musicians of old

Chapter 959 The Tavern (Part 1)
Roy's suggestion to "calm the nerves" was unanimously agreed upon.

Although it was the latter half of New Year's Eve, the city's carnival atmosphere had not completely dissipated. Fireworks were still going off, just at a lower frequency. The noise and horse-drawn carriages were still going off, just at a lower decibel level. It was hard to see large crowds on the streets anymore, but more than half of the shops were still lit up with warm lights.

The "Oak Barrels and Nightingales" pub is located at the end of an alleyway with a strong artistic atmosphere. The storefront is narrow, the signboard is bright, and the heavy oak door is very soundproof. When you push the door open, the warm air is filled with the aroma of herbs, wood, aged wine barrels and stews. The fire in the fireplace is not a bright flame, but a dark red charcoal base, which continuously emits dry heat, slowly drying the damp corners of your clothes.

The interior is not large, but the ceiling is quite high, with thick log beams exposed. The walls are made of irregular stones, and several faded hunting-themed oil paintings and brass wall lamps are hung on them. The long wooden bar is polished smooth and shiny, and behind it are rows of crystal-clear glasses and various bottles of liquor.

There were still twenty or thirty customers in the store at the moment, which is considered a good number of customers and occupancy rate even during normal business hours on a weekday.

The table for four people was against the wall, with partitions and a large pillar, like an island enveloped in warmth and gloom.

The proprietress behind the bar changed the record before coming over; it was a classical guitar solo with a gentle and soothing melody, comforting all those sleepless nights.

"A Godfather, straight, no ice," Roy said to the waiter, then looked at the others.

Joan pulled her coat tighter: "Hot Piodor wine with extra cinnamon and cloves."

“I’d like… um, juice milk?” Shirley’s complexion improved considerably after she sat down. “Or hot honey lemon tea.”

"Give me a small portion of each of these three." Fan Ning sat at the very edge of the cubicle.

"Uh, are you serious?" Roy looked at him.

“Yes, try your options,” Fan Ning said.

"He's quite polite, unlike just now, when he tried our drinks directly." Joan closed the drink menu.

The proprietress personally delivered the drinks. The amber liquid of "Godfather" swirled in a small glass, exuding the aroma of almonds and whiskey; Piotto was served in a heavy ceramic cup, steaming and rich in spices; a large glass of milk and a small dish of honey were served separately, with a small slice of lemon stuck in the rim of the glass.

“I’ve had strange dreams before when I wasn’t feeling well,” Roy said, swirling his glass. “I dreamt of being chased by countless musical scores, each note turning into an insect.”

“I dreamt that I tried to play the flute but it turned into noodles and I couldn’t make a sound no matter what I did,” Joan whispered in agreement.

"That's strange, was it later, or when I was a child?" Sheren held up a warm glass of milk. "Just a few years ago," Joan said.

"How about we talk about how we celebrated the New Year when we were kids?" Roy suggested.

“I grew up in Igs,” Sheeran began slowly. “That was the most lively and carefree time. After my grandparents passed away, I lived in my uncle’s small town estate. Later, it seemed like there were fewer and fewer people. There were a few years when there were very, very few people. But I think that later, God was making it up to me.”

"I don't seem to have many feelings about my childhood, but it was definitely lively, and there was a lot more food." Joan rested her chin on her hand and looked at everyone. "After I had a lot of memories of 'Miss Purple Bean Cake', I don't think I've thought about this issue anymore. I'll listen to you guys."

Roy finished her first glass quickly, swirling the few remaining amber drops in her glass. "I feel the Bologna School's New Year's celebration is pretty much like a 'social and academic showcase.' There's usually a buffet and an art salon. The younger members all want to take this opportunity to present their work to their mentors and important visiting figures. It's high society, you know, everyone has to be proper, smile, talk, and not be impolite. Anyway," she finished the last sip, the aftertaste of almonds and whiskey making her squint slightly, "very formal, very orderly. I usually slip back to my room as soon as the ceremony allows. Madam, I'd like another glass of an older Rioja."

“Hey, Fan Ning, tell me.” Then her eyes flickered.

“Yeah, Caron, how did you used to celebrate New Year’s? In the Turner Museum?” “No, I vaguely remember you saying something later, that your background is actually a bit mysterious.” The other two asked as well.

Fanning shifted his gaze from the embers of the fireplace, seemingly recalling a very distant place: "The place I came from, well, actually had two different 'New Years,' though not far apart, and both in winter." He paused, thinking about how to distinguish between the two. "That 'Great New Year' was very lively, with the streets decorated with lanterns and colorful lights, people going home to reunite, having a very sumptuous New Year's Eve dinner, watching a gala that almost everyone watched, and then at midnight, deafening firecrackers and colorful fireworks would continue for a long time. Then earlier, there was a more conventional 'New Year' that spanned the year, which also had celebrations, but at that time most young people were still in school and could only relax temporarily. For me, it often took place in the music room or the library."

Fan Ning chuckled as she recounted this, a genuine look of reminiscence on her face, tinged with self-deprecation: "However, one year was quite special. A group of classmates and I sneaked into the rooftop of the now-closed 'University Student Activity Center' and played our own haphazardly composed 'New Year's Symphony' on a bunch of broken tape recorders—basically, a forced patchwork of Beethoven's Fifth, Dvořák's Ninth, Mozart's Forty-First, and a bunch of movie soundtracks, played with whistles, banging on railings, and improvisational shouts. Someone even stole the orchestra's triangle, and we were chased down several floors by security personnel with flashlights."

The girls chuckled. Roy got his second "Rioja," Joan ordered the "Godfather" Roy had ordered before, and Sheeran hesitated for a moment before ordering a low-alcohol fruit liqueur, a light pink one served in a stemmed glass, which looked very pretty.

After taking small sips of her second glass, Joan twirled a strand of hair with her finger, her eyes darting around, when suddenly an idea popped into her head: "Come to think of it, it's rare to see just the four of us out this late, chatting casually. Before, we were either rehearsing, dealing with various things, or playing a truth-or-dare game about 'night talks'?"

"Truth or dare?" Roy raised his head. "Sure, but what's the topic?"

“It’s just a ‘night talk,’” Joan said with a hint of slyness and curiosity. “Well, right now it’s a night talk, but it’s a four-person night talk. What we’re going to explore next is a private night talk! Who dares to tell us when Fan Ning had a private night talk with you guys before, and what you talked about!”

Fan Ning, who was sitting on the outermost side, was taken aback.

“Interesting.” Roy actually pondered for a moment, and then, without prior arrangement, he and Joan turned their gazes to Sheeran, who was sandwiched between the two at the very back.

"Why don't you go first, Sheren?"