After Lucian brought down his baton, the music did not begin as people had expected. Instead, they saw him lean slightly forward, both hands and arms visibly sweeping up and down in rapid motions. This immediately instilled in the audience a sense of urgency and fervor, as though considerable strength were accumulating within their bodies.
Before their puzzled, bewildered feelings could fully take hold, Lucian's hands flicked upward in a swift motion, and the baton rose with a sharp, decisive flick. In that instant, the bold, crisp, and unforgettable opening notes of the Serenade for Strings in G Major burst forth — perfectly channeling the pent-up energy and restless anticipation within their bodies, plunging them straight into the bright, joyful atmosphere the serenade carried.
Lucian wore a look of pleasure on his face as the baton danced rhythmically in his hand. His mood, his expressions, and his body language all radiated a clear sense of delight, and the audience — already stirred by the music — found themselves further infected by his performance, drawn ever deeper into the musical atmosphere.
"His conducting is so unusual!" Duke Vaolet murmured in admiration, swaying gently to the melody of the serenade.
Christopher and Natasha had not attended any of the orchestra's rehearsals, but as they listened to the music, a similar thought surfaced in both their minds: "Is Lucian trying a conducting style completely different from what we've seen before?"
Due to the constraints of past musical trends, the symphony had not yet developed a complete theme that carried the composer's own thoughts and emotions. Conducting had therefore been limited to simply keeping time — there was no need to grasp or convey the deeper meaning and feeling the original composer wished to express. Even when Victor and Christopher had conducted "Fate" and "The Dawn War" before, though they appeared passionate and frenzied, their expressiveness was confined to the baton in their right hand and the emotions on their faces. They had never attempted — nor even considered — using their conducting to ignite the orchestra's passion, stir the audience's emotions, or articulate the music's inner meaning.
Only when music had developed to a certain stage would the art of conducting evolve in turn. Lucian, the very figure who had guided classical music from its mature peak toward the dawn of Romanticism, was now using this concert to showcase the charm of conducting — a style of orchestral direction suited to the current musical landscape.
Because his Soul Library contained no visual recordings, Lucian could only learn from introductory essays about the legendary conductors Toscanini, Karajan, and others, absorbing their performance techniques and gradually forming a conducting style of his own.
Under Lucian's direction, every section of the orchestra performed superbly, bringing out the bright, fluid, fresh, and joyful atmosphere of the first movement to its fullest. The audience members in the Civic Plaza who had heard this serenade before found themselves immersed in the music, their bodies swaying gently with the melody, as though longing to rise and dance.
The bards in the taverns, the street performers on the avenues, and the orchestras that performed at Sacred Hymn Hall could not compare — and standing before the orchestra now was a genuine musical genius, conducting in a style entirely his own.
Lucian's expression grew one of rapt absorption, and his conducting movements softened. Under this gentler direction, the second movement of the Serenade for Strings in G Major — lyrical, tender, sweet, and beautiful — drifted through Sacred Hymn Hall, drifted through the Civic Plaza and Administrative District, drifted through the hearts of everyone present.
Watching Lucian conduct and listening to the music, the nobles and musicians found themselves struck by a serene and romantic illusion: riding on fine steeds side by side with a beloved companion through beautiful countryside. The common folk, meanwhile, felt as though they were rowing a little boat with a laughing, radiant young woman under brilliant sunshine — carefree and light-hearted.
The graceful melody shifted with Lucian's conducting gestures, body language, and emotional expression — now bright and powerful, now lyrical and flowing — drawing out the elegant, refined character of the minuet. Had this not been a concert, many gentlemen in the audience would surely have risen to invite the ladies and young women to dance.
By the fourth movement, Lucian was brimming with vigor once more, driving the orchestra to deliver a flawless rendition of the bright, enchanting, youthful, and spirited rondo. The audience, too, remained drunk on the delicate, heavenly music, and it was not until Lucian turned to bow to them — marking the first long intermission — that they finally snapped back to reality and erupted in passionate, thunderous applause.
"Who would have thought a serenade could produce such an effect!" Piola exclaimed to his companions, equal parts astonished and incredulous.
In the past, a serenade of this banquet variety had no right to grace the elevated stage of a concert hall, and even if it had been performed, it would never have received such warm and genuine devotion from the audience. Only today — at Lucian Evans's concert — had such a small miracle been created.
Sharon savoried the lingering echo of the music: "Before, after hearing just the first movement of this serenade, we once tried composing the rest ourselves. But today, after hearing Mr. Evans's final three movements, I finally understand why he is a musical genius — why he could hold his very first concert at Sacred Hymn Hall before even turning eighteen. It was splendid and refined, exquisite and perfectly balanced!"
Thanks to what had happened earlier, this small ensemble harbored nothing but goodwill toward Lucian. The fact that he could speak about music with them so openly and sincerely — without a shred of arrogance or the slightest trace of mockery — proved that Lucian Evans was a musician whose character, integrity, and art all shone brilliantly.
"Actually, what left the deepest impression on me wasn't the melody itself, but Mr. Evans's strange, vigorous hand movements when he began conducting," Grace recalled with a smile. "I've never seen anyone conduct like that. I don't think I'll forget that scene for many years."
"Same here — and that swaying seemed to affect our emotions too," Piola and Sharon said in unison.
In the private box, Christopher said to Duke Vaolet and Archbishop Saer de with a grin: "It seems Lucian has truly given us a surprise. So conducting can be done like this."
"Indeed — his conducting seems to let the music express itself more fully, and it draws us in more deeply." Duke Vaolet nodded gently, recalling the music they had just heard.
Natasha had declared her confidence in Lucian outwardly, and she had certainly acted the part — yet before the concert's success was assured, she could not help feeling a touch of anxiety. Now, however, her worries had melted away entirely. She listened with a smile as they discussed the performance, thinking to herself: "What other new ideas has Lucian been keeping up his sleeve?"
Victor, Phyllis, John, and the others also let out a long, relieved breath. At the very least, the serenade had been absolutely flawless and exquisitely beautiful — Lucian would face no criticism for it. Only, his conducting just now had been strikingly different from anything they had seen before!
Lucian's very first concert thus opened with the Serenade for Strings in G Major, rousing the atmosphere to a fever pitch. Now everyone was all the more eager for the pieces to come — and for whatever other surprises his unconventional conducting might bring.
…………
With a knight's constitution like his, Lucian had barely been winded. After a brief rest, he returned to the stage, ensuring the atmosphere he had worked so hard to build would not cool.