by Feng Yue
A pile of books tumbled down like garbage. Formless power rose from the dust and hands formed by dust quickly organized the fallen notebooks. They were organized into squares even before they could land on the ground. From a bird’s point of view, the useless papers and records looked as if they had been organized purposefully by some kind of power. They were like puzzle pieces in the hands of a child, built into the shape of a castle, city walls, fortresses, plazas…
Ye Qingxuan had fallen in the “pool” in the center of the “castle,” splashed by the flying dust and papers. Within the countless flying dust particles, a tiny shadow appeared in the dust. It looked down at Ye Qingxuan and threw a heavy book at him. Then, it disappeared.
A faint voice floated in the air. “Remember marble.”
“Thank you! Of course!” Ye Qingxuan waved at the darkness and hurriedly climbed out from the “pool.” He flipped open the book as if he had found a treasure chest. The small bell on his wrist vibrated as a reminder that the day was ending soon. He did not have much time, but he did not care and quickly started skimming. “Introduction to Eastern Music Theory, Introduction to Eastern Music Theory, Introduction to Eastern Music Theory…”
The flipping of pages suddenly stopped. In the silence, Ye Qingxuan stared at the column of blank cells and the lonely name on the upper left corner. His expressions changed, oscillating between grief and joy.
The dancing dust finally settled, dirtying his white hair and entering his eyes. Maybe because he had spaced out, tears flowed out from the faint pain. The tears rolled down his cheeks, landing on the sign-in sheet. Gradually, it dampened the ink, blotting the name in cursive.
“I found it.” Ye Qingxuan grasped the sign-in sheet and murmured, “Father, I found you.”
After five years, he had finally proven that the man had not left mysteriously. He had once lived in this world, and had left behind the smallest mark. Even if it was small, it was enough to fill Ye with happiness, tears streaming down his face.
—
The ink blot on the sign-in sheet continued to bloom. The name had turned into a messy ink blotch, but stained by the tears, the words seemed to have been given a new life. They grew quickly on the page, transforming into a lively rune.
Shocked, Ye Qingxuan looked down at the ink. They were words that someone had once written in elaborate script with equal amounts drunkenness and ridicule. “After talking to the old guy yesterday, I learned something of Western music theory and composed this piece. I shall record it here for future fate.”
The flowery notes took up practically the entire page. They danced like dragons and snakes, imprinting in the youth’s eyes. Following that, the entire page glowed with cool moonlight. The glow radiated from the paper like a fountain. Countless music notes brewed in the light, solidifying and streaming into Ye Qingxuan with the flowing light. The fantasy-like melody sounded in his mind, invading his soul!
—
Suddenly, a sonorous melody played. Ye Qingxuan was pulled into a hazy illusion, uncontrollably submerged in the sudden music. It was the sound of a piano, but the melody was not gentle and graceful, but sharp and manic!
As if a child were banging on the keys of a piano, the music was random and crazed. It was sharp like metal cracking, copper scraping, and glass shattering. Tritones alternated, impacting the soul. The unsettling chords were favored by Satan, and therefore no proper musician used them. But her they had been used to create a seamless melody! The music was like a demon roaring and wailing. One could not help but fall into despair and pain until the entire world turned pitch black, never to have light again.
Ye Qingxuan shook, grasping his throbbing head. As his vision spun, a giant brush seemed to write calligraphy on his brain. It was forceful and aggressive, carving the music notes and melody into his soul. He would never forget the name of the music score—“Black Friday.”
—
Late at night, when the youth was long gone, ghostly figures appeared in the corner of the library. They organized the mess of books and resources Ye Qingxuan had left on the ground, carefully putting them back in their places one by one. As they organized, the books scattered on the floor returned to the bookshelves.
When they picked up the “Personnel Files of the Royal Academy of Music,” a resume that the youth had missed fell out, and floated down on the floor. It was from a military report, and included a few lines of cramped text. At the top, there was a picture of an old man. His expression was wooden and dazed, and his white hair curled slightly.
“‘Abraham Wilson.’ School of Abstinence, Resonance level.
Receiver of the Royal Rose Medal (later stripped of it) and the title of Honorable Citizen (later stripped). Former commander of the Dragon Riders. Sentenced to life imprisonment by the Court for committing a grave sin during a mission. Vouched for by Earl Grey Maxwell and pardoned by the Queen. Now allowed to work in the Royal Academy of Music as a professor of the School of Music History.
No record of marriage.
Kin: Adoptee—Charles.
Note: this man is extremely dangerous. Repeat, this man is extremely dangerous! Do not let him come in contact with any swords or arrows. Forbidden to wield ironware. Do not threaten or attack him in order to keep him from overreacting! Anyone who interacts with him should be strictly recorded.
Cease any attempts at removing the prosthetic arm. If he overreacts, send him to confinement. At the same time, at least three musicians must apply the aether seal on him. He must stay within three kilometers of the radius of the Royal Academy of Music. If he attempts to escape, shoot him at once. Do not question him about his position and mission from the military. In addition, do not mention any topic related to “Gaius” before him.
The military is not responsible for any losses suffered if the Academy does not obey these rules.
Over!”
93 Playing for Charles
Late at night, at the downtown pier in Avalon, an old man stood in the shadows of the dark night, silently smoking his pipe.
He was once the infamous and feared debtor of downtown, the source of many people’s insomnia—Ghosthand. But now, he sat on a worn wooden box, waiting.
Finally, a boat that smelled strongly of fish came through the still waters and stopped by the pier. A wooden plank was laid down like a bridge, and tanned fisherman began transporting fish and crabs onto land.
Ghosthand watched wordlessly as these valuables passed by him. First, there was the fish and crabs, then there was the wine, weapons, silk, and porcelain hidden deep inside the ship.
“Is that all for this time?” Ghosthand took the cargo list from the boatman. Taking a glance, his brows furrowed. “Who added in their cargo halfway through?”
The boatman hesitated before saying in a low voice, “Someone entered the boat through our channel in Wales. He seemed high-up, so we didn’t dare ask too much.”
“Didn’t you say that this shipment is very important?” Ghosthand squinted, causing the boatman to start panicking.
“We did, but he insisted. And he also said…he said…”
“What did he say?” Ghosthand took the pipe from his mouth, something sinister appearing on his old face.
“I said that I knew you,” said a voice in the boat behind him. “And so he brought me over.”
Ghosthand stiffened, his muscles tightened as if he were facing a great enemy. He could not sense the presence of anyone in the boat, but the man was there, standing in the shadows like a spirit. He had been watching Ghosthand that entire time. And his voice was so familiar!
“Who is it?” Ghosthand turned around stiffly, suspicion in his eyes.
Leather shoes stepped onto the deck. Someone walked out from the shadows of the boat and onto land, walking into the moonlight. His face was hidden under the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, but one could vaguely see that the corner of lips were curled up, as if smiling.
Ghosthand flinched, the dangerous look in his eyes dissipated. Shocked a
nd surprised, he stepped back and took a deep breath. “Sir?” He stepped forward, trying to see the face clearly.
“What, you don’t recognize me anymore?” The newcomer took off his hat. Wrinkles covered his weathered face, but his eyes were sharp and bright like torches. “I thought everything had changed in the years I was gone. But you’re still as slow as before, and I suddenly feel relieved.”
“S…Sir, is it really you?” Ghosthand moved closer to study the face as if he were looking at a hallucination. But when he realized that the man was real and not a figment of his imagination, he laughed as if the most wonderful thing had happened.
“Welcome back, Sir.” Ghosthand strode forward and embraced the man tightly. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this day.”
“My apologies. There were some matters to attend to, so I returned a bit late.” The man known as the Shaman embraced his old friend and looked up into the distance, lamenting.
The moon shone in the distance, its silver light spilled over the whole city. The towering landscape of the city against the mountains cast a huge shadow. The shadow’s points were sharp and menacing, piercing one’s eyes. That was Avalon.
“Old friend, I’m back,” the Shaman murmured with a smile.
—
At the pier, there was only the sound of crashing waves.
The Shaman produced two copper tubes from his pocket and handed Ghosthand one. “Want one?”
Smiling, Ghosthand accepted it and took a cigar from the tube. He sniffed it and furrowed his brows. “To be honest, even after all these years, your taste still hasn’t improved.”
“You’re still heartless with your words.” Laughing, the Shaman lit his cigar and inhaled. He breathed out a cloud of wispy smoke. “So many years have passed. I’ve almost forgotten what it looks like here.” He looked back at the pier. Everything was the same but the people were different. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s a pity. No matter how much it has changed, the rot in the bones is still the same.”
Ghosthand shrugged, “That’s how Avalon is, Sir.”
“Yes, that is Avalon.” The Shaman snapped his finger and asked, “How are things? Friend, give me some bad news. You know I need it to get back into spirit.”
Ghosthand cocked his head and pondered. He shook his head. “If you want bad news, it’s everywhere,” he said straightforwardly. “To be honest, you’ve been forgotten by the city. Sir, rules don’t exist in Avalon anymore. Ever since that mysterious ‘professor’ appeared, everything became messier and messier.
“The Indian drug traders, the Black Hand Gang who charges people a protection fee, Asgardian soldiers who have nowhere to go after disarmament, pyramid schemes for the elites, black markets for silk and spices. Thanks to the ‘professor’ who guided them, more and more people think that it’s easy to make a living by taking others’ lives.”
“That’s okay, they will know…” The Shaman sighed, lamenting fate. “…I am back and the good days are over.”
Ghosthand’s eyes brightened. “You are preparing…”
The Shaman raised a hand, stopping Ghosthand. “Let’s change the topic, my old friend. Tell me something happy. Have you found that Eastern kid?”
“We’ve found his location. He is at the Royal Academy of Music. The Trader won’t let us touch him and we didn’t dare argue without you here.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll just observe for now.”
“But the current situation might not allow us to continue sitting around.” Coldness flashed through Ghosthand’s eyes. “Last night, the kid’s story spread throughout Avalon in one night. Now all of the head figures in downtown know that he has something to find the Blood Path, enter ‘Avalon’s Shadow,’ and get King Arthur’s hidden treasure.”
“…Hidden treasure?” The Shaman was taken aback. “Who would think that the crazy king has some hidden treasure left behind?”
“The greedy ones would. They spread rumors that you left to find a way to enter Avalon’s Shadow. Now, many people are searching wildly for him. The professor has already said that the boy is his.”
“Hilarious.” The Shaman understood what Ghosthand was trying to say and could not help but laugh. “There are always people who think there are hidden treasures, magic weapons, golden fingers, legendary music scores, or secret books that can boost them to success, but sadly, reality is cruel and will always shatter their fantasies.”
The Shaman changed the subject, “You must know that the East doesn’t only have silk, and porcelain. There are also terrifying creatures.”
“Are you talking about that kid?”
“Have you forgotten,” The Shaman closed his eyes as if reminiscing, “the mess that occurred because of the last Easterner Hermes favored?”
Ghosthand’s expression changed as he remembered something. He grasped his right hand subconsciously—it still hurt faintly.
“So let the young ones deal with the young ones. Greedy old folks like us have more important things to do.” The Shaman threw his cigar into the mud beneath him. Watching as it extinguished, his eyes darkened.
“Look, the city that I had cleaned and made spotless is now a muddy swamp. The smell of rotting corpses is everywhere. Someone needs to stand up and bring back the rules that people have forgotten. Let the lost hungry dogs know who their leader is. Who the original master of this swamp is…”
“As you wish, Sir,” Ghosthand replied quietly. His old body suddenly changed. His old eyes lit up as if reflecting the glory of the sun. Something was waking up in that thin and frail body. It burned inside of him, causing him to turn young, cold, and crazy again. He had returned to the beast in the darkness, grinding his teeth and drinking blood, waiting for the next hunt.
Watching the dark city, Ghosthand opened his mouth and laughed heartily. “Those who had forgotten the rules will know now who the true sovereign is.”
—
In the silent basement of the Royal Academy of Music, the sound of sharp piano like steel plates scraping against each other broke the silence. It was like a spirit wandering and screaming. But instead of sounding like a tsunami as it should have, it sounded broken.
Ye Qingxuan was sitting before the old piano, struggling with each note of the composition. Behind him, someone cut off his performance off heartlessly.
“Wrong again! Did Old Phil eat your sense of rhythm?” Charles whacked the back of Ye Qingxuan’s hand with a thin bamboo whip, his eyes cold and serious. “Rhythm! Watch the rhythm! Do you think your rhythm is better the faster you play? Restart!”
Ye Qingxuan looked at his numb hands and sighed, “Senior…”
“Shut up, failures don’t have the right to speak. Hurry up and practice!” Charles was totally into the role of “coach from Hell” and waved the whip excitedly. “Or else I’ll show you how it is! Cry and scream! No one will save you…”
“No, I was saying…”
Before Ye could finish, Charles whacked his shoulder. With a scowl, Charles said, “Your fingers have no power or finesse, and have no sense of rhythm. Every move is wrong! You think you can play piano like this? In your dreams! Hurry up and practice, or else I’ll have you stand as punishment until tomorrow morning.”
“Let me finish…”
“Don’t beg me! There is no weakness allowed here. This is the cruel classroom, where students exchange blood and tears for training!”
“…the professor is behind you.”
“Even if the professor…what?” Charles froze halfway through his sentence. He turned around stiffly in the awkward silence and was met by the emotionless Abraham. Abraham stared at his student, his eyes full of aggravation.
“Uh…” Charles’s cocky expression shattered. He glanced back at Ye Qingxuan, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I tried.” Ye Qingxuan shrugged. “You didn’t give me the chance.”
As Charles shook in fear, Abraham finally spoke, his voice m
onotone. “Cruel classroom? Exchange blood and tears for training? Charles, is that what I’ve taught you?”
“I, I…” Charles was close to crying “I taught myself.”
“You’ve taught yourself well. I told you to help Yezi, and you discovered all of these principles. I am amazed.” He paused and said through clenched teeth, “Go stand until the morning.”
Tears welling in his eyes, Charles obediently went to the corner with the Anglo encyclopedia on his head and began his punishment…
Abraham sighed after he dealt with Charles. He gazed at Ye Qingxuan. “It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve started learning music notes, I think it’s too early to learn performances with multiple notes. Notes, phrases, sections, and pieces should be learned gradually. Sections made up of measures are already part of the Rhythm level.”
“There’s nothing wrong with learning earlier, right?” Ye Qingxuan smiled and played the piano somewhat adeptly. “Professor, didn’t you say that the performance is pretty much the same, but you just need to use more notes? And anyway, I’ve found a good practice piece, ‘Black Friday’?”
At that, Abraham could not help but sigh.
94 Records of a Genius
Half a month ago, Ye Qingxuan had come out of the library and slept for two days straight afterwards. When he had woke up, he told Abraham and the others something totally shocking, he seemed to have found a music sheet entirely suitable for him.
But before Abraham could be happy for his student, bad news came. “Black Friday” was so unconventional that it barely stayed in line. It was a hair’s width away from being demonic music.
The relationship between its notes created an “interval.” Usually, music pieces avoided using the “tritone” interval and instead used “pure tones.” The disharmony of a tritone interval could activate the dark side of man’s heart and of the aether, causing people to turn wild. Yet Black Friday almost entirely used those demonic intervals. Even the dark pieces that Satan had given to his own squire were not so hopeless, frantic, or eerie as “Black Friday.”