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❝The elite don't fear failure; they fear mediocrity. Strive for excellence, in everything you do.❞
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Piano. Somehow, the melodic notes of those weathered monochromatic keys always came to mind whenever he allowed his mind to sink into obscurity.
He, Bai Luo, an accomplished businessman who had made a name for himself in Hong Kong. His demeanor is characterized by a stoic and composed presence, impervious to the chaos of the bustling city which he now calls home. Why he hears the sounds of a piano is a matter of familiarity, the memories flow to the surface of a young boy, no older than ten. He sits on the bench carved from cherry wood and his fingers glide across the ivory, his eyes closed, the sheet of music positioned in front of him made superfluous. He finishes his composition and those bright eyes open, the room of relatives and notable connections applaud, and the young boy takes his curt bow before resuming his position in between his mother and father.
He can hear his mother's voice, mellow and sophisticated, as she whispers the words 'zuò dé hǎo' - welldone. He can almost detect the scent of the orange blossom perfume she would always wear, always lingering on her cheongsam, as she leans forward to adjust his tie. His father watches, and though he says little, the smile lines etched at the corner of his twinkling eyes make the young boy smile, something he quickly conceals as he looks down at his polished shoes.
