Holding the money pouch in his hand and feeling its weight, Lucian's mood stirred with a faint excitement, like back on Earth when, earning a monthly salary of a thousand yuan with housing prices at the same level, he had suddenly come into more than thirty thousand yuan. Even though Lucian had been tempered by so many events and could generally keep himself calm, he couldn't help but feel a noticeable emotional surge — let alone the fact that this money represented hope for a rapid improvement in his ability to protect himself in the short term.
"Looks like I'm half a money-grubber after all," Lucian mocked himself inwardly. He said goodbye to Hank and headed toward the music library on the second floor. After all, he had known Piero for over two months now, which more or less made them friends, and he ought to tell him before leaving the library.
Hank watched Lucian's shifting emotions and the way he forcibly steadied himself, and shook his head with a perfectly normal smile, muttering, "It's nice being young and talented." If Lucian had been dismissive of so many Gold Thalers, or had shown no expression whatsoever like a corpse, then Hank would have found him truly strange.
What Lucian had actually been owed was thirty-four Gold Thalers, but by custom, Lucian very sensibly hadn't asked about it, and Hank certainly wasn't going to bring it up himself.
…………
Inside the music library, Piero sat in a daze behind the wooden counter, two newspapers spread open in front of him.
"Good morning, Piero," Lucian walked over and greeted him.
Piero looked up as if jolted from a dream, staring blankly at the person before him: "Lucian…" The moment the name left his lips, Piero's face darkened. "Perhaps I should address you as Mr. Evans."
This attitude caught Lucian off guard. After over two months of getting along, Lucian understood Piero's character reasonably well. He didn't strike him as a stupid or blindly arrogant person — even if there was jealousy inside, he wouldn't show it so obviously. "Piero?"
"You — you — why do you play the piano like that? Do you even understand how to play the harpsichord?!" Piero said through gritted teeth, his dark brown eyes fixed on Lucian with undisguised disgust.
Lucian's attention sharpened, and he lowered his gaze to the two newspapers spread in front of Piero.
These were today's freshly printed and distributed issues of the Musical Review and the Symphony Guide, each open to a review of Victor's piano concerto.
Lucian didn't need to read them carefully — he had already stored both newspapers in his Soul Library during a quick earlier browse, and they flipped themselves to the relevant articles.
The latter halves of both articles discussed the fingering techniques used when Victor played the piano. One argued that it brought out the characteristics of this entirely new instrument and was a praiseworthy improvement. The other felt it violated the classical fingering that many great musicians and renowned performers had gradually refined over countless performances, calling it a betrayal of tradition and of music itself — the so-called improvement being completely unjustified.
Lucian understood what Piero was getting at, but he still couldn't grasp why his reaction was so intense. Wasn't this the sort of thing those gentlemen would argue about?
"Do you even understand the art of harpsichord performance?" Piero pressed again.
"Piano, harpsichord…" When Lucian heard these words, he suddenly recalled that after Piero had learned he was studying the piano, he had recommended a book called The Art of Harpsichord Playing. Lucian carefully retrieved it from his Soul Library and examined the cover: "Author: Antonio Sandor?"
"Piero, this Mr. Antonio Sandor — who is he?" Lucian asked, beginning to understand.
Piero paused, then replied with immense pride: "He is my father, a great harpsichord performer. I will not stand by and let you destroy his art."
Lucian didn't want to argue with him about this. He pressed his right hand downward in a calming gesture. "The standard for judging whether fingering is good or bad is the expressiveness of the music. Let time be the judge. Anyway, Piero, starting today I'll be leaving the library."
But Piero had no intention of letting Lucian go. "I misjudged you, Lucian. You're someone who, thinking himself musically talented, squanders that talent without a shred of respect for tradition. If you won't give up your playing technique, you'll only stray further down the wrong path and throw away your reputation as a genius."
Lucian had been about to say something more, but seeing Piero's firm and stubborn demeanor, he gave up and simply turned to leave. There was no persuading him on a matter like this.
"I really thought Piero and I would become friends," Lucian sighed inwardly as he left the music library. Not every good person you meet could become your friend — more often than not, after a brief intersection, people drifted apart for one reason or another.
…………
Since the concert had concluded successfully yesterday, Victor had announced that future studies would return to the normal Monday-through-Friday schedule. And after such a busy stretch, whether it was Victor himself, or Lot, Phyllis, or Herodotus, they all needed time to relax and rest. Plus, today was Sunday, and they had to attend church services, so the piano room on the fourth floor was completely empty. Lucian had wanted to find Phyllis to discuss matters, but she was nowhere to be found.
"Maybe I should visit Phyllis at her home in the Nobility District this afternoon…" Lucian put the money pouch away and seriously considered paying Phyllis a visit. Now that he had an excuse and a reason, being a little more urgent about it would actually seem natural. "But how do I convince her? With Gold Thalers, or something else?"
Mulling over this problem, Lucian returned to the ground-floor lobby and asked Elena whether there were any garden villas for rent in the Gisu District.