Otaku Translation: My Girlfriend Is a Cello Player C127

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Chapter 127: – ’s Rivals

The day of the competition finally arrived, wobbling with anticipation. Early in the morning, had already prepared breakfast and called Gan Yanyu over. The two sat face-to-face in Lin Tian’s living room, eating their meal in near silence. Tension, anxiety, and a touch of excitement flickered across the young girl’s face like an ever-changing slideshow.

“Miss Gan.”

“…”

“Yanyu.”

“Huh?!” Gan Yanyu snapped out of her daze, her eyes wide as she stared at Lin Tian. The steamed bun in her hand hovered mid-air.

“What… what is it?”

“Did you sleep well? You don’t seem to be in good spirits,” Lin Tian asked, exasperation creeping into his voice. Low morale before a battle was never a good sign.

“I slept fine, I think… I remember closing my eyes last night.”

“…”

It was hopeless. She’d started talking nonsense.

“You’re not acting like a musician at all,” Lin Tian sighed, setting down his spoon and walking over to Gan Yanyu.

“Stand up.”

“But my bun—”

“Stand up.”

Gan Yanyu stuffed the bun into her mouth and obediently rose to her feet.

“Chest out, shoulders back, head up.”

Lin Tian sounded like a drill instructor as he commanded Gan Yanyu. Her cheeks bulged with the bun she was chewing, but her body earnestly followed his instructions, her expression radiating determination, as if preparing for an ideological test.

“Your shoulders aren’t straight enough.”

Lin Tian reached out and pressed lightly on her shoulders.

“Mmm…”

A pained groan escaped Gan Yanyu’s lips, nearly sending the half-chewed bun flying.

“That sore, huh?”

“…”

After finally swallowing the bun, Gan Yanyu weakly muttered, “It’s really, really sore.”

Her asthma made exercise challenging, and since returning to school, Gan Yanyu had drastically reduced her workout frequency to once or twice a week. During this competition preparation period, she’d completely abandoned physical activity, locking herself indoors for long hours of intense practice. Over time, her body had grown stiff all over.

“You should’ve told me earlier. If I’d known, I would’ve massaged you last night,” Lin Tian said. His master-level massage skills hadn’t been used in ages.

The truth was, Gan Yanyu rarely mentioned her discomfort, and Lin Tian didn’t feel comfortable bringing it up. He worried that suggesting something like, “Take off your pants and stretch out your legs so I can massage them,” might lead to her enjoying it but then accusing him of crossing boundaries.

“We can go get a foot massage after the competition,” Lin Tian suggested.

“…”

Gan Yanyu remained silent. After a pause, she asked, “Are you coming into the venue with me later?”

“Of course—I bought a ticket.”

Lin Tian had even consulted Gao Zhenyang about whether there were any backstage passes or special access for family members. However, he was informed that he wasn’t considered a family member and thus ineligible for such privileges.

How absurd.

From now on, Lin Tian decided to take pictures of Gan Yanyu before every meal, saving them up for a year or so. Then, he’d confront the organizers: “She’s eaten hundreds of meals at my place. Doesn’t that count as family?”

“You can watch from backstage,” Gan Yanyu said. “Contestants are allowed to bring assistants into the lounge.”

“I want to experience the atmosphere,” Lin Tian replied. Watching a performance was better from the audience; the live sound was unbeatable. Watching on a big TV screen backstage felt awkward.

“You can stay backstage with me first, and then go to the audience when I’m about to perform,” Gan Yanyu suggested, her gaze cautious.

“That works.”

This was roughly what Lin Tian had planned anyway. After all, as Gan Yanyu’s producer, he had practically raised her from scratch. It was like sending off an idol he’d personally trained onto the stage—a satisfying feeling.

“It’s 8:30.” Lin Tian glanced at the clock. “Time to go.”

He grabbed a steamed bun, shoved it into Gan Yanyu’s mouth, and pulled her out the door.

---

The Starlight Cup, officially named the “,” was sponsored by the “” and the “,” with the “” as the organizer. Held biennially, it was now in its twelfth iteration, taking place at ’s “.”

As one of the top five influential events in , its timing coincided perfectly with the month leading up to the preliminaries. Therefore, many music enthusiasts viewed the Starlight Cup as a preview for the Parrot Cello Contest. Over half of the Parrot Cello Contest participants would compete in the Starlight Cup.

This year’s lineup included the highly popular 18-year-old prodigy cellist Gan Yanyu, as well as several other notable competitors:

: 24 years old, undergraduate from , currently pursuing a master’s degree at . A student of renowned cellist , Yang specialized in both classical and modern works and won the silver medal at Qingjiang Province’s 2022 “” Young Adult Cello Competition.

: 26 years old, undergraduate from , master’s degree from Shanghai Conservatory of Music. Her mentor was , former president of Qingzhou’s Music Association. Zhu excelled in modern music, winning the Best Performance Award at the 2021 and the championship at the 2020 Starlight Cup Cello Competition.

All were conservatory-trained musicians. On the way to the venue, Lin Tian couldn’t help but sigh as he reviewed the contestants’ profiles. By comparison, the only notable background Gan Yanyu had was being the granddaughter of , the legendary cellist. Unfortunately, this identity carried more negative weight than positive.

Others boasted affiliations with prestigious music schools, while Gan Yanyu’s connection to Gan Hua felt oddly out of place.

Lin Tian had initially thought of the Starlight Cup as a minor local competition, one he wouldn’t have bothered entering Gan Yanyu into if not for securing an insurance policy for the Parrot Cello Contest. But now, he realized that while the competition itself might lack prestige, that didn’t mean the participants lacked value.

As a province rich in musical talent, Qingjiang had produced countless prodigies. Even Gan Hua, the former top cellist recognized nationwide, hailed from Qingzhou. With the biennial approaching, young performers were flocking to Qingzhou to vie for this coveted opportunity.

“Why are there even elementary school kids listed among the participants?” Lin Tian noticed an eight-year-old on the roster.

“If an 18-year-old is a genius, wouldn’t an eight-year-old be a monster?”

“Pfft, music competitions are divided into categories, of course,” Gan Yanyu said, almost laughing at Lin Tian’s naivety.

If his previous questions reflected a lack of professionalism, this one revealed a complete misunderstanding of basic competition structure.

Gan Yanyu raised a finger and explained:

“Except for special invitation-only competitions like the Dragon Cello Competition, most domestic music competitions divide participants into four age groups: under-12 (children), 12–17 (youth), 18–26 (young adult), and above 26 (professional).”

“So you’re in the young adult group?” Lin Tian asked.

“No, the professional group.”

“What?!”

“Age is just a guideline. If your skill level meets the requirements, anyone can qualify for the professional group regardless of age.”

“…”

“I see,” Lin Tian murmured.

Hearing terms like “genius cellist” hadn’t meant much to him before. Now, things became clearer. Saying “skill level meets the requirements” made it sound easy to qualify for the professional group. In reality, flipping through the participant list, Lin Tian saw that 18-year-old Gan Yanyu was undoubtedly the youngest in the professional group.

“It’s not as exaggerated as you think,” Gan Yanyu quickly added, noticing Lin Tian’s subtle change in expression. “Though the competition is technically open to all ages, few musicians over 40 participate. Most older musicians have already achieved sufficient recognition and credentials. They don’t need to go through channels like the Parrot Cello Contest—they’re directly invited to the Dragon Cello Competition, where they perform in exhibition matches rather than competing in the professional group.”

“Similarly, if they want to enter prestigious international competitions, they have their own pathways and don’t compete against younger players.”

“…”

Lin Tian understood. In simpler terms, musicians over 40 rarely participated in these competitions. Their achievements granted them honorary invitations to high-profile events, where their performances were more ceremonial than competitive. These matches resembled displays of mastery rather than serious contests.

Winning such exhibitions held little prestige compared to claiming the professional group championship, which carried real weight.

On a deeper level, competitions for older musicians leaned more toward performance than substance. There was a sense of “literature has no definitive ‘first,’ but martial arts always crown a champion.” Perhaps younger audiences simply didn’t watch these elder musicians’ performances, or perhaps the International Music Association preferred to preserve their dignity. The future of music was left to the younger generation to define.

It wasn’t that older musicians couldn’t compete in the professional group—they just couldn’t rely on seniority alone. Instead, they’d have to fight their way up, which was rare. After all, why would someone who’d earned decades of respect risk humiliation by competing against younger rivals?

Winning might be fine, but losing? That could tarnish a lifetime of achievements.

Besides, the current trend favored modern music over classical, leaving older musicians with little hope.

“This reminds me…” Gan Yanyu paused, her voice softening. “Grandpa won the professional group championship at the Dragon Cello Competition.”

“Really?”

“With his resume, he could’ve taken easier routes to enter the . But to earn recognition as a representative of ’s classical music tradition, he chose to compete in—and win—the Dragon Cello Competition’s professional group.”

Her eyes softened, filled with admiration. Having such a grandfather made her proud.

“…”

Lin Tian felt the same.

Sixteen years ago, Gan Hua, hailed as Zhonghua’s top cellist at over fifty years old, could’ve enjoyed a glorious retirement. Surrounded by admiration, flowers, and applause, he could’ve lived out his days basking in reverence.

But driven by some deep-seated passion for music, he returned to the stage. Amidst bewildered stares from his peers, this elder entered the Parrot Cello Contest and fought his way to victory after victory, eventually reaching the Kölner Cup as the “First.”

The ending was well-known: shattered spirit, never touching the cello again.

Countless media outlets dissected his failure, turning him into a cautionary tale. From adoration to disgrace—it seemed pointless.

Lin Tian couldn’t fathom Gan Hua’s inner world. To him, Gan Hua would always be the optimistic, kind-hearted grandfather who loved brewing hand-drip coffee.

Yet, glimpses of Gan Hua’s journey echoed in Gan Yanyu’s heart. The path they walked now was the unfinished road Gan Hua had once tread.

“…”

Taking a deep breath, Lin Tian adjusted his emotions. Dwelling on this now served no purpose. They were just beginning.

Lin Tian refocused on his phone, intending to finish reviewing the professional group roster. However, Gan Yanyu reached out and stopped him.

“The people you’re looking at aren’t important.”

“How are they not important?” Lin Tian gestured at names like Yang Weize and Zhu Ya—prestigious conservatory graduates, prior champions, award winners.

“Look for someone named .”

“Bai Xi?”

It sounded like a name trendy among millennials. Anyone worthy of Gan Yanyu’s attention must be formidable. Lin Tian immediately searched for the name.

Bai Xi: 23 years old, graduated from .

“High school graduate?” Lin Tian frowned.

“Yes,” Gan Yanyu nodded.

Lin Tian continued reading:

2022 Bronze Medal, “” National Cello Competition

2022 Qingjiang Province Young Artist Award

2023 Special Soloist Invitation

2023 Special Award

An impressive résumé. How could someone without conservatory training achieve so much?

“Look at this,” Gan Yanyu pointed to one entry.

2022 Parrot Cello Contest Runner-Up

“The Parrot Cello Contest?”

“Yes.” Gan Yanyu’s voice softened. “That year, I competed too.”

That infamous year when Gan Yanyu, at 16, qualified for the youth group but withdrew during the quarterfinals to study abroad in the . The music world was shocked—everyone expected great things from the youngest contestant, only to see her vanish at the last moment.

“Bai Xi was 21 that year, competing in the professional group, and she took second place.”

“She’s very talented,” Gan Yanyu said quietly. “I remember her well.”

This was the first time Lin Tian heard Gan Yanyu speak so highly of another person. At 21, Bai Xi was already a prodigy in the professional group. Someone of her caliber could easily dominate the young adult group. Yet she chose the professional group, indicating one thing:

Like Gan Yanyu, her dream was the Dragon Cello Competition. Other trophies meant nothing to her.

Two years ago, she was already a runner-up. Since then, she’d racked up even more accolades. This year’s Parrot Cello Contest championship seemed within her grasp.

“I didn’t expect to meet her at the Starlight Cup. I thought we’d face off at the Parrot Cello Contest,” Gan Yanyu said, her tone tinged with anxiety.

“Cheer up!” Lin Tian shook her shoulders firmly.

At 18, Gan Yanyu was the true prodigy in the professional group. Yet here she was, intimidated by another competitor’s aura. It was hard to know how to comfort her.

“Forget everything today. Just focus on going onstage, playing, finishing, and coming home for a big meal. Got it?” Lin Tian instructed earnestly.

Music competitions had one advantage: no matter how strong your opponent, you each performed separately. Unlike sports or chess, there was no direct confrontation.

Let her brilliance remain hers. All they needed to do was play their best.

“Okay,” Gan Yanyu nodded.

The taxi stopped at the venue entrance. Stepping out, they were immediately greeted by a cacophony of noise. Despite it being 9 AM on a Sunday, the crowd was unexpectedly large. Spotting Gan Yanyu and Lin Tian, a group of onlookers erupted in excitement.

“Gan Yanyu! Our goddess is here!” university girls shouted, arms outstretched.

“It’s really her!”

“So beautiful!”

“What grace!”

Thankfully, security kept the spectators at bay, separating them from the contestants’ pathway. Still, Gan Yanyu couldn’t handle the cheers. Blushing furiously, she quickened her pace amidst the commotion.

Seeing this, the crowd grew even more excited:

“Aww, she’s so cute when she’s shy!”

“…”

Gan Yanyu sped up further. Only after entering the venue did the noise fade.

Lin Tian finally understood why Gan Yanyu found it unbearable. Even he felt his eardrums throbbing. Thankfully, his current identity as Gan Yanyu’s low-key piano accompanist shielded him from similar treatment. If “Moonlight and Cat’s” identities were ever exposed, he’d likely endure the same frenzy in real life.

The thought alone terrified him.

Under staff guidance, they entered a waiting hall. Unlike solo recitals where each musician had a private room, this competition accommodated many participants across different age groups. The space was large, about the size of two classrooms.

Lin Tian and Gan Yanyu entered the combined young adult and professional group lounge. Inside, chaos reigned. Staff, makeup artists, and managers bustled about. Contestants adjusted their appearances in front of mirrors or warmed up on their instruments. The overlapping sounds created a chaotic, oppressive atmosphere.

Gan Yanyu found an empty seat and placed her cello beside her.

“Miss Gan,” a voice called out.

Both turned to see a woman in a black dress with short hair approaching. Smiling warmly, she wore silver earrings and appeared to be another contestant.

“I wanted to meet you during the preliminaries but didn’t have time. Finally catching you now!” she said cheerfully.

“Hello,” Gan Yanyu responded politely but indifferently.

“Miss Bai,” she acknowledged.

This was Bai Xi?

Lin Tian glanced at the woman’s legs beneath her black dress. Yes, they were fair—but still not as striking as Gan Yanyu’s. Gan Yanyu’s legs were longer.

“…”

“The last time we met was two years ago, right? You were in the youth group then, and I’d been following your progress. Never imagined we’d compete on the same stage this year,” Bai Xi leaned casually against a makeup table, her smile radiant.

Despite appearing around university age, Bai Xi’s decision to skip higher education gave her a certain air—perhaps flirtatiousness. While the black dress looked elegant on Gan Yanyu, it seemed to carry a hint of vulgarity on Bai Xi.

Had Lin Tian not discussed Bai Xi with Gan Yanyu earlier, he might’ve assumed they were close acquaintances. Truly a social butterfly.

“Miss Gan,” a middle-aged woman called from afar, waving. “You haven’t had your makeup done yet, right? If you don’t mind, I’ll do it for you. Please come over.”

“Excuse me,” Gan Yanyu stood and addressed Bai Xi.

“Oh sure, go ahead. We’ll talk later,” Bai Xi waved dismissively, her smile unwavering as she watched Gan Yanyu leave.

Lin Tian moved to follow, but Bai Xi’s voice stopped him: “You’re Lin Tian, right?”

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