He then arrived in one rice-farming village, where the farmers sang as they worked under the sun.
Their voices rose with each swing of the sickle.
The rhythm was steady and strong. Justin listened carefully and then tried to play along.
He was challenging himself to understand music without requiring a musical sheet.
If he were to start entering international competitions, then he needed to prepare more than just preparing for the youth competition in less than a year.
At first, it was hard. The beat was obviously new to him. But soon, he found the flow.
It wasn't a concert piece.
It was a working song, real and alive.
As if the song was what was giving the farmers the strength to keep working despite how hard and arduous the work was.
Justin felt like he was learning more about music in this journey that he started.
One night, an old farmer patted his shoulder and said, "You play like someone who wants to understand. That's good. Music is more than sound, it's the way we live."
He blinked, he was not exactly thinking this way, but as time passed, this was indeed what he was doing.
Justin smiled, "Yeah. It was an amazing experience."
The old farmer nodded his head.
"Though we are not usually checking the musical side of the world, I can assume that you are an amazing young man. The way you played while copying the sound of our song a while ago. It was great, we felt happier."
Justin once again smiled.
Then he asked them if they could sing it again while he wrote the melody down while also asking questions about it. He didn't just collect songs. He collected the stories behind them, the reasons they existed, the feelings they carried.
In a town near the forest, he met a flute maker who played only by ear.
They sat by a fire and played together, flute and violin dancing back and forth.
The man didn't know much about sheet music, but his ears were sharp. He taught Justin how to listen more closely, not just to the notes, but to the silences in between.
"You play beautifully," the man said.
"But sometimes, you rush. Let the notes breathe."
Justin nodded.
He had heard that advice before, but now, in this quiet place, it made more sense.
Sometimes, he found villages that didn't welcome him right away.
People were careful with strangers.
But when he played, just a few simple songs, walls began to fall.
Children came close. Elders listened from their doorsteps. Music opened hearts faster than words.
That is why he enjoyed playing even more.
One village held a harvest festival.
The instruments were handmade.
The songs were fast and cheerful. Justin joined in with his violin.
Once again, he followed their music. He let the village guide the music. He danced with them, played with them, laughed with them.
Later, as the stars came out and the fire crackled, a young boy asked him, "Why do you play here when you're already good?"
Justin smiled, "Because I want to get better."
The boy tilted his head, "But you're already better than us."
"No," Justin said softly.
"I'm just learning from you in a different way."
In a mountain town, he met a young girl who played a wooden string instrument with only two strings.
She was shy, but when she played, the sound was full of emotion.
Justin listened, then played beside her. Their music blended, even though their instruments were different. It wasn't about the notes. It was about feeling together.
He didn't always write everything down. Some songs were too personal. Some were too tied to the land. But they left a mark on his playing.
In every place he visited, Justin didn't try to show off.
He asked questions.
He listened.
He played not to impress, but to connect.
His violin became more than just an instrument, it became a bridge. Much more than it did before this journey.
He had already played to connect before, but he could tell that his music was slowly becoming even better.
As he reached the fourth month of his journey, he started to feel the change in himself.
His hands moved differently, slower when needed, quicker when the rhythm called for it.
He no longer thought about simply impressing an audience or letting them feel the emotion he wanted to portray.
He focused on telling a story.
He was learning how to shape his music around real life, around people's emotions, around the world outside the concert stage.
In a riverside village, he was invited to stay with a family who had never heard a live violin before. After dinner, he played a quiet melody by the window.
The grandmother listened, her eyes closed.
In all honesty, he was also quite lucky in this journey. Because he met kind-hearted people that allowed him to stay with them.
Though there are places he could stay in, he even has his tent with him. But with this connection to more people, he couldn't help but be grateful for such a chance.
"That song," she whispered.
"Feels like watching the rain."
Justin smiled. He hadn't named the song yet. But now he would.
He called it Rain at Dusk.
Not that he was good at composing but this is a memorable short composition. It portrayed what he experienced and learned during these six months.
This is not a composition worthy to be performed in a competition. But it will surely be a part of his fond memories of becoming better as a violinist.
As the sixth month drew closer, Justin looked back at his thick notebook, pages filled with notes, lyrics, tiny drawings of places he'd seen, and thoughts he had during quiet evenings.
He had grown, not just as a violinist, but as a person.
He was more than someone who played with emotion now. He was someone who played with understanding. And when he finally boarded the train back to the city, violin in hand, he felt more confident in his music.
Just like how Beatrice became more confident with her acting, Justin felt the same.