musicians of old

Chapter 814 "Illusory Objects"

Silver, purple, red
The tiny specks of light that the flute exploded from gradually moved from disorder to order, flowing towards the violin-playing angel on the cover of "The Boy's Magic Horn".

The three rubbed their eyes in disbelief, and then saw a harp bow appear in the little angel's hand!
Even the light and shadow textures are depicted very vividly, even when the overall color is faded—the angel's right arm is raised off the violin during the performance, and the higher the bow is, the brighter it shines, as if it is holding a torch!
"No, are you a magician?" The female reporter glanced at Fan Ning, took the poetry collection, shook it gently, and touched the cover.

There's no problem at all; the lifelike little angel with the torch-like bow in its hand is simply part of the illustration.

"I don't know, I really don't know." Fan Ning was completely bewildered, exchanging a glance with Nancy. "Perhaps there's something special about the booklet that Mr. Esterházy left for Miss Nancy, but logically speaking, what's in Miss Nancy's house shouldn't have any connection to a pair of orphaned siblings in a workhouse. Oh, wait, let's look at the back again."

Since the poetry collection had undergone such an incomprehensible change, Fan Ning quickly opened it again and flipped through it. Sure enough, before he could even see the poems that followed, four lines of text that had never appeared before appeared on the title page!

The three of them quickly moved closer—

"Des Molochs Augen brennen durch Goldlügen,

Wo Diebesblut der Schmeifliegen Bund beschreibt.
Sieben Spiegelbilder in Diebes Hallen zerspringen,

Des Rubers Glied verfllt wie Herbstlaub, das bleibt.”

“This seems to have a touch of Viennese court poetry.” Fanning, who has extensive knowledge of art collections, pondered. “Well, to be precise, it’s the old Baroque Alexander style, using iambic pentameter and ABAB rhyme scheme. Miss Nancy, you didn’t miss these lines before, did you?”

Fan Ning still couldn't quite believe the series of events unfolding before her eyes.

“These are definitely newly discovered secret poems.” Nancy shook her head without hesitation. “I’ve read this little book of poems countless times by myself.”

“The eyes of Moloch burn through the lies / The plague of flies stains the contract with filth / The seven illusions shatter in the temple / The tyrant’s body withers like autumn frost.” Miss McAdam read it a couple more times. “Hey, there seem to be some metaphors from the Old Testament here. Moloch, the esoteric god in Leviticus? The plague of flies in Exodus? The word ‘Herbstlaub’ (autumn leaves) seems to have been used by the poet Goethe as well. But what exactly does it mean as a metaphor?”

"I'll try to understand."

Fan Ning pondered for a moment and then took a deep breath.

"Actually, there's no need to be so meticulous. If this really is a clue left by Nancy's father, then we can't go wrong by thinking about these incriminating materials in the museum."

"The gist of it is that God's eyes are watching all of this, and that Leridge was actually cursed when he took possession of this unjust asset? If seven...or seven...things called 'illusions' shatter, his body will 'wither like autumn frost'? Hmm, could it mean he'll dissipate into an illusion?"

It sounds bizarre.

But the changes to the flute, the bow, and the poetry collection were already bizarre events happening right before our eyes.

If the curse recorded in these secret verses is true, then it would be a more direct and satisfying way to reveal it.

“But what is a ‘phantom’?” Miss McAdam pressed. “Where are we supposed to find any ‘phantoms’ at this point? Nancy, does your family have any ‘phantoms’ in their daily lives?”

Nancy shook her head in confusion, but Fan Ning muttered to himself, "I just remembered an ancient book I handled a few years ago. It was a Sanskrit book that recorded something called 'phantom people'." "What is that?" the two people opposite couldn't help but ask subconsciously.

“It’s a kind of secret technique, a technique for creating ‘phantom people’,” Fan Ning recalled. “It’s roughly about using strong concentration and vivid imagination to continuously fabricate non-existent facts, creating characters or personalities that should only exist in the imagination of the mind. Okay, whether it’s a ‘phantom person’ or a ‘phantom object,’ the so-called ‘secret techniques’ in ancient religious books are questionable in their authenticity. I’ve handled even more outrageous collections over the years, hmm? Collections? That’s right, collections!”

A collectible! All three of them's eyes lit up.

What's the most abundant thing in this building?
Naturally, it features a dazzling array of art collections!

Could it be that among these collections, there is a category, say seven items, that have some special characteristics and are called "phantom objects"?

If that's the case, then smashing them one after another, or even exposing Leicester's shady dealings in public and smashing them on the spot, wouldn't that be...
“This seems difficult to implement in practice.” Miss McAdam frowned slightly. “The second half will start soon. Not to mention whether we can find the seven more special ‘phantom objects’ in the entire collection, even if we know which seven they are, the items that will be auctioned on stage will only be a small part. We can’t decide which items will be brought on stage.”

“That’s a problem.” Fan Ning also rubbed his forehead, deep in thought.

But the next moment, two knocking sounds came from the glass door of the coffee counter.

Fanning lifted the veil of the parasol and turned to look. The person knocking on the door was a colleague she was quite familiar with.

“Is there something you need, Mr. Congreve?” He got up and walked over, asking in a low voice.

Regarding his current situation of "sitting and chatting" with two ladies at a refreshment table, Fan Ning shrugged and gave an awkward smile.

His colleague responded with an understanding smile: "Mr. Nikolayevich Squiaben sent me to find you."

“Him?” Fan Ning frowned.

The chief appraiser I inexplicably met not long ago?
Fan Ning quickly ignored the conversation, which included phrases like "the time is almost up" and "you might even thank me," but for some reason, a strange premonition suddenly welled up in his heart.

“Yes.” The colleague nodded. “Mr. Nikolayevich Squiaben is waiting for you in the attic lounge. He said he wants to hear your opinion on the list of items for the second half of the auction. I guess it might be related to your conservation and restoration work?”

"A list of items to be auctioned?" Fan Ning's expression instantly became uncertain, and the eerie premonition in his heart intensified.

Of course, to avoid arousing suspicion, he quickly attributed his "unpredictable" expression to the two ladies behind him.

“Mr. Congreve, please lead the way. Miss McAdam, Miss Nancy, uh, I’m so sorry, uh... perhaps you could discuss this privately first?”

After barely managing to "stabilize" the situation here, Fanning returned to the corridor.

He followed quickly behind his colleagues, climbing the spiral staircase at the corner.