musicians of old

Chapter 877 Night Walk (Part 1): Walking
Fan Ning turned around and looked at the boy who had asked her the question.

With slightly curly short hair and fine downy hair at the corners of his mouth, he is probably just an adult.

He was dressed in a worn, clean, yet impeccably tailored suit, complete with a bow tie, top hat, and cane, resembling a young gentleman who valued retro etiquette.

There seemed to be lingering envy and reverie in his eyes regarding the meaning behind what the choir represented.

“I know you, your name is Andrei,” Fan Ning said.

"Why do you know my name?" The boy was taken aback.

"Then why did you ask me that question?" Fan Ning asked with a smile.

The other person couldn't answer, and felt increasingly bewildered by their impulsive question.

“You asked me that question before, so I know,” Fanning said.

"Before?" The boy's eyes widened. "How could that be?"

"Are you religious?"

“Me? My parents are religious, as are most of the older generation, but I… I’m not that clearly religious.” The boy glanced at Fanning’s Asian face again with suspicion. “And you, so, are you a believer?”

Fan Ning smiled and shook his head.

This question will split in the "noon" generation, becoming countless ambiguous and seemingly true yet false, as immeasurable as "love".

"Let's not talk about that. You asked about art, so let's talk about art."

Fanning pointed upwards, into the distance, and outside the door.

"If it were the last day of 2015, at the turn of the year, you were standing on this quiet street corner in City Hall Square, inside the warm St. Chapel, while it was raining coldly outside."

"If a swift were to fly through the church right now, then the time it spends flying inside the church would be your life."

"You already have some visible expectations about life and don't intend to ask anyone questions, because what you want to ask is everything it goes through before it flies in and after it flies out, the long and unknown life before or after death."

“In the past, the church has helped people answer some questions.”

"But if in the modern era of History 0, you met a college graduate with a science and engineering degree who said that before death, a person is just a collection of atoms that have not yet come together, and after death, they become another set of scattered atoms. Matter is cyclical and indestructible, while consciousness goes from one nothingness to another. There is no other explanation besides this. Would you be satisfied?"

“I know that’s right, I’m already in high school, but this is not a question I should be asking.” Andrei shook his head repeatedly.

"Art is responsible for providing answers beyond this part, answers from the mystical, answers from the transcendent."

Fanning took a step, and at the same time, the church doors opened by themselves, letting in a flurry of icy snowflakes.

Snowflakes swirl in the sky above the mortal world; drifting down are fates, falling are lives.

“Some years are cruel, and talent determines where the snow falls. Its melting is as fleeting as morning dew. A very few gifted individuals provide those transcendent answers, but others can at least feel the answers, or follow them and imitate them.”

“Throughout the entire ‘Wu’ year, roles and destinies will be interchanged, while spirit and beliefs will be passed down.”

"For zeal is immortal, piety is immortal. Love never ends."

Fanning walked slowly toward the church door.

Providing answers, feeling answers, imitating answers. Andrei couldn't understand the last two paragraphs Fanning said; he just clenched his fists and repeated the words he had heard in the middle.

He felt that his artistic views had been completely rewritten.

Even if he didn't realize that all his current knowledge and memories were merely a chaotic and dilapidated remnant in the fragmented river of history, as he saw the mysterious figure of the Easterner growing smaller and smaller at the end of the carpet, he pushed off with his feet and hurriedly shouted.

"Hey! Where are you going? I still have something I want to talk to you about!"

For some reason, many people in the church were behaving in the same way as this boy.

The worshippers on the mahogany benches stood up; the children in the choir jumped down the steps, and even several clergy members who worked in the church hurried down the spiral staircase.

In some corners, things lingering in the shadows haven't fully "cut out" of their previous scenes, appearing somewhat out of harmony with the surrounding landscape.
Principal Steinicke and Professor Huxley clinking glasses at the student arts festival celebration banquet; Manager Mark wiping his wine glass with one hand and pondering business opportunities with the other; Sir Viardrin drinking alone at the dinner party for the performance of "Tristan und Isolde".
And there's more, and more.

These dim, indistinct silhouettes all rose up from the river, peering out.

"Huhu."

A cold wind was blowing, and that strange, sweet yet rotten smell once again filled the world.

Fanning walked out and found himself standing on a dry, cracked lakebed. The magnificent Leipzig Cathedral behind him was no longer visible. After taking a few more steps, his feet began to make a faint rustling sound, like dry bones rubbing together.

This place seemed to have once been Lake Mertraun, a place of shimmering water. He had a gut feeling that he recognized it, but now, the lakebed was exposed and cracked. Under the dark green light of the "Midday Moon," the soil seemed to have a life of its own, changing its sticky color with the imperceptible air currents.

Fan Ning walked step by step.

There was someone following behind, extremely dark and blurry, who could only be called a shadow.

Perhaps they had just come out of the church; there were a dozen or so of them.

The sound of "Night Walk" still flows. After the middle section becomes noisy and distorted dance music, this movement shows a symmetrical "12321" mirror structure and enters the second half.

The sound of the double bass plucking returned to its steady tone, and the slightly dull horn sound reappeared, along with the "soothing march" rhythm.

The harp played a series of clear musical phrases.

Shallow waves surged onto the dried-up lakebed, carrying the scent of water and grass. The shimmering water rippled, and the proportion of warm tones in the colors increased, as if reflecting a real, golden-red sunset.

Fan Ning walked step by step along the lakebed, gazing at the high places above.

That must have been the former lakeshore, or perhaps the cliff in front of the former "X coordinate". The silhouettes of girls were edged with gold. Someone was wiping a violin bow with rosin, someone was sitting cross-legged opening a snack bag, and another person was sitting on a folding stool with a sketchbook open on their lap. A charcoal pencil was rubbing against the paper, seemingly outlining the steep and majestic outline of the Dolomec Mountains in the distance, gradually blurring in the twilight.

Fan Ning did not indulge in those seemingly real but actually unreal illusions; he simply waved in that direction.

A kind of placement, a kind of confirmation; in case it's not picked up, even if it's not picked up.

His posture while walking remained unchanged.

My feet started to occasionally step into the shallow, low-lying areas, making a hissing sound.

The three silhouettes on the distant lakeside or cliff edge disappeared.

Three clusters of "starlight" quietly condensed and floated up where the silhouette had completely disappeared.

"Starlight" is not a single color, but a blend of the warm gold of the sunset, the deep blue of the lake, the bluish-gray of the distant mountains, and a faint gray-black that carries a hint of bitterness.

They floated up lightly, like dandelion seeds blown by the wind, and silently fell into the dilapidated lamp housing of the "Night Watchman's Lamp" at Fanning's waist, whereupon the shimmering dust gained a touch of warmth.

Fan Ning smiled serenely as she held her guitar. The music of "Night Journey" flowed, entering a more expansive mirrored section, where the strings played a long and lyrical melody, carrying a gentle forgiveness.

A few more shadows appeared alongside them.