The End of the Corridor

The gallery's floor plan was roughly L-shaped, with the long side somewhat longer and the short side somewhat shorter. The interior corridors followed a scientifically designed layout to provide visitors with a smooth viewing route.

The guided-tour hall where he was now stood at the right angle of the L.

The first floor contained several temporary exhibition halls, once used to serve independent artists, as well as an event hall.

The second floor contained several permanent exhibition halls displaying Vincent van Ning's own paintings.

The third floor was actually an attic. It occupied less than half the area of the first and second floors and was used for staff offices and storing supplies.

The temporary exhibition halls on the first floor that he planned to visit were on the long end of the L.

He passed through the reception desk and stepped over the metal posts strung with warning tape. They had previously been used to separate visitors and guide their route.

As he walked, he shone his lantern over the walls and display windows.

The walls were completely bare. Now and then, some incompletely removed graffiti or winding, water-like stains entered the lantern's circle of light.

The rotten stench mixed with the mold grew stronger and stronger.

Should I keep going this way? Fan Ning felt genuinely unnerved.

"I only came to look at the remaining collections."

"Too much time has passed. This gallery feels completely different from the one in my memory."

He began to regret coming alone. Would it have been better to ask Hiran to accompany him?

Well, the doors and windows here have been locked tight for two or three years. There shouldn't be anything inside.

Steeling himself, he passed around the corner of the corridor and arrived at a more open area. Fan Ning was stunned.

In the lantern's faint light, the visible space was filled with easels, picture frames, tables, stools, dismantled doors and windows, and plaster casts stuffed into the gaps: busts, geometric solids, fruit models, models of facial features...

All kinds of clutter were piled nearly as high as a person.

Although visibility was less than three or four meters, the distance ahead was probably the same.

If he wanted to continue forward, he would have to cross mountains and valleys...

That gave Fan Ning an excellent excuse to retreat, and he immediately turned back.

This entire floor consisted of temporary exhibition halls for independent artists. There was certainly nothing left now. He might as well go to the second floor.

After all that effort, he eventually returned to the guided-tour hall.

The unpleasant stench did seem to have weakened somewhat, but the mold smell had faded too. It was possible that his sense of smell was gradually adapting.

Fan Ning changed direction and walked toward the right side of the guided-tour hall.

"That large, dark space in the distance should have been the event hall and auction venue. There's nothing worth seeing."

He chose the stairs at the corner. Large patches of the handrail had already fallen away, exposing the curled rebar along the sides of the steps.

"The quality is terrible... It's only been a few years..."

After climbing to the second floor, he felt much calmer.

The reason was that the second floor had once been his home, and that strange stench had almost completely disappeared.

The long end of the L on the left held the permanent exhibition halls for his father's works. The other side contained offices, reception rooms, meeting rooms, living rooms, a kitchen, bedrooms, and so on.

He walked toward the left side of the stairs with practiced familiarity.

Holding up the lantern, he slowly crossed the dim gallery and passed through several exhibition halls in succession. He was almost at the end of the L.

The corridor was like a tunnel. The light licked at the deep space ahead, leaving the darkness behind him.

"I've seen this place before!" Fan Ning suddenly felt a jolt in his heart.

Not because he had often come here, but because of his dreams!

Wasn't this the corridor from the dream he had been having so often these past few days?

Except that on both sides, there were not hollow glass display cases and exhibits, but oil paintings.

Although many of the works on the second floor had also been sold off, most still hung on the walls, stretching forward one after another.

"Every time I get close to the end of the corridor, my thoughts scatter,

and then I go to another dream." What exactly was at the end?

Fan Ning stared at the pitch-black mass in the deepest part and felt his heart pounding.

He could not help listing the possibilities that might come next: something familiar, something strange, something dangerous, something delightful, something horrifying, or some indescribable scene.

Yet it felt as if his imagination were being clamped down by something.

One step, then two...

Fan Ning extended the lantern as far forward as he could and finally illuminated the wall at the end.

All right, another painting?

Seven oil paintings hung on the wall before him. They were different sizes and heights, arranged in a pleasingly irregular layout.

The arrangement somewhat resembled the decorative style he had seen on the walls of artistic cafés in his previous life.

His attention was naturally drawn first to the largest one.

Fan Ning brought the lantern closer.

Countryside, open fields, thickets, mountains. The colors swirled passionately, and warm air seemed to flow through the scene.

"Air Currents and Warmth Over the Fields," 90 by 140 centimeters, oil on canvas, painted by Vincent van Ning in May of New Calendar Year 894.

This work was representative of Vincent's further exploration based on Romanticism. The art world called it the "Suggestive Style": through the comprehensive use of composition, color, and brushwork, it allowed viewers to "fill in" other elements that transcended the limitations of a flat surface.

This style later even influenced the world of music. Virgil, a young composer born in 880, openly stated that his orchestral suite "Dynamic Triptych," composed several years earlier, had been inspired by the "Suggestive Style."

Overall, however, these were still new developments outside the mainstream Romantic artistic style.

As Fan Ning recalled this, he moved the lantern.

The second painting showed only half of a woman's face within the frame, with one eye staring at the viewer. "Worry," 30 by 40 centimeters, watercolor on canvas.

The third depicted a dark green moon shining through the clouds, illuminating the outline of a dark riverbed while the river glittered with rippling waves. 70 by 90 centimeters, oil on canvas...

Wait, wasn't this the Russian artist Kuindzhi's "The Moonlit Night on the Dnieper" from his previous life?

Fan Ning shone the lantern on the lower-right corner. There was no signature, nor any small plaque bearing the work's title.

Although the dimensions and details had changed somewhat, the painting's original characteristics were far too obvious.

Had his father, Vincent, painted it?

Was he also a transmigrator?

Or was it merely a coincidence?

Fan Ning felt that everything he had experienced was shrouded in layer upon layer of mystery.

Caloen, the original owner of these paintings, had seen them all, but he certainly would not have recognized the origins of this one.

"Suggestive Style..." Fan Ning looked again at the largest painting, "Air Currents and Warmth Over the Fields."

Was Father hinting at something?

Wait...!

"The Moonlit Night on the Dnieper"...

A moonlit night, moonlight, the moon... The association was easy enough...

"Moonlight Sonata"?

Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" in C-sharp minor?

C-sharp!? The only missing key among the eleven Remnants of the Musical Scale?

The transmigration messages, the Remnants of the Musical Scale, works from his previous life, the Museum Key...

There really was a connection.

Fan Ning's arm ached badly from holding the lantern. He switched hands and shook the other twice.

Staring at "The Moonlit Night on the Dnieper," he furrowed his brows tightly.

Suddenly, he set the lantern on the floor, rose onto his toes, and stretched out both hands. Without the slightest hesitation...

He took the painting down!