Silent Crown

by Feng Yue

  A tray with refreshments passed through the gap of the fence and was placed on the table. In the cell, Ye Qingxuan just stared at the wall rather than responding. The walls had been plastered with pieces of paper written with fine notes. The notes connected across the papers and included traces of revisions and deletions. They somehow formed a large and complex music movement.

  This was only a framework without details but vaguely revealed some unspeakable complex and arrogant. It seemed to want to carve out thousands of water systems on a wasteland into rivers and seas to create a lofty tide, to construct mansions and high buildings from ruins and make it better than the past…

  However, the complex music theory lacked finesse and details, which made it difficult to be consistent. Four different schools of music theory were independent here. Although there was a vague theme in them, it was difficult to merge them.

  Ye Qingxuan silently stared at the messy music theories on the wall. The complex and incomplete movements changed in his eyes like crisscrossing gears fitting into each other. The huge machine ran under the same force and burst with grand power.

  However, when it advanced to a certain place, the entire sophisticated system always collapsed quickly. It was like twisted steels under internal stress. When it overheated, the engine would explode.

  This was only a paper deduction; there was no danger. But if these theories were constructed in his body, it would cause disastrous consequences.

  The combination of music theory and human body was very dangerous. Even the School of Stone Heart, which was good at implanting aether into the body, was very cautious about this. Planning one’s foundation again and build a heart of sound movement—the fundamental strength of a Resonance musician—in a prison was even riskier.

  After entering the Resonance level, musicians would rearrange the internal music theory to form a movement and create the sound of heart. Then the spirituality of the movement could have their own personalities. By resonating the sound of heart with the source, the musician could get out of the shackles of his predecessors and create his own path. The sound of heart also strengthened the musician’s power.

  For example, the effect of a certain type of movement could be enhanced. One typical example was Sam. The music theory from the School of Destruction strengthened all types of destructive movements so that he achieved unimaginable attainments in Modifications.

  The sound of heart could give musicians certain ability, such as rapid regeneration, tempered bones, or the starry eyes. It also complemented the musician’s weaknesses by endowing them with an indescribable sixth sense and mysterious perception of certain aspects, etc…

  Every musician could find the best way for him in the sound of heart. Throughout history, there had been all kinds of attempts and breakthroughs in the sound of heart. Some of them had succeeded but more had died during this vital section. Therefore, all musicians of the Resonance level were very cautious when constructing music theories and the sound of heart.

  During this stage, each school secretly passed on the secret chants, music theories, and rituals of the first generation of musicians to help musicians complete this stage more easily. It could cause a qualitative transformation, which was why there were so many advanced occupations for musicians.

  No one was as bold and silly as Ye Qingxuan who just directly began to do this in a barren prison without caring about his life.

  But fortunately, Ye Qingxuan did have something. There was a treasure in him that all musicians coveted—Deva’s blood.

  412 Afternoon Tea

  Hundreds of years ago, the nine Dragon bloodline families went through countless experiments and sacrifices to finally succeed with the miracle of ‘music theory inheritance.’ They were then able to pass down their music theory to their descendants. This was how the talents were born. It was essentially a convergence of music theory and the prototype of a heart of sound, symphony of predestination, and even a scepter!

  A man’s life had a limit. Compared to the world, it was as insignificant as dust.

  To explore the true nature of the Originator, the ancestors of the nine families created Deva’s blood. They turned music theory into an inheritance that could be passed down the generations. Countless descendants carried the same theory. As long as the bloodline was not cut off, they would be able to develop into the Originator one day.

  After revisions from dozens of generations, Ye Qingxuan’s Heaven Ladder was practically flawless. Its ability to cross all seven schools went without saying. In addition, it even ignored the boundaries to resonate over extremely large distances. It had the terrifying ability to send its strength over thousands of miles.

  All Ye Qingxuan had to do was combine the Heaven Ladder with his own music theory. After much thinking, Ye Qingxuan felt that he had learned too much. He decided to give up on Modifications, Summoning, and Choir and just focus on what he already grasped: Revelations, Illusion, Mind, and the core—Abstinence.

  This was why he had a headache.

  Trying to combine everything at once was very difficult. Furthermore, he also had the music theory of the Philosopher’s Stone. If he abandoned it to complete his heart of sound, it would be like selling a gem to buy a stone. Not only would his research on the sub-originator go to waste, he would also lose the vast foundation brought by the Stone. Thinking this made his heart break…

  So then there was another problem.

  How could he combine such vast and complicated music theories and turn the chaos into a complete unit?

  Ye Qingxuan’s expression grew troubled. “What…is wrong?” he murmured. He studied the countless music notes, trying to use the interpretation method to find any holes. But the music theory involved was too much. Even with the large tuning instrument for help, it was still a huge task. He could not do this by himself at all. It had already been close to half a month and he was still clueless.

  Closing his eyes, he stopped thinking about it. He tapped against the wall and hummed a broken tune. It was okay. There was no need to hurry.

  He still had a lot of time.

  -

  That same afternoon, two old prisoners across the hallway started talking behind the bars to pass time. The old man on a wheelchair drank his tea slowly. He smacked his lips and shook his head in dissatisfaction.

  “Did they change the druggist? They didn’t put in enough ‘seasoning.’ There’s no taste.” Putting down the teacup, he sighed. “I can practically smell my feet.”

  In the cell across from him was a bald old man with his face buried in a porn magazine. He used the afternoon sunlight to peruse it with his bad vision. Hearing the other man’s voice, he pursed his lips and looked up saying, “Your foot’s long gone. I cut it off myself, remember?”

  “No, your memory’s bad. I got a new one later. It’s better than the old one.” The wheelchair guy lifted the blanket on his knee and shook his foot proudly at the other. “See, look. Look…” There was nothing under the calf. However, the bald guy stared with his rheumy eyes and hit his forehead in realization. “Oh, right. How did I forget?”

  “Right.” The wheelchair guy put the blanket back. There was nothing under his calf but there was a bulge under the blanket. There seemed to be a writhing limb, squirming slowly.

  “So itchy…” The wheelchair guy reached out and scratched the nonexistent foot over the blanket. As he scratched, his expression grew bitter. “Hey, you know Old Tom is going to die tonight. Old George is going soon too. Probably the day after tomorrow.”

  Stunned, Bald Guy closed his magazine. “Wasn’t he still fine yesterday?”

  “He changed his heart too much back in the day. It’s going to fail soon.” Wheelchair Guy shook his head. “He won’t be able to keep going for long.”

  “I see…”

  “He’s so old now. He’s at the age to die.” Wheelchair Guy smacked his lips. “We’ve been neighbors for all these years. No one’s had it easy.”

  “He was at the
age to die eighty years ago.” Bald Guy opened the magazine again. Burying his face in it, he said indifferently, “The undying old guy is going to die, what a pity. You should convince him to just confess. Maybe the Sacred City will feel merciful and get him a prostitute to send him off.”

  “Nah.” Wheelchair Guy shook his head. “That secret could be exchanged for three cities eighty years ago. Now you want him to exchange it for a prostitute? If I tell him, he’d probably bite me to death. If you want to bow to the Sacred City, then you do it.”

  “I want to but they won’t let me.” Bald Guy snickered. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t send me here to look at porn after the Inquisition disbanded. If I still had some secrets to exchange for more of these books, I’d do it. I really don’t know why the Sacred City-”

  “Because you’re a pervert, Mollien,” Wheelchair Guy said emotionlessly. “You’re a son of a b*tch.”

  “Thanks.”

  Silence returned.

  After a long while, Wheelchair Guy asked, “Why are you reading that again? You never have good ideas when you read that magazine.”

  Mollien looked up. He gave an old and kind smile. “For some reason, I want to kill again.”

  Understanding him, Wheelchair Guy looked up into a certain direction. “Because of him?”

  “Yeah.” Mollien sighed. “Your foot itches but my hand itches really, really badly. If it was thirty years ago, I wouldn’t be able to resist it.”

  Listening to the vague humming in the distance, he could not help but chew on his nails. His ground his teeth with cracking sounds.

  “Youngsters these days…” he murmured. “So impressive.”

  “Yeah, you cruddy grandmasters from the Sacred City detonated an instrument because of him and instantly killed six people.”

  “I’m not talking about that…” Mollien looked up with bloodshot eyes. “Not that.”

  Wheelchair Guy suddenly fell silent. He smacked his lips and listened to the vague voice in the wind. He tapped his knee to the rhythm. The singing was very unclear. He could not hear any details and it was broken like a hallucination floating in the wind. However, these two old guys who had been submerged in music theory for decades could still hear the details hidden into the song.

  The tapping finger stiffened. The foot writhing under the blanket stopped quickly as well.

  “…I see,” he sighed. “He shouldn’t be twenty yet. Did some dead guy take over his body?”

  Mollien looked at him mockingly. “If someone is talented enough to be like this without using a god’s help, who would be stupid enough to be a dark musician?”

  Wheelchair Guy could not reply. He gave a long and hard stare, saying, “As your neighbor for so long, I’ll give you a piece of advice. Don’t get any ideas. You don’t want to get a bag thrown over your head and taken to be experimented on, right?”

  “Don’t worry. I just think it’s a pity.” Mollien cackled. “Even if I don’t do anything, those old beasts at the Cardinals aren’t going to let him leave this place alive. What a pity that such a good kid can’t die in my hands…”

  “Let’s end the distasteful conversation here.” Wheelchair Guy sighed. “If you keep going, the tea will be even more disgusting.” He lifted the teacup and drank all the cold tea. He wiped his mouth. Some remaining drops fell onto the table and sizzled.

  413 Cantarella

  The only sounds in the dark hallway were thumping heartbeats.

  “The elder is waiting for you.” The secretary standing outside the door glanced at the examiner who had been waiting for a long time. He said indifferently, “As etiquette requires, do not speak unless there are questions after reporting. Do not raise your head and look into his eye. Don’t have a smart mouth, understood?”

  “Understood.” The examiner nodded respectfully. His face was a bit pale and he could not breathe as if his collar was too tight.

  “This is for your own good.” The secretary patted his shoulder and pushed open the door without waiting for his reply. The examiner lowered his head and walked into the silent room.

  Dark red curtains hung in the room. The carved holy emblem shone with black metallic light under the dim candle. In the darkness, there was only an old man in a rough robe. He sat on a metal chair. His features were plain and his eyes were closed. He held rosary beads and seemed to be praying. The tiny marks on the rosary beads’ emblems showed the elder’s status.

  It was only a mere glance but the examiner involuntarily held his breath and knelt down, reverently lowering his head.

  It was the Ecclesiastical Order. This order composed of the old creatures of the Sacred City families did not exist in any records. However, they held a mysterious yet powerful influence over the Sacred City for a century. They were born from the elite families of the Sacred City families and had all undergone the intense competition within their families to become ‘beasts’ who did not fall for decades in the political world. They were once active in Amnesty Institute, the Bishop Department, the Gospel Ministry, and other important institutions. Even the Cardinals could not be isolated from their influence.

  Now, they had aged and were willing to be ascetic monks without any status but they were still powerful figures who could change the entire Church with an order. They once had power, money, lust, and all the glory in the world.

  What they once had was no longer important now. Instead, they began leading ascetic and crude lives. They spent their days in the dark underground palace to study the scriptures and rarely ventured out. If they came out from the underground, would they smell like a rotting corpse?

  They were like ghosts that hid in the shadows and paced through the human world. They gazed at people with their murky eyes with a chilling aura.

  Kneeling before the elder, the examiner respectfully reported his name and institution.

  After a long silence, the praying elder opened his eyes. He raised the simple ring on his finger to the examiner’s lips.

  “Child, I bless thee. You are the hands of God.” The voice was deep yet hoarse as if it came from far away.

  In a daze, the examiner kissed the ring. Fear flashed past his reverent expression. The amber ring was carved with the elder’s family emblem. It was the Sforza family—an important figure in the Sacred City.

  Over the centuries, more than sixteen cardinals had come from that family. There were not many who were qualified to wear this ring. To the examiner’s knowledge, there were only a few in this generation, including the elder brother of the current family leader. He was the one who matched the old man’s body and voice the most—Ludovic.

  But the terrifying thing was…Ludovic had died forty years ago.

  So what was sitting before him now? A living corpse? An angry spirit? The examiner did not dare to think any further. He emptied his thoughts and started to report.

  Three short minutes later, he lowered his head and did not speak anymore.

  Ludovic replied promptly. “Tell me your thoughts,” he said. “You have interacted with him for fifteen days. What do you feel?”

  “It-it is difficult to say.” The examiner was sweating. “He is a pure idealistic man and shows signs of self-destruction. Torture is useless because his heart will not die. No matter what we say or threaten, he refuses to say anything useful. This type of person is difficult. We might not receive anything other than lies.

  “In addition, he may have already expected this day and made all the preparations. All evidence and traces end with him. It is impossible to continue digging. We cannot find any other clues.

  “Now, many people worship him, thinking he is a saint in the darkness but I think he is crazy. In fact…” He paused and lowered his head. “He may already realize that my identity is not so simple.”

  “Oh?”

  The secretary hung his head. “He always takes me as a regular clerk but when he speaks, he looks at my collar.” He pulled his collar open. The skin on the neck was clearly different. It was the obvious t
an line from wearing high-collared uniforms under the sun for many years.

  After a pause, Ludovic nodded. “Anything else?”

  “I on-once…” The examiner gulped. “There was once a moment when I wanted to kill him but…I did not dare.” His pinky finger twitched as he thought back to that murderous moment.

  At that time, the youth behind the long table had raised his head lazily. A metallic glint had appeared in his squinted eyes. Even under the shackles, there had been a bone-numbing coldness. It was like a sword hanging over his head. The coldness did not disappear until fear had flashed past the examiner’s eyes. It was then replaced by a mocking smirk.

  Hearing this, Ludovic did not comment. He nodded and said, “I see. You may leave now.”

  As if freed, the examiner retreated respectfully and quietly closed the door. The secretary entered soon. After closing the door, he stood wordlessly beside Ludovic. He waited until the old man had finished thinking before placing a letter on the table.

  “Anglo’s ambassador wishes to see you.”

  “I won’t see him.” Ludovic scoffed. “There is no one worthy of seeing us in that fallen nation without God’s protection. Arthur’s descendants will never learn to be humble. Just let them die in arrogance.”

  The secretary nodded. He tossed the letter into the burner. It quickly turned to dust in the fire.

  “Anglo will do all they can to adjust matters these days. Mr. Borja said that many of the Amnesty Institute have been swayed.”

  “Tell Borja that this matter is highly important and should not be treated lightly. It involves the Sacred City’s dignity. If he is not punished, will the Sacred City’s laws continue to be effective? I can understand his hardships. I will help him solve this problem. However, I hope that the result will not be disappointing. After all, this is all for the Sacred City.”

  He reached out and wrote some words on paper. Pressing his ring in the inkpad, he left behind a clear stamp and put the paper inside an envelope. “Give this to ‘Cantarella’.”