musicians of old

Chapter 949 External Reactions

But where else might this "problem," perhaps the final "problem," appear?

Fanning's gaze swept over the faces at the table.

The attendants continued to serve breakfast, each portion small yet exquisite, plentiful, and impressive, but not to the point of being considered extravagant. Small silver bowls held oatmeal porridge, accompanied by brown sugar, raisins, and toasted almond slices; the upper layer of a double-layered silver platter featured perfectly fried sunny-side-up eggs and sizzling bacon, while the lower layer contained thinly sliced ​​cold cuts of ham, salami, and several types of cheese; small side dishes included roasted tomatoes, blanched vegetables, and sautéed mushrooms; the jam, a blend of orange, strawberry, and wild rose, was not finely ground, retaining a considerable amount of grain, and served in small crystal goblets.

“I’m going to continue counting snails.” Walter was the first to get up, followed by Olga and Congreve.

Roy wiped her mouth with a tissue, looked up at Fan Ning, and said in a casual tone, "Fan Ning, a few of us have been feeling a bit strange lately. Our knowledge is growing spontaneously. We don't feel any difficulty when facing new challenges." She carefully chose her words, "There's a sense of unease, and we're hesitant to try for a promotion."

“It’s alright.” Fanning showed no surprise, nor did she ask any further questions or discuss the details.

"what?"

“Just get promoted.” He said it clearly and confidently, as if stating a fact that couldn’t be more obvious. “If your spirituality is already overflowing, if the key reveals itself, then go through it without hesitation.”

Just then, a slightly hurried sound of footsteps came from the direction of the lobby. The female assistant, Nicole, cautiously peeked in: "Excuse me for disturbing your meal. The concierge has delivered another batch of letters and packages, as well as name cards for dozens of visitors. Should we handle them now?"

Roy sighed with a smile, stood up, and gave Fanning a look that said, "That's just how exaggerated it is." "You didn't ask us to keep any secrets, so this kind of commotion started last night."

This is ten times more exaggerated than when Teolam returned at the beginning of the year; it was something that could have been predicted.

Fan Ning nodded slightly, indicating her understanding: "Go ahead."

"And you?" Shiran asked.

Fanning stuffed a large piece of Samira sausage into his mouth, savoring its delicate and rich salty flavor, his chewing gaze more focused than when he was giving a command:

"I'll eat a little longer."

Before going downstairs, Joan gave a heartfelt thumbs up.

The villa's foyer was as lively as if New Year's Eve had arrived early.

From seven o'clock in the morning, there was a constant stream of people delivering letters, goods, and personal invitations. The mahogany side table in the foyer, which originally only held keys and hats, was now piled high with things. The snow on the visitors' boots melted on the doormats, leaving dark water stains. Olga had to instruct the administrators to change the doormats every half hour.

Hilan sat on the second step of the foyer stairs, a wicker storage basket on her lap.

Four similar baskets were already piled up beside her, labeled: "Requires Response," "Pending Discussion," "Routine/Archived," and "Forward to Other Departments." In her hand, she held a thick, cream-colored envelope with gold thread along the edges, sealed with red wax bearing the emblem of crossed batons and olive branches—the official coat of arms of the San Porto City Hall. She used a paper cutter to pry open the wax and pull out the letter inside.

The paper is of excellent quality, thick and sturdy, and the coat of arms of the city hall at the top can be felt with a slight embossing when touched with the fingers.

“To the esteemed Mr. Carole Van Ning,” she read softly to her assistants, “the City Hall cordially invites you to the New Year’s Concert and Charity Gala to be held in the Festival Hall on the evening of December 31, 916 (Gregorian calendar). As a beacon of contemporary art and a pillar of cultural endeavor, your presence will enhance this grand event. Enclosed are ten VIP box tickets.”

The assistants were all from the old symphony orchestra; they had beautiful handwriting and were meticulous in their work. They were temporarily reassigned to help. One of the girls quickly made notes in the register and, based on her judgment, offered a suggestion: "This is probably a case of 'politely declining but returning a gift'?"

“Yes.” Xilan put the letter into the “Need a Reply” basket. “The standard polite refusal template is in the second drawer on the left side of the desk. Find it and copy it. I’ll sign it this afternoon.”

"Okay." The young men and women continued writing, their pens flying. "Next item?"

Sheeran took another envelope from the mailbag at his feet. It was a large, flat envelope wrapped in ordinary kraft paper, but sealed with an exquisite silver badge—a harp surrounded by stars, the emblem of the "Friends of Music Society of San Pelto".

Inside the envelope was a beautifully crafted letter of appointment, inviting Fan Ning to serve as the association's honorary chairman and to preside over the "Janus International Young Composers Competition" next spring. Attached to the letter was a booklet detailing the association's achievements and membership list over the past three years, revealing an eagerness to further enhance its influence by leveraging Fan Ning's name.

"What about this one?" a young man asked.

"We declined that as well. But we could reply that we would be willing to recommend a few outstanding young composers to participate directly—and attach the list that Walter compiled yesterday."

"clear."

The staff processed the documents one by one, with many letters and correspondence being tossed into the appropriate basket in less than ten seconds: "business plans" for the new year from certain contract suppliers of cinemas, private salons at a duke's mansion, cooperation negotiations with multinational record companies, applications for investment in cinema channels, and so on.
In addition to letters, there were also gifts.

In the hall, the circular performance platform holding the nine-foot piano was soon too crowded to stand on, with beautifully packaged gift boxes piled up around it. The largest was a long, rectangular wooden box labeled "Fragile, Handle with Care," and the shipping invoice indicated it came from a well-known music store in the Holy City, likely containing a valuable cello. Next to it was a smaller velvet box tied with a dark green ribbon, with a card that read "A token of respect, hoping for your favor," signed by a duchess with a very long name. There was even a basket of fresh fruit from the Southern Continent—black persimmons, languor, red bananas, and several other tropical fruits whose names I didn't recognize. The Southern Continent's produce wasn't as abundant as it used to be, and this seemed especially extravagant in San Pelto's December, clearly indicating that it had been delivered quickly using special preservation methods.

"What's the situation outside the gate now?" Walter asked when he returned from the restroom.

"It's not a matter of the size of the gate, it's that every wall of the courtyard is problematic—we're already surrounded in the time it takes to have breakfast!!" Congreve, who was in charge of checking the gift list, was in a flurry of activity, directing his men while muttering to himself, "If they had known better, they should have brought more people when they sailed from Theolane! Caplun isn't here, and neither is Lu! Where's Marley? Can't we tell him to stop going out to sketch every day at this crucial moment! One musical instrument box, one Duchess's jewelry box, one basket of rare fruits, uh, this is..." He mentioned a plain cardboard box without any decoration as he announced the list.

I shook it, and it made a slight rustling sound. When I opened it, I found twelve bottles of ink.

It's not a common brand on the market, but a special edition made specifically for investigators' documents, with only the simple words "Eternal Black" and a round table knife emblem on the label.

"It was a gift from the Special Patrol Department," the assistant said.