Chapter 1: Wedge
June, 2012.
The weather in London is unpredictable, akin to a temperamental old man, with moods that swing between sunny and rainy. Though it was drizzling this morning, it has now turned into a sunny day with clear skies.
In the opulent London Grand Theater, a music hall that can seat a thousand people, Fu Weiheng sat alone in the audience. Leaning against the soft back of the chair, he closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes trembling lightly, seemingly relaxed.
A year ago, he and Ye Yin Huan co-founded the Hengyan Symphony Orchestra and began the orchestra's European tour earlier this year. Tonight marks the final stop—London Grand Theater.
Since one o'clock this afternoon, the orchestra has been rehearsing intensively for tonight's concluding performance.
The performance on stage is nearly perfect, yet as Fu Weiheng listens, his brows knit tighter and tighter. He slowly opens his eyes, rises, and steps onto the stage to stand beside the conductor's podium, his innate commanding presence instantly damping the music.
"Stop." His calm and cool voice was neither loud nor soft.
The entire music hall fell silent, and all the musicians stared at him in confusion, secretly speculating in their minds.
Ye Yin Huan laid down his baton, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and a helpless smirk appeared on his lips, thinking: Well, the maestro is about to start critiquing.