“`
As the conductor turned around, the maid had just brought Wang Zhong a new dish.
Since it was time for dessert, it was a cheese curd sponge cake paired with sour cream.
Wang Zhong, with a try-it-and-see attitude, cut a small piece of the sponge cake with his fork. To his surprise, the fork cut through as if slicing tofu, the coagulated cheese curds seemingly breaking apart at the slightest touch.
The taste was a perfect level of sourness, with the sour cream on top of the sponge cake creating an exquisite combination with the cheese curds inside.
Immersed in the gourmet food, Wang Zhong completely ignored the music, and it was only after he nearly finished his delightful meal that he took notice of what the band was playing.
It was typical anthem music.
You could say the piece wasn’t good, but that certainly wouldn’t be true; as an animation score, it would definitely enter the hall of fame. If paired with some memorable scenes, it could even become a classic.
Yes, animation score.
That was the only way Wang Zhong could describe the piece.
He stood up and shouted, “Enough! Stop!”
Some musicians saw Wang Zhong’s gesture and stopped playing first. The bandleader, about to get angry at the musicians’ pause, suddenly realized something, looked back, and then quickly signaled the others to stop playing.
Wang Zhong: “What is this? It has none of the temperament of this war! If you take this music out, people will think the war is merely a battle game for noble knights! No! I refuse to acknowledge that this could be my anthem!”
The Ye Fort bandleader hesitated before responding, “If you have any specific requests, please mention them. I’ve tried my utmost to make the piece grand and powerful, but if you feel it lacks vigor, that might be because we’re only a small ensemble now. It will be great when our complete band performs for you, with the grand and powerful string section added.”
Grand and powerful strings? The kind that the clients would love?
Wang Zhong: “No, that’s not it! You have the wrong understanding of this war! Are you the best composer in Ye Fort?”
The bandleader was hesitant, but admitted, “In terms of honors received, I suppose I am.”
Wang Zhong: “What is your name?”
This question set off murmurs among the crowd; after all, a nobleman not knowing the name of the best musician in Ye Fort— even if he was a debauchee, he should’ve known better, otherwise how would he have charmed noble ladies at social gatherings?
But Wang Zhong truly didn’t know; he wanted to confirm if this was one of the musicians he was familiar with by his name.
The bandleader reported his name, but Wang Zhong had no memory of it.
In a world where even a Tugenev had gone off to be a general, Tchaikovsky might well be commanding an army.
Wang Zhong: “Your music is completely wrong! The undertone of this war, at least now, is tragedy! The people endure great sorrow from the loss of relatives and friends, yet they still resolutely head to the front. The music should feel like that!”
With that, Wang Zhong hummed a bit of “The Holy War.”
“Do you understand?” he asked.
He thought after his humming, others would start showing their astonishment.
However, after a few seconds of looking at each other, the bandleader and his musicians replied, “Oh, you want to incorporate this melody into the music? Sure, I’ll give it a try!”
He then pulled out a pencil and started sketching on the sheet music in front of him, later showing it to the others.
After discussing for some time, they picked up their instruments again.
Bandleader: “We’ve made the changes based on your suggestions, please listen!”
The band started playing again, but it wasn’t at all the piece Wang Zhong had in mind.
“No, no! Stop!” shouted Wang Zhong, interrupting the band once more, “What are you doing? Can’t you feel the emotion in this melody?”
Not just the bandleader, but all of the musicians looked utterly lost.
Wang Zhong gave up; he vaguely realized the problem—it could be two things: first, as a layman, he surely hadn’t hummed the melody accurately.
Second, besides melody, conveying emotion in a song depended also on the arrangement. Perhaps just humming with the human voice wasn’t enough to convey it.
All he could do was wave them off: “Just go, go! I don’t want to hear your pathetic music! Get out!”
The bandleader led the musicians out, running for their lives.
Wang Zhong slumped down, looked at the half-eaten cheese curd pastry on the table, and sighed, “I’m full, and I’m tired. I want to rest now.”
After saying this, he stood up and headed straight for the dining room door.
Ludmila hurriedly wiped her mouth and stood up, taking control of the situation: “Ladies and gentlemen, Alyosha has seen too much death on the battlefield. Please try to understand. Dinner will continue, and I will keep you company until the end on his behalf.”
————
At 11 o’clock at night, Ludmila finally saw off the last couple of guests and returned to Wang Zhong’s study.
Wang Zhong sat on the windowsill, staring at the moon.
Due to blackout regulations, there were no candles lit in the entire room, which was pitch-dark except for the moonlight shining through the window.
When Wang Zhong heard Ludmila’s footsteps, he said, “Why can’t these people feel it? I hummed it to Vasily, and he felt it.”
Ludmila: “You hummed it to Vasily? The melody from the dining room just now?”
Wang Zhong: “Yes, we had just arrived at Argesukov, and I had just delivered the letter from tank gun Gunner 422 to his mother. That night, thinking about the old lady’s reaction, I suddenly thought of this song and hummed it.
“Vasily happened to hear it.”
Ludmila sat on the same windowsill, her knees touching Wang Zhong’s: “Hum it again for me, maybe I can understand. After all, we’ve fought together.”
“`
Wang Zhong looked out the window, where Ye Fort lay under the moonlight without a single light, asleep in the shroud of night.
Ludmila, seeing he did not speak, said, “Remember when the war had just started? We were trapped in the basement, and the enemy’s tanks were passing on the road nearby.”
Wang Zhong nodded. How could he forget? That was where everything began. One day in the future, he must return to Ronied, to that basement, to see where the story started.
Ludmila: “From that day onwards, so many people left. Among them, there were actually quite a few I disliked, but now, looking back…”
Ludmila left her sentence unfinished.
Wang Zhong reminisced about the sergeant whose name he had forgotten when he first time-traveled. The sergeant had declared he wouldn’t take orders from a ‘pissing officer’ and then led his squad away, getting riddled with bullets shortly after.
Then he thought of the female medic who had bandaged him, wondering if she had managed to escape from the encirclement.
And then the family he saw dead in a dung pit after capturing an enemy supply station.
…
Too many sacrifices flashed through Wang Zhong’s mind, one by one.
He began to hum subconsciously, a melody that was sorrowful yet resolute.
Rise up, mighty nation, to fight a desperate struggle!
Wang Zhong gazed out the window, focused entirely on humming the melody.
Ludmila, sitting opposite him, widened her eyes, staring at his face, seeming to forget even to breathe.
————
In Shostka, Private Vasily of the 31st Guards Regiment was furiously scribbling on paper as he lay sprawled on the table.
His roommate, Filippov, returned from a shower and curiously asked, “What are you writing?”
Vasily: “A composition.”
“Didn’t you say you would never touch composition in your life? Because it would remind you of your father!”
“No, no,” Vasily shook his head, “I’m not composing. It’s a melody hummed by General Rokossovsky, Argesukov. I felt the general’s emotion was so intense then. But… anyway, this tune has been haunting me these days.”
Filippov leaned over and, by the candlelight, carefully examined the musical notation in the notebook, humming it softly.
“The melody is good, but the mood…”
Vasily: “Wait a second.”
He marked the tempo and key at the beginning of the notation.
“Hum it again.”
Filippov hummed it again: “Hmm… I’m starting to feel it!”
Vasily added a series of symbols to the notation, adjusting the entire composition.
“Go on!”
After Filippov hummed it for the third time, he exclaimed, “It carries a sense of tragic heroism, a resolute readiness to sacrifice. Good, very good.”
Vasily: “I tell you, I think the general is a layman in music. If I hadn’t seen the general’s expression while humming this song and felt his emotion, I probably wouldn’t have been able to appreciate this mood.”
Filippov: “Then aren’t you contradicting yourself? Isn’t this composition written by the general?”
“I don’t know. My father—old man Tchaikovsky used to say that the tune is already there; the composer simply fishes it out from another world by chance. I guess it’s the same with the general.”
Filippov, frowning: “You’re planning to plagiarize the tune as your own?”
“No, of course not. I’ll submit it to the journal that old man Tchaikovsky, my father, advises for, under General Rokossovsky’s name. But before that, I want to add lyrics to it. You think about it; you’re better at writing poetry than I am.”
Filippov: “Hmm… For the first line, I would write, ‘Rise up, mighty nation! Fight to live!'”
“Good, the first line is great,” Vasily quickly parsed the lyrics and slotted them under the notation, “Uh, we need to adjust the phrasing. Change ‘Fight to live’ to something else.”
Filippov hummed the melody again and, after a moment’s thought, suggested, “How about changing it to ‘to engage in a desperate struggle’?”
“Let me try it. Hmm, it looks pretty good! The second line, come on, Filippov, quick!”
Filippov leaned against the window, looking at the moonlit Duva River, and after some contemplation, said, “We should state the objective of the struggle. The second line could be ‘to annihilate the Prosen invaders,’ how about that?”
Vasily filled in the line, softly singing it over a few times, nodding, “Works. Keep it going.”
“Stop right there; this song is just the main melody repeating. You should write the chorus now.”
Vasily smacked his tongue: “The general didn’t hum any chorus! It’s just this part repeating.”
Filippov: “You’re the son of a music professor! You come up with one! You’ve felt the general’s emotion; follow that sentiment and add a section.”
Vasily hummed the main melody over and over until, suddenly delighted, he added a chorus after it.
“I’ve added an elevation, like charging at the enemy, like a tank gun firing rapidly. How about that?”
Filippov, frowning: “It’s passable, far inferior to the general’s main melody, though.”
“No chatter; get to writing the lyrics!”
Amidst the silence, the moon quietly watched the two men engrossed in their creation.