Even though the suona’s sound completely drowned out the shamisen, Tosaki Naohara remained calm on stage. On the contrary, his expression was composed, and his technique steady—not the least bit shaken by the suona.
“Tsk, he’s got pretty good mental fortitude.”
“I’d say it’s more like thick skin.”
“The shamisen’s sound is totally overwhelmed. Does that mean we’ve already won?”
Of course not!
The rules were very clear: during simultaneous performance of different pieces, whoever makes a mistake first loses.
But up to this point, the judge had not called a stop to the performance. That meant neither Jiang Fuyue nor Tosaki Naohara had made any mistakes yet.
The competition would go on until one of them finally faltered and lost.
“Ah? Then we got happy too early?”
“Not necessarily. So far, it looks like Sister Yue has the upper hand. With the suona being this dominant, I just can’t believe Naohara isn’t panicking!”
Once your composure breaks, mistakes are only a matter of time.
“But he looks calm—like he’s not even hearing it at all.”
“How could he not hear it? Unless he’s deaf! Which clearly isn’t the case. He is hearing it—he’s just forcing himself to block everything else out.”
But is it really possible to block it all out? Can someone who cares so much about winning truly shut out the outside world and focus entirely?
Ling Xuan shook his head: “He’s just putting on an act. If he can’t make everyone believe he’s calm, how can he convince himself?”
Indeed, Tosaki Naohara wasn’t nearly as composed as he looked. To him, the suona’s sound was nothing short of an auditory assault—
Noisy, jarring, shrill, utterly devoid of beauty.
He knew—he knew Jiang Fuyue was doing it on purpose. From the moment she pulled out the suona, he understood.
She wanted to throw him off balance, to rattle him into making a mistake.
Luckily, he had mentally prepared himself. It wasn’t easy to endure, but he was holding up well enough. At least for now, he was still composed and unaffected.
As long as he could maintain this state through the second half, he wouldn’t lose!
Suddenly, the suona’s melody shifted—moving from the flowing second section into the third. It returned to imitating various birdsongs.
At first glance, it seemed similar to the first section.
But Tosaki Naohara quickly noticed something different. So did White—
The birdsong segments had been compressed, and the rooster crow had been removed. Jiang Fuyue was using a specialized circular breathing technique to sustain impossibly long notes, extending the final phrase into a grand crescendo—magnificent and breathtaking.
In that instant, the sound transformed into sight. People didn’t just hear the chorus of birds—they saw them, flocks in flight, all soaring toward the phoenix.
The lingering notes trembled like cries of blood and tears.
White stood frozen, eyes wide, as if witnessing something beyond belief—
“Th—Thousand-Hand Bodhi!”
It was the long-lost Thousand-Hand Bodhi, missing for twenty years!
And just at that moment, the shamisen struck its final note—but one of the strings had been plucked wrong.
Jiang Fuyue smiled.
Tosaki Naohara raised his right hand with a tremble.
He had made a mistake!
On the very last note! All his efforts, wasted!
White quickly recovered from his shock and picked up the microphone. He spoke plainly: “Unfortunately, Tosaki Naohara, you made a mistake.”
By now, Tosaki had already calmed himself.
He held his shamisen in one arm and took the mic with the other: “Mr. White, I have something to say.”
“Go ahead.”
“I admit I made a mistake on the final note. But the first one to err—was her!”
Tosaki suddenly lifted his gaze, staring straight at Jiang Fuyue.
Boom—
The crowd erupted:
“Is he for real? He clearly made the mistake himself and now he’s trying to drag Sister Yue down with him?”
“Truly shameless. Character reflects the nation.”
“And he’s supposed to be R-country’s all-around genius? What a joke!”
“Can’t win, can’t lose with grace, no dignity at all.”
“I don’t even know if she made a mistake or not, but if the judge didn’t call it out, what right does he have to say so?”
“What, he outranks the judge now?”
“This has nothing to do with right or wrong—he’s just panicking and lashing out.”
“……”
Tosaki ignored the scorn around him, enunciating each word clearly: “I’ve heard Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix. The last section isn’t supposed to be played like that. She altered it without authorization—doesn’t that count as a mistake?”
To this, Jiang Fuyue offered no rebuttal. She simply stood on stage, smiling, her composed gaze watching him as if watching a clown perform.
White turned to him and slowly shook his head: “No, she didn’t make a mistake. You did. The variation at the end of Hundred Birds Facing the Phoenix wasn’t her personal addition. It originated twenty years ago from a suona performer named Qitan Yingyue.”
“The music world gave this distinctive style a very special name—Magical Variation, or in Chinese, Thousand-Hand Bodhi. It represents a near-miraculous style of variation and an impossible sustained note.”
“That’s impossible!” Tosaki said firmly. “Magical Variation is just a legend! No one knows how it’s actually played—it’s been lost for twenty years!”
White nodded: “Yes, it’s a great regret in the performance world. But I’m very glad that today, in such a modest school auditorium, I’ve witnessed its full and brilliant revival.”
In other words, he had just affirmed—Jiang Fuyue’s performance was Thousand-Hand Bodhi.
Tosaki Naohara sneered, a shadow falling over his eyes: “Proof? Respected Mr. White, you say so—but that makes it true?”
