Resonance and the Key

Fan Ning frowned, enduring the illusory whispers by his ears as he strode across campus.

Hiran followed closely behind.

After walking for several minutes, they encountered a man emerging from the pristine, elegant archway of the conservatory. He wore a neat, impeccably tailored black formal suit and held a book of sheet music in his arms.

"Hello, Cousin Hiran. Oh, isn't this Director Fan Ning?"

Fan Ning could sense something off in his smile...

My father has been missing for three years, and the Turner Art Gallery closed down long ago. Do you really think you can address me like that?

"Hello, Group Leader Cecil. I need to ask for leave from the year-group meeting later. Professor Anton Conall has passed away, and we have a lot to deal with."

Fan Ning had initially been too lazy to bother with those words, but he needed to ask Cecil for leave today anyway.

As a representative aristocratic university, Saint Leniya University placed great importance on cultivating gentlemanly character. Students were required to observe discipline strictly, value etiquette, and be mindful of their words and conduct. At the same time, students were given considerable authority to manage themselves: between upper and lower years, or between the "outstanding" and the "ordinary"...

Ram Cecil was an outstanding fourth-year composition student, an administrator, and the year-group leader.

The original owner, on the other hand, was clearly one of the "managed."

This world's artistic system "valued inspiration over theory." The musicology major already occupied an awkward position. Most of its students came from middle-class families barely wealthy enough to meet the admission threshold, without the privileged, money-burning conditions for performance or composition practice found in aristocratic households.

They possessed neither refined instrumental skills nor the ability to write anything worthwhile.

When he heard Fan Ning ask for leave, Cecil's smile faded. "I know about it. Hiran is my cousin, and I regret Professor Anton's death even more than you do. But the year-group meeting concerns the Works Selection Competition for this year's graduation concert. I can't approve your leave. Please attend on time."

...?

Fan Ning wondered if he had heard correctly.

Someone's dead. Who would have the heart to prepare for a graduation concert...?

Seeing that Fan Ning did not respond for a moment, Cecil adopted a fatherly tone. "Although you won't be able to produce anything worthwhile, this is still a rare learning opportunity. You don't need to concern yourself too much with Professor Anton's funeral."

He looked at Hiran again. "Cousin, if you run into any difficulties, we'll help you here. After the funeral, don't live alone for the time being. It's been a long time since Aunt has seen you... By the way, don't you like the violin? I'm writing a symphony for the graduation concert. I'll bring you along to rehearsals afterward. It'll be good for your mood..."

"The school will assign someone specifically to handle the funeral arrangements. Thank you." Hiran's reply was very polite.

At that moment, Fan Ning suddenly had an idea.

The music of this world had developed to the mature Romantic period, resembling the era when composers such as Chopin, Liszt, and Tchaikovsky had lived in his previous life.

But the immortal masterpieces of those musical masters from his previous life did not exist in this world!

If he "borrowed" one or two pieces during the Works Selection Competition later, it would not only let him crush these students from a higher dimension, but also happen to confirm the method suggested by that mysterious text message.

At last, the corners of Fan Ning's mouth lifted. "Group Leader, I understand about the Works Selection Competition. I'll attend the group meeting on time. Thanks for reminding me."

"Caloin Van Ning, thank you for your cooperation." Cecil's attempt to ingratiate himself with his cousin had met with a chilly reception. Seeing Fan Ning back down, his expression relaxed slightly.

However, Fan Ning's next words instantly made his face fall completely:

"Still... Professor Anton's affairs really have nothing to do with you. Group Leader, if even one or two people from your family can make it to the funeral, I'll thank you on Hiran's behalf."

Teacher Anton's family had long since declined. At the university, he was merely a marginalized professor. Only the original owner, who also enjoyed studying obscure ancient music, had maintained a close relationship with him.

Fan Ning understood the motives of this distant relative standing before him very clearly.

"Fine, fine, fine..." Cecil narrowed his eyes and said "fine" three times before tossing out a parting remark and turning away:

"This is a critical stage in composing for my graduation concert. I can't be bothered with you. Fan Ning, if you don't want to regret this later, I advise you to look after yourself."

"How boring." Fan Ning paid him no mind and continued walking.

"Caloen, I'm not afraid of him, but you didn't need to confront him directly." Hiran caught up and spoke softly.

Being a year-group leader at Saint Leniya University carried considerable weight. It proved both one's family background and personal ability. The official position usually went to a fourth-year student, while the deputy position went to a third-year student. They held considerable authority over their own year and the years below them.

"It's fine, Hiran. I asked him for leave according to procedure. That was both a matter of following the university's code of conduct and a sign of respect for its year-group leader system."

His current situation was indeed unclear, and he should not make unnecessary enemies. But some people's thoughts were far too impure, and they harbored ulterior motives toward even a young girl. Such people deserved to be challenged.

The two of them entered the conservatory.

Fan Ning removed his top hat and handed Hiran a cleaning sheet from the entrance. He also bent down to wipe the dust and mud from his leather shoes.

Holding the handrail of the jade-white spiral staircase, they climbed step by step to the second floor as the sounds of various instruments echoed through the corridors.

They found a small practice room of about five or six square meters and took their seats before the piano. Fan Ning set down his top hat, steadied his cane, and returned the shoulder bag to the girl beside him.

Hiran pressed one hand to her head. Her complexion was terrible, but she still thanked him softly before taking a milky-white envelope and a large, thick kraft-paper binder from her bag.

"Teacher Anton's letter, and research notes?"

Fan Ning looked at the milky-white envelope in Hiran's hand. On it were the small words: "To be opened by Caloin Van Ning."

He was familiar with the kraft-paper binder as well. It had always appeared on Teacher Anton's piano stand, in his office, or on the desk at home, where it was used to record composition drafts, research notes, and important copied materials.

After taking them, he temporarily placed them beside the piano bench.

Then he opened the piano lid. "Hiran, I'll play you a piece first."

"Caloen, I don't feel well..." The girl sitting beside him looked somewhat pained. She rested the back of her hand against her smooth forehead and leaned toward the treble end of the piano.

Fan Ning comforted her, "Just wait a little. It'll be better soon."

In truth, he was not confident either.

He endured the discomfort of the illusory whispers as well and placed his hands on the keys.

He began to play a short, beautiful, and widely beloved rondo from his previous life—Beethoven's Für Elise.

A graceful chromatic theme flowed from his fingertips, simple and intimate. The broken chords passed between his hands like rippling water through the practice room.

When the performance was about halfway over, Fan Ning was astonished to discover that he seemed to have established some kind of connection with Hiran on the level of inspiration.

It was like a strange, invisible thread!

No, not just one. There were more than a dozen others, passing through the surrounding walls. They seemed to come from the other people who had heard the piano, though they were much weaker.

The nature of these threads seemed not to be "transmission" or "collection," but some kind of "sharing" or "resonance"!

He felt that some aspect of his "soul" or "spirit" seemed to have grown stronger and more stable, while the illusory whispers had become nearly inaudible.

After the performance ended, the pale golden caption before him, [0/100], finally changed!

A number of indistinct characters drifted into it from all around.

First came +2, followed by a string of +0.1, +0.1, +0.1...

At last, the caption became [3/100]!

Heat began to spread from his chest.

"My chest...?" Fan Ning reached out and pressed it, feeling something hard digging into him. He then pulled out the object he had always worn beneath his clothes.

A blackened little key hung from the silver necklace. One side was engraved with a rough relief resembling a spear.

The key to his family's Turner Art Gallery?

Fan Ning turned it over. The other side had a small vertical protrusion, shaped rather like the Arabic numeral 1.

Whenever his father went away, Fan Ning would keep the key for him and return it when he came back.

But ever since their last parting, Fan Ning had never been able to take it off.

Three years had passed. Because its sensation against his skin had become so familiar, he often forgot it was even there.

"Right, Hiran, how are you feeling?" He came back to himself.

The girl sitting beside the piano rested her chin on her hand and looked at him, but she still appeared to be in considerable discomfort.

Fan Ning thought for a moment, then removed his necklace and wiped it with a handkerchief.

He reached out and loosely encircled the girl's neck, fastening the necklace from behind, then lowered the key against her chest.

"It's a little warm." Hiran lowered her head. "Mm... I think I really do feel a little better."

That was strange. Shouldn't this key have been something his father had simply had made somewhere when the gallery opened more than a decade ago?

Fan Ning felt that the matter was shrouded in layer upon layer of fog. At least he now had a direction to explore and was no longer so anxious.

At least the text message's warning had been genuine.

Playing the piece himself naturally counted as one form of "reproduction."

Did the +2 come from Hiran, who was nearby and listening attentively with a clear sound?

And did the +0.1s come from the others, who heard the music indistinctly through the walls or whose attention came and went?

If his deduction was correct...

The preliminary round of the Works Selection Competition that afternoon would have at least several hundred listeners in the auditorium.

The [3/100] progress could very well fill up all at once!

"Thank you. Also, the piece you just wrote was really beautiful." Hiran thought Fan Ning had been staring at her the whole time.

The girl's cheeks reddened slightly as she took off the necklace and returned it to Fan Ning.

Fan Ning smiled at her, then picked up the envelope Teacher Anton had left for him and broke the scarlet sealing wax.