Crown of Silence

Chapter 232 A Long Night

After a night, Ye Qingxuan looked at the equally dusty Charles with resentment.

Sixteen explosions in one night, how could it be so outrageous? Besides, their music theory attainments were much better than other students.

Then it could only be Charles' fault.

"Okay, blame me."

Charles opened his mouth and blew out a wisp of white smoke from the explosion: "Next time I test, I'll stand in the corner..."

"I think my ears will go deaf if there are more explosions, let's go to sleep first." Ye Qingxuan yawned, feeling exhausted.

"I've been waiting for you to say this for two days."

Charles smiled and fell to the ground, and soon, snoring sounded.

Ye Qingxuan sighed, covered him with a dust blanket, and climbed onto the broken sofa piled with parts, not caring whether it was clean or not. As soon as he closed his eyes, he fell asleep unconscious.

In the morning, Bai Xi kicked the door down and saw the two people sleeping soundly. She pouted her lips out of boredom, drew a big turtle on each of their faces, and then took Lao Fei out.

Today is the weekly class time.

At noon, Abraham came down and saw that the two were still unconscious. He shook his head and smiled bitterly. After checking the music written by the two people, he slightly modified a few places, left a note, and hurried out to report to the military.

In the afternoon, a rare visitor knocked on the door of the music history department.

-

"Is anyone there?"

Bart was outside the door, knocking patiently, and there was still no response for the third time.

There was silence in the old building, as if no one was there. He frowned and knocked on the door with some force. The door creaked and opened.

"Is anyone there?"

He carefully poked his head out and took a look. Seeing the cracks on the wall and the peeling wall in the corner, he frowned: What a hell of a place.

There was still a hint of alcohol in the air, which made Bart's face even uglier: Have these guys fallen to drinking for fun?

Musicians need absolute calmness and concentration, and drinking is simply suicide...

He pinched his nose and walked into the living room, which was empty. He waited for a while, but still no one came. Finally, he got impatient and stood up angrily, feeling that he was wasting time.

Coming here to bow to the music history department was already the limit of his tolerance, but now after wasting so much time, it was like a humiliation.

He no longer waited, pushed open Abraham's study, tore off a piece of paper and left a note to visit another day, as well as the teacher's business card.

"Huh, music history department."

Bart snorted coldly, and finally swept the messy study room, turned around and left, but just after walking two steps, his footsteps stopped, and his body stiffened in place.

As if he finally reacted, he turned back in surprise and looked at the table... the stack of manuscripts on the table.

He hesitated for a long time, and finally mustered up the courage to carefully open the stack of manuscripts and quickly flip through them.

The more he looked, the uglier his face became.

In the end, he dared not look at it anymore, and directly lifted the ring on his finger and quickly recorded it. After a flurry of activity, when he was still a few sheets away, he suddenly heard a noise coming from the basement.

His fingers trembled, and he quickly restored everything to its original state, picked up the note he left and put it away, carefully erased the traces of his visit here, and finally quietly opened the door and ran away.

In the hot afternoon sun, Bart ran frantically, as if he had seen a ghost, stumbling and muttering to himself: "How is this possible, how is this possible, how is this possible..."

"——How is this possible?"

——

"How is this possible?"

In the office, Ingmar looked at the video recorded by Bart with a sullen face, comparing it with his own manuscript.

Over and over, over and over again... Every time he looked at it, his face became more and more ugly, until he finally overturned the table like a madman and yelled at Bart:

"How is this possible?! How could I be wrong?!"

The invisible storm enveloped the room, and all the objects trembled wildly, making noises of being on the verge of breaking, until finally, they fell to the ground one after another.

Bart stood in the corner, silent as a cicada, not daring to make any sound.

He was only glad that he was a member of the Revelation faction and was not known for his destructive power. If it was Yegor who was angry here today, I'm afraid the whole office would have been burned to ashes.

After a long time, until a long time later, Ingmar finally calmed down.

For the last time, he compared his manuscript, turning it page by page, and every time he turned a page, that page broke, silently falling apart, and scattered on Ingmar's robe, like ashes after burning out.

Until the end, Ingmar seemed to be sitting in the pale ashes, with nothing in his hands and a face as pale as a skeleton and ashes.

"It turns out that I really took the wrong path..."

He murmured in a low voice, his hands trembling, veins popping out on his forehead, and his voice was actually crying: "Why am I wrong? Why me?

Why——"

Bart was stunned. He heard a heartbeat, which was the heartbeat of his teacher, extremely loud and low, like the sound of a drum.

The drumbeats became more and more urgent, faster and faster, pulling him into it, as if he saw a rotating starry sky, but the starry sky was shaking wildly and extinguishing piece by piece.

Bart finally reacted, his face pale.

Heart sound collapse, this is a precursor to heart sound collapse.

He rushed forward and shook the teacher's shoulders vigorously to make him sober, but Ingmar was stunned and did not react at all. In the end, Bart's eyes flashed with a trace of determination, gritted his teeth, grabbed Ingmar's palm, and suddenly pinned a sharp pen on it.

Bang!

The gas explosion suddenly lifted up.

He was bounced up by the recoil of Ingmar's body and hit the wall. His eyes went black and he spit out a mouthful of blood. His arm was broken.

The whole office was in a mess, and the alarm sounded in the teaching building. Everyone was in a panic, but soon, the alarm sound disappeared.

Everything in the office was pulled back to its original position by an invisible force. The broken vase was mended, the torn carpet was rewoven, and the paintings on the wall that had been shattered into powder reappeared from the dust.

Everything seemed as if nothing had happened.

Only Ingmar sat in his original position, his eyes regained their rationality, and his body was soaked with cold sweat. He did not feel any pain because his palm was nailed to the table. He indifferently pulled out the pen nailed to the back of his hand. He looked at Bart, and Bart's broken bones were connected, and his mind was clear again.

It was not until now that he knew what had just happened.

"Bart, you are a good student. If it weren't for you, I'm afraid I would have been really killed by that guy Abraham..."

He gritted his teeth, his expression was as vicious as a beast, and he applied medicine to his palm and bandaged it. Finally, he put on a glove to cover the wound.

Bart was still in shock and stammered a few words in response.

"You told me that no one found you when you went to the Music History Department, right?" Ingmar's eyes flashed with determination and ruthlessness: "Are you sure?"

Bart was stunned for a moment, as if he understood something, and his face became paler. Under Ingmar's stare, he finally nodded vigorously.

"Yes, no one knows that I have been there..."

"Very good."

Ingmar suddenly smiled, and on his pale face, the smile was full of disharmony, which was creepy: "Wait, you will go to the Musicians' Guild with me."

Bart's guess was finally settled, and his expression was terrified, "If they find out... will they let it go?"

"You are still too young, Bart. Too young, too naive..."

Ingmar raised his eyes, and his pupils could only carry a trace of pity and gloom:

"-This kind of thing, of course, whoever publishes it first, it belongs to him."

-

Late at night, a carriage stopped in front of the watch shop, and the visitor pushed the door in.

"Mr. Bayer?"

The blond boy who was drinking tea by the window raised his eyes and showed a hint of surprise, "Guest of the Musicians' Guild? What a rare guest.

You haven't visited here since you took office. What can I do tonight?

Do you want to buy something?"

"No thanks." Bayer waved his hand slightly and smiled bitterly, "I can't afford Mr. Hermes's things."

"Tsk, don't say that."

Hermes shook his head, "I am famous for my good quality and low price. If you look carefully, you can always pick out what you like."

"In fact, I came here this time because I wanted Mr. Hermes to help me identify something."

He sat opposite Hermes and slowly pushed a copy of a black folder over: "I think you might know something about this."

"Oh?"

Hermes raised his eyebrows, "The experts in your association can't confirm it? It's really rare."

Bayer smiled bitterly and shook his head: "In fact, the local association and the scholars in the Holy City have already quarreled over this.

Before I left, they were still arguing whether this thing was a qualified research result."

"Well? Then let me see... "Voynich Manuscript"? After hundreds of years, you are really persistent. Are you still trying to decipher this thing?"

Hermes opened the folder and quickly flipped through the pages of the book. He didn't look like he was reviewing it, but rather like he was confirming something. Until the end, his eyes became more and more subtle.

"It's really... interesting! Because the way forward is dead, the text is restored from a strange direction? Although it is a heretical path, it returns to the right direction.

Let me see who the author is... Enigma?"

He frowned: "I have seen this guy. To be honest, I don't believe he has the courage to overturn the current theory. Did I make a mistake?"

A hint of joy flashed in Bayer's eyes: "So, can you confirm whether it is true or not?"

"Tsk, of course it is true. Although the last part is obviously nonsense, at least the direction is right."

Hermes threw the folder over unhappily: "Congratulations, you have found a new direction to talk nonsense for decades. Congratulations.

This time, you can pull out that broken thing again, ring it, and celebrate.

But you ring the bell every year and festival, aren't you annoying? Why can't you change to a more elegant way?"

"Sir, don't be ridiculous, that's the sage's bell, it should be different, right?"

Bayer said with a smile, "In contrast, the gate of heaven is where God's majesty lies, and naturally it cannot be easily shown to others."

"Don't compare my works with that kind of rags." Hermes spat with disdain, looking extremely vulgar: "Sage's Bell? Bah, it's obviously... not bad."

He spoke those words extremely vaguely, while Bayer on the opposite side pretended not to hear, just put away the manuscript, paid a valuable reward, and then resigned.

Hermes opened the reward pocket with his little finger, glanced at the crystal-like object in it with disgust, and shouted: "Bai Xi!"

"What are you calling me for?"

Bai Xi, who was reciting and copying music scores, raised his head from behind the counter unhappily.

"There is an old saying in the East: When the master has something to do, the disciple will do his duty. If the master doesn't like this thing now, you can take it back and give it to Lao Fei."

He threw those things into Bai Xi's arms, seemed to have thought of something, suddenly woke up, and immediately showed a strange smile.

"Oh my, my terrible power of association is really amazing."

He murmured to himself: "It seems like something interesting is going to happen again?"

"——I'm really looking forward to it!"