musicians of old

Chapter 925 What do I have to fear!
"Works such as 'Death and the Maiden,' 'Winterreise,' 'The Beautiful Miller's Daughter,' and 'The Erlking' are by Franz Schubert, the king of art songs! 'Dichterliebe' is by Robert Schumann, another master of German Romantic music! These are not my creations, but rather works born of the pressure of being caught up in a conspiracy and the opportunism of the apostles! Their 'character' all belongs to him!"

"Sizzle—" "Sizzle sizzle—"

After several more declarations, Fanning's ribs broke one by one!

Moreover, these shocking words caused billions of interconnected passages to appear in the collapsing world.

Through these channels, the people of the mundane world, already steeped in excessive color, are now in countless layers of "noon," and are about to undergo a terrifying transformation.
They all looked in the direction where Fanning was.

In this way, Fanning's declaration was directly witnessed by all of history. He continued, raising his voice and shouting: "The Goldberg Variations, the Suite for Solo Violin, the Suite for Solo Cello, as well as the Mass in B minor and the Art of Fugue, etc., originally came from the first luminary, the father of Western music, Johann Sebastian Bach! They are not my creations at all! Today, Bach's 'starlight' has returned to its rightful place, and I no longer need to occupy a part of its glory. His 'star' belongs to Him!!"

A resolute voice echoed within the sacred space.

"Bang!" "Bang!!"

Two thick golden blood mists exploded, the sound even more muffled, with the texture of flesh being torn apart, accompanied by the shattering of the contract and glory!

Fan Ning's knees collapsed, and he fell to his knees!
Mr. F let out a gasp, as if someone had been choked, took a half step forward, his mind blank, incredulous: "Wait, what do you mean? Wait a minute. What does this mean!?"

The cymbals rang out again in the sacred space, forcibly pulling the emotions back. The intensity fell back to the initial deathly silence, but the violin, with even greater power, pushed the despair to its peak. The brass also intervened more violently in the long, drawn-out struggle, like a soul struggling in an endless abyss.

Time and spacetime flashed again, with more and more illusory scenes overlapping.

The magnificent symphony halls include the Royal Concert Hall of Teolain, the Turner Theatres Symphony Hall, the United Principality Festival Orchestra Symphony Hall, and the San Pole Bayreuth Theatre.

The student arts festival was a huge success, with an unprecedented three-part encore performance. The students' cheers and admiration were overwhelming, and the long lines for record pre-orders stretched through the hall and corridors all night.

Turner Arts Hall's opening season was an industry miracle, the New Year's Concert featured a magnificent and sublime chorus, and a regret that left no room for joy;

Fanning's face was contorted with pain, but her voice was filled with an unwavering resolve.

"The Violin Concerto in E minor, by the prematurely deceased genius Felix Mendelssohn! Works like 'The Blue Danube' and 'Radetzky March' are by the Austrian waltz king Johann Strauss and his son! These are not my compositions; their 'forms' belong to him!"

"Two cello concertos, two flute concertos, three piano concertos, and the orchestral impression 'The Sea'—these are not my compositions at all! The works of Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev, Debussy, and others—all returned!"

"Crack!!!" The chilling sound of flesh exploding continued.

Having lost both knees, Fanning's kneeling posture was no longer upright; he was hunched over, no longer adhering to any order of "primary and secondary" or "timeline," and almost roared, letting out a series of incoherent screams!

"Fantastic! Fantastic! I know 'reproducing music' is an unsolvable shackle, an unsolvable conspiracy! And I have indeed used the works of masters to seize fame and fortune too quickly; I've wanted to do this for a long time! Although what I leave to the public are mostly beautiful memories, and although my hands and my mouth haven't had a chance to enjoy any pleasure in the past few years, I've wanted to do this for a long time! Fantastic! Continue! The 'Choral Fantasy in C minor' at the New Year's Concert, composed by Beethoven, the 'musical saint' I've admired all my life! The modern masterpiece 'The Rite of Spring,' revealing the mystery of the 'Primordial Devourer,' is by a genius named Stravinsky! The spiritually explosive night before the celebration, the acoustic miracle of 'Tristan und Isolde,' is by Wagner, the giant I admire most in the field of opera! None of these are my so-called creations! Their 'gold'... Give it back to them!" "Give it back to them!" "Give it back to them!"

The pain of this kind of misinterpretation that forcibly reverses the course of history, and the pain of forcibly stripping away the "character" of one's own achievements, is even worse than the cruelest torture in the world!
More importantly, its occurrence is unprecedented and completely incomprehensible!
Not to mention the two powerful figures at the sixth level of the Order Realm present, even among the True Knowledge wielded by the Lord of Witness, there is probably no such blueprint for understanding!
"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

The baton in Fan Ning's hand was broken into more and more pieces until it was almost reduced to dust, which he then threw away!
Fanning could no longer utter a clear voice; only bloody froth rolled in his throat: "Haydn, Berlioz, Puccini, Verdi, Liszt, Paganini, Dvořák, Sibelius, Shostakovich, Messiaen... the 'class' of all the masters... belongs to all the masters! All belongs to them!!"

"Click——"

The "old" pillar of light, which served as the central axis of the sacred space, suddenly "froze" and "became brittle" from its filthy, flowing paint.

The beam of light instantly spread across the capillary-like cracks.

The viscous threads connecting the other two "celestial bodies" of the "Trinity Pillars" in the high sky have also begun to show signs of "brittleness".

"Fanning, what's the point of wasting time? What's the point?" Mr. F, whose thoughts had cleared slightly, clutched his forehead in "collapse," but judging from his tone, it was probably more about his utter disappointment at having added unnecessary trouble and a barrage of incomprehensible questions. "Fanning, you... reset the first time. Do you want to reset it a second time?! That dictator doesn't care if you live or die. You were first 'purified,' stripped bare, and then your pioneering path was shattered. Now, you've destroyed your own 'style.' 'Mystery is mystery, art is art,' you said that yourself. You, an artist, don't even want 'style.' You, you'll only taste the bitter fruit and fear of your own making! I went through so much trouble before, and you went through so much trouble yourself, but you didn't listen to a word I said!"

At this point, all the clamor and struggle of the orchestral introduction have been exhausted, leaving only the solitary plucking of the "illuminated theme" variant on the low strings.

Like the last embers of a flame about to be extinguished, it brought a pause to this long orchestral prelude, a pause that seemed to hang indefinitely.

Fan Ning's entire "skeleton" was almost completely broken. He was kneeling on both knees, his back was hunched, and even his other elbow was limply supporting him on the ground.

In such an almost prostrate, dying position, it was trembling as it tried to lift its head slightly.

How could they not be completely dead? Pogrerich slightly raised the tip of his knife, his gaze sweeping over the mostly worthless mutilated body on the ground, a flash of surprise crossing his face.

This seems illogical.

Those present, whose knowledge of the mystical reached a certain level, were both shocked and perplexed. Although this event was unique and an isolated case in secret history, it was still illogical to deduce it theoretically. To have one's entire "character" stripped away in such a brutal and violent way, under the intense historical witness of the "noon" hour, was not a question of whether one would die or not; one should have been completely annihilated on the spot.

No, could it be because...?
Some people thought of a possibility.

Is it because of his own eight epic symphonies?
So, although the bones and flesh of the whole body were completely shattered, the brainstem and spine were still intact, and the breath had not yet stopped immediately.

“That’s right, heh. Heh heh, you’re right about everything.” Fan Ning used his only intact elbow to support his crippled body as he turned slightly and raised his head.

Blood gushed from his mouth, yet he laughed intermittently, “But I have… the entire starlight! The starlight of my companions, musicians, children, and masters! Among them, a few, as brilliant as celestial bodies, already number over a thousand. What do I have to fear?!”