Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C68

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Chapter 68: The Incredibly Difficult Duet

In that instant, Lin Tian leapt to his feet.

He rushed forward and firmly grabbed Gan Yanyu’s slender wrist, halting the frantic motion of her bow. Startled out of her trance, the young woman’s body went limp, and her eyes snapped open wide.

She exhaled sharply, clutching at her chest as she gasped for air.

Turning toward Lin Tian, her expression was one of confusion. “Lin Tian?”

“Are you trying to kill yourself?!” Lin Tian snapped, frustration boiling over. “I told you—if it gets too much, stop! It’s just a video, why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

Lin Tian felt his patience wearing dangerously thin. Watching Gan Yanyu disregard her own well-being like this made him want to shake some sense into her—or maybe knock her upside the head.

Sure, back when she’d been struggling with depression, occasional breakdowns were understandable. But now that she was supposedly better, why was she still engaging in such reckless behavior?

What was this—a cello performance or an ascension ritual?

Lin Tian began to wonder if abruptly stopping her medication had been a mistake after all.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Gan Yanyu murmured softly, sitting down on the couch and fidgeting with her index finger. After gulping down two glasses of water and taking several deep breaths, she managed to steady herself somewhat.

“I caused trouble for you,” she said quietly.

“Partners don’t talk like that,” Lin Tian replied, his tone softening slightly as he saw she wasn’t seriously harmed. Taking a moment to collect himself, he asked earnestly, “What did it feel like just now?”

“It hurt…” She hesitated, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “…but it also felt amazing.”

Completely immersed in the music, she had connected with a lonely soul from centuries past—feeling its struggles, its outrage, its passion. For Gan Yanyu, there was something intoxicating about surrendering to the piece entirely, even if it came with a measure of pain. She reveled in that ache, embracing it as a way to touch the very essence of the composition.

“…”

Masochist much?

Lin Tian mentally threw up his hands. Of course. Artists really were a breed apart—mad to the core. He got it now.

Fine. If this was how she wanted to play, he’d write her a Japanese classic next time. Let her belt out “Oh, won't you tell me? Please just tell me. Explain how this should work~” while playing the cello on the balcony. That ought to give her enough absurdity to snap her out of it.

But jokes aside, given Gan Yanyu’s fragile health, performing pieces that stirred such intense emotions wasn’t safe.

“I’ll compose something new,” Lin Tian suggested firmly.

“No.”

Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Gan Yanyu shot up from her seat.

“No! No! No! No!” Her voice rose, fists clenched tightly as she stepped closer to him, almost pressing against him in her urgency. Like a broken record, she repeated herself, staring up at him with what was supposed to be unwavering determination—but which only made her look more like a stubborn child in Lin Tian’s eyes.

“You only think this piece is special because you haven’t heard anything else I could write. Trust me, you’d love whatever comes next.”

Lin Tian tried reasoning with her patiently, but Gan Yanyu wouldn’t hear it.

“No. I have to perform this piece,” she insisted. “Nothing else will do. Just now, I was so close—I just need one more chance. I promise I can get it right this time.”

Her voice softened, pleading. “Lin Tian, please.”

Hands clasped together, her clear eyes brimming with innocence and just a hint of pouty frustration, she looked every bit the picture of a desperate girl begging for understanding. She had so much to say, so many reasons to explain why this particular piece meant so much to her, how long it had been since she’d found such profound connection in classical music. But when the words reached her lips, they faltered, leaving her stammering instead.

“…”

Close to what? Close to enlightenment? Or maybe close to spontaneously combusting?

Lin Tian sighed, torn between exasperation and concern. Even setting aside Gan Yanyu’s emotional intensity, there was another glaring issue here:

He couldn’t keep up.

His piano skills were solid enough for 99% of situations. But what Gan Yanyu had unleashed earlier? That belonged to the top 1%. When she truly entered the zone, her cello became an unstoppable force—ten wild horses couldn’t have pulled her back. At that point, she existed on a completely different plane than Lin Tian.

How were they supposed to play together like this?

The problem with Lin Tian was simple: he wasn’t crazy. Well, not entirely. His mind remained annoyingly rational and grounded. There was no way he could match her level of immersion.

A normal person couldn’t hope to follow Gan Yanyu’s lead—not without losing their grip entirely. Earlier, he’d managed to physically yank her back to reality by grabbing her wrist. But what if she dove too deep next time? What if she crossed a line where even physical intervention wouldn’t be enough?

As far as Lin Tian could see, there were two options:

Option one: Get Gan Yanyu to approach the piece with a calmer mindset, reminding her that it was just music—not life or death.

Option two: Push himself to become as unhinged as she was. Force himself to keep pace with her, consequences be damned.

The upside of option two? A flawless performance.

The downside? Someone might end up dead by the final note.

After weighing the pros and cons, Lin Tian settled on a compromise.

He asked, “Do you really want to perform this?”

“Yes.” Gan Yanyu nodded fervently, like a chick pecking at grain.

“Then I have a condition.”

Lin Tian raised a finger. “When we film, we’re adding interactive elements.”

“Interactive elements?”

“Exactly.”

Lin Tian explained, “I’ve done my research. Videos need interaction to stay engaging. Last time, we just sat there stiffly—no banter, no chemistry. Boring stuff.”

“So… how do we interact?” Gan Yanyu asked curiously.

“It’s simple,” Lin Tian said, warming to his idea. “While playing, we make eye contact. Exchange glances, expressions—let the audience see our connection. Or better yet, halfway through the piece, you stand up and we add some hand gestures. Something dynamic, something fun!”

He described it enthusiastically, painting a vivid picture of their hypothetical performance.

Gan Yanyu blinked, utterly bewildered. In all her years of playing, she’d never once considered incorporating choreography mid-performance. But since Lin Tian framed it as a non-negotiable condition…

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly.

“Good. Let’s get started.”

Lin Tian’s plan was straightforward. By weaving moments of interaction into their duet, he hoped to anchor Gan Yanyu in the present—to remind her that she wasn’t alone in her world. At the same time, he vowed to push himself harder, striving to keep up with her virtuosic cello playing, however challenging it might be.

This time, Lin Tian placed a stool beside the piano, positioning Gan Yanyu within arm’s reach.

Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, third attempt.

Final round. Begin.

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