musicians of old

Chapter 974 Until the Deep Winter Arrives
The air in the corridor seemed to have solidified.

But as Walter solemnly and earnestly accepted it, everyone's eyes immediately turned down to focus on it.

Twenty or thirty different gazes were almost "nailed" to the musical score.

"Teacher," Ann broke the silence first, her voice unsteady at the beginning, quite unlike her singing earlier, "This is the Ninth Symphony, what about the ones before that?"

"The sixth, seventh, and eighth are real, but they are just processes that were performed. They do not belong to this history alone; they exist in 'synchronicity'."

Fanning's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear in the quiet corridor.

"Synchronicity?" At the moment, Ann still felt it was too profound.

"Yes, so for the sake of stability, I have placed the full score manuscript in locations within the fourth to sixth layers of doors, not limited to phases, but mainly depending on other factors."

"If the people behind need it, they can enter the dream and be brought back to the waking world. For some of you, the follow-up will not be too difficult."

An nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

"Teacher, shouldn't we also start preparing for this Ninth Symphony as soon as possible?" Walter returned to the topic at hand.

“No need for a public performance,” Fan Ning said. “Just a rehearsal. We’ll organize one tomorrow at noon, limited to members of the old symphony orchestra who have climbed the tower. We can choose a venue here and hold it in secret.”

"Just rehearsals, no performance?" Walter was taken aback. "So the rehearsals are just for one rehearsal, and then what?"

"That's fine then. Remember, it will start again at noon tomorrow. As for the arrangements for continuing the 'observation,' just follow the instructions given before."

"Okay, I understand, teacher."

After Waldner nodded, Fanning took a step back.

This step seemed like a signal, and everyone in the corridor tensed up.

Fanning's gaze swept over these faces one last time.

He nodded.

Then he turned around and walked towards the exit at the other end of the corridor.

The exit for cast and crew, a side door of the theater building.

The crowd behind him began to move, not following closely, but in a hesitant, pulled-along manner.

More than twenty people, like iron filings attracted by an invisible magnet, moved sparsely following Fan Ning's back. Their footsteps echoed softly in the empty passage, but slowed down and dispersed as they approached, remaining neither too close nor too distant. No one actually caught up with him; everyone maintained a subtle distance, like bidding farewell to a ship that had already cast off its moorings.

At the end of the passage was a heavy glass door, through which the world outside was blurred into a shimmering gray-white.

Two clear marks had appeared on Roy's cheeks at some point.

"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~"

It was something she casually mentioned during a meal at the Walstein Villa that day.

Today is April 15th.

The date he specifically chose, the exact location and itinerary are not important; what matters is that he truly spent a perfect stay with everyone, a dreamlike New Year's Eve.

Until I said goodbye to the early winter and sunshine of San Porto.

Until the harsh winter arrived.

Fanning reached out and pushed open the glass door.

The cold wind, like a wild beast that had been waiting patiently, roared in through the crack in the door, whipping up snowflakes and biting ice crystals that stung their faces. On the street outside the courtyard, pedestrians huddled together, walking shivering, their necks tucked into their collars. Fan Ning stepped out, the glass door slowly closing behind him, shutting out the remaining warmth and the figures inside. The snow beneath the stone steps was soft; his shoes sank into it with a crunching sound.

There is a figure on the lower side.

Mr. F waited in the swirling snow, without an umbrella, his hands in his coat pockets, snowflakes already accumulating on his suit and top hat.

Seeing Fan Ning push open the door and walk down the steps, he looked up, a faint, polite smile on his face, and reached out to pick up the cane leaning against the outer wall.

"Is the observation channel still open?" he asked.

"Can't you feel it?" Fan Ning asked rhetorically.

Mr. F looked around at the snow-covered sky, took a moment to reflect, and then nodded, as if to say, "They admire you so much, it wouldn't be a bad thing to take some of them with you."

"The only one I must take with me is you." Fan Ning's lips curled into an enigmatic smile.

"It's an honor, please." The man extended his cane to point the way.

The two walked out of the courtyard and onto the street side by side, heading straight ahead without turning any corners.

The wind howled low, whipping snowflakes against building facades and making sharp whistling sounds as it swept past mailboxes or sheet metal. The air was filled with the clean, crisp scent of snow, mixed with the white puffs of breath from passing carriages and the smell of tanned leather.

Located in a bustling area of ​​East Mecklenburg, the shop windows on both sides glow with warm yellow lights. Thick condensation forms on the inside of the bakery's glass, through which one can vaguely see the festive pastries decorated with frosting. Further away, the sign of a watch shop sways in the wind and snow, the metal chains clanging against the flagpole producing sporadic tinkling sounds, mostly swallowed by the wind.

Pedestrians, wrapped in heavy coats and scarves covering half their faces, walked briskly against the wind, their boots making a rapid "crunch" sound on the stone pavement covered with a thin layer of snow, which was then smoothed out by the wind in the blink of an eye.

As the two passed a small tavern that was open for business, colorful lights spun on the steps in front of the door. Inside, several men and women sat, holding fine wines. The glass windows were fogged up, and in another seat, a young girl was drawing a pattern on the fogged glass with her fingertips. It looked like the outline of a flower.

Fanning paused slightly in her steps.

He glanced at the tavern, then continued on his way.

The wind whipped snowflakes against my face, and the streetlights turned into dim, yellowish fog balls in the snow curtain, barely illuminating the road a few meters ahead.

As the street stretched out ahead, the outlines of buildings gradually blurred, as if melting into the depths of the snow.

Inside the glass door, the crowd continued to gaze into the distance. The door was opened a crack again, and the howling wind and snow whistled through the narrow gap, making a sound like sobbing. The two figures standing side by side in the distance were first clear, then their edges began to blur, like ink spreading on wet paper. The dark color of the overcoat and the black of the suit became two moving dark spots in the gray-white snow curtain. Their steps were steady, and they did not look back.

The snow fell heavier and heavier.

A series of white curtains, appearing and disappearing in an instant.

The figures in the distance appeared and disappeared between the curtains, and the shadows cast by the buildings on both sides of the street gradually enveloped them.

At one point, a carriage turned out from the street corner, its lights flickering, and in that fleeting moment of light, two silhouettes could be seen side by side.

The carriage drove by, and the lights moved away.

When I looked again, it was empty.

Only the wind and snow continued to howl, sweeping across the empty streets and quickly smoothing over the last traces of snow.

"Let's go back to the symphony hall; it should be mostly over by now." Walter took a deep breath, his voice slow and calm.

As a result, the entrance to the corridor gradually became empty.

All that remained was a slowly blurring handprint left by Hilan's hand as it pressed against the cold glass.

(End of this chapter)