Chapter Forty-Five: The Ongoing Art Entrance Examination

Ever since the Great Gossip War, Zhou Miao had finally extricated himself from trivial matters and devoted himself entirely to exam preparation. In December, he returned to Jiangsu Province to take the provincial arts exam.

Compared to the school entrance exams that would begin in February the following year, the provincial exam was relatively simple. Zhou Miao felt little pressure and passed with ease.

He also stayed at home for a few days. After several months apart, Hong Xue thought Zhou Miao had grown a lot thinner and taller.

In truth, the weight loss was an illusion. Thanks to the excellent meals at the company cafeteria, he’d actually gained a few pounds. The height increase, however, was genuine—he’d measured himself before coming back: 181 centimeters. His old trousers now looked like ankle pants on him.

He’d considered visiting Hu San as well, but knowing how busy the girls were with their studies, he decided not to disturb them.

A few days later, Zhou Miao returned to Beijing. With only two months left until the school entrance exams, it was time for the final sprint.

By January, the Central Conservatory of Music released this year’s admissions guidelines. The composition department was admitting only twenty-five students, a few more than last year, but the acceptance rate remained low.

According to Guan Yu, this year would see many talented applicants. Now, just like Zhou Miao, they were all chasing lessons with various teachers.

The teachers had discussed privately and agreed that this cohort was clearly stronger than the last. The competition would be fierce.

Even with Guan Yu’s connection, Zhou Miao knew his success wasn’t guaranteed. So, he simply moved—cat in tow—into Guan Yu’s home for an intensive pre-exam cram session. He hardly left the house, practicing nonstop until mid to late February, right before the school exams began.

The conservatory’s entrance exams, which last year had taken place after the New Year, were moved ahead this year due to Spring Festival falling at the end of February.

An endless stream of music students poured in from all corners of the country. For aspiring musicians, the Central Conservatory was akin to Tsinghua or Peking University for regular universities.

No one could resist its allure—unless they truly had no chance of getting in.

But there was no harm in trying; February was the season for school entrance exams. Despite the tight schedule, many students sat for several schools' exams, knowing that even if they failed the Conservatory, other opportunities remained.

At the exam site, Zhou Miao’s arrival drew attention. On any other day, he would have been surrounded by fans seeking autographs, but now everyone was too nervous about the upcoming test to be distracted.

The young girl sitting beside Zhou Miao was visibly trembling and kept dry heaving—a sign of extreme nerves.

Zhou Miao doubted her chances; if she was this anxious before the test, she might just throw up on stage.

The music academy's entrance exam consisted of three rounds: preliminary, semi-final, and final. Only those who passed the earlier rounds could proceed.

The composition department’s preliminary round tested composition and instrumental writing—Zhou Miao’s weakness when he first arrived in Beijing. But after half a year of targeted training, he now handled the exam with ease.

He had practiced all the previous years’ questions, and this year’s were even a bit simpler. He breezed through without a hitch.

Two days later, the results of the preliminary round were released. As expected, Zhou Miao passed. The semi-final tested harmony, piano performance, and included an interview.

During the piano performance, Zhou Miao’s interpretation impressed the faculty, who nodded their approval—Guan Yu had truly found himself an outstanding protégé.

Unlike other teachers who taught for money, Guan Yu had genuinely accepted Zhou Miao as his disciple. Zhou Miao had only paid for lessons in the first two months; after formally becoming a student, he paid nothing further—he even freeloaded meals and lodging for two months before the exam.

After the first two components came the interview, a more complex process. First, candidates had to sing a folk song or opera piece, then briefly analyze their own work.

Those parts were straightforward—the real challenge was the faculty’s Q&A, designed to gauge the candidates’ imagination and creativity, to see if they were truly suited to study music.

The final segment was a talent demonstration. Wanting to leave a lasting impression, Zhou Miao had practiced his act for half a year.

He pulled out two recorders, surprising the teachers. Two flutes? What on earth was he about to perform?

Then, they watched as Zhou Miao slowly raised both recorders to his nostrils. With a deep breath, he began playing a melodious tune—using only his nose.

A female teacher couldn’t help but burst into laughter, quickly covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with mirth. The male teacher beside her was more composed, pressing a hand to his leg and another to his mouth, stoically enduring the performance.

When Zhou Miao finished and bowed politely, the teacher collected himself, his expression odd as he asked, “Why did you choose to perform this?”

“I can play many instruments,” Zhou Miao replied confidently, “but I felt that simply playing an instrument wouldn’t set me apart. So I practiced this special skill. I believe no other candidate this year could pull this off.”

Zhou Miao didn’t notice that the female teacher, still staring at her desk, was nearly driving her pen through the tabletop.

The male teacher was at a loss. Zhou Miao’s playing was good—better than some who played the conventional way—but the method was simply too unconventional.

He’d overseen these semi-final exams for years, but had never witnessed anything quite like this.

“Ah... well, thank you for your performance.”

The teachers’ reactions were a bit strange, but it didn’t prevent Zhou Miao from advancing.

The final round tested sight-singing, ear training, and music theory. Candidates entered in pairs; the girl before Zhou Miao drew a question, and three minutes later Zhou Miao drew his, while she sang her assigned piece. Her singing time served as his preparation. Sight-singing and ear training were Zhou Miao’s strengths—he sang his piece flawlessly.

Next came dictation, which posed no challenge for his perfect pitch.

The last component, music theory, was what he’d spent the most time on with Guan Yu. It was dry and required rote memorization—harder than memorizing literature, which at least had a story. Even Zhou Miao, with his strong memory, had to work hard to master the basics, and that was with Guan Yu’s targeted coaching. Had he studied alone, who knows how long it would have taken.

When the final test ended, Zhou Miao felt as though his very soul had been elevated—his body was so light he could almost float away, tears of relief threatening to fall.

After half a year of relentless study, he was nearly sick of it. Now, at last, he was free.

He jogged out of the exam building. Like countless other parents, Zuo Qiu waited anxiously outside. Seeing Zhou Miao, she hurried to hand him a water bottle and asked, “How did it go?”

Zhou Miao downed the water in one go and simply gave an “OK” sign. Zuo Qiu immediately relaxed; it seemed things had gone well, though the final results wouldn’t be available until April.

With the arts exam over, Zhou Miao had to return to Suzhou to prepare for the college entrance exam in June. Though he’d been reviewing his studies in Beijing, he still needed a thorough refresher. If he passed the arts exam but failed the college entrance exam, he’d regret it forever.

But the year was drawing to a close. Before leaving, Zhou Miao bought some New Year’s treats for the solitary old man, Guan Yu.

When Guan Yu saw him, he glared fiercely. Zhou Miao’s nose-flute performance had already become the talk of the school—his face had been utterly lost!

He’d specifically asked before the exam what Zhou Miao planned to perform for his talent show. Zhou Miao had said he’d play an instrument but hadn’t specified how.

The more Guan Yu thought about it, the angrier he became; his blood pressure was rising.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” Zhou Miao laughed.

“Hmph!” Now that the exams were over, Guan Yu couldn’t be bothered with this fool.

Zhou Miao set out the New Year’s goods—salted chicken, dried fish, nuts and snacks. The old man rarely bought groceries for himself.

“I’m heading back to Suzhou tomorrow. Do you have plans for New Year’s? Why not come back with me and celebrate together?” Zhou Miao offered.

Guan Yu waved him off. “What would I look like, spending New Year’s at your house? I won’t go. I’m over fifty—it’s just another year, nothing to celebrate about getting older.”

The old man was stubborn, so Zhou Miao didn’t press him. “Fine, I’ll visit again after the college entrance exam. I’ll be here for the Strawberry Music Festival then, and I’ll bring you some local specialties.”

“Alright, go on, travel safe.”

After Zhou Miao left, the house fell into a deep silence. Only when Zhou Miao’s figure had vanished did Guan Yu step away from the window.

As people age, loneliness comes easily—especially when the house once echoed with another’s presence.