I have planned.

Lianhua places the Guzheng in front of me on a table prepared for it, adjusts the height so I can play it without straining myself, and the two men with the Xiǎotánggǔ position themselves behind me, exactly where I indicated during the rehearsals. Once everything is ready, Lianhua steps back a couple of paces, turns toward the guests and, with that clear voice, says the protocolary words.

"Zhāohuán Sun Wen will play a piece on the Guzheng to demonstrate the scope of her Music lessons", she pronounces in a manner that is clear but powerful so that all those present can hear her. The announcement has the expected effect, since the guests, who were dispersed throughout the area in different groups, leave their conversations, their games, and their tea cups to position themselves politely around the area where I am, forming an orderly semicircle from which they can see and hear me comfortably.

My mother positions herself at the center of the semicircle, with Lingxi a step behind, and although her expression is the usual courtly formality, I notice in her eyes a glimmer of curiosity that, knowing her, indicates she is more intrigued than she would ever let on, since I never let her see, or hear, my rehearsals. When I confirm that everyone is attentive and that the necessary silence has fallen, I make a small signal with my head to the men with the Xiǎotánggǔ.

And the rhythm begins, that distinctive rhythm of one of the most famous songs in the world. That rhythm which, in my previous world, practically anyone would recognize within a couple of bars. But here, in this park of the Imperial Palace of the Tianjing Empire, the rhythm falls upon the guests as something absolutely unclassifiable, and I see in their faces that perplexed expression of someone who doesn't quite know what they're hearing or how they should react to it.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. But I don't give them time to decide it, because then I begin to play. My fingers, after weeks of intensive practice, find the strings of the Guzheng with a fluency that almost surprises me myself, and the melody begins to flow with the unmistakable melody of Smooth Criminal.

Adapted to the Guzheng, of course, the same version I once heard in my previous life in one of those viral videos that occasionally appeared on the network, and that, by some caprice of memory, had stuck with me enough that I could replicate it. I chose it precisely for that reason, because it was one of the few popular songs I remembered in its version for Guzheng. And, as an added bonus, it was one of the most famous in the world I come from, which gave it the component of novelty I was looking for at this party.

And as I play, I observe out of the corner of my eye the faces of the audience, and the variety of expressions that unfold before me, so varied that I almost feel like stopping to appreciate them better. The majority are, simply, dumbfounded, since they don't know what to do with what they're hearing.

Their ears, accustomed to traditional music, soft, melodious and centered on contemplative harmony, are confronted with an energetic, syncopated rhythm that pushes them onto terrain they don't recognize and for which they have no behavioral protocol. Some look at their neighbors searching for some clue as to how they should react and, upon seeing that their neighbors are doing exactly the same, decide to maintain a neutral expression.

But, to my surprise and also to my satisfaction, there are a few, few but enough to be notable, who seem to begin to enjoy the strange rhythm. I see a middle-aged official discreetly nodding his head to the beat, one of the ladies of my mother's faction with her eyes closed as if she were paying total attention, and a couple of the older children who, to the silent scandal of their parents, have begun to slightly sway on their feet.

But I ignore them all, both the enthusiasts and the bewildered, and simply play the song from beginning to end with the concentration I've been perfecting for weeks. When I reach the last note and let it fade with the slowness it requires, I lift my gaze toward the audience. An uncomfortable silence settles in which no one quite knows whether the concert has ended or not, while the guests glance furtively around to see if someone applauds first so they can follow.

But finally someone begins to applaud and the rest follow. Some do so with that perfect, empty courtesy that clearly says they are applauding because it's what they're supposed to do, but others, the few, do so with a forcefulness that indicates they truly liked it, that they enjoyed the strange rhythm and the unusual melody and that they don't mind acknowledging it in public. I make a bow as deep as the chair allows me to and, when I straighten up again, I give my thanks to those present.

"I deeply thank you for your presence at my eleventh birthday", I tell them with that measured tone expected of a Zhāohuán at this kind of event.

"I hope you have enjoyed my performance, despite its unconventional style, and I wish you a happy year until we see each other again at my next birthday party." And since my words clearly bring the party to an end, the guests begin to take their leave, first those nearest to my position and then, in an orderly line, those farther away, although, that said, all of them seem to avoid speaking of the music I played.

My mother approaches before leaving and, with that enigmatic smile of hers that I never quite manage to fully decipher, gives me a comment that leaves me thoughtful.

"An interesting choice, Wen", she tells me, and then moves off accompanied by Lingxi without giving me time to ask what she means exactly by interesting. When the last guests have departed and the park returns to relative calm, with only the handmaidens beginning to clear the tables and the servants dismantling the decorations, Lianhua positions herself behind my chair, Xia takes her place beside her, and we set off on the way back to the Pavilion.

The sun is already quite low on the horizon and the light has turned that amber tone that precedes sunset, and as we make our way along the path, the silence between us is comfortable, that satisfied silence that occurs when an event has gone well and those responsible can finally relax.

"At least this party will be easier to clean up than last year's", I comment to Lianhua as we pass beside the area where, a year ago, the fake dunes required deploying half a dozen servants with brooms for two whole days.

"Indeed, Zhāohuán Wen, everything is much easier to dismantle and store away", Lianhua replies in a tone where a note of professional relief shows through. But as we make our way, something that Lianhua has just mentioned brings to my mind a pending matter, and I furrow my brow for an instant as I try to recall exactly what it is.

"Speaking of last year's party", I tell her turning my head a little.

"Where is the model of the Celestial Fragment that I had made?"

"It's stored as you instructed, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies without varying the rhythm of her steps.

"In the storage room of the Pavilion, perfectly packed away until you decide what to do with it." I furrow my brow a bit more upon hearing the answer.

"What do you mean until I decide what to do with it?" I ask her.

"Didn't I tell you that I wanted to give it as a gift to my father?"

"You mentioned it, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies with that professional precision she reserves for the moments when she knows she's right and that I'm going to realize it shortly.

"But you never gave the formal order." I furrow my brow even more as I begin to recall the various conversations I've had on the subject. The conversation with my mother after the party, where she told me it was a good idea. The conversation with Lianhua just after the party, in which I asked her to store it. And the two or three times throughout the year that I've thought about it without ever doing anything. And, indeed, I realize that Lianhua is right, since I never actually gave the formal order.

I stop furrowing my brow and emit a resigned sigh, because there are few things more exasperating than discovering that you've been convinced for an entire year of having done something that in reality you never actually did.

"Well", I tell her finally.

"Then now I'm giving the order. On my father's next birthday, send him the model as a gift from me to the Emperor."

"As you command, Zhāohuán Wen", Lianhua replies with that ever-neutral voice. And as we keep making our way toward the Pavilion, with the sun now disappearing behind the rooftops and the light turning increasingly reddish, I can't help but smile a little upon realizing that, after all, this eleventh birthday has been quite a bit better than I expected.

Now all that remains is to see whether in a few months, on some street of the Capital and while shopping, someone hears a wandering musician daring to play a strange rhythm with a couple of drums and a Guzheng.