musicians of old

"Symphony No. __ in C sharp minor"

"Untitled"

The first movement is a funeral march.

Guests gathered in the splendid symphony hall, and the heads moved slowly in the shadows. The huge array of crystal chandeliers overhead rotated slowly, reflecting countless jumping and overly rich torrents of light and shadow on the top of the sound-absorbing wall.

Blurred vision is brought into focus on the first line of the score page.

All the musicians stood still, and the cold air was silent.

Fan Ning took a deep breath and handed the trumpet lead Lindsay, who was soaked in the golden light, with the gesture of preparing to shoot.

"#do-#do-#do-/#do——"

"#do-#do-#do-/#do——"

“#do-#do-#do-/mi——————”

The triplet motif repeats like a funeral, and the desolate and sad introduction played by the trumpet solo is like the sigh of a widow in the dusk, lost in the rain and fog, and like a self-pitying person smiling dumbly towards his motherland in the sky.

Fan Ning felt that the procession of the funeral was not as fast as he expected. The "time bar" was dragging its stumps and crawling at a disgustingly slow pace.

"#do-#do-#do-/mi——"

"#do-#do-#do-/mi——"

“#do-mi-#sol-/#do!——————”

He kept advancing the beat of the trumpet, which was extremely monotonous or repetitive, and created the illusion that time and space were stuck. The movements of the characters were all presented in slow motion. When the whole band played hard at the last two notes of the introduction, When the beat of the song exploded, the big brass clock on the wall and my own inspiration seemed to be dulled.

"Bravo!!"

"Crash!——"

Applause roared from the audience seats from all directions.

Fan Ning, who had achieved world-renowned success, walked towards the award-winning table amidst all the fiery and admiring eyes.

Facing the crowd of people in the audience, he bowed with a smile, then lowered his head and opened the speech in his hand that had been polished to perfection by secretarial staff for several months.

"To be honest, do you really think it is necessary to save this terminally ill world?"

"Ask yourself, is your ultimate intention in returning to the world really to bring joy to others and support others in danger? Do you really think there is the possibility of effective communication with these low-level creatures?"

"You probably still have some worldly thoughts and want to be refreshed and happy. Haha, it doesn't hurt, so don't rush for a while. I, and a few people, made an appointment to meet under the sky where the rose-red aurora and the blue-green electric light compete for color. You, there was neither night nor dawn that day, only the hour preparing for noon and the hour standing still at noon."

The crystal chandelier was flowing like a soap film on the speech. Fan Ning, whose pupils were trembling violently, suddenly raised his head and saw countless eyes in the audience directed at him.

The gaze from the "Truth Tiger".

And, the dizzying and sticky torrent of colors shot in from more than a dozen doors on the walls of the symphony hall.

"Crack!!"

There was a sound of wood breaking, and the floor of the award seat suddenly collapsed, and Fan Ning fell straight down.

All that fell before my eyes was a meaningless collection of colored pixels.

Fan Ning, who was head down and weightless, discovered that underneath the deepest void, there was a large mass of indescribable crimson things, such as ruins, stumps, dilapidated buildings, or a pile of collapsed words.

"Bang!"

There was a hard metallic sound that kept stimulating his violently beating heart.

"Clang!" "Clang!"

"Clang-" "Clang--" "Clang--" The heavy and huge body of the steam train has been started again for several minutes. The wheels collided with the gaps between the spliced ​​rails, making regular noises.

It was the noise at the end of the dream just now.

Fan Ning woke up with his arms folded on his chest, yawned tiredly, and then slowly opened his eyes.

In the neatly decorated first-class carriage, well-dressed gentlemen and ladies are reading newspapers, eating or chatting in low voices.

He screwed up his black silk top hat and looked at the ticket and pocket watch in his hand.

新历916年4月10日，晚上18点零5分。

This is the northern continent, the Tioline Empire.

The train has passed Eagles Station, and the night has just fallen outside the window. What you can see in the distance is the big port of Motraun with the noisy kerosene engine. On the bank of the dark river rich in salt products, stands the Vane, which is driven by an ancient clockwork device. Ermindo Lighthouse, its light shines in the haze on the river every night.

Next stop, Ufranser.

Fan Ning looked at the scenery outside the car window with a look of thought in his eyes.

"Musician?" A man's voice sounded in his ears.

There were three people standing in the carriage aisle, two of them were dressed as railway police officers, and the leader was a plainclothes man in a gray jacket.

Usually such a formation is a wicket.

However, the latter kicks away the air when walking, creating an inconsistent feeling of "ember".

For ordinary knowledgeable people, this is not noticeable, but Fan Ning knew that this was an investigator with a high rank in the Special Inspection Department.

He frowned slightly and looked at the music book and pen spread out on the table in front of him.

"#do-#do-#do-/#do——."

There is a trumpet introduction written in black ink with four sharps, in the key of C-sharp minor, and a monophonic melody. It is the inspiration for the new composition that I wrote down shortly after getting on the bus in the early morning.

The pitch-black notes also twisted vaguely.

But it quickly returned to its original state without any changes.

The three of them were not talking to Fan Ning.

"Just art practitioners."

In the spacious row seat diagonally across the aisle, the gentleman wearing bottle-bottom glasses withdrew his left hand that was "playing the piano" on the table and handed a hard-shell ID with tickets directly to the three people standing in the aisle. , his right hand still holds a copy of the "Hoffmann Gramophone" music journal.

"Coming from Pozodanico County in the southeast, the trip is Uflansel." The railway policeman whispered to the investigator next to him, and then asked politely, "Art practitioner? So is it a performance, a visit to relatives, or tourism and... Others? How long do you plan to stay in Ufranser?"

"A business trip." The gentleman with bottle-bottomed glasses said with a smile, "It's been almost 20 years since I graduated from the Eagles Conservatory of Music, majoring in composition, but now I mainly make a living in art management. The person next to me is worthy of the name. bass singer."

"Attending the first quarter work meeting of the Turner Art Hall chain of theaters." The old man beside him added with a somewhat impatient expression, "Gentlemen, is there anything suspicious about our behavior or clothing?"

"Don't get me wrong, this is a form of respect." The plainclothes investigator from the Special Patrol Office smiled lightly and placed a small foldout with a red stamp on their desk, "I am Imperial Culture I am only interested in chatting with the staff of the Media Department and people in the art world.”

"Welcome to Uflandsel. Use this backpage to go to the city attractions and hotels on the list to get a small souvenir. If you have other "potential artist" candidates that you like, please call or write to recommend. "

The check-in quickly came to Fan Ning.

"Not an art practitioner."

Fan Ning's tone and emotion were as unrecognizable as his appearance in the eyes of others.