musicians of old

Chapter 939 "Disregarding the Three"!
The dictator is dead. The dangerous element has slipped away, standing by with cynical scorn. The church may now hang suspended above the earth, beneath its dome.

Fan Ning paid no attention, unaware of where his thoughts had wandered off to.

At least thirty measures remained unfinished, and he instructed the "looking up" motif to gently resonate in the high registers of various instruments, converging into a sublime and dazzling sonic nebula.

The church was still rising, but at a speed so slow it was almost stagnant. The solidifying power of the "fire of martyrdom" had formed a vast and boundless eternal earth, but the force of its ascent was about to exhaust its final stretch.

The next moment.

The altar, organ, choir, stained glass windows, pens, candlesticks, and cloisters in the church's "view" suddenly "shrank".

The top seemed to have crashed into an invisible and dense sphere, and the texture that constituted the characteristics of things was peeling away layer by layer, turning into glassy powder that was finer than dust and shimmered with cold light of various colors.

Everything became smooth as a mirror, everything became uniform as glass, the consciousness of all living beings, including Fanning's—that pioneering path that had experienced the broken painting of the "New Moon" ascending into the sky, the "Torchbearer" illuminating the star clusters, contained the theory of the "Unending Secret," and experienced near death and rebirth as the "Power of Creation," and of course, the emotions in human nature—all these concepts began to slide toward the edge of indifference.

The church spire pierces the "Dome Gate".

The various ways of existence are inherently incompatible with each other.

This "door of non-doors," which should not be opened and should not be opened, was opened at this moment, and the process of witnessing and judging it in the long river of history is incomprehensible in any way, as natural as a mathematical axiom.

However, the church's construction stalled.

It was obvious that some things in these "concepts" that had become smooth and clean around me had become active and plump again.

With the help of these active and robust things, the downward force can be exerted more easily and can surpass the force of lifting or raising.

Then, after a few more breaths, the church began to sink very slowly.

"It's no use, Master Fanning, I've said everything I can say, I'm speechless. It's useless," Mr. F's hoarse and neurotic voice faintly came from the direction of the "Tricuspid Cleaver." "The dictator is dead. I want to laugh when I think about how He bet on something like this. No, I can't laugh. I feel deep sorrow for it. You, if you want to ascend to the position of Witness, you can just walk through the door yourself. But bringing this thing with you is useless. With your intelligence, it's not that you can't create perfect works, and you could have waited until the 'Beautiful Starry Sky' arrives before taking your place. But you insist on getting stuck in this foolish dead end."

“You’re being noisy.” Fan Ning gestured wildly, but her expression remained calm.

He remained steadfast in leading the "Gloriosa" aria toward its sublime conclusion, toward the final few bars where the orchestra proclaimed its perfection.

However, the gestures didn't have to be so "preoccupied"; they could have been much more "open and expansive".

He just felt that he could think more clearly about some issues, some issues that had nothing to do with conflict, but only with the truth.

He felt that there was a possibility of clearing things up, but everything that had happened was just too heavy, with nothing to be happy about. This heaviness was suffocating him, but now he was trying to push it aside. He felt that there should be a possibility of pushing it aside, that he should push it aside, that he had to push it aside.

As the church slowly descends, the smooth, polished interior surfaces and their textured surfaces begin to "regress" back to their original state, as if about to fall out of the "Door Gate".

Then, after moving further away from the "end of things," influenced by the mutual influence of various forces injected from all sides, as well as the aftershocks of the music's brilliance, it began to rise slightly again.
It floats, hangs, and remains stuck in this in-between position, like an eggshell or toy block floating in water.

"The three are light, the three are night." The earnest advice had passed, the hysterical outbursts had subsided, and Mr. F had returned to his usual, slightly "quieter" neurotic state. "First you tried to uphold what you considered orthodoxy, then you destroyed the real work of art. And now, what makes you think you can rely on, just the 'Glory of Our Lady'? I admit this concept has reached the level of a witness, I told you you're qualified to enter through the door, but... ha, hahahahaha, but do you consider it the 'Trinity'? There are no 'pillars' left in this world! Neither is left! Light or night, hehe, who is orthodox, who is heretical? Who is the light? Who is the night? Whatever you say, whoever you say it is, anyway, nothing is left, the 'path' is gone, the sun's oracle, the sun that issued the oracle itself has sunk, play by yourself, ha, play by yourself." Mr. F's listless, sarcastic words fell—

Above the church dome, the luminous flesh extending from the morbidly pulsating "three-pointed petals"—whether the two normal petals or the enlarged and hyperplastic one—had all withered and dried up.

If this is true, then the mystery of "the unity of time" is indeed the truth, a predetermined phenomenon when "noon" arrives. But in reality, the appearance should not be like that. Whether it was before or after the so-called anomaly, it was all just a "pre-set" by the conspiracy of dangerous elements.

But now, they have withered and dried up, and have voluntarily withdrawn.

"Whoosh." "Whoosh." "Whoosh!—"

The other two keys, -1 and 0, fell downwards from the church as if experiencing "normal weightlessness".

This person didn't even have the interest to give the "recycling" a second glance.

The only exception was the trajectory of key number 1, which was relatively clear and distinct, flying out towards a stained-glass window that extended outwards, revealing the silhouette of a steel city.

But just as key number 1 was about to fly out the window—

"What do you mean?!" Mr. F's incomprehensible and surprised voice rang out.

Fanning remained standing on the sacrament, his left hand raised, his thumb and forefinger seemingly pinching the air.

Then the key number 1 suddenly hovered right in front of the window! And it seemed to start struggling and trembling violently!

"What is this place to you? You think you can come and go as you please?!"

Fanning's tone remained calm, but the content conveyed a sense of longing and unease in the other person.

This feeling was very contradictory, reminding him of the premonition when Fanning told the "Secret of the Endless"—a prelude that both revealed the truth and touched upon something dangerous and terrifying!

"Who says that 'pillars' and 'paths' only have two possibilities: light and night? Now that the dictator is dead, I will give you Mithraic religions another lesson."

"The three are light, the three are night, the three... are not counted!"

As the church slowly sank, Fanning's gaze seemed to still be fixed on the conceptual "Our Lady of Glory" above, but he threw out the three Keys of Time—two that fell from the platform and the other that was inexplicably seized—with utmost affection and piety.

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh!!!"

The trajectory of the three keys, after being thrown into the air, scatters and turns in mid-air, and then shoots directly towards the orchestra below!

Their specific goals were surprisingly those three positions—the vacant principal voice positions!