musicians of old

Chapter 960 The Tavern (Part 2)
"Ah, me?."

Sheeran was still processing the meaning of Joan's "idea" when it had already begun? And the "spearhead" was pointed at her first. She immediately felt the effects of the alcohol rising in her head, and her cheeks flushed slightly.

“A previous one, uh, a private, late-night talk?” she repeated, her gaze shifting for a moment before finally settling on the pale pink liquid of the liqueur in front of her. “It was once, when we were preparing for the student arts festival performance, uh, we were rehearsing Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E minor with piano accompaniment. Hmm, no, it doesn’t seem like we really talked much, if it has to be a ‘late-night talk.’” She thought seriously for a moment. “Oh, there was one time, you were all there at first, at my house, when we were discussing preparations for the old symphony orchestra’s opening season.”

She recalled, her speech slowing: "It was the ten concerto performances that Caron planned, plus the first Impressionist Bimonthly Art Exhibition, plus discussions about the orchestra's internal structure and management model. Uh, yes, Mr. Caplund and his family even had a conducting lesson. After you left, Caron helped me pack my things, and we kept talking about Mr. Caplund. Then I asked him to play the Goldberg Variations, uh, a 'make-up listening,' since I hadn't heard it live at the memorial event in Beijing—that's it."

"Is that even possible? I should have asked for a 'supplementary listening' too, but I still couldn't hear it." Joan's eyes widened.

"Anything else you want to hear?" Roy pressed, lightly touching his lips to the rim of his glass before adding his own "rules" for the game, "Well, you're allowed to ask 'not too much,' okay? Just once or twice, how about that?"

Sherland thought for a moment and said, "Tchaikovsky's 'June Barcarolle' and Liszt's 'Liebestraum'."

“Isn’t this just a personal concert? There’s even an encore.” Joan made a smug gesture, her eyes gleaming mischievously once again. “Then let’s ask a more important question—did you stay overnight? I guess that’s not too much to ask.”

“It’s okay. If the questions are ‘too intrusive,’ you can refuse to answer.” Roy nodded in agreement.

"Ah," Shiran couldn't help but glance at Fanning, but seeing how intently Fanning was listening to the conversation, one might think he was just joining in on someone else's fun. "Yes, yes, well, it was just him staying overnight. There were too many 'topics' that day, and it got too late, so we let him stay. Right, I think it was early the next morning. He had to catch a train to Santa Rambla, yes, to visit the painters and also have a piano lesson."

"Oh, I see." Feeling that his curiosity had been somewhat satisfied, Roy rested his chin on his hand, nodded, and then naturally turned his gaze to Joan.

“Okay, it’s my turn?” Joan turned her eyes as if recalling something. “Hey, I’ve been thinking, back when we were in Tiolain, we didn’t really have any ‘night talks’. But we did have some when Karon was on the run, since it was easier for me to ‘track’ him then. In the Southern Continent and in the Abnormal Zone, those topics were all too ‘mystical,’ all about analyzing bizarre situations.”

"Not specific enough, let me expand on it." Having just been caught off guard, Hiran now took the initiative.

“There was one time, when we were sailing at night on the deck, we talked about poetry,” Joan said. “I don’t know where he found it, but it was some poems with a very refined and unique style, with beautiful imagery that made people’s imaginations run wild.”

Under their persistent questioning, she added details about the scenery, the environment, memorable quotes, and the background of her trip.

“Alright, now it’s our Roy’s turn. What did you and Carol talk about last night? I bet it was something more ‘serious’.” Joan’s tone became teasing at this point.

“Resurrection.” Roy propped his elbows on the table, his fingers resting on his forehead. “Okay, if you guys think it’s ‘serious,’ then it’s easier for me to say. It was at the St. Euphini Manor. That guy wasn’t in a good state at the time. His creative process wasn’t going well. He was having a clash with the Special Patrol Department. A lot of people died in the subway incident. So I let him stay for a few days. He wrote a scherzo movement here, and as a thank you, he played Mozart K.330 for me the next morning.”

“A few days.” Hilan grasped the first key point first, “What else did they do after that?”

“It’s only been two days. I wrote for two days, and then I even went to an opera,” Roy said after thinking for a moment.

"Where did he sleep at night?" Joan pressed for her second question. "Oh, I forgot to ask Sheeran that question too."

"Sofa." "Sofa." "Sofa." The other three said in unison. Roy then tapped the table on Fanning's side with his fingernail. "Hey, give your opinion on this game."

"Hmm?" Fan Ning turned his head. "This is a great way to play! I think it's excellent."

“Very good, right? Then it’s your turn.” Roy winked and smiled. “You can name three people: what did you talk about with one of us late at night?”

"Why do you all order one, but I have to order three?" Fan Ning questioned. "Why didn't you ask that when you ordered three drinks?" Shirley said.

“It can’t be any of the ones we just mentioned,” Joan emphasized.

“Okay. There are still plenty.” Fanning took a breath. “During a break at the student music festival after-party, Shiran and I talked about whether we could get our hands on a ‘famous violin’ in the future.”

"When Roy and I were preparing for the premiere of the First Symphony, we talked late into the night in the school office about choosing musicians."

“Joan, let me think… The night before the premiere of my Second Symphony, this girl suddenly came up to me and asked me to rehearse the Sicilian Dance with her. After we finished, she wanted to ‘ask for leave.’ When I asked her why, she stammered and couldn’t explain it clearly. Later, I got angry and scolded her.”

Roy laughed heartily, and Joan blushed, muttering softly, "You're just going to scold me. Why bring up such a nasty thing?"

Hilan, still wanting more, asked with a hint of curiosity, "Could we hear something else? Is there anything else?"

Fanning was silent for a moment, just as the record finished playing a song, and the rustling sound of the needle tracing the blank area was particularly clear.

“Yes.” He finally nodded, his voice very soft. “In the far, almost distant future of the East, I hosted a young woman who was a major client and had a tendency towards depression. She was very beautiful and wealthy. We discussed business very smoothly, but we mostly talked about Nietzsche, Goethe, and the starry sky that she imagined out of thin air. And the next day, I even quit my job because of that conversation. In the study of a castle I can never return to, I accompanied someone I greatly respected and liked to read poetry, and I received a rather ‘equal’ scolding. Later, I secretly ran back and took one of her things. Also, in a place with a less-than-ideal atmosphere, I accompanied a group of pitiful children, but a kind and gentle girl kept helping them. Later, I realized that I might have heard the names of those children in this world. I might have done the same things as that girl.”

Fanning didn't specify who it was, but the few words she uttered painted a picture that made everyone seem to see many vague yet warm outlines.

These silhouettes have a symbiotic intimacy, yet they also possess a transcendence in quantity, as if they are all part of the weight that everyone shares, and fragments that make him who he is today.

“Them,” Shiran asked cautiously.

“They’re all where they’re supposed to be.” Fan Ning said gently but firmly.

"How did Joan come up with such a great game pick?" Roy exclaimed.

It feels like these memories, when revisited, touched upon something and triggered a chain reaction.

I feel like I'm starting to think about something, like I'm about to understand that life, death, joy, and sorrow in this world are not a single line but a net.

However, they are not yet fully aware that a certain psychological suggestion has been in effect from the beginning, guiding the generation and selection of "ideas".

When asked about it midway through the match, Fanning commented that it was "very good".

"That's wonderful, thank you all." The light pink liquid in Xilan's glass was empty, and she stared at the remaining fruit pulp at the bottom. "It feels like the world has been making up for me ever since I met you all. It feels like I've been spoiled by a safe and happy 'shell' since coming down from the tower."

The light inside the bar's private booths remained dim and warm, and the soft fabric of the sofas and chairs felt very comforting. If only time could stand still. Although one could find a reason to continue this harmonious, warm, and healing feeling, if this bar only existed for the latter part of the night after New Year's Eve, it wouldn't even need to find a reason to continue.

“Yes,” Roy suddenly sighed, “So, Mr. Fanning, Senior Fanning.”

"If there is anything in this world that is not real, or if there is any element of a 'dream' or something like that, please tell me."