“Even if I love her?”
“No. Because you love her.”
NOVEMBER
31
As with most events in the San Gabriel Valley, this press conference went unnoticed by most of Greater Los Angeles. Yet, for Asians, as well as a circle of competitive violinists and teachers, the event and its aftermath would be world-shaking.
At an impressive podium stood a yet more impressive gentleman named Daniel Kar-Ching Tso, who happened to be the CEO of Xinhua Phoenix Investment Bank.
No one was quite sure why he’d called the conference, but since it was China and it was a lot of money, cameras and reporters were present from Cantonese, Korean, Tagalog, Cambodian, Thai, and Vietnamese TV stations.
Mr. Tso gestured, and a large screen behind him displayed disturbing scenes of conflict and division throughout Asia, Europe, Africa, and the United States.
“Every day, we become more and more divided. This makes planning for our futures very difficult. Don’t you agree?”
He spoke in Mandarin and left it to everyone else to translate for themselves. Mr. Tso was benevolent and terrifying in that rich uncle mixture of awe, respect, and hope that one might inherit his collection of Bentleys.
“The world would do well to work toward more harmony. A harmonious world is better for both people and business. XPIB wishes to promote cultural harmony.”
Now there were scenes of children around the world playing together, singing and sharing to the sound of Mozart.
The audience waited anxiously. So far, the messaging had been sentimental, heavy-handed, overly produced. In other words, exactly the sort of message expected from a mainland Chinese bank. What would follow?
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.