Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C118

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Chapter 118: The Incredibly Difficult Solo Grind

"Let me put it this way," continued. "A flawless performance will get you through the arts exam."

"But I imagine your ambitions go beyond just passing?"

Gao Zhenyang's words struck a chord.

was someone who pursued perfection in everything he did. For three years, his academic performance had consistently ranked at the top of his class. He was the epitome of talent and hard work—a model student admired by teachers and peers alike.

So how could Lin Tian, who had dominated academics, settle for mediocrity in the arts?

"What should I do?" Lin Tian asked.

"As I said before, your current skill level is enough to pass the exam. But every year, the top candidates have something extra—something that moves the judges."

Gao Zhenyang shifted into teacher mode, his tone earnest.

"What you're missing, Mr. Lin, is that spark that makes an examiner sit up and take notice."

To put it simply, Lin Tian’s playing was too... perfect. As an accompanist for 's cello, his precision was impressive. But as a solo performer, standing humbly on stage interpreting a piece independently, his execution fell short.

"It’s clear you’re highly skilled, but you lack understanding of what the arts exam truly demands," Gao Zhenyang explained.

"The competition is fiercer than it seems. Take , for instance—one of the toughest regions for arts exams. Every year, prodigies emerge who defy expectations. And ? Forget about it—it’s on another level entirely."

Gao Zhenyang gestured dramatically. "You might think your competitors are ordinary students who’ve been grinding away since high school. But last year, there were underage members of the , pop stars with millions of fans, and TikTok influencers—all vying for spots."

While official policies claimed fairness, scandals told a different story. Last year, a TikTok celebrity blatantly introduced herself by name during her audition at —a blatant violation of anonymity rules. She wore custom-made clothes instead of the required uniform and performed so poorly it was almost comical. Yet somehow, she ranked 26th nationwide.

Outrage erupted online when other candidates exposed the injustice. Only then did the academy revoke her admission.

And if a mere influencer could pull off such stunts, what about bigger celebrities? Was it really surprising they bypassed exams altogether?

This was the reality Gao Zhenyang wanted Lin Tian to understand.

The arts exam wasn’t just about skill; it was a battlefield riddled with unfair advantages.

"You can’t rely on shortcuts," Gao Zhenyang emphasized. "If you want to succeed, you need to be exceptional."

He suggested studying Gan Yanyu’s approach—not her technical prowess, but her ability to connect deeply with music. Her performances weren’t just interpretations; they were soulful dialogues with the composer’s intent. It was this unique connection that made her stand out.

"How do I learn that?" Lin Tian asked, baffled.

He’d always known Gan Yanyu possessed this gift, but he’d never tried to analyze it. To him, it seemed like something only someone mentally unhinged could achieve.

"To be honest, I don’t know either," Gao Zhenyang admitted with a shrug. "If I had that ability, I wouldn’t be teaching here."

He chuckled self-deprecatingly, recalling how overwhelmed he’d felt when he first witnessed Lin Tian and Gan Yanyu’s talents. Now, he viewed their abilities with a mix of admiration and resignation.

"But we can experiment together. Since you have Miss Gan as a reference, why not try mimicking her approach? Let’s use as an example."

Gao Zhenyang played a few notes, then handed over the keyboard to Lin Tian.

"This piece is cheerful, right?"

"Yes."

"When you play, try to forget about the sheet music. Imagine yourself as Erwin. What emotions might he have poured into this melody? What message is he trying to convey?"

Lin Tian closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. Beneath the surface of its joyous rhythm, he sensed a nostalgic sadness—a bittersweet reflection on fleeting happiness.

Who was Erwin, really?

But before he could delve deeper, absurd thoughts crept in:

"Soldiers, rage! Soldiers, shout! Heart sa-sa-give-yo..." (TLN: )

Lin Tian snapped back to reality, shaking his head. Damn, he’d gone off track again.

"How did it feel? Did you sense anything?" Gao Zhenyang asked eagerly.

"It felt like being pelted with stones by a monkey," Lin Tian replied dryly.

"Uh… Are you sure this method works?" Lin Tian questioned skeptically.

"I’m experimenting alongside you," Gao Zhenyang confessed sheepishly.

Turns out, Gao Zhenyang wasn’t exactly teaching—he was co-researching. Their topic? "Understanding Gan Yanyu’s Immersive Performance Style and Its Replicability."

"I’ll keep working on it at home," Lin Tian said, rising from the piano bench. "Thanks, Mr. Gao. I’ll see you next week."

With two weeks left until the arts exam, Lin Tian realized he’d hit a wall. His progress in other subjects was solid, but instrumental performance remained elusive. Despite possessing "Emerald-level" piano skills, his solo performances felt subpar—barely better than "Silver-level." It was frustrating.

That’s why he’d sought Gao Zhenyang’s guidance. As a conservatory teacher, he hoped to gain insights into acing the exam. But learning from Gan Yanyu? That was unexpected.

Could it be that Lin Tian’s inability to resonate musically with Gan Yanyu had driven him to self-sabotage? After all, she was a musical prodigy. If Lin Tian truly had her talent, would he still be struggling?

Immersing himself in the composer’s perspective sounded great in theory, but Lin Tian doubted his capacity for such depth. Sure, he could immerse himself in certain scenarios—like analyzing scenes from adult films—but classical music? Not so much.

He sighed. If Gan Yanyu was the Art Demon King, then perhaps he was the Adult Film Demon King. Too bad music schools didn’t test that.

However, speaking of imitating Gan Yanyu, there’s one thing even more outrageous that Lin Tian had just overlooked.

You see, from Gan Yanyu’s perspective, Lin Tian is the composer of the music. And yet, instead of stepping into Lin Tian’s shoes, she somehow managed to recreate “a lonely soul” to converse with it.

Just imagine—

If he hadn’t made up some excuse like “I got the inspiration from a dream,” then from Gan Yanyu’s point of view, Lin Tian must have 18 different personalities.

Each time she performed, she would have to talk to one of Lin Tian’s many personas, gradually unlocking the “Complete Lin Tian Personality Collection” achievement.

Lin Tian took a deep breath and returned to the piano. He refused to believe that what Gan Yanyu could do, he couldn’t.

Meanwhile, across the street, in a messy living room littered with sheet music, Gan Yanyu sat barefoot, hair disheveled, practicing her cello. Her playing was intense, sweat dripping down her forehead as she poured her soul into .

Two minutes later, she set down her bow and sighed. Still not good enough.

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with her parents. Without Lin Tian by her side, her practice sessions felt disjointed. Especially with this piece. Whenever she played, visions of performing alone on stage haunted her. Would she ever catch up to Lin Tian?

Her phone buzzed. A message from Lin Tian appeared: "Ordered pudding. Stop practicing and come over for a break."

Minutes later, Gan Yanyu stood outside his door, fidgeting nervously. Lin Tian greeted her silently, leading her to the dining table where dessert awaited. Seeing the treats lifted her spirits slightly.

For a moment, neither spoke. Both were trapped in their respective struggles. Lin Tian’s attempt to emulate Gan Yanyu’s methods had failed miserably. Perhaps it wasn’t suited to his personality. Unlike her serene focus, he thrived on chaos and irreverence. Trying to mimic her immersion felt unnatural.

The silence stretched between them. One preparing for the arts exam, the other for the —they were both stuck in similar yet isolated battles.

Lin Tian finally broke the quiet. "When does the Starlight Cup start?"

"Next Sunday," Gan Yanyu replied softly.

"How far along are you?"

She hesitated. "I haven’t reached the effect I want."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Maybe... because I’m alone, and it feels shaky."

Lin Tian paused, realization dawning. "Wait—you’ve already mastered the piece, but you’re struggling to express it the way you envision?"

"Yes."

"I’m stuck on instrumental performance too."

Gan Yanyu looked incredulous. "You? Really?"

"It’s not that I can’t perform—it’s that my standards are too high," Lin Tian admitted honestly.