He unexpectedly becomes a father at the start of his life, and the mother of his child is a national

Sisi, of course, didn't understand anything about the Chu-Han Contention or the Siege of Gaixia.

But music, sometimes, speaks directly to the heart, bypassing the mind.

Her little face rose and fell with the sound of the pipa, her expressions incredibly rich.

Sometimes her brows furrowed tightly, her little hands unconsciously clenching into fists, and other times she would relax slightly.

But before she could even catch her breath, another tense musical phrase came, and her little mouth opened slightly as she held her breath.

In the final section, Chen Hao used a series of fast and heavy strumming and tremolo, as if he were releasing all the conflict and all the power in an instant.

Sisi couldn't help but listen, so she turned her head and reached out to grab her mother's hand.

Lin Caiwei felt that her daughter's little hands were a little sweaty, warm and damp.

She clasped the small hand tightly in her own palm, her eyes fixed on Chen Hao as if glued to him.

She looked at Chen Hao's posture as he held the pipa, so steady, as if the pipa was an extension of his body.

Watching his fingers move so fast on the strings, leaving blurry outlines, it was unbelievably nimble.

I noticed that the places where his fingertips pressed the strings with force were slightly red.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, glistening under the light.

How many facets of this man, the man she lived with and had Sisi with, were still hidden from her?

Finally, the piece came to an end.

After a flurry of rapid, unsettling strumming, came a few decisive "stop" notes—

The fingers pressed down sharply on the vibrating strings, and the sound stopped abruptly and decisively.

The music stopped, but the air seemed to still vibrate faintly, the lingering sound clinging to the roof beams, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

Chen Hao gently took the pipa from his arms and placed it on his lap, then let out a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Playing this piece is really exhausting. Not only are his fingers tired, but his mind is also racing. He raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Dad..." Sisi was the first to react.

She let go of her mother's hand, flew over like a little bird, and buried her head in Chen Hao's arms, rubbing her little head against his chest.

"You played so beautifully! Sisi was completely mesmerized! She didn't dare to move at all!"

Chen Hao was jolted by his daughter's bump, then laughed and stroked Sisi's soft hair with his large hand:

"Oh? Sisi can understand everything now?"

"I don't understand!" Sisi tilted her head up from his arms, answering very honestly, her eyes still bright and sparkling.

"But it felt so amazing! One minute I was so tense, the next I felt like I could finally catch my breath, just like listening to my dad tell a story! Then there were all those banging sounds, like a battle!"

Lin Caiwei also came over at this time.

She stood in front of the father and daughter, looking at Chen Hao. The surprise in her eyes receded like the tide, but something deeper remained, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Chen Hao," she began, her voice a little lower than usual.

"Your pipa... I think it's not as simple as just 'knowing how to play' it, is it?"

Chen Hao scratched his hair with his free hand, smiling a little embarrassedly:

"I used to like it and practiced it seriously for a few years."

This piece is difficult; I had to grit my teeth and play it today. I managed to get through many parts smoothly without making any mistakes.

"Barely?" Lin Caiwei shook her head, her tone very serious.

"If you consider it 'barely good,' then many professional pipa players on TV and in theaters probably wouldn't need to go on stage."

She wasn't just being polite; she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

She may not be an expert in folk music, but she has the basic ability to judge whether something sounds good, whether it's made with care, and whether it's emotionally resonant.

Chen Hao's performance was technically flawless; more importantly, he played more than just the notes on the score.

His own understanding and emotions were present in it. He brought that war from more than two thousand years ago to the ears of the mother and daughter, making them "see" it.

This level of skill is definitely not something that can be achieved by amateurs just dabbling in it.

Sisi crawled out of her father's arms, still not satisfied, and ran over to the row of musical instruments.

She tilted her head, looked from left to right, and finally her gaze settled on a slender, dark brown hard-shell wooden box.

The box lay quietly on the bottom shelf.

"Daddy," she said, pointing to the box.

"What's inside that long strip?"

Chen Hao got up, walked over, bent down, picked up the box, placed it on the low cabinet next to him, and opened the clasp.

The lid was lifted, revealing a violin nestled quietly in a recessed area lined with deep red velvet.

The body of the instrument has a beautiful curve, a smooth lacquer finish, and four strings that are taut and straight, gleaming with a cool and elegant light.

"This is a violin," Chen Hao said.

"Violin?" Sisi repeated, the word was new to her.

She stared at the smooth curve for a few seconds, then her eyes suddenly lit up again, and almost habitually, she looked at Chen Hao with anticipation:

"Will Daddy poop?"

Chen Hao smiled, a smile that carried a hint of helplessness, yet also a touch of indulgence: "I know a little."

Lin Caiwei strolled over at this moment.

Her gaze lingered for a while on the exquisitely crafted violin; the wood grain on the body was beautiful.

Then, her gaze slowly moved upwards and landed on Chen Hao's face.

The curiosity in his eyes remained, but there was something else added, like a kind of challenge, an exploration to see how much he still had left.

"Chen Hao," she began, her voice carrying a subtle hint of teasing that she herself was unaware of.

"You're not going to tell me you even know how to use this Western gadget, are you?"

Chen Hao touched his nose, a gesture that made him seem a little awkward.

"Well... I do know a little bit."

Lin Caiwei raised an eyebrow and pressed, "How much is 'one point'?"

"It's just..." Chen Hao thought for a moment, carefully choosing his words.

"Can play a few complete pieces, albeit barely, without making a big fool of themselves."

Upon hearing this, Lin Caiwei suddenly laughed.

It wasn't the usual polite smile, but a smile with the corners of the mouth curving up and the eyes sparkling with laughter.

She suddenly felt that tonight was like a treasure hunt, and the treasure seemed bottomless.

She raised her chin and pointed to the violin: "Then, play a piece for us? Let Sisi see what it's like."

"What do you want to hear?" Chen Hao asked, carefully taking the violin out of its case.

Lin Caiwei crossed her arms and started thinking seriously.

After a dozen seconds, she said, "'Zigeunerweisen,' have you heard it? Sarasate's."

She knew the song.

That is a very difficult peak to climb in the violin repertoire, with extremely complex techniques and very high emotional demands.

The melody is extremely beautiful, but beneath the beauty lies bitterness. It tells the story of the Gypsies' wandering misery, rootless drifting, and the deep-seated yearning for freedom in their bones.

You wouldn't dare touch this song without real skill.

Chen Hao nodded, placed the violin on his left shoulder, and gently rested his chin on the chin rest, testing the position:

"I've heard of them. Mutter's, Heifetz's, and Friedman's versions are all classics, each with its own merits."