musicians of old

Chapter 979 Quietly Departing (The Finale, Part 2)

The hall for "noon"?
In the secret rehearsal room, everyone stared intently at the cracked, enormous "mirror".

The three young ladies, Fanning's three students, and a few others, including Caplan, moved closer together, carefully observing the aura emanating from them.

The cracks weren't sharp; in some ways, they were more like water—a sacred, warm, weighty liquid of light—like a river flowing in a riverbed, something you could "touch" and that had "texture."

If you gaze at it for a longer time, you'll feel like you're not standing, but floating. The tactile sensation of the wooden floor beneath your feet is still there, but gravity has disappeared, or rather, it has been replaced by another, more fundamental force field. You can hear a subtle sound, like silk being torn and stitched, as if the space itself is re-weaving its texture.

Looking towards the end of the rifts of light, some saw a desert, with undulating dunes under the scorching sun, their curves eternal and despairing.

Some people saw the deep sea, where schools of luminous fish traced fleeting trails in the darkness.

Some saw cities, some similar to Ufrançois, with steel, chimneys, giant ships, and airships, but many more were unlike anything they had ever seen before. Some buildings were formed from the symbiosis of crystals and vines, with non-glowing lanterns floating in the air. Some were shrouded in gentle breezes and mist, with pavilions, towers, clear mountain springs, and shimmering rainbows. Other cities were ablaze with neon lights, with countless shuttle-like objects speeding through the dazzling colors.
Some people have a smaller perspective: a classroom where children sit in a circle and the teacher is drawing sheet music on the blackboard; others see war, celebrations, funerals, or new births.
This is the hall that runs through the "noon" period.

Countless timelines and countless possibilities, like a kaleidoscope torn apart and haphazardly pieced together, unfold simultaneously in the cracks of the mirror, and are then "folded" into a larger picture.

"Does it look somewhat familiar?" Despite it being an extremely transcendental phenomenon, Walter asked this question after staring at it for a long time.

"Yes." Caplund nodded seriously. "The Tower World seems to have experienced this state before, you and I did, but that state should have passed by now."

“Noon,” Roy uttered a phrase. “The previous branches of possibilities were once bound together like a cable by a bunching, but after that point in time, the other threads should have ‘curled up’ again, and are almost meaningless to us now.”

"But just now when we prayed to 'Original Light,' these curled-up nodes were temporarily stretched out again?" Joan said.

“So Karon wants us.” Hilan’s voice still trembled slightly, without changing his previous form of address. “What does he want us to do by opening something like this? I don’t know his current situation. Is He now the Witness, or the ‘Radiance’? Or the ‘Gathering Point’? I don’t know how he is now.”

Joan boldly moved closer to experience it.

The secret rehearsal room was completely silent, with only the faint sounds of countless images moving around the "hall".

“This hall won’t last long,” Joan concluded confidently. “The special state of ‘noon’ is something that can only be encountered once in the course of the world’s evolution over an extremely long period of time. The thing that Karon created is not very stable. I estimate that it will last until midnight tonight at most, which is less than 11 hours.”

Fanning's current situation is certainly not very optimistic.

He must have done everything in his power to deliver these revelations and to bring down this miracle through the dissipation of the mystery surrounding the first rehearsal of the Symphony No. 9 in D major.

Now, the three of them are doing their best to figure out Fan Ning's intentions.

Could we truly escape the threat from the higher realms by using this "hall" to travel to other branches of history? Or would this offer the opportunity to "ascend higher" and "gain greater power"? Could we one day be able to help Him?

However, it is very likely that "there is a higher realm above the higher realm".

Faced with the despair of this mystical agnosticism, this infinitely chaotic world hierarchy, what use is "increasing strength"? To one day defeat the upper realm, and then one day defeat the upper realm of the upper realm?

Hierarchy
“That New Year’s Eve,” Roy said with a look of reminiscence, “we talked about the Zero History where those masters were. Mr. Fanning said, ‘History used to be one-way.’ Later, the ‘disenchantment ritual’ changed everything, creating the Abnormal Zone and the ‘worm.’ Although the abnormality is gone now, this complex structure has been preserved.”

“Yes, Caron also mentioned a ‘puzzle’.” Joan’s eyes flickered. “He said that he returned from the church that day, trying to deduce why the ‘Undying Flame’ had issued the divine oracle, creating so much chaos and strife. But the conclusion he reached was that the structure of ‘noon’ in later generations seemed to be exactly what the ‘Undying Flame’ wanted to create. However, it was a hasty emergency avoidance that caused too many flaws and consequences.”

“Levels, levels,” Roy seemed to catch a glimpse of a possibility at that moment. “By the way, have you guys noticed—”

"The so-called despairing truth of 'there is an even higher realm above the higher realm' has a similar sentence structure to a secret passage describing the worldview of 'noon'!"

"There are migrations outside of migrations?" Shilan blurted out.

"There is a Radiant Tower beyond the Radiant Tower?" Joan froze, completely still.

The three of them seemed to grasp the true meaning of Fan Ning's revelation in an instant.

Imitation is wrong; becoming is wrong.
It should be "identification of status".

“We must go to this ‘hall’.” Roy stepped forward.

The upper realm is probably invincible; let alone resist it, it's beyond comprehension.

Even if one day you successfully establish a firm foothold and possess a set of knowledge that will not collapse in an instant, there are still countless "levels" above that.

Very desperate.

Fanning, in his final moments, told a lie to all the witnesses in the world. He replaced the "Gathering Point" and gave the name "Original Light," a comprehensible and supplicable name at the level of the Lord of the Witnesses. He faced that vast, terrifying despair alone. However, the probability of the accidental event of the "Gathering Point" inexplicably extending into the lower "levels" happening again over a long period of time is almost infinite.
And the only glimmer of hope in this despair is
"noon".

In other words, by utilizing the "three paths that are not considered," the remaining somewhat chaotic tributaries can be clarified.

Stability, growth, leaving behind remarkable achievements, imbuing different unique meanings, forming a clearer and more artistically beautiful structure, tree-like or something else, all pointing towards the current "mainstream".

Will this grant us the power to contend with the higher realms?
I'm afraid not.

But that's not the point.

It's not a matter of "strength".

It is pointless to contend with the higher realms, for the outside world is indescribable and unfathomable.

The purpose of doing this is to create a structure that is similar to "there is a higher boundary above the upper boundary".

In other words, the way to survive in "infinite levels" is not to struggle and desperately climb one or two levels higher.

Instead, it allows the new world upon which everyone depends for survival to also form a structure similar to "infinite layers".

In this way, it is no longer a "defective product", no longer exists as "the lower realm of that upper realm", and no longer becomes the dregs of a concept that may be destroyed by accidental events at any time.

It is completely independent; although it cannot comprehend the "infinite levels" outside, the outside world cannot comprehend it either.

It's unknown how many years this will take.

It might be the day that the ethereal Symphony No. 10 in F-sharp major is completed.

Its tonic may be defined as "F-sharp," a key that is a semitone higher than F, which is a metaphor and invitation to transcend the inevitable end and reach the kingdom of freedom.

It might be an unfulfilled invitation.

The invitation may eventually arrive, but that will be a period of time that is almost infinite.

But there is absolutely no other way.

This is the only possible path that Fanning pointed out.

After a serious explanation, attentive listening, and a long silence, everyone in the secret rehearsal room finally nodded slowly.

"It has to be this way," the musicians of the old symphony orchestra said solemnly.

They were all participants in the "Genesis Concert".

They must first go to the next lower tributary so that the complex and multifaceted "Wu" generation can then have the possibility of further stabilization, development, and clear organization.

Is it absolutely necessary to do it this way? Yes, it absolutely is.

“If the ‘hierarchy’ we create also leads to misfortune or injustice, will it disrupt the stability of ‘noon’?” A young woman in the violin group asked with some concern. She had been selected through the arts rescue program and greatly admired Fanning’s character. “The ‘path’ of the new world is to ‘disregard all three.’ I think that if that happens, it would be the last thing Mr. Fanning would want to see. Moreover, if the hierarchy expands further, the resulting stability issues must indeed be considered.”

“I think at least those who worship ‘Original Light’ wouldn’t do that,” Shiran gave a firm answer. “We wish that each generation would have its own good fortune and be illuminated by the beautiful sunlight. And the further we go into the main stream, the closer we are to the truth of art, the heavier the responsibility of ‘protecting’ becomes.”

“I can leave right now, that’s not a problem,” an older artist from the brass section said. “I was prepared for this long before we even set off for the tower. But, Mr. Director and the ladies in charge, shouldn’t we reconsider? Are we all leaving? Does this current timeline not need anyone to stay?”

“No need.” Joan shook her head. “Mr. Fanning has returned all the ‘grids’ of the 0th Masters here. ‘Geg’ is a product of free will, a variable outside the endgame, and has its own special characteristics. Even the ‘Undying Fire’ of the old world can use its characteristics to construct the ‘Slaughtering the Ox’, let alone the current Him plus all the returned 0th Masters. There is no need to worry about the stability of this spacetime.”

It would be a waste of resources for any of these core members to stay here.

No matter how other tributaries develop, this will always be the most abundant generation closest to the "Original Light".

The current problem lies in constructing and organizing the hierarchy.

Roy went over and spoke a few words with Walter and Capron.

Walter made a brief arrangement.

This rehearsal room, in its "noon" hall, should still have about 10 hours of remaining time.

First, in any case, everyone should decide for themselves whether to stay or leave. Second, before midnight, go home, communicate with those who need it, arrange some personal matters, and perform some necessary farewell rites to this generation. There should still be some time for all of these.

Not a single musician answered "no".

Just as the old artist in the brass section said, since they were able to decide to climb the tower and achieve such a feat as the "Genesis Concert," they had already accepted Mr. Fanning's selection beforehand.

Moreover, there is another important point.

The worldview of "Noon" is not a structure existing in literary imagination such as "multi-dimensional" or "other world". It does not mean that when a person arrives at a certain history, he leaves the previous history.

The most distinctive feature of The Secret History is its "synchronicity".

Their unique departure, the loss they created in this historical context, is like a minor injury to the body, which will heal after a period of time.

The self that "left" will smoothly "reappear".

Of course, the memory will be slightly different.

Because the more important "primary perspective" that had witnessed the "Concert of Creation" or the "Oracle of the Original Light" was taken to a new layer of history.

Memories are not shared, abilities are not passed down, and destinies differ, but beliefs, concerns, great deeds, small acts of kindness, the pursuit of beautiful things—all these things, both the self and others, will influence each other in the unseen world.

After Walter made the arrangements, half of the old symphony orchestra went directly into the bizarre and shattered mirror.

Some people went out temporarily and then returned several hours later to enter.

During this time, Walter and Caplan also went out briefly to meet with some senior executives of the theater chain in charge of administration, as well as their families. They quickly returned and quietly stayed in the rehearsal room with Sheeran, Roy, Joan, Luna, and Anne.

They watched as the musicians disappeared one by one into the kaleidoscope of light and shadow in the hall.

With each person leaving, the rehearsal room becomes a little emptier and quieter.

“Goodbye, friends.” Caplan took off his glasses and wiped them, smiling sincerely as he sighed, “I once thought that death was the end, but I am grateful for the ‘character’ that I didn’t lose because of my pursuit, and I am also grateful for the ‘original light’ that illuminated one of the later generations on that artistic path.” “As for the position of art director, I have always felt that I am not actually that good at it. Thank you for your support and understanding.”

Walter bowed deeply to the three chief ladies and his two junior sisters.

"May my condition be as it was in the past months, and as God preserves my days."

The two stepped into the shattered mirror one after the other.

"Sister, if we hold hands, will we end up in the same place?" Even at this very last moment, little Luna still felt a pang of sadness.

“I’m afraid not.” Miss Nightingale smiled at her. “I later heard some musicians talk about their experience of reaching the ‘X coordinate.’ The ruins were spinning amorphously. Perhaps their landing point was influenced by some secret historical laws, but it certainly couldn’t be controlled like that. I feel something similar about this hall.”

“But,” she blinked encouragingly, “since they’re all below the houses, I think the teacher will know. If the teacher knows, that’s enough.”

"really?"

"of course."

The two left hand in hand.

In the end, only Sheeran, Joan, and Roy remained.

The three stood face to face, surrounded by countless flowing scenes of time and space, with light casting shifting patches of color on their faces.

“Well then,” Joan began, her voice a little hoarse, “that’s all for now.”

Sheeran looked at her, then at Roy, many words welling up in her throat, then stuck out, only managing to slowly squeeze out, "The multiple meanings of 'farewell' that we talked about that night. I never imagined it would be like this. That guy was actually the first one we said goodbye to. The very first one."

Seeing that her emotions were becoming somewhat out of control again, Roy tried to make his smile appear gentle and calm, and softly recited as if recalling something:
“When you strike the shepherd, the sheep are scattered, and you will all stumble because of me, until the day when I drink new wine with you in my kingdom”—that’s what Mr. Fanning said when he was preaching on earth. I think that He, now the “Original Light,” is surely telling us this with a smile.

"We part here, perhaps so that we may one day reunite."

Hiran stared at her blankly.

“Alright, you guys go first,” Roy said with a smile. “The last one is a bit more difficult, I’ll take on the challenge.”

"Goodbye, and we must see each other again." Joan took a deep breath, waved to the two of them, and as her figure disappeared from the view of the hall, the hem of her skirt swayed in a relieved and light arc.

“I will remember those last words.” Shiran’s voice choked with emotion as she finally turned around abruptly, bursting into the crack in the mirror.

Now, only Roy remains.

She quietly looked around and surveyed everything in the empty rehearsal room.

Conductor's podium, water cup, music stand, violin case, timpani, rehearsal schedule, sweaters hanging on a clothes rack
Close your eyes tightly and take a deep breath.

The figure in the light red long trench coat disappeared from the mirror.

The ripples dissipated.

The crack has healed.

The rehearsal room was completely empty.

In the hall at noon, all the images began to flow faster, then blurred, then dimmed, and the light receded like a tide, revealing the outline of the original black piano.

Silence took over everything.

Some people left behind water glasses that were still half full, the timpani drumheads gleamed a soft, matte white in the slanting light, and the light gray sweater that someone forgot to take was hanging empty on the clothes rack, like an unfinished embrace.

The streets gradually turned orange-red, then settled into a melancholy blue-purple. The outline of Uvrancel became clear in the twilight of a harsh winter, and lights from thousands of homes lit up one after another.

The snow began to fall again, turning from fine powder into a blanket of fluffy snowflakes, silently covering rooftops, streets, barges on the canals, and church vaults. The city's hustle and bustle was absorbed by the thick layer of snow, and the world seemed to sink into a huge, soft cotton pillow.

Until midnight approached.

The entire steel city, along with all the partings, waiting, memories, and hopes within it, sank into the deepest silence of winter, as if a long dream of reunion was just beginning.

One day in a small seaside town, the early summer sun was very generous. At the Erlicht University branch of the original optical school, the light shone through the tall arched windows, making the wooden floorboards scorching hot. The air was filled with the salty smell of the sea breeze, mixed with the fragrance of wisteria and bougainvillea in the courtyard.

In the small reading room, six pairs of young eyes were fixed on the girl in front of them, who was wearing a light red dress, a thin belt, and her hair loosely tied up.

Today, our instructor Ruoyi, who is here on a pilgrimage, is only sixteen or seventeen years old. She is the youngest enlightened one in the history of the school, an absolute genius and a legendary figure.

For these young people who have just touched the edge of the mysterious world, if it weren't for the school headquarters' tour of teachings, they would definitely not be qualified to be guided and taught by Ruoyi. This is a great fortune, but also an invisible and heavy pressure.

At this moment, on the small round table in the center of the lecture hall, the ritual to protect the mind has been set up. Several small brass essential oil vaporizers surround a specially made set of candlesticks, which contain liquids of different colors and exude a mysterious, peaceful and pure aura.

The moment the purple, luminous droplets came into contact with the hydrosol, the entire device seemed to ignite from within, emitting a hazy and sacred halo.

"Relax, feel your breath, and let this secret atmosphere be your vessel."

Ruoyi's voice was gentle and calm, carrying a strange soothing power, like the rhythm of waves gently lapping against the beach.

The young people closed their eyes as instructed, their breathing gradually synchronizing with the cleansing atmosphere in the room.

Time seemed to stretch out, yet it also felt like only a moment had passed.

A glimpse into the shifting currents.

Almost simultaneously, the six people's bodies trembled slightly to varying degrees. Some gasped for breath, like drowning people surfacing; some unconsciously turned their mouths down, revealing instinctive fear; some frowned, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads, but their clenched fists held a hint of longing.

The silence lasted for about ten seconds.

“Tell me your feelings,” Ruoyi said.

“I…I saw it, no, I felt it,” a brown-haired girl spoke first, her voice still trembling. “It was so high, so far away, like standing on the edge of a cliff looking into an endless abyss, or like being thrown into the starry sky. If I looked at it for even one more second, I…I felt like I would be completely ‘erased’.” The fear of facing the sublime remained on her face.

Another young boy wearing glasses stared blankly at his chest and murmured, "No, what I feel is... a call. It's terrifying, but something up there is calling to me... so strongly, making me want to reach for it at all costs."

Ruoyi listened quietly, her gaze sweeping over the young and bewildered faces one by one. Deep in her eyes, a faint, almost tender pain and understanding flickered.

"This is not a feeling unique to you."

The girl spoke, further expanding on the basic hidden knowledge she had previously imparted. Her voice was softer than the sea breeze, yet it clearly reached the hearts of everyone present.

"Because in the spirit of each of us lies the divine spark that was first thrown from the 'gathering point'."

"This is a longing etched deep in the soul, a deep-seated yearning, a longing as deep as fallen leaves returning to their roots."

“Master Ruoyi,” the girl who had spoken earlier mustered her courage to ask, “since the highest point in the world is the ‘Gathering Point,’ and the relatively lower point is the ‘Radiance,’ then what is the ‘Original Light’ in our school’s name?”

This question made the others raise their heads as well, their eyes filled with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.

“That is the radiance of a greater world.” The girl smiled faintly, her fingertips brushing against the warm wooden window frame.

Newcomers to dream control and the concept of dream transfer are still somewhat confused.

"For those of you who have just begun to understand, all you need to know is that once you become full members, 'Original Light' will be the most important witness you will study."

The course ended in a tranquil yet slightly wistful atmosphere. The prospective members of the school bid farewell one by one, their eyes filled with admiration for the young woman. The reading room returned to silence, with only the sunlight, the fragrance of flowers, and the endless, distant murmur of the waves remaining.

Light streamed into the room, seeped into the fabrics, and dripped onto the skin.

Ruoyi suddenly felt a deep, almost tearful weariness and peace.

"Respected Professor Ruoyi," a knock sounded twice on the door, and an elderly man who looked like a professor respectfully pushed it open a crack. "What would you like to hear about the upcoming teaching tour?"

"I'd like to rest for a while first."

The girl leaned on the table, turned her face to the side, and rested her head on her arm.

She stretched out her body, like a cat that had finally found a safe corner, and snuggled up to the warmest golden spot on the table by the window.

A faint melody drifted from above the reading room, as if some people were rehearsing.

An uncommon chamber music ensemble, a string quartet plus a harp, that's all the instrumentation for that movement deep in my memory. The melody is sincere and tender, with occasional hints of melancholy and sadness, but ultimately it's all about bright light.

The light caressed her hair, danced on her eyelashes, gilded her cheeks, and warmed her back.

“We invoke the original light, the musician of the past, the first cause of creation.”

"The silent lover, the price of witnessing, the chords that have passed, the invitation that has not been fulfilled."

"The foundation upon which these three are insignificant, the beacon of stars, the echo that never ceases, the faint light that survives alone in the polar night."

As her consciousness grew increasingly weary, Ruoyi murmured softly to herself.

Occasionally, the clouds shift, and the sunlight on the table is temporarily replaced by shadows, but it will soon return to its golden warmth.

This is also the brightest summer day.

A tear slipped down from the corner of her tightly closed eye without warning, only to be quickly evaporated by the heat, leaving a barely visible mark.

The girl's breathing gradually became even and long.

The spirituality gradually floated and blurred in the revelation and warmth, and finally a very faint, almost invisible smile appeared on the corner of my mouth.

The distant bay is a clear blue, dotted with sails, and the sky further away is clear and boundless, with scattered clouds. Light has fallen on everyone who is huddled up, waiting, or moving forward.

Eternally.

Quietly.

Warm and cozy.

(End of the book)