"Symphony No. __ in C minor"

"Unt title"

The first movement, the funeral marches.

The magnificent symphony hall was filled with guests, and the heads slowly gathered in the shadows. The huge array of crystal chandeliers above the head was spinning slowly, and countless jumping, excessively rich torrents of light and shadow were reflected at the upper end of the sound-absorbing wall.

The blurred line of sight aligned the focal length in the first line of the total spectrum.

All the musicians held their troops and remained silent, the cold air was silent.

Fanning took a deep breath and handed the gesture of the pre-shot to the chief Lindsay, who was soaked in the golden light.

“#do-#do-#do-/#do——”

“#do-#do-#do-/#do——”

“#do-#do-#do-/mi——————”

The motive of the triple-tone sound like the funeral pace is repeated. The desolate and sad introduction produced by the trumpet solo is like a widow from the dusk, a sighing in the rain and fog, and a self-pitying person smiling silently towards the homeland of the sky.

Fanning felt that the funeral was not as fast as he wished, and the "time bar" was dragging his limbs and was so slow that it was disgusting.

“#do-#do-#do-/mi——”

“#do-#do-#do-/mi——”

“#do-mi-#sol-/#do!—————”

He kept pushing the trumpet's beat, extremely monotonous or repeated, and created the illusion that time and space were stuck. The characters' movements were presented in slow motion. When the strong music of the entire band exploded on the beat of the last two notes of the introduction, the brass clock facing the wall and his own inspiration seemed to be slow.

“Bravo!!”

"Crazy la la la la la la la la la la ——"

Applause whizzed from the audience seats from all directions.

Fanning, who has gained world-renowned success, moved towards the award seat with all kinds of passion and respectful eyes.

Facing the dark heads in the audience, he bowed with a smile, then lowered his head, and opened the speech in his hand that had been polished by the secretaries for several months.

"To be honest, do you really think it is necessary to save this terminally ill world?"

"Ask yourself, your ultimate intention to return to the world really has the feeling of enjoyment and support and support? Do you really feel that there is a possibility of effective communication with these low-level creatures?"

"You should have some secular thoughts that want to be refreshing and happy, haha, it's not a big deal, and there's no rush. I, and a few people, meet you under the sky where the rose red aurora and the blue blue lightning are competing for color. There was no night or dawn that day, there were only the time to prepare for noon and the time to stop at noon."

The crystal chandeliers were flowing like a soap film on the speech letter. Fan Ning, whose pupils were trembling violently, suddenly looked up and saw countless gazes in the audience.

From the eyes of "The Truth of the Truth".

And, a dizzying and sticky torrent that shot through more than a dozen doors in the walls of the symphony hall.

"Crack!!"

The sound of the wood breaking sounded, and the ground where the prize seat collapsed, and Fanning fell down directly.

What falls in front of you is a meaningless collection of colored pixels.

Fanning, whose head was facing down and weightless, found that under the deepest void, there were a large cluster of indescribable crimson things, such as ruins, broken limbs, dangerous buildings, or piles of broken words

"Clang!"

There is a hard metal sound that keeps stimulating my heart that is beating violently.

"Clang!" "Clang!"

"Bang bang—" "Bang bang—" "Bang bang—" "Bang bang—"

The heavy and huge body of the steam train has been started again for several minutes, and the wheels collided with the spliced ​​rail gap, making regular noises.

It was exactly the noise that was about to end just now when the dream just now was about to end.

Fanning woke up with her hands crossed her chest, yawned with a strong sense of fatigue, and then slowly opened her eyes.

In the first-class carriage with neat and beautiful decoration, gentlemen and ladies in decent clothes were reading newspapers, dining or whispering.

He tightly twisted his black silk top hat upwards, and looked at the ticket and pocket watch in his hand.

April 10, 916, 18:05 pm.

This is the Northern Continent, the Tiorian Empire.

The train had passed Iggs Station. The night had just dropped outside the window. What we saw in the distance was the hustle and bustle of Mertraun Port with kerosene engines. On the dark river bank that produces salt, the Vanelmindo Lighthouse powered by ancient clockwork stands. Its lights flash in the haze on the river surface every night.

Next stop, Uvrancier.

Fanning looked at the scenery outside the car window, and his eyes were filled with thought.

"Musician?" A muffled man's voice sounded in his ears.

There were three people standing on the aisle of the car, two of whom were dressed as railway policemen, and the leader was a man in plain clothes in gray jackets.

Usually such a formation is ticket checking.

However, the latter kicked the air away while walking, forming a sense of "ember".

For ordinary people who are aware of it, this is a slightest observation, but Fanning knows that this is an investigator with a high level in the Special Inspection Office.

His brow frowned slightly, and he looked at the musical notation and pen spread out on the table in front of him.

"#do-#do-#do-/#do--"

There is a black ink plot with four trumpets with trumpets, c-scaling and mono melody. It is the inspiration for the new work I wrote down shortly after boarding the bus in the early morning.

The dark notes also twisted silently.

But it quickly recovered as before and there was no change.

The three of them were not talking to Fanning.

“Just an art practitioner.”

In the spacious town seats diagonally opposite the aisle, the gentleman with glasses in the bottled bottle took back his left hand, which was "playing the piano" on the table, and handed directly to the three people standing on the aisle a hard-shell document mixed with a ticket, while his right hand was still holding a music journal "Hoffman Gramophone".

"From the southeast of Pozodanico, the itinerary is Uvrancier." The railway police spoke softly to the investigator beside him and asked politely, "Art practitioners? So is it a show, a visit to a relative or a tour or something? How long is it to stay in Uvrancier?"

"A business trip." The gentleman with glasses under the bottle smiled, "I have graduated from the Iggas Conservatory for almost twenty years and has a composition department, but now I mainly rely on artistic management to make a living. The person next to me is a veritable bass singer."

"Attend the first quarter work meeting of the Turner Art Hall Cinema chain." The old man beside him added impatiently, "Sir, what suspicious things do our behavior or clothing have?"

"Don't get me wrong, this is a kind of respect." The plainclothes investigator of the Special Inspection Office smiled faintly and placed a small red stamp on their desk. "I am a staff member of the Imperial Culture and Media Department, and I only have a few more words to talk to people in the art world."

"Welcome to Uvrancier. With this page, you can receive a small souvenir to the city attractions and hotels on the list. If you have other favorite candidates for 'potential artists', please call or write to recommend."

The ticket check soon arrived in front of Fanning.

“Not an art practitioner.”
Chapter completed!