musicians of old

Chapter 912 is reset at "noon"!
Fan Ning met his gaze for a moment, then nodded again with a half-smile.

A manuscript filled with handwritten notes, a collection of all the struggles, sins, and ominous fates, was thrown into the ashes.

Symphony No. 6 in A minor, "Tragedy".

"Should you order yourself, or should I order?" Mr. F asked.

Fan Ning ignored him, squatted down and slowly turned the cover page.

After standing up and stepping back, wisps of smoke and flames rose up.

"First this object makes a sound, then nothing is heard."

The bright red ink that read this on the title page was swallowed by the flames and turned black.

Against the backdrop of the enormous green moon, the flame in the center of the six-pointed star danced brightly and viscously.

After a while, the fire burned even more fiercely, and the soft crackling sound could be heard again in the silent air.

"When you get back, if you have some free time, try to chat with them a little more, maybe offer some comfort." Mr. F's smile seemed somewhat "sad."

Fan Ning lifted her gaze from the burning "tragedy" and looked at the other person with a hint of surprise.

"Those who laugh and cry in their base desires all day long deserve pity, but I pity even more those who are still active in the end times, including Guido Daleto and Bach."

Mr. F slowly shook his head, his expression revealing a hint of reluctance.

"Especially our Lord Johann Sebastian Bach, alas, he too was on the 'Path of Pioneers' and uniquely named 'The Secret of Illumination.' They saw the glimmer of the oracle but failed to grasp its full meaning and went astray. It is my dereliction of duty and regret that I failed to guide them in time or pull them back."

Fanning detected a genuine, chilling regret in his voice.

The burning of the Sixth Symphony was gradually coming to an end.

“They, including Pogrerich, are pursuing a ‘perfect’ but static world, a pure or rigid answer, which is not the meaning of ‘pillar’ and ‘path’, not what is really behind the veil.”

“Master Fanning, you are the only one who still has hope of seeing that ‘new world’.”

“Of course.” Fan Ning looked at him and chuckled inexplicably.

“That third hammer blow was quite futile.” Mr. F responded with a frank laugh. “Fortunately, fate is redeeming you. Since the price is that ‘the third hammer blow will never be repeated in the score,’ then this time, we don’t have to repeat the wrong strokes. Let’s welcome the return of ‘the old days’ together.”

Overhead, the bright green moon completed its final, nauseatingly slow writhing motion.

This twisted, horrifying, yet seemingly candid conversation came to an end amidst the crackling sound of burning paper.

The last flame in the center of the six-pointed star went out.

Mr. F squatted down and gently blew a sound.

Ashes scattered and flew, and a key pointing to all that was forgotten and denied lay there quietly.

-1, ranging from dark red to dark purple.

Fanning felt something sneak into her peripheral vision.

He slightly turned his head and saw that the melted oil and waves were slowly rising from the edge of the hexagram array's top. The "sea level" of the entire Honkai world had risen so high that even this tower was almost submerged.

But then——

“Ting”

The three small keys attracted each other, making a quiet, crisp sound.

The "demystification ceremony" has begun.

The silence on the platform suddenly seemed to gain weight, pressing down on every breath Fanning took.

The six-pointed star slowly rotated beneath his feet, detaching from the air. Filth writhed silently within it, while the three keys shot into the sky in a "throwing" motion, disappearing into the collapsing sky above. The "pixels" between objects in the air began to spread, infiltrate, mix, and rotate with each other.
Mr. F stood opposite Fanning, and Fanning sensed a hint of fervent and smug smile on his lips for the first time, but quickly realized he was mistaken.

That's just the result of being rotated and stirred up by the surrounding "pixels".

Then, it was Fanning's turn immediately, and these paradoxical vortexes quickly "captured" his "vision".

The first thing lost was the concept of "now". Direction began to dissolve, and up and down, left and right, front and back lost their meaning. Fan Ning felt that he was originally a bounded entity, but now he was spread out and flattened, becoming a kind of thin film of perception, stuck to the surface of an incredibly huge existence that was being pulled in the opposite direction!

The sense of touch became strange, time became a flowing sand, or a kind of viscous, cold, yet internally boiling colloid. One's own spirit was like a hand inserted into this pot of wildly stirred liquid. This friction of "relative motion" created a contradictory feeling of smoothness and roughness. One's "present" turned into a soaked, heavy garment, which was forcibly peeled off from the shell of the "past" by a brute force!
The visual abnormalities actually started a little later, but by then the person had completely gone mad.

Fanning had initially thought she might be entering some kind of "time tunnel," but what she saw now was the decay and rebirth of the world unfolding in the same frame, over and over again!
He saw a distant world of melting slurry, its overflowing colors as if sucked back by a giant brush—deep purple, dark green, milky white, blood red. And the process of retraction was anything but smooth, like a poorly made animation stuttering and dropping frames; the colors constantly shifted, overlapped, and contaminated as they were absorbed, forming fleeting yet terrifying, bizarre color blocks never before seen in nature. He saw the warm "intestines" of the six-pointed star screaming and deforming in the reverse flow, sometimes stretching like a pale ghost, sometimes collapsing into a writhing mass of flesh. And the dark green light of the "Noon Moon" above flickered like a faulty light bulb, constantly "cutting" out projections of other fragments of time—perhaps the sunlight of a peaceful afternoon before the world collapsed, or perhaps a bloody battlefield in some unknown history, deeper within. These fragmented scenes flashed and vanished repeatedly in the green light!
This vision quickly spread to him, forcibly squeezing together countless possibilities of "Fanning." All images, memories, and emotions, like a mirror shattered by a baton, flew and collided in the air, trying to piece themselves back together, but never quite matching the edges, and never quite settling down to earth. Fanning felt himself being rapidly "diluted," dispersed into a turbid river flowing in the opposite direction, composed of both "what has happened" and "what has not happened."

"Being able to feel discomfort and pain is probably a good thing."

"Stay calm. We don't know how the situation will develop in a moment."

Fanning went to great lengths to depict his mental state as "perceptible".

In fact, he had already experienced a "disenchantment ritual" - which refers to the experience of all the people in History 0 being collectively wiped out - but that time, Fan Ning knew that he did not feel anything until he woke up from the concert in a daze and thought that he had "traveled" to another world.

This time, the pain of being torn apart and sucked away, and the violent dissipation of cognition, actually means that there is a good chance of preserving this memory and will in the collapsed world!
Fanning struggled to maintain self-awareness amidst the fragmented, turbulent current. Light, in this process, became a scream, sometimes distorted, magnified, and stretched, sometimes reduced to a strange, abruptly cut-off echo. He smelled again the "tragedy" he had once played, but not a continuous melody; instead, it was a reversed scent, a noise like preservatives or a cloyingly sweet poison, interspersed with fragments of words from people he had met in different times and spaces. These sensations were stretched into thin threads, tangled and knotted, many of them suddenly and violently pulled away. He even tasted the sucking sound of these colors being recycled, like the peeling away of slippery viscous fluid.
Just as Fan Ning felt that his consciousness was about to completely dissolve into this chaotic reverse current, this power unexpectedly dried up and subsided.

So it was like a pile of sand scattered on the ground, containing countless pieces of time and space information, being suddenly gripped tightly by an invisible giant hand.

All the disordered senses were forcibly pulled back into place.

The sensation of stirring was replaced by a rigid sense of reshaping.

The flying debris was violently pressed together.

The sounds, colors, and smells flowing in the opposite direction seemed to crash into an invisible wall, producing a dull, resounding thud that only true knowledge could perceive.

extrusion.

solidification.

Reset.

Fan Ning suddenly stumbled and almost fell.

He found himself standing on a solid, cold, slightly blood-red circular stone platform.