Old-time musicians

"Mr. Fanning."

Congreve was waiting at the desk. After seeing Fan Ning hang up the phone, he quickly handed over a signature form.

The two generals of the Turner Art Hall are away, and a large number of affairs have fallen on him. Recently, he has been working until midnight every day.

Fan Ning took it.

Seeing the music director holding a pen in his hand and looking like he was reading carefully, he began to explain the report.

Words drifted into Fan Ning's ears and came out the other side.

The phone call said that starting from the next week, Kaplan's bone pain became a minor problem and he began to fall into frequent drowsiness. Olga moved a gramophone into the ward and selected some records of his favorite works. , and the several records released by Turner Art Hall were played one by one. This method had a good effect at first.

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The long-lost music came to his ears. Kaplan listened very carefully. After waking up, he would immediately ask what time it was and how many days were left until the premiere. He would even look at the score for a while.

However, the good effect did not last long. In the past two or three days, he basically didn't eat much, and the time he was awake and able to communicate with people became shorter and shorter. He basically woke up about three or four times a day, less than one at a time. He fell asleep again when he was young, and this time was not as long as the performance of the "Second Symphony".

Maybe, at least I can hold on until tomorrow and come and listen to it. I can hold on to a few movements.

Congreve finished his report.

"Sorry, what were you talking about just now?" Fan Ning raised his head, his face full of apology.

"...It doesn't matter, Mr. Fanning." Congreve spoke quickly and re-reported carefully, "It's about the decision about the fourth temporary seat addition. The previous five days of sales were split on the ticket opening day. After the show, we received a lot of suggestions from music fans and people in the music industry. Their voices were so strong that we even asked the cultural department to communicate with them. So we added three waves of seats with low stools in the corridors, between boxes, around the stage, etc. There are 700 seats in total. I have reported this to you before... Now that it is sold out, the request has come again. I would like to ask you if you want to agree to them for another round. I have just made measurements on the spot. If there is more squeeze, I should be able to barely fit in about 200 low stools, and they can be arranged during the day tomorrow..."

Fan Ning held the pen and nodded.

After thinking about this for three minutes, he spoke:

"The pricing plan is right. It's up to you. I've been working hard on you lately."

"Okay, I understand."

Listening to Fan Ning's completely unanswered response, Congreve shook his head secretly and took the order to leave.

It wasn't until the door was closed that a low sigh came from the corridor.

Inside the door, Fan Ning held the score of "Second Symphony" in his hand and slowly leaned back in his seat.

After staring at the deathly darkness and warm light of the cover for a long time, he prepared to open it with his fingers, but he hesitated and retracted it, avoiding the memories related to it and turning to more broken and empty thoughts.

This daze lasted until late at night.

There were two gentle "Dongdong" sounds outside the door.

"Who?" Fan Ning asked aloud.

On the eve of today's performance, many people were still here to rest or prepare for work.

"Me." It was Joan's voice.

"The door is unlocked."

A girl in a violet dress walked up to Fan Ning holding a sparkling silver flute.

"Caron, the visual sealing elixir you want." She spread out her left hand, with a small glass tube on it.

"Zhuzi is doing well." Fan Ning picked up the elixir from her palm.

"It's still the same ratio of effective extraordinary components as in previous weeks. It takes effect about an hour after taking it, and returns to normal after half an hour... However, this is already the fifth or sixth time. Did you use it in the end? And if there is such a need, why don’t you just close your eyes?”

"Bang."

An invisible force squeezed gently, and the glass seal shattered.

There was only a little more than 1 ml of colorless liquid inside, and Fan Ning poured it into a porcelain cup with a small half cup of boiled water.

After doing all this, his eyes dropped again.

"Thank you. Go and rest. Good night."

After a few seconds of silence, Fan Ning asked, "Is there anything else?"

Joan stood on her toes and bit her lip, seeming hesitant to say something.

Finally she said: "I want to play with you the Sicilian Dances from the flute sonatas you haven't finished yet."

Fan Ning looked up in surprise.

Speaking of which, it seems that since the New Year, it has been a long time since I had a casual chat, nor have I had any pure fun and relaxation with everyone, even though we see each other in the rehearsal hall every day.

There are only a handful of afternoon teas that I can attend, and even most of my meals are taken care of by my maids directly here.

So Fan Ning stood up without saying a word.

He moved out of his seat, opened the door to the living room, and sat in front of the grand piano.

Joan followed step by step, and finally stood beside him.

The sound of the flute rises melodiously, and the keys of the piano fall behind the scenes in a tacit and considerate dance.

Bach's "Sonata for Flute and Harpsichord No. 2 in E flat major" (1031), second movement, "Sicilian Dance".

The melody is soft and pure, with a hint of sadness, and the black and white keys as a foil are always woven with elegant and unknown reveries and thoughts.

Quiet gardens, tree-lined paths, warm and slightly drunken autumn.

The girl lifted her gauze skirt and spun around, while the person accompanying her watched the sun shine and the fallen leaves flutter.

The world was golden.

The song ended two minutes later.

Fanning raised his hand, stood up, and returned to his office to sit down. Joan continued to follow him obediently.

"They will be arranged for the chamber music performance next month, so take a rest first."

Joan's eyes changed several times, and finally she spoke as if she had made up her mind: "Carolen, can I take a leave?"

Fanning's surprise flashed across her face: "Tomorrow? Can't you come to the premiere?"

"... Maybe." She looked very guilty, "Carolen, I feel very sorry for you, but maybe a few days are enough. I will find a way to compensate you later? For example, the kind where all the concert fees belong to you..."

Fanning asked after a moment of silence.

"What's the matter?"

"...It's a personal matter, can I tell you after I come back?"

Fanning barely suppressed all kinds of negative emotions and said calmly: "If it's a very urgent matter, I think you can just leave and deal with it, come back to explain it later, or tell me to ask for help; if it's not, then you should wait until the premiere is over before dealing with it, instead of falling behind at this critical moment."

"So, no matter what the situation is, you don't actually need to ask for leave, what do you think?"

"Oh." Joan lowered her head.

"Then good night, I... I'll see tomorrow, I should, still attend the premiere..."

She stepped on tiptoe and moved out of the room step by step.

Fanning nodded gently, and after she stepped out of the door, she said again: "Don't close the door, ask Sheeran to come over."

"Oh..."

A few minutes later, Sheeran, who had changed into a light gauze nightgown, walked into the office.

"Carolan, Joan said you asked me to come over." Her long brown hair was draped over her shoulders, still slightly damp and fragrant.

"Sit down." Fanning pointed to the chair opposite, "Do you know why she asked for leave?"

"Asking for leave? I don't know." Xilan sat down in confusion, "Did you agree?"

"Maybe not, she said she would still attend the premiere."

"Oh, she always has her mind on one thing after another, Carloen, why don't you go to bed, why did you suddenly think of chatting with me so late today?"

"I want to discuss something with you, are you willing to teach violin to little Irene in the future? The kind of formal teacher-student relationship."

The girl's originally bright eyes dimmed when she heard it.

"Is Mr. Kapulen okay?"

"..., this may not be the most ideal, but I think it's okay for me to meet him tomorrow." Fanning lowered his eyes and repeated the content of the call with Olga.

"That's good, I'll listen to your arrangements." She breathed a sigh of relief for the time being.

"As long as you are willing."

"Yeah, I am willing."

"Okay." Fanning lowered his head, his fingers moving aimlessly on the table.

Although he had never seen it with his own eyes, the image of Kaplun listening to the phonograph on the hospital bed still emerged in his mind.

"Sheeran, do you sometimes feel that there are so many wonderful musical works in this world, so many that you can't listen to them all in your lifetime?"

"Of course." Sheeran didn't know why he suddenly felt so emotional, but nodded in agreement, "Actually, I'm embarrassed to say frankly that although everyone calls me a genius violinist, and some even call me 'famous', I am only familiar with a small part of the vast sea of ​​music literature, and I am not familiar with the rest. For many, many songs, I don't know how they sound. If you show me a piece of music score, I can't match it with the name of the work, the name of the movement, or the name of the prologue, and I may not even be able to guess which composer's work it is..."

"But I feel very lucky to be born in this industrial age. If I was born even half a century earlier, I would only have two ways to listen to a non-solo work, either by attending a concert or supporting a family band. Although phonographs and records are also expensive now, at least music has become a tangible thing. Things within reach - being able to listen to a symphony at any time while lying on the sofa or bed at home, not to mention the old people of the last era, even I sometimes think it is very fantastic. "

Fanning pondered for a moment: "Have you ever thought that one day, more people can listen to music in a cheaper and more convenient way, such as picking up a small machine, wearing a small device, so that masters with profound accumulation, or a group of musicians who cooperate tacitly can present their genius and ingenuity to you? "

"In that case..." Sheeran briefly daydreamed, "Such happiness is unreal, maybe it can happen in heaven, and more practical, then I may really be able to listen to most of the music literature in my lifetime. Although masters emerge in endlessly and the number is vast, I have made a plan, holding that magical little device, listening a little every day, listening a little every day, one day I can read a lot of works..."

"Really? I don't think so." Fanning stared out the window in a daze.

"The music is pure, but people are not. Procrastination is one aspect, and the lowering of the technical threshold will lead to a spurt in the development of recorded music. People are attracted to other more stimulating and intense styles, and the threshold of entertainment will be raised higher and higher... Do you think the actual situation is like this: when we were young, we held that magical little device and thought that there was a long time to come. We thought that when we had free time, we would appreciate the works we planned to understand, but suddenly one day we found that time was running out, but the plans were still there, piling up more and more..."

"And if you really reach the end of your life, would you choose a dozen or so favorite works and say goodbye to them one by one, or would you listen to one or two of your favorite works repeatedly?"

Sheeran thought seriously, but showed more and more struggling.

"I... I don't know how to choose... Why do you ask such a depressing question? I want to talk to you happily."

Really? Sheeran, do you think so?

Fanning felt that it was difficult to say whether this was depressing or comforting.

But he finally shook his head: "If you don't want to talk, then don't talk."

At this time, Fanning's face rarely showed a smile.

"Have you ever thought about what you want for your 18th birthday gift? Refers to the general type or hint."

"Ah..." This topic made Sheeran suddenly feel a little surprised, "If there is, you can prepare it as you see fit."

She was actually a little confused. Her birthday was more than two months away, why did Fanning suddenly bring it up today?

But it has been a long time since she saw Fanning smile, not a bitter or helpless smile, but a smile without a gloomy feeling.

Especially now, he is smiling at her.

It looks really good.

"The general type or hint can make the effect better at that time." Fanning said.

"Usually, when you ask this, you have an idea in your mind." Sheeran rolled his eyes up to the sky, "But, in fact, I just prefer to cooperate with you in violin concertos. If you don't mind, I can do more."

"It's not very difficult. You can write a few more slowly."

"It doesn't have to be a new work. It's the same. Those four small concertos are so beautiful. Are you going to perform them once and then put them in the bottom of the box?"

"Old works are fine? You have a small appetite."

"Did you have a big idea in your mind?"

"Very big." Fanning nodded.

"How big?"

"As big as Turner Hall." He opened his arms and gestured.

"What a cold joke." Sheeran laughed out loud.

"I'm serious." Fanning blinked.

"Come on, seriously, it's just a violin concerto, an old one is fine, just arrange a few more performances later."

"No problem, then, go and rest."

The two stood up, and Fanning sent her out the door.

"Why are you so obsessed with violin concertos, and the kind that doesn't care about new or old ones?" He asked again, leaning against the wall.

"I like it." The girl replied.

"Is there any special reason?"

"You should rest early, and I'll tell you after the premiere."

After saying good night to each other, Sheeran waved and his face disappeared behind the closed door.

"I'm going to sleep." The door was closed when he said this.

The smile on Fanning's face didn't last too long, and he walked back to his desk step by step and sat down again.

He didn't feel sleepy at all.

Slowly leaning back, he took the score of the "Second Symphony" in his hand again.

This time he flipped through the pages one by one, and all kinds of past events emerged in his mind. Each movement reminded him of the various scenes when he created in the past, or the voices, smiles, and old letters and old documents of those dead people.

Reminiscence of the old organist who taught Anton...

The leadership of the Santa Lania Symphony Orchestra, the adventure experience of the three people...

The mourning activities of the poet Bassani, the out-of-control scene of the subway accident, the summer fragrance of the St. Euphrates Manor...

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The creation of the old symphony orchestra, the bits and pieces of life in the Turner Art Hall, the eyes of the children who received music assistance, the message wall of music fans, various interesting topics at the tea break, friends of impressionist painters, the joy of the New Year's Concert without regrets, the funeral of Ms. Hamilton...

The time at midnight passed by hour by hour.

His finger stopped at the last page.

There was a black-and-white photo of the New Year's Concert, with the back facing up.

He was ready to turn it over, but he couldn't make up his mind.

Then his eyes fell on the bookshelf next to him.

Most of the books were scores, and many pages were filled with notes that had not been torn off. They were notes that Kaplun had made when he borrowed and returned books over the past year. There were bookmarks, time notes, and answers to questions.

There were letters in the drawer under the bookshelf.

He began to read the letters again.

The extremely stretched and elegant font, the writing of each letter was very familiar.

"... But the same spring does not necessarily mean the same joy. Happiness or depression depends on how each person spends the winter. If you have never tried your best to fight the severe winter, you cannot experience the warmth of spring. If you have never experienced the uncertainty of fate, you cannot experience the happiness of the day when you have it."

Under the gas lamp, in the rearview mirror, the retreating figure appeared in my mind again.

The thoughts wandered in the summer night.

And the lingering sentimentality.

After an unknown amount of time, Fanning began to write something again.

Finally, he stood in front of the window, looking at the distant sky.

It was already past 5:30 in the morning.

"Sunrise" and "dawn" are two synonymous words that mean the sun rises.

But in Turangalian, one phrase is "sunrise comes", while the other is "brings dawn".

This is really interesting.

It's as if dawn is brought by people.

It is because the sunrise is seen subjectively that a new day comes.

Just like the meaning of "noon" in ancient language, it has undergone a long process of evolution of division and refinement.

However, for some people, the first dawn "brought" today is the last one for others, or even the one that "cannot be brought".

He thought so until the sun rose from the skyline, until the haze and steel supports in the city were dyed with new colors.

Until he suddenly felt that the spiritual environment around him was different.

It seemed that several walls from all directions were pushing towards him.

It was an existence with a condensation degree and mysterious characteristics far higher than his own, and even the "candle" phase spiritual perception that reached the ninth level could not penetrate and probe.

Before he could make a substantial response, a cold hand patted his shoulder.

"Commander Fan Ning, this is the third time to greet you like this, and I greet you when I bring the dawn."

He Meng's gloomy voice sounded beside his ears.

Fan Ning turned around, and Tong Kong suddenly shrank.

One, two, three…

In addition to He Meng, there were seven investigators standing in front of him in the office, standing in two rows and staring.

Each of them, including Salman, gave him a vague aura of high-level existence.

A dagger with black mist suddenly appeared at his throat again.

"River of Silver Mirror..." The ancient Chaniz name of a work flashed through Fanning's mind, because according to his artistic understanding, this mysterious painting might belong to an invisible force of defense rather than attack.

This is better than the "Expansion and Reduction Echo" spell in his pocket that was used to deal with subway collisions.

But just as he was about to open his mouth, the dagger suddenly dissipated.

"Take out the nine paintings that we met last time, and then take us to the entrance of the ruins of the 'Grand Court School'. I know it is in the Turner Museum of Art, and it is one of the possible areas."

Norma Gon, wearing a black court dress, was sitting on Fanning's desk chair.

"15 minutes is enough time to go around to any far end of the art hall. I need to see things that meet my expectations before the time is up, without having to make excuses or speculate whether I will actually do it here."