The Bird's Persuasion

In early June, before the plum rain season, the wind still carried the refreshing scent of May.

In the activity room, music stands were arranged in rows, with the brass section on the left, the woodwind section on the right, and the percussion section at the back. Mr. Tanaka stood on the conductor's platform, his baton gleaming softly under the lights.

"We'll start from the middle of the third movement today." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "Percussion section, go through it once."

Feiniao stood in front of the drum, holding the timpani mallet, his eyes fixed on the score.

After more than a month of practice, she was finally able to keep up with the rhythm of the ensemble. Although her rolls were not yet even and the changes in dynamics were sometimes a half beat late, at least she didn't falter at crucial moments.

Ms. Tanaka said that her sense of rhythm was good and her basic timpani skills were already sufficient to support ensemble playing.

She took a deep breath, waiting for the next section to begin.

Fifth section. The drumstick falls.

The sound of the timpani rolled out from the back of the classroom, deep and full, like distant thunder approaching.

She relaxed her wrists, alternating between her left and right hands, and the rolling notes formed a line—although there were still one or two gaps occasionally, the overall flow was steady.

The sounds of flutes and clarinets intertwine in front, supported by the drumbeats of birds in flight, like a hand steadily holding a glass.

The fact that Mr. Tanaka didn't call for a halt is the best possible sign.

Xia Mo did not join the woodwind section.

He stood alone in front of the music stand in the corner of the classroom, with an oboe etude spread out in front of him, a reed in his mouth, practicing long notes over and over again.

He couldn't keep up with the woodwind ensemble—the oboe was far more difficult than expected; breath control, reed response, and fingering coordination each required months or even longer of practice.

Mr. Tanaka told him to temporarily refrain from participating in the ensemble and focus on building a solid foundation first.

Xia Mo didn't complain; he knew it was true.

The practice sessions continued until evening. The setting sun shone through the west-facing windows, bathing the entire activity room in an orange glow.

The brass section shone even brighter in the setting sun, while the woodwind section's instrument cases were open, the instruments inside reflecting dappled sunlight.

Mr. Tanaka announced the end of today's practice. The members began to pack up their instruments; the sounds of chairs being moved, instrument cases being opened and closed, and sheet music being turned mingled together, like a chaotic finale.

Fei Niao pulled up the dust cover on the timpani, put the drumsticks back into the storage box, and then stretched out the four corners of the dust cover to make sure that no dust would fall on the drumhead.

She has become very proficient at these movements, going from being flustered and clumsy at the beginning to being methodical and organized now, over countless evenings.

In the corner of the classroom at the end of summer, he disassembled the oboe into three sections. He first wiped the moisture inside the tube with a cleaning cloth, wiping it once and then again, and then checked whether the springs of each key were springing back properly.

Remove the reed from your mouth, rinse it clean with water, and place it in the ventilation slot of the reed case to air dry. Finally, place the three sections of the reed into the velvet grooves of the violin case, close the lid, and lock the two latches.

His movements were slow, as if he were taking care of something precious.

Feiniao slung her backpack over her shoulder, walked over to him, and waited for him for a while. Xia Mo slung her violin case over her shoulder, nodded to her, and the two of them walked out of the activity room one after the other.

The corridor was airy, and the setting sun shone through the windows, turning the entire corridor orange.

The sound of birds' footsteps was particularly clear in the empty corridor, tap-tap-tap, like a metronome moving at a leisurely pace.

The two people walked down the stairs and out of the teaching building.

The evening breeze in June blew in from the playground, carrying the coolness of the evening and a faint scent of grass.

It wasn't completely dark yet; a hint of orange lingered in the western sky, like a watercolor painting that had been washed clean.

The soccer team's run had ended, and only a few first-year students were left retrieving the balls. Their voices drifted from afar, muffled and indistinct, as if they were coming from another world.

The bird walked in front, and Xia Mo followed behind, with a half-step between them.

The two walked in silence for a while. The row of cherry blossom trees along the roadside had changed from being full of flowers in spring to being covered with green leaves, rustling in the evening breeze.

Feiniao looked down at the tips of her shoes, while Xia Mo watched her back.

When they reached the first traffic light, the light turned red, and the two of them stopped side by side.

The bird stared at the sky above the building across the street and suddenly spoke.

"Late summer."

"Um?"

"You still can't play together?"

Xia Mo paused for a moment, then said, "Yeah. The teacher said it's still early."

Feiniao bit her lip. The green light came on, and the two of them started walking. She walked slowly, and Xia Mo slowed down as well.

"Your oboe," Asuka's voice wasn't loud, but there was something indescribable in it—it sounded like a question, yet also like a reproach, "How long are you going to practice before you can play with us?"

Xia Mo did not reply.

As he crossed the street, the bird suddenly stopped, turned around, and looked at him.

"Late summer."

Xia Mo also stopped and looked at her.

The bird opened its beak, then closed it again. She looked down at the tips of her shoes, as if organizing her thoughts.

After a few seconds, she looked up, her voice not loud, but very serious.

"You... you don't actually need to practice the oboe."

Xia Mo paused for a moment.

"You play the piano so well, and you play the cello so well too." Asuka's voice gradually grew louder, as if she was trying to convince him, or perhaps she was trying to convince herself.

"If you had chosen the saxophone or the French horn, with your musical background, you would have been playing with us long ago. You didn't necessarily have to choose the most difficult instrument."

She paused, looking at Xia Mo's face. Xia Mo's expression didn't change; she remained quietly watching her, like a patient listener waiting for her to finish speaking.

"You practice for so long every day," Asuka's voice lowered, "your lips are all chapped, you change your reed every few days, and you spend more money on reeds in a month than on snacks. Doesn't your mother scold you?"

"She said I spend my allowance quickly, but didn't say anything else," Xia Mo said.

"Don't you feel tired?" Asuka's tone carried a hint of heartache that she herself didn't realize.

"You practice until dark every day after school, and then continue practicing when you get home. You don't even rest on weekends. When was the last time you played games with Hua Hua? When was the last time you watched anime? The last time—"

"Birds." Summer interrupted her.

The bird shut its beak.

"I'm not tired," Xia Mo said calmly. "Being tired is a choice I made."

The bird stared at him for a long time, its lips moved as if it wanted to say something, but then it swallowed its words back.

She knew she couldn't persuade him. This man had been learning the piano since he was four years old, and he would sit in front of the piano for hours at a time. He would practice the cello whenever he wanted, and choose the oboe whenever he wanted—he was never the kind of person who would be scared off by difficulties.

But knowing something is one thing, seeing it is another.

"I was just thinking," Asuka said, turning her face away and looking at her long shadow under the streetlight, her voice muffled.

"You didn't have to work so hard. You could have been like us, sitting in the ensemble, playing a complete piece together. Why did you have to choose such a difficult path?"

Xia Mo was silent for a moment. The evening breeze blew by, ruffling the stray hairs on his forehead.

"Because I promised," he said.

The bird turned to look at him.

"I told Hua Hua I was going to practice the oboe, and I kept my word." Xia Mo's tone remained calm, as if she were stating something matter-of-fact. "Besides, I've also spoken to Mr. Tanaka. Changing instruments now would be no different from deserting."

Asuka stared at his face for a long time. His expression was serious, not the stubbornness of someone acting on impulse, but a choice made after careful consideration.

The last rays of the setting sun fell on his profile, gilding his features with a thin layer of gold.

"Whatever." Asuka turned her face away, her voice muffled.

She turned and walked forward, but after taking two steps, she stopped again.

"come on."

After saying those two words, she quickened her pace and walked ahead, her ponytail swinging high, without looking back.

She didn't want him to see her expression—the kind that said, "I feel sorry for you, but you won't listen to me," because she felt ashamed.

As summer ended, she watched her retreating figure, switched the oboe case from her left hand to her right, and followed after her.

A gentle evening breeze blew, ruffling the stray hairs on Fei Niao's forehead. She reached up and tucked them behind her ear, then touched her own ear—it was burning hot.

Damn ears. They always betray her.

The two walked home, one after the other. The streetlights lit up one by one, casting halos of light on the pavement beneath their feet.

The shadow of the bird stretched long in front, while the shadow of late summer followed behind. Sometimes the two shadows overlapped, and sometimes they separated, always with a half-step distance between them.

When I reached that familiar intersection, the red light was on again.

The two stood side by side waiting for the green light. Feiniao looked at the second-floor window of the building across the street; the lights were already on—probably a housewife preparing dinner.

The thought of having to cook lunch for the next day every day when she got home at the end of summer softened her heart again.

"Late summer."

"Um?"

"Are you really capable of playing that oboe properly?"

Xia Mo thought for a moment and said, "Yes."

Are you sure?

"I'm not sure," Xia Mo said, "but I promised Hua Hua, so I'll definitely practice until I'm good."

The bird did not speak again.

The green light came on, and the two people stepped across the street.

When they reached the other side, Asuka suddenly reached out and patted Xia Mo's schoolbag, then quickly withdrew her hand, as fast as if nothing had happened.

"See you tomorrow," she said, her voice returning to its usual indifference.

"See you tomorrow," Xia Mo said.

The two turned around, one to the left and the other to the right.

Feibiao took a few steps, then suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Xia Mo's retreating figure. He carried his oboe case and walked slowly, but each step was steady.

The bird turned back and continued on its own path.

The evening breeze in June blew from behind her, carrying a slight chill.

She reached into her pocket and touched the reed case—it was the one she had bought for Xia Mo at the music store, because he said his reeds were broken again.

She had intended to give it to him right now, but for some reason, she hadn't found the right moment.

I'll give it to you tomorrow.

She quickened her pace and headed towards her small, beige apartment building.

The streetlights shone down on her head one by one, stretching her shadow longer and shorter.

When she got downstairs, she looked up at the window on the second floor of her house—the light was on.

Mom should be cooking in the kitchen; the aroma of curry wafts out the window, carrying the scents of onions and chicken.

The bird climbed the stairs and rang the doorbell.

When her mother opened the door, she saw the drumstick bag in her hand, but didn't ask any questions. She just said, "Dinner will be ready soon, go wash your hands."

"Mom, I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"I might have to come home a little later every day from now on."

Her mother glanced at her, then at the drumstick bag in her hand, and said with a smile, "Is a timpani really that difficult?"

"It's just that Xia Mo insisted on practicing the oboe, so I could only practice with him a little longer."

"Okay, Mom saved some food for you. Go on."

Feiniao went into his room, placed his drumstick bag next to his desk, and took out the sheet music from his schoolbag and stacked it up.

She pulled the whistle box out of the compartment of her schoolbag, glanced at it, and placed it on the desk.

I'll give it to him tomorrow.

She repeated it to herself.

The last vestiges of orange are slowly fading from the horizon outside the window.

Feiniao sat at her desk, opened the sheet music, and gently tapped the rhythm on the table with her fingers—left—right—left—right—biting each note one by one, as if she wanted to carve those notes into the bones of her fingers.

She heard her mother calling her for dinner from downstairs. She answered, closed the sheet music, glanced at the reed box one last time, then opened the drawer, put it in, and left the room.

The first week of June passed uneventfully.

The sun will rise as usual tomorrow, and practice will continue as usual.

The oboe is still difficult, the timpani is still not steady enough, and there are still various problems when playing in an ensemble.

But Feiniao knew that tomorrow she would still hear Xia Mo practicing long tones in the corner of the activity room—thin, rustling, like through a veil, but getting stronger day by day.

After he finished practicing, she would casually hand him the reed box and say, "I accidentally bought the wrong one while shopping."

Then I watched as he blushed and took it.

That's probably what she looks forward to most every day now.