Old-time musicians

Chapter 558 Beethoven

As Fan Ning approached the tombstone, he continued to ask questions calmly and calmly.

In fact, he has many, many questions that need to be answered.

For example, questions about "time travel", such as the current situation or whereabouts of his father Vincent.

But it is impossible to expect to get answers from an "esoteric cult leader" with unknown motives.

A dangerous person who could plot the demise of "Fanghui Poet", no matter what the answer, he couldn't believe it. If he made a reasonable inference, there was a high probability that his father had suffered an accident at the hands of this person?

Whether it was Fan Ning's questions or responses, it was more about dealing with delays, and his running pace speeded up a bit again.

The next moment, the other party's slow laughter and new questions came from the other end of the phone:

"Where's Pogorelic? Why doesn't he come this time?"

The conversation didn't go the way Fanning had hoped at first.

"How do I know the big shot's itinerary?"

The depth of the water his legs were wading in was getting shallower, and Fan Ning looked around again warily.

The field of vision was very empty. Various low "water-soaked cabins" in the distance were still flashing lights, but there was no other abnormality.

But the colors in his eyes seemed to be a bit hallucinatory and directly affected his actions.

Not a good situation.

"You seem to have some trouble getting along with him? What kind of person does Pogorelic look like to you?" Mr. F asked.

"In the past, there were people from three continents who knew that I and the Special Inspection Office were not dealing with each other. Of course, now there are two continents." Fan Ning calmed down and smiled in an indifferent tone, "But when it comes to Pogorelic specifically, we have to deal with each other. There are only a handful of times, and the status is not straightforward enough. Generally speaking, it does not have the strength and status to evaluate."

"No, no, no, you have it." Mr. F interrupted him, "I have never been qualified, because this world is just a grassroots team, a poor and defective product. Here, trying to be a careerist or a dictator The person who is the author is pathetic. This person's "Jin" skill is very strong. Maybe one day he can lift the curtain, but he still can't bear the consequences of facing the truth. He is not happy to see human beings replaced by a more advanced creature. He The ruler I want to be is the ruler of a group of inferior animals living in the mud and sediment."

Let me change my previous judgment. This man's mental state is much more extreme than Pogorelic. Facing Mr. F on the other end of the phone, Fan Ning fell into silence for a while.

In his previous life, Scriabin was regarded by many people as a mental patient!

"Fan Ning, you should realize that there is a deep connection between art and mysticism, but art is not an appendage of mysticism, but the true essence of high places, something even higher than mysticism! What can knowledgeable people rely on? Controlling the power of taboos? They make knowledge secret and become a secret studied by a few people. They form a group and become a church and a scholar. Even the most stupid nobles of the family can be transformed through inheritance and indoctrination; what do the Lords of Witness rely on? Dominate the laws of nature? They occupied the HOS seat earlier, seized the right of passage of the 'Dome Door', and then defined it as an 'unopenable door'. But art is different!"

"Art is actually not secretive at all. For a few pounds to more than ten pounds, you and I can buy the most authoritative books, the most authentic music scores, and the most top-notch museum or concert tickets. The accumulation of masters throughout their lives is all There, a violin that costs 5 pounds is enough to play the Chaconne perfectly, and the supplies required to copy Monet's oil paintings only cost one shilling. But so what? Everything is there, but most people are extremely stupid. , they can’t get any inspiration at all! And they haven’t realized the desperate situation they are facing, and they cry and laugh every day because of their low-level desires and aesthetics!”

"Only people like us. Our research has almost nothing to do with the world that living people can imagine. It is not something they can describe clearly. What we pursue is related to the vast and terrifying universe! You wrote 'Resurrection' , wrote "Summer Noon Dream", you should be clear that in this kind of universe only transcendent concepts and consciousness exist. The place where these things are located is deeper than matter, time, and space. I suspect that they will only exist somewhere. This kind of dream - a particularly rare, deep dream, they will never have such a dream, even people with very rich imaginations will only have it twice in their lives."

"Wow--"

Fanning lifted his wet trouser legs out of the puddle.

"Are you listening?" Mr. F suddenly asked.

"Here." Fan Ning frowned and squeezed out a word, paying attention to keeping calm.

To what extent does the other party understand and grasp his current status, words and deeds? Hard to judge.

If you listen to a few paragraphs of this kind of remarks from time to time, you probably won’t go crazy.

He always feels that there is something wrong with the other party's views or wording, but he doesn't know where to start his refutation.

"But you and I have other desperate situations," Mr. F added.

"Others?" Fan Ning asked cooperatively this time.

"Swish, swish, swish"

The terrain in the direction of the tombstone was getting higher and higher, and the depth of the water was only the last few centimeters. Fan Ning stepped into the soft but dirty sand, and then raised his legs and stepped into the rectangular fence with wrought iron patterns.

Black and thick fog enveloped itself.

In the field of vision that cannot be clearly seen, a vague golden circle is carved on the front spire of the tombstone.

"There is no way out."

"I was born in a year with no way out, and you were born in a year with no way out either."

"By the way, do you recognize Chopin's art?"

Mr. F asked again.

"A unique master, one of the brightest 'crescents'."

Fanning didn't know what to do, and he answered without hesitation when faced with such an undisputed question.

"That's right." So the person on the other end of the phone started his long and rambling speech again, "I also admired Chopin very much when I was a teenager. When I was 12 years old, I could improvise a prelude with almost the same level and style as his. The mazurkas and etudes I wrote at the age of 15 could make the audience mistakenly think that I had newly excavated one of his posthumous works! My talent is only above that! But I later found that if I continued like this, my life would have no meaning. Fanning, if you write a work similar to the "Ninth Symphony in D Minor" tomorrow, guess what will happen? The audience will say, 'Hey, this guy has such an accurate grasp of Beethoven's style and imitates it so well! '"

"I feel sorry for your 'Resurrection Symphony'. If it was 200 years ago, when the last chorus sounded, it would be a noble act that would make you a 'torch bearer'! You are the Beethoven of this world! But what happened? After that premiere, you couldn't even completely rise to the 'crescent moon'! Hahahaha, great composer"

"You're right." Fanning continued to express his agreement and continued to move forward.

The next moment, his eyes froze.

Looking closer in front, he found that the border of the entire tombstone had rotted and turned into a form that looked like air but not air. It looked like it would be swallowed by the black fog at any time, but the texture inside was still intact.

The circle on the top of the tombstone can be seen clearly. There is a golden butterfly decoration in the snake-shaped ring. Below the circle is a golden harp-shaped symbol, and below that, there are black cursive letters:

"Beethoven"

"Impossible!!!" Fanning's fists suddenly clenched.