"I cried and made a scene."
The old man smiled wryly.
"No matter what my dad said, I refused."
"I was hysterical."
"...I made my dad so angry that he forced me to learn the pipa."
"...I didn't study the pipa for very long."
The old man's cheek twitched slightly.
"I resisted it the whole time..."
"Even though it didn't last long, it left a deep shadow on me."
"To me, it was practically a nightmare."
"...During that time, my family and I were locked in a cold war."
"I didn't dare openly disobey my dad."
"But I couldn't bring myself to accept the idea of learning the pipa, either."
"Especially later, when some of my classmates found out I was learning it. I wasn't sure whether they were just teasing me or whether I'd taken it as them mocking me..."
"But after bottling things up for so long, whether or not they meant any harm, their expressions and voices became the last straw."
"For the first time..."
"I got into a fight at school."
The old man furrowed his brow.
It had happened many years ago...
Even now, talking about it, he could still faintly recall how he'd felt back then.
He was a little surprised himself.
"...The teacher called my parents in."
After a pause, the old man continued.
"Once my dad learned I'd started the fight and saw how I stubbornly refused to admit I was wrong, he slapped me."
The old man unconsciously touched his cheek.
It was the only time he'd ever been hit.
Back then, more than the pain of being struck, what mattered to him was that his dad had hit him—in front of the teacher and his classmates... in front of so many people.
Children cared a lot about saving face.