The Sound of Silence

Fu Qinghai stepped out of the infirmary. Gult, who had been guarding the door, walked over, handed him a tablet, and said:

"Qingshan, this is the final post-battle summary report. You probably haven't seen it yet."

"Thanks." Fu Qinghai took it and began to flip through the pages.

Oh... it was only after reading the post-battle summary that Fu Qinghai realized the Word Bearers warrior he had killed, who was wearing Terminator Tactical Dreadnought Armour, was actually the commander of the transport fleet, Daren Klofa.

However, this achievement had to take a backseat, as the top priority was the elimination of a Helbrute.

Seeing this, Fu Qinghai couldn't help but feel a bit sheepish. The Helbrute had already fought a major battle against the veteran warrior Hiller, and it was only after that that he and the Howling Banshee had used a ruse to take it down together. The Aeldari girl Salamanderuslan had certainly played an indispensable role, but the report couldn't mention an alien, so it was recorded as the Helbrute being killed by the late veteran warrior Hiller and Fu Qinghai together.

Gult said: "Qingshan, you killed a Word Bearers captain. It's a pity that the guy was likely blown to bits by the orbital bombardment; otherwise, you could have kept his weapon as a battle souvenir."

Fu Qinghai shook his head. He had little interest in so-called "battle souvenirs" that served only to show off and had no practical use.

Besides, what was an enemy's weapon compared to anything else? He even knew someone who liked to cut off body parts from enemies to keep as souvenirs.

Bidding farewell to Gult, Fu Qinghai returned to his personal rest cabin to freshen up.

He placed his true prize—the Valyrian Steel longsword Heartbreaker—into his weapon case.

Fu Qinghai looked at the ancient-looking black longsword. Judging by the dimensions of the blade and hilt, it was a long-handled sword, or what was known as a "greatsword," with a size and weight between a two-handed greatsword and a one-handed rapier.

Of course, that was relative to ordinary humans; for an Astartes, Heartbreaker felt like a short combat sword in his hand.

Fu Qinghai closed the weapon case, took off his massive Power Armor, changed into a simple, loose gray robe, and headed to the cruiser's mess hall.

Fu Qinghai walked into the empty mess hall, grabbed a few items of food, and was just about to find a place to sit when he suddenly heard someone call out from the side:

"Hey, White Scars warrior, over here!"

Fu Qinghai, carrying his food, turned to look. It was three Ultramarines sitting at a table eating.

The one waving at him was a young-looking warrior with golden curly hair.

"Here, come sit over here."

Fu Qinghai walked over, and the golden-haired youth gestured for him to sit.

The young man, wearing Power Armor with blue eyes and golden curls, flashed a warm, enthusiastic smile and said:

"Hello, White Scars warrior. Let me introduce myself. My name is Papastathopoulos, you can call me Papa."

Fu Qinghai looked at this overly familiar golden-haired youth, nodded, and said:

"Qingshan, that's my name."

"Welcome to the Sotharan, Qingshan. Let me introduce you; the person across from you is named Dunlop."

Papa the golden-haired youth pointed to a warrior with a pale, short-cropped haircut and a middle-aged face sitting opposite Fu Qinghai.

This warrior had a stern, resolute face and was silently eating his food with meticulous care. Upon hearing his name, he looked up, nodded at Fu Qinghai, and then lowered his head to continue eating.

Next, Papastathopoulos pointed to the brown-haired warrior sitting across from him and said:

"This is Abner Willard. Both of them are my squadmates."

Abner Willard noticed that Fu Qinghai seemed a bit uncomfortable with Papa's familiarity and smiled, explaining:

"Don't mind him, White Scars warrior. Papa is a new recruit who was promoted the year before last. He has no prior experience fighting alongside the V Legion, so he's quite curious about you."

Fu Qinghai indicated that he didn't mind, but he didn't expect Papa's next sentence to surprise him:

"Do you remember me? We made a pact."

Fu Qinghai was startled and asked: "We've met?"

Papa nodded affirmatively and said:

"On the surface of Planet Roswell VII, do you remember? That move..."

As he spoke, Papa began to gesture on the table.

"You went like this... then like that... and in two moves, you finished off that Word Bearer."

"Oh..." Fu Qinghai had a sudden realization.

He remembered. It was the Ultramarine he had encountered when he first broke into the Word Bearers' trenches following Gult's Stinger Squad. At the time, the other party had been wearing a helmet, and the voice filtered through the loudspeaker was different from his current young, slightly high-pitched tone.

Willard, who had finally understood from the side, laughed and said:

"You'd better be careful, Qingshan. This guy is obsessed with combat; he'll definitely pester you all day long."

Sure enough, after finishing his meal, Papa invited Fu Qinghai to the training cage for a spar.

Fu Qinghai didn't refuse; he had nothing better to do anyway.

Besides, Ogedei had already anticipated this situation, though Papa's goal was simple: he just wanted to spar in martial arts.

In Ogedei's past experiences and assumptions, if a White Scars warrior went to another Legion's territory, they would certainly be provoked or given a cold shoulder, so he had sent someone with the best melee combat skills to ensure the White Scars didn't lose face.

Just as he was about to get up and head to the training cage, the taciturn Dunlop suddenly said:

"Qingshan... you are that Qingshan!"

Fu Qinghai was stunned. Which Qingshan? Did that mean there was a second Qingshan on this ship?

His two companions also looked over in confusion.

"You are that Qingshan who killed the Helbrute and the Word Bearers commander in the post-battle report for the landing operation."

Dunlop said.

"Oh, oh, I remember now... My god, you look so young." Willard also reacted, looking at Fu Qinghai again with a face full of surprise.

Having read the post-battle report, the "Qingshan" they imagined should have been a weathered, century-old veteran hardened by countless battles; for a moment, they hadn't associated the name with the warrior standing before them, who looked just as young as Papastathopoulos.

"I used some tricks, just luck, just luck..."

Fu Qinghai still felt the need to be humble here. He truly lacked the ability to confront a Dreadnought head-on, and he was afraid that these Ultramarines would get hot-blooded and try to find him a Dreadnought to spar with—that would be entirely unnecessary.

Dunlop, a middle-aged warrior with a short white buzz cut, patted Papastathopoulos on the shoulder and said:

"I won't go over to watch the match; the outcome is already set."

The golden-curled Papastathopoulos looked unconvinced.

"Bang!"

Papastathopoulos was knocked to the ground for the third time.

"Qingshan, you cheated, this isn't fair!"

Papastathopoulos shouted from the floor.

At this moment, his golden curls were already soaked with sweat, sticking to his forehead in strands.

Fu Qinghai casually spun his blade, sheathed the training weapon back in its place, and said offhandedly:

"Otherwise, how do you think I killed the Helbrute? A fair duel?"

Just a moment ago, he had assumed a swordsmanship stance, using the footwork and spacing of a fencer, only to parry Papastathopoulos's blade and follow up with an Iron Mountain-style shoulder bash directly into his chin.

These moves had been used to death on Albuslang.

Defeating Papastathopoulos did not provide Fu Qinghai with any psychological satisfaction, nor did it bring any improvement to his martial arts; it felt more like disciplining a child.

Fu Qinghai said: "Let's stop here for today, I'm heading back."

Bidding farewell to Papastathopoulos, Fu Qinghai returned to his rest cabin to change his clothes, swapping his tight training gear for something looser and more casual.

Afterward, Fu Qinghai walked out of the cabin. It was likely the rest period in the warship's schedule, as there were few crew members to be seen in the corridor.

Fu Qinghai wandered aimlessly through the warship, though this time he was not accompanied by Vlahos's adjutant, who was currently busy with endless tasks.

Fu Qinghai walked outside a hall that looked like an auditorium and found it in a state of disarray, filled with various musical instruments, painting easels, and similar items. A group of men and women in diverse attire were inside, either whispering to each other or engaged in loud discussions.

They looked nothing like soldiers at all.

Just then, Gult, clad in full armor, walked toward him. Seeing Fu Qinghai looking inside, he lowered his voice to explain:

"Those people are Remembrancers. You should know them; your White Scars expedition fleet probably has them too."

"Oh."

Fu Qinghai understood.

Although there were no Remembrancers on the frigate Dagger, that didn't stop him from knowing who they were.

In the mid-stages of the Great Crusade, at the suggestion of Malcador the Sigillite, The Emperor dispatched artists and intellectuals from Terra and various major governed regions to join the Great Crusade, using various means to record and praise the achievements of the Imperium's expedition.

In short, they were there for political propaganda, to promote the legitimacy and righteousness of the Imperium reclaiming lost human colonies. Like the heralds responsible for spreading the Imperial Truth, they were standard non-military units in every expedition fleet.

Remembrancers were somewhat like journalists, but not entirely.

While they did the work of journalists, their actual professions could be photographers, documentary directors, writers, poets, and so on.

When these people first arrived with the expeditionary forces, they seemed completely out of place among the professional soldiers. They were full of curiosity about everything, undisciplined, and had no concept of what it meant to obey orders.

Leman Russ, the Primarch of the Space Wolves, had even suggested issuing them weapons and sending them to the front lines as cannon fodder.

"These guys have been much quieter lately." Gult looked at the low-pressure atmosphere inside and explained:

"With Warmaster Horus's rebellion, the entire Imperium has turned into a mess. Their worldviews have been shattered, and they spend their days in a state of fear. They no longer have the leisure and elegance they once had, which actually makes them much easier for us to manage."

Fu Qinghai nodded, expressing his understanding.

During the Great Crusade, throughout the galaxy, wherever the Astronomican could shine, whether it was Xenos forces or old human colonies unwilling to submit, they were basically no match for the Astartes Legions—with the exception of the Battle of Ullanor against the Orks. However, the Remembrancers hadn't joined the expedition fleets when that battle was fought; by the time they arrived, the Imperium of Man was already considered invincible across the galaxy.

Joining the expedition fleet was a very prestigious job. Those who became Remembrancers usually had some connections within the Imperium, and many of their families were famous, wealthy clans back on Terra.

As a result, after the Horus Heresy broke out, these people couldn't return to Terra or their respective families, and they had to follow their fleets to participate in the suppression of the rebellion. Once able to hide in the rear and compose poetry, they now had to face the front lines directly, inevitably feeling a sense of impending doom.

"They usually like to gather in this auditorium. Before the rebellion, the commander specifically designated this area for them to drink, brag, and chat. These guys can't survive a day without socializing."

"I don't know how the post-battle report for Planet Roswell VII leaked into the Remembrancers' circles, but they know the Ultramarines suffered heavy losses, and now they are even more worried and scared. Sigh, as long as they don't cause trouble, I don't want to waste time here. Just ignore them, Qingshan."

As a simple and disciplined Astartes Monk, Gult naturally had no patience for these well-connected artistic types. After grumbling to Fu Qinghai, he patted him on the shoulder and went off to attend to other matters.

Fu Qinghai, however, was not as repulsed by the Remembrancers. Finding some joy in leisure time was understandable; after all, how did that saying go?

Power is only temporary, but laughter is eternal.

Fu Qinghai worked so hard at learning and training now, partly to satisfy his own thirst for knowledge, and partly to survive better in the Reincarnation World.

Deep down, he was still a man from Earth. If not for the pressure of survival, he wouldn't want to spend every day covered in wounds in a training cage or killing his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Fu Qinghai hesitated for a moment at the entrance of the auditorium.

Well, he thought, I'm idle anyway, and I'm bored to death right now, so why not go in and have a look?

Consider it post-war psychological adjustment.

Fu Qinghai stepped into the auditorium.

The moment he walked in, several pairs of eyes locked onto him.

Other crew members often came here to relax, but an Astartes almost never entered; the Space Marines avoided this place like the plague.

As soon as Fu Qinghai entered, a man in a black tuxedo holding a tray glided gracefully toward him, respectfully offering a drink from the tray and saying:

"Welcome, Lord Astartes. Your arrival brings great splendor to the Hall of Inspiration."

Fu Qinghai casually took a glass from the tray, pinched the delicate stem, and asked curiously:

"You call this place the Hall of Inspiration? Are you a waiter here?"

The black-haired man with a ponytail in the tuxedo immediately explained:

"Oh no, no, you misunderstand, my lord. There are no waiters here; everyone helps themselves. My name is Hall Camp, you can just call me Hall. I am a composer."

Fu Qinghai took a sip of the wine, smacked his lips, and said:

"This wine is really not very good."

It felt worse than the average sparkling wine from Earth in his previous life; he didn't know if human tastes had changed in the future or what.

Hall Camp laughed and said, "I agree with your conclusion. This wine is only fit for the sewers of a Hive City. But there's no help for it; the supply lines to the Sotharan have long been cut, and this is the last of our stock. If not for your arrival, I wouldn't even have been willing to bring it out to entertain guests."

Then, the black-haired man with the ponytail added:

"To answer your previous question, we call this the Hall of Inspiration because it once provided us with an endless source of inspiration. We gave speeches here, argued and debated here, recited poetry here; it once sparked infinite creative passion in us... well, at least it did before the rebellion."

At this, Hall sighed.

Fu Qinghai looked around and found that most of the Remembrancers looked anxious and sorrowful. The superhuman hearing granted by his Astartes physiology allowed him to hear that they weren't discussing art, but rather speculating on the war situation at the front and feeling lost about an unknown future.

Of course, there were also many who were finding joy in suffering, wallowing in self-pity, drowning their sorrows in alcohol, or just giving up; people in the arts were often quite sensitive and fragile.

"Hmm..." Fu Qinghai was noncommittal. He was here to kill time, but it was clear that most of the Remembrancers were a bit depressed.

Fu Qinghai lowered his head to clink glasses with Hall and drained the remaining wine in one gulp.

Seeing that this Astartes seemed relatively easy to talk to, Hall boldly asked:

"My lord, everyone here is very curious about you... uh, no offense intended, I mean, very few Astartes are willing to come to the Hall of Inspiration. You are one of the few, and I am very curious: what is your purpose in coming here?"

Fu Qinghai placed the empty glass back on the tray and said:

"I'm just here to find some amusement. By the way, is that piano available to use?"

Uh, find... some... amusement?

Hall Camp was stunned for a moment. This was the first time he had heard these words from an Astartes Monk, and he subconsciously replied:

"Yes, of... of course you can..."

Coming back to his senses, he realized Fu Qinghai was already walking toward the black grand piano placed in the center of the hall.

Fu Qinghai walked through the groups of people gathered here and there. These men and women, dressed in various styles, saw a tall Astartes approaching, watched him with curiosity, and one after another cleared a path.

The Astartes stood out like a crane in a flock of chickens.

Fu Qinghai walked slowly to the piano, pulled out the bench, and sat down.

He placed his hands before the black and white keys, gathered his thoughts, and recalled the pieces he had practiced in his earlier years.

"Wait..." Hall Camp's hand, which had been raised halfway, froze in mid-air. He had just wanted to remind this Space Marine that the black grand piano was a replica of an ancient instrument from Terra, a very precious antique, and he shouldn't break it.

But as a composer, the moment he saw Fu Qinghai's posture, he knew the man could play the instrument, so he immediately fell silent.

Attracted by Fu Qinghai's actions, the eyes of many in the auditorium focused on him. They watched this giant of an Astartes sitting at the piano and couldn't help but start whispering, their curious eyes scanning him, guessing what on earth he wanted to do.

Fu Qinghai closed his eyes to recall the melody, opened them, and his fingertips pressed down lightly.

Accompanied by the low, melodious sound of the piano, Fu Qinghai sang softly:

"Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again..."

His low, magnetic voice echoed through the auditorium, and the previously noisy hall fell silent instantly.

"Wow..." some people whispered in low voices.

"What am I seeing? I'm seeing an Astartes singing, for heaven's sake," a woman said in surprised, hushed tones.

"He can even play the piano... my god, I thought they were all just violent machines with nothing but killing on their minds," another woman said, covering her mouth.

"Shh... quiet!"

Fu Qinghai ignored the whispers, his shoulders relaxed as he continued to play and sing:

"Because a vision softly creeping, Left its seeds while I was sleeping,"

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound...

of silence!"

Fu Qinghai controlled the tempo, slowing down the BPM of the original song The Sound of Silence, playing and singing it slowly and gently.

Like many children, Fu Qinghai had been forced by his parents to practice piano when he was young. However, the reason he was able to persist with it later on wasn't for the sake of passing grade exams, but to be able to play the pieces he truly loved, such as this one, The Sound of Silence.

He simply felt that the lyrics were quite fitting for the moment, though he wasn't sure if they resonated with his own mood or the atmosphere of the Hall of Inspiration.

Perhaps they fit this uncertain path ahead, the unknown road leading toward Mars.

"'Fools' said I, 'You don't know

Silence like a cancer grows.

Hear my words that I might teach you, Take my arms that I might reach you.'"

As Fu Qinghai continued to play and sing, the Hall of Inspiration became so quiet that a pin drop could be heard, with only the sound of his piano echoing through the space.

The Remembrancers, initially surprised that an Astartes was singing, shifted their focus to appreciating the song.

"Ah... this... this is..."

The composer Holl Kamp felt his scalp tingle, his body trembling with excitement.

The lyrics and melody of this song felt like a gift from the heavens to him.

"And whisper'd in the sounds...

of silence."

As the final line of the lyrics ended, Fu Qinghai pressed down on the last piano key with both hands.

The entire hall was silent for a moment, before erupting into thunderous applause and cheers.

"Fantastic, perfect!"

"An impeccable performance!"

"The Throne above, didn't the rumors say that Astartes are brainwashed when they undergo their transformation? How does he understand music?" a man asked, puzzled.

"I've been on the Sotharan for two years, why haven't I seen this Astartes before?"

"I've heard of him. He is a warrior from the White Scars Legion, which is said to be a Space Marine legion from a feral world."

"Wow, his Low Gothic is really good," a woman whispered, covering her mouth.

"This warrior looks so young. Could it be that his memories from before the transformation haven't completely faded away... hmm, I could write a romance novel based on this premise." Another woman had already started imagining a little drama in her mind.

In truth, Fu Qinghai's performance wasn't that perfect; he had missed a few notes. It was just that the fact that one of The Emperor's super-soldiers could play the piano had dealt such a shock to the Remembrancers, and since many of them didn't know much about this antique instrument, their praise was somewhat exaggerated.

A woman wearing a black halter-neck backless evening gown, her hair styled in an intricate and gorgeous bun, revealing a large expanse of fair skin, held a wine glass with exquisite makeup as she took a light sip of wine and whispered:

"He looks quite handsome, what a pity..."

"Pity what?" a companion beside her teased with a smile.

"You know exactly what a pity it is, Claire. It is said that Astartes do not have those kinds of desires."

"Haha, even if he did have those desires, are you sure you could handle it?"

Fu Qinghai rose from the bench, and Holl Kamp, who was not far away, hurried over and said eagerly:

"An amazing performance, an amazing song. May I know its name, my lord?"

"The Sound of Silence, that is the name of the song."

"The Sound of Silence..." Holl Kamp savored the name, looking satisfied, and then immediately asked:

"Is this a song you composed yourself?"

"No, it is not. It is an ancient ballad from my hometown."

From Earth, tens of thousands of years ago, known now as Terra.

"It's wonderful, this song, I... I cannot find the words to describe it for the moment." Holl Kamp was so excited he was incoherent.

The position of The Sound of Silence in music history is indeed difficult to define. If you call it a folk song, it is deeper than folk; if you call it rock, it is more melodic than rock. The lyrics carry a psychedelic flavor, as it is a representative work of the American "Beat Generation." It is no wonder that a composer like Holl Kamp couldn't find the right words to describe it immediately.

Many people crowded around enthusiastically, intending to strike up a conversation with Fu Qinghai. Some wanted to interview him, but Fu Qinghai did not want to deal with them. He waved his hand and avoided the crowd, heading toward the hall's entrance.

Holl Kamp stood where he was, still feeling reluctant. Thinking that he had offered the warrior a drink as soon as he arrived, which counted as a bit of a connection, he hurriedly chased after him.

Holl caught up to Fu Qinghai's side and asked in a low voice:

"My lord, I still don't know your name?"

"Qingshan, my name is Qingshan," Fu Qinghai said as he walked.

The name sounds different from the style of the Ultramarines, Holl thought to himself.

Holl added:

"May I ask, would it be possible for me to obtain the sheet music for this song? I apologize, I just really love it."

Fu Qinghai paused to think for a moment, then nodded and said, "You may."

He then continued walking toward the exit.

Hall hurriedly chased after him to ask:

"Then where should I go to get this sheet music?"

Fu Qinghai recited his cabin number, then walked out of the auditorium without looking back.

Meanwhile, in the crowd behind Fu Qinghai, a woman with black wavy hair watched his retreating figure with a meaningful gaze.

I apologize to all my readers; this seven-thousand-word chapter counts as two chapters combined, making up for the two chapters from Saturday and Sunday.

P.S.: As mentioned previously, the Low Gothic commonly used in the Imperium of Man is almost identical to English.