Light From Uncommon Stars(95)

Some reporters thought XPIB might announce a new investment venture. Others thought perhaps they might be supporting a new humanitarian initiative, probably for children. Helping children was always good for public relations.

But now there was a Laotian child playing violin in front of her village. A Mongolian youth playing violin in cosplay. A young man playing violin to a Pakistani family eating their dinner. And there was a computer image of someone playing violin in space.

“I am pleased to announce the first Biennial Xinhua Phoenix Investment Bank Golden Friendship Violin Competition,” Mr. Tso said magnanimously.

The audience applauded automatically. This was unexpected, but not shocking. Money was important, but legitimacy, respect, and admiration were just as valued, and classical music provided all of this.

But Mr. Tso was not finished.

“However, this world is changing. Harmony is not simply reconnecting with old friends, but embracing new ones. Thus, this violin competition shall also go beyond the conservative and traditional. Whether they play classical music, new music, video game music, or music from other parts of the world, the Xinhua Phoenix Investment Bank Golden Friendship Violin Competition will find those whose musics can be shining bridges between changing communities and help us prosper together.”

Other communities? Other musics? Surely he wasn’t serious …

“Of course, some of you might be wondering if I am serious.”

The crowd fell silent. He really was benevolent and terrifying.

Mr. Tso motioned to an assistant. What the assistant held in his white-gloved hands stunned the entire room.

“This is the Leonida Stradivarius,” Mr. Tso said. “Antonio Stradivari created it during his Golden Period. It was said to have been brought as a gift from Catholic missionaries to the Qing Dynasty, and had been assumed lost to the Xinhai Revolution. However, that assumption was incorrect.”

The screen zoomed in to the violin, revealing the deep glow of spruce and maple, the dancing, effortless scroll. Here were the unmistakable lilting f-holes, the perfect sound box, carved with almost agonizing grace.

It was timeless. Utterly timeless.

“Xinhua Phoenix Bank acquired it quite some years ago, and since then, it has been kept hidden in our vaults. I think this is a shame. Don’t you?”

“Beyond a cash prize of $888,888 US dollars, the winner of the Golden Friendship Music Competition will have use of this legendary instrument for the next two years and embark on a worldwide tour, as XPIB’s ‘Phoenix Friendship Artist.’”

The audience clapped frantically, even as they tried to absorb what Mr. Tso had said. The prize money alone was far in excess of even the most prestigious violin competitions. And no one had ever placed “legendary Stradivarius, worldwide tour, and video game music” in the same conversation, let alone the same contest.

But before the audience had time to recover, another figure came to the podium. He was perhaps even more distinguished, of obvious culture—yet still unsettling because he looked just a little like a toad.

“XPIB wants all of our global ventures to be successful, and for that, we always engage the finest in partnership. For our Golden Friendship Violin Competition, I believe we have found the perfect director. Let me present the incomparable musician and scholar, Tremon Philippe.”

Tremon Philippe?

Most people in the Asian music community were quite familiar with this man. Once, he had said that it was difficult to judge competitions because one could not tell Asian musicians apart. Another time, he downgraded a Korean violinist, saying his play lacked a “fundamental European disposition.”

Yet here he was, smiling with a Chinese banker.

He bowed slightly and spoke—in pitch-perfect Mandarin.

“Mr. Tso has generously asked me to create a competition that can bring different worlds together. For wherever there are people, there is music. Music, sometimes great music, from the hands and hearts of those who infuse their art with their very souls.

“Yet how does one find such musicians? The same old selection process would only give the same candidates.”

The crowd laughed nervously.

“So, a special committee has curated a group of violinists whom we feel might best bring harmony and prosperity through music. Some names you may know. Many names will surely be new. But each artist completes a part of Mr. Tso’s shining bridge.”

Mr. Tso came back to the podium.

“The Golden Friendship Violin Competition will be February fourteenth to fifteenth of next year. Right on Valentine’s Day! Imagine all the love!”

Tremon nodded. He stared into the camera and finished in English.

“And thanks to Xinhua Phoenix Investment Bank, we can give this love to the best of these new brilliant and deserving musicians—wherever they may hide.”

“You bastard,” Shizuka said as she turned off her screen.



* * *



The next day, Shizuka’s phone beeped.

“Shizuka! Shall I be the first to congratulate you?”

“Shut up. Really, why you would do this?”

Tremon chuckled.

“For the music, of course. And for building bridges.”

“How sweet.”

“Shizuka, I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong. In fact, my time with you has inspired everything I’ve done. You were right; the world is changing—and music is changing, as well. It’s always been that way. It’s a wonder that I’d not realized this sooner.