Chapter 111: The Beginning

The crystal wall hovering in midair had vanished, but the crowd in the civic plaza and the surrounding streets showed no sign of dispersing. They were still savoring the symphony titled "Dawn of War" that had just concluded — yet another monumental work following the thematic music revolution sparked by the Fate Symphony.

"Still, comparatively speaking, I think the Fate Symphony was better." Sara lacked the professional vocabulary to offer a precise critique and could only describe it through his own feelings. "The symphony was magnificent and stirring, but 'Fate' was firmer, more powerful — it touched the heart more deeply."

Lilith nodded rapidly, like a chick pecking at grain. "Mm, I prefer Fate too."

But she quickly turned troubled, furrowing her brow. "Still, Mr. Christopher's concert was an overwhelming success, and his new work is absolutely a great piece of music. What is Mr. Evans to do tomorrow? One closes the festival, one opens it. If his concert can't match this standard, it's bound to create enormous disappointment for everyone."

And once disappointment had carved a deep enough mark in people's hearts, it would be exceedingly difficult to erase.

"Doesn't he have Fate?" Sara tried to comfort his sister with a bitter smile, though he was equally worried and anxious.

Lilith looked up at Sara. She wanted to say something, but in the end only let out a soft sigh.

They both understood it well — every piece performed at today's concert was a classic. The Fate Symphony alone simply couldn't sustain an entire concert.

In some dark corner, Mackenzie — who had used the pretext of urgent business back in his own territory — had reappeared in Altor. He waved his arms with a twisted, triumphant expression on his face. "President Christopher was magnificent! This is how you do it — use a flawless performance to leave that bastard commoner Lucian with no chance whatsoever of success. Hmph! For such an important concert, he prepared several solo piano pieces — the sheer arrogance, the sheer conceit! When you fail to meet everyone's expectations and can no longer serve as Her Highness's music advisor, I'll show you what it means to be a noble!"

Nearly five minutes later, the crowd in the civic plaza finally began to disperse.

Standing on the top floor of the civic hall, Phyllis gazed down at the dark tide of people flowing away below. For a long time she said nothing, her expression melancholy and subdued. At last she exhaled heavily, as though trying to expel all the tension and worry from her heart.

…………

In the Sacred Hymn Hall, Duke Vaolet, Cardinal Saer de, Princess Natasha, Prince Michel, and the other most distinguished personages still lingered, having invited Christopher into their private box to express their admiration — and their regret that a master would no longer give concerts.

With those great figures still present, the remaining nobles and musicians naturally stayed in their seats as well, discussing the concert among themselves.

For instance, Lucian was using the precise definitions he had learned from the Soul Library to discuss with Victor and Marcus the exposition, development, recapitulation, and coda of the first movement's main theme.

"It seems you truly have a gift for thematic music — music that carries its own thoughts and emotions. You've nearly formed a complete set of ideas with your own distinct style. That's something every authoritative musician must possess." Victor was pleased to see his student growing more mature, more like a true musician.

Lucian smiled and shook his head. "Actually, many of these concepts and definitions were proposed by other musicians over the past few months as the thematic music movement flourished. I simply read about them in journals like 'Music Review' and 'Symphony Herald' and absorbed them."

"That's quite true — I've seen similar discussions in the papers myself." Marcus naturally had no intention of conceding Victor's assessment. Then he fixed Lucian with a meaningful stare. "President Christopher's concert today can certainly be called perfect. Lucian, what about yours tomorrow?"

Only then did Victor notice something off about Marcus's mood and attitude. He quickly patted Marcus's arm, signaling him to say no more, and turned to Lucian himself. "Lucian, you're still young. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. I believe you will ultimately stand among the ranks of the great musicians."

Because no one had ever before dared to perform so many solo pieces at the Sacred Hymn Hall, even with all his confidence in Lucian's music, Victor couldn't help worrying about the audience's capacity to accept it.

"As long as I do my absolute best, I'll have no regrets — not toward myself, and not toward you, Teacher Victor." Lucian was not nearly as tense or burdened as others imagined, even if his arrangement was admittedly a bit ahead of its time. Even on Earth, the word "recital" had only come into existence because of Liszt, not the masters at the peak and turning point of classical music.

Victor said nothing more, simply giving a quiet nod.

Nearly ten minutes later, the Duke and the others departed, and the nobles and musicians began filing out. Everyone who encountered Lucian greeted him with odd glances and expressions of strained composure, but not a single person mentioned the concert the following day.

Even an old-fashioned noble and musician like Othello — who was deeply worried that something might go wrong with Lucian and cause the concert to fail — understood that at this point, adding more pressure on Lucian would be the most foolish thing imaginable. He even stopped those who were gloating and eager to see Lucian fail from provoking him.

…………

April 5th, 7:30 in the evening.

Being the final day of the music festival — the last official concert — the civic plaza and the surrounding Administrative District streets were already packed with a boisterous, clamoring crowd. Meanwhile, the other neighborhoods within the city had grown empty and desolate, eerily quiet.

All of Altor was split — one half blazing like fire, the other half frozen like ice.

Piola, Sharon, and the others had learned from the previous two days and refrained from performing that afternoon, heading straight to the civic plaza to claim their spots. Now, standing at the center, they watched as more and more people gathered around them, hearing the increasingly fervent buzz of discussion.

"I don't think I'll ever forget a scene like this," said Leslie, the cellist, closing his eyes to take it all in. "This is probably the largest, most well-attended concert on the entire continent."

Piola spread his arms as if greeting a gentle breeze, his face radiant with ecstasy. "If I could hold a concert in a setting like this, I could die without regrets."

"But that's probably a dream that can never come true." Greene, the honest and unassuming violist, shook his head with a sigh — though in his heart, how could he not harbor a similar dream?

"We're all only around twenty, still so young. As long as we keep creating music into our seventies like Master Christopher, why shouldn't we dream of performing at the Sacred Hymn Hall during the Altor Music Festival?" Sharon expressed her conviction and her determination.

Grace pointed at the empty midair space where the crystal wall had yet to appear. "Speaking of youth — Mr. Evans is still several months away from his coming-of-age ceremony."

"Heh heh. There have been musical prodigies who performed at the Sacred Hymn Hall at fifteen, but it wasn't their first concert, and it wasn't the closing night of the Altor Music Festival. Setting aside Mr. Evans's music entirely, this alone will ensure he's remembered by history." Sharon came from a musical family and knew more about the history of music than her companions.