Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C95 Part 1

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Chapter 95: Gan Yanyu's Rival Part 1

The piece, composed by the Spanish musician Marquina at the end of the 19th century, carried its essence in its title alone.

Its creation was rooted in Spain's ancient history of bullfighting—a sport steeped in blood and a peculiar form of violent beauty. Every time the march echoed through the air, it conjured images of matadors bravely facing off against raging bulls in the arena, their courage and skill on full display.

As a cornerstone of Spanish culture, this tradition eventually inspired a globally celebrated dance known as the "Mad Bull Dance." In this performance, men played the role of matadors while women portrayed the vibrant red capes that drew the bulls' attention.

Lin Tian had never seen the dance and knew little about classical Spanish art. But he imagined that if the roles were reversed—if women became the capes and men transformed into charging bulls—paired with such an electrifying score, the spectacle would be nothing short of thrilling.

In truth, there were countless pieces of music capable of stirring one’s soul. Yet some required context; understanding the story behind them unlocked their true allure.

Take, for instance, Lin Tian's favorite track—"Erika," famously associated with Berlin’s Call. The melody might not immediately ignite passion, but every time Lin Tian heard it, his right hand twitched involuntarily, yearning to rise at a 45-degree angle. And depending on who listened, the emotions evoked could vary wildly. To Poles, it became “Poland’s Misfortune.” For Jews, it carried entirely different connotations. Without grasping the historical weight behind it, the experience fell flat.

After careful consideration, Lin Tian settled on "España Cañí." He first encountered the tune in an episode of Tom and Jerry, where it left an indelible mark. Especially during the scene when Jerry triumphed over Tom—the self-proclaimed world champion insomniac—it felt absolutely exhilarating.

As usual, Lin Tian transcribed the sheet music and adapted it into a duet for cello and piano. This kind of modification wasn’t just about personalization; it was also a way to showcase the instruments’ unique qualities and reinterpret the piece from a fresh perspective.

In the original version, trumpets led the charge, imbuing the composition with a sense of grandeur, excitement, and vitality. However, Lin Tian’s cello rendition added depth to the lower registers, creating a more introspective and epic tone. It was no longer merely a clash between matador and bull driven by raw courage and technique. Instead, it introduced elements of calculated strategy and stoic confrontation, yet remained equally stirring.

After writing out the arrangement, Lin Tian tested it on the piano. Satisfied but not entirely convinced, he pondered further. Something still felt missing. Perhaps adding synthesized percussion could fill the void? He decided to think it over tomorrow when he went out with Gan Yanyu.

---

Qingzhou Seventeenth Care Hospital

Nestled on the outskirts of Qingzhou City, the hospital stood desolate and quiet, its entrance flanked by a small garden. Occasionally, elderly patients shuffled past in their hospital gowns, hunched over like shadows of their former selves. Even on a Saturday, the place seemed devoid of life, a forgotten corner cut off from the bustling city beyond.

A gust of wind sent dry leaves spiraling down, one landing gently in Gan Yanyu’s palm. She stared at it briefly before lifting her gaze to the dilapidated building ahead. Taking a deep breath, she murmured, “Let’s go inside.”

Pushing open the door to the ward, they found a frail figure lying motionless on the bed. Lin Tian approached, recognizing the familiar face instantly—it was Grandpa Gan, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a month. Though prepared for what awaited him, the sight struck a chord within Lin Tian nonetheless. Placing a bouquet of carnations by the bedside, he whispered softly, “Grandpa, I’ve come to see you.”

Beside him, Gan Yanyu knelt down, taking the old man’s hand in hers. Her expression bore no sorrow, only a gentle smile. “You probably didn’t expect me to bring another guest,” she said lightly. “Lin Tian and I are partners now. He told me how much you helped him in the past. That’s so like you—always unable to turn away someone in need. And because of your kindness, Lin Tian has been looking out for me too.”

She continued recounting her recent achievements—her return to the stage at Qingzhou Concert Hall and her upcoming participation in the Parrot Cello Competition—but Lin Tian tuned out midway. Stepping out into the corridor, he leaned against the window, lost in thought.

For most of his life, Lin Tian had been alone. Grandpa Gan was one of the few people who made him feel like family. Once, Lin Tian had vowed that if he ever succeeded, he would repay the old man as though he were his own grandfather. But fate is unpredictable. When he first learned of Grandpa Gan’s condition, his mind had been preoccupied with Gan Yanyu’s struggles, leaving little room for grief. Now, however, the weight of loss hit him hard.

He wished desperately for a fairy-tale ending—a world where he could compose a magical melody to awaken the sleeping elder, just as stories often depicted.

When Gan Yanyu emerged from the room sometime later, her eyes were slightly red. Despite her attempt at composure, it was clear she’d cried. Offering Lin Tian a faint smile, she joined him outside.

Walking along the roadside, both carried a shared heaviness in their hearts. In many ways, Gan Yanyu’s efforts were driven by a desire to fulfill the dreams Grandpa Gan never could. After a prolonged silence, Lin Tian finally spoke.

“Let’s get going,” he said.

Gan Yanyu blinked, startled. “What?”

“At least Grandpa left us something valuable,” Lin Tian replied with a soft smile. “Time to put it to use.”

---

To renovate Grandpa Gan’s café, Lin Tian and Gan Yanyu headed downtown to shop for supplies. New chairs, tables, and countertops were essential. They also picked out a plush sofa for Gan Yanyu, who loved lounging. Then came various props for filming: stuffed animals, dolls, costumes, a white shaggy rug, and assorted potted plants. Their motto? Buy everything first, sort it out later.

Their shopping spree included plenty of impractical yet eye-catching items. Among these was a finely crafted white skull. When Gan Yanyu held it up in the store, Lin Tian nearly jumped out of his skin.

“What do you need that for?” he asked incredulously.

“You never know,” she replied mischievously. “Maybe you’ll write a ‘hell-themed’ piece someday. We can grab a crucifix or a black notebook too—they’ll make great props for our videos!”

Her enthusiasm caught Lin Tian off guard. Who knew someone so uninterested in pop culture harbored such curiosity about Western aesthetics? Truly, she was an artist ahead of her time.

Lin Tian nodded approvingly. “Why stop there?” he teased, pulling out his phone. “Let’s add peachwood swords, vials of black dog blood, octagonal clocks, and maybe even a humanoid ox figurine. I dabble in spiritualism, you know…”

Gan Yanyu’s face turned pale. Grabbing his sleeve, she stammered, “O-on second thought, let’s skip that part.”

“Huh?” Lin Tian raised an eyebrow. “So, Hell-themed stuff is fine, but you’re scared of the Zhonghua underworld? What’s this about favoring Western culture over our own? Don’t you think the Ten Kings of Hell are way cooler than their Grim Reaper?”

Gan Yanyu pressed her lips together, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really… scared.”

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