musicians of old

Chapter 948 Dinner Narrative
Fan Ning exhaled softly, and the white mist quickly dissipated in the cold morning air.

He sensed sounds coming from downstairs: the crisp clinking of porcelain plates, the aroma of toasted bread mingling with the rich scent of coffee—these earthly scents were climbing up the stairs, trying to embrace him.

The wooden steps creaked slightly beneath his feet.

The restaurant for the theater chain's overseas executives is located on the third floor on the east side. The chandelier on the ceiling doesn't need to be turned on, as the three tall arched windows allow the winter morning light to stream in without obstruction.

The long oak table was covered with a crisp, starched linen tablecloth, which was already set out: a silver vase filled with holly and berries, symmetrically arranged bone china plates, gleaming silver cutlery, and napkins folded into the shape of swans.

“Congreve, you should actually be receiving two salaries as the VP of Operations.”

Walter sat at the end of the table, several sheets of paper with snow stains spread out in front of him, obviously just brought in from outside. His brows were furrowed, but he temporarily shifted his attention as the food was about to be served.

“If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would have forgotten that Turner Theatres didn’t hire me as a cook.”

Congreve's tall, stout, dark figure contrasted sharply with the pristine white apron tied around his waist. He shrugged and placed a silver platter covered with an insulating cover on the fireplace rack.

"But Mr. Director, gentlemen, times have indeed changed. The operations department has gone from being the most difficult department in the theater chain to the most relaxed and high-paying department, because there is only performance and no pressure. Even if I live in the kitchen all day, I can still make the managers below earn the highest... what is that abbreviation that Mr. Fanning used to say?"

“KPI.” Olga, the executive vice president, was pouring coffee into several cups.

"The one coated with double the icing has already been sent to the attic by the servants." Shiran came in through the side door, carrying a small wicker basket containing steaming, golden, and crispy croissants.

Roy helped set out the dishes of butter and jam, while Joan secretly dipped her finger into the cream in the bowl, about to put it in her mouth—

"Hey, did you wash your hands?" Shirley shouted deliberately, making Joan's hand freeze in mid-air.

“I’m very hygienic.” Joan turned her head, opened her palm, revealing a large milky white patch on her index finger: “I’m tasting for you! Congreve said the cream was over-whipped today.”

“It is a bit too grainy,” Congreve said, setting the table without looking up, “but it goes perfectly with the muffins.”

Fanning casually pulled out a chair and sat down. Walter had reserved the main seat opposite him, but Fanning didn't sit down.

He moved a little slower than usual. Sheeran pushed a cup of black coffee in front of him, without sugar or milk, a habit he had developed in his living room in Ufrancel. He picked it up and took a sip.

"Teacher, counting snails is more tedious and troublesome than I imagined. Most of the snails in our garden are currently 'showing no obvious abnormalities,' with only a few infected. But just now, two gardeners observed a large, densely packed group of snails on the ivy wall on the shady side of the staff's single-apartment building. They seemed to be collectively moving towards the higher parts of the building, but it's unclear whether they were foraging or seeking shelter from the cold, and the movement was rather short."

"The situation with other cinema chains is expected to be reported gradually over the next day or two," Roy added.

“Hmm.” Fan Ning picked up a croissant.

He felt a warm, crispy sensation on his fingertips, broke it open, and examined it carefully. The interior was clearly layered, and the aroma of butter wafted out with the warmth.

Walter breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed he hadn't gone astray—and it shouldn't have gone too far astray anyway—he folded the spreadsheet in half, pushed it open, and began to work on the muffins on his plate.

"How was the aftermath of the 'nuclear attack' handled?" Fan Ning asked casually. "I think order was restored very quickly, and the major signs of destruction don't seem very obvious anymore."

"What is a nuclear bomb?" Shiran asked, puzzled.

"The day after Lydia attacked San Pelto, the day after the Harvest Arts Festival ended, a new type of weapon with great destructive power and range."

"Oh, you mean that air raid? It wasn't too bad. I heard they intercepted it back in Puntua, only bombing an oil depot and a few grain depots. And the two sides quickly reached a ceasefire within half a month. What was the new weapon?" "Oh, that was a slip of the tongue. Those things were almost completely wiped out on the Apele battlefield before my identity as a preacher was revealed. I was involved in dealing with it." Fan Ning nodded casually.

It seems that the matters concerning the Lingyin Discipline Association, Koseli, and the "worm" have indeed been "re-loaded" a bit more from the previous few days' points, thanks to my "extra care".

"Tell me how everyone got back?"

What have the musicians been talking about lately?

"Can you memorize the music you've performed?"

He then posed a series of casual and relaxed questions, as if asking if the breakfast suited his taste.

Joan bit the tip of her fork, lost in thought, while Sheeran and Roy exchanged a glance.

It's perfectly normal for the music not to be fully memorized afterward, since the performance was guided by spirituality, and it seems there was more than one symphony. Everyone is waiting for Fanning to rest for a few days and then transcribe the full score. As for how they returned, what they experienced in the "X-coordinate," the source of their past aberrations, their own answers, as well as those relayed from others, are all varied and numerous.
Fan Ning listened quietly, his face expressionless. After they finished speaking, he nodded without commenting, only saying, "Well, that's normal. I remember it a little more clearly than you, but overall it's pretty much the same."

"Did we win?" Hiran asked anxiously.

“I think, of course.” Fanning spoke of something that should have been cause for celebration with unusual calm and weariness, “You see the Aberration Zone and the ‘worm’.”

Roy went on to ask a few more specific and crucial questions.

Fanning's reply was that he should wait a few days to see if he could remember it, and that his chances might be a little better than others'.

The series of events that occurred on the tower were too complex and too high-level, even surpassing the simple "disenchantment ritual" of the 0th history. Fanning's hand had to use a gentle yet cruel method to smooth out some of the overly dangerous colors and textures on the canvas of everyone's memories, turning them into a smooth, self-consistent, and slightly blurred background.

Even for the three girls who are at a critical juncture in the "path of the three disregarded," this is still the only way before their foundation in this new world is solid.

For the time being, only the sounds of knives and forks clinking against plates and the crackling of firewood burning in the fireplace remained on the dining table. This quiet was not awkward; everyone was a familiar colleague and close friend who had worked side by side with each other. The atmosphere was more like the enjoyable focus and tranquility of everyone tuning their instruments before a small chamber music performance.

"Hey Fanning, and everyone else, I'm thinking of spending at least another two weeks in San Pelto after New Year's before heading back to Tiolaine~"

Roy had almost finished her main course when a small dish of yogurt in an elegant silver bowl was placed on the tray in front of her. It was topped with dark purple blueberry sauce and a few nuts, and she covered her mouth to eat a spoonful.

“Yes,” Fanning replied briefly. He ate slowly, chewing each bite carefully, as if checking the texture of the food.

"Support." "Second." The others nodded in agreement.

Outside the window, the sun shone brightly. The whole of San Porto had awakened from its snowfall, with the faint sounds of bells, carriages, and vendors' cries drifting in the air.

A new day begins, just like countless winter dawns in the past. Tomorrow, the sun will rise as usual.

The windows of the attic in the northwest corner of the manor were tightly closed, and the dark curtains were drawn tightly. A separately prepared breakfast—soft bread covered with thick icing sugar and a cup of Earl Grey tea with honey and lemon slices—had just been placed on the small table outside the door, still steaming.

Some key words, emphasized by dangerous elements but which may indeed become established facts, emerged in Fanning's mind at this moment.

Even if you choose to stay temporarily
The weariness of worldly life is also destined to end.