221 A Long Nigh (1/2)

One night later, Ye Qingxuan stared annoyingly at the similarly-ashen Charles. Who had ever heard of sixteen explosions in one night? They were even better at music theory than other students. It must be Charles’ fault.

”Okay, blame me.” Charles opened his mouth and blew out smoke from the explosion. ”I’ll go stand in the corner for the next test.”

”I think I’m going deaf. Let’s sleep first.” Ye Qingxuan yawned and felt he was going to pass out.

”I’ve been waiting for you to say that for two days.” With a laugh, Charles collapsed onto the ground and soon began snoring.

Ye Qingxuan sighed. He laid a piece of dust-cloth over Charles and crawled onto the broken sofa covered in parts, without caring if it was clean or not. He fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

In the morning, Bai Xi kicked the door open and saw that the two were deep in sleep. She curled her lips in disinterest and drew a turtle on their faces, then she took Old Phil out. Today was the one day she had class.

At noon, Abraham visited. Seeing that these two were still unconscious, he shook his head and smiled bitterly. After looking through their music score, he made some small changes, wrote down a message and left to report at the military.

In the afternoon, a rare guest knocked on the history department’s door.

-

”Anyone here?” Bart stood outside and patiently knocked on the door for the third time, but there was still no reply. The ancient building was silent as if no one was there. He furrowed his brows and knocked more forcefully. Creaking, the door…opened.

”Anyone here?” He peered carefully. Seeing the cracks in the wall and the wall shavings in the corner, he wrinkled his nose. What was this weird place? There was also the smell of alcohol in the air, which made his expression even uglier. Had these guys stooped so low that they drunk for enjoyment? Musicians needed absolute quiet and focus. Drinking was like suicide…

Holding his nose, he walked into the living room, which was empty. He waited for a while but still, no one came. Finally, he rose in annoyance, feeling that he was wasting his time.

Coming here to lower himself to the history department was already his bottom line. Waiting for so long was just humiliating. He no longer waited and pushed open the door to Abraham’s library. He tore off a piece of paper and wrote that he would visit another day, leaving his professor’s card.

”Huh, history department,” Bart huffed. He took one last glance at the messy library and turned to leave, but after taking two steps, his feet stopped and he froze in place. As if finally dawning on him, he turned around in shock and glanced at the table…at the stack of notes on the table.

He hesitated for a long time before finally gathering his courage. He carefully opened the stack of paper and began flipping through it. The more he read, the uglier his expression became.

In the end, he did not dare to look anymore. He raised the ring on his finger and began recording everything in panic. When he still had a few more pages left, he suddenly heard noise in the basement.

His fingers shook and he speedily returned everything to how it was. Taking back his message, he carefully erased all trace that he had been here. Finally, he opened the door without a sound and ran as if escaping for his life. He sprinted under the blazing afternoon sun, stumbling and muttering to himself, ”How is this possible, how is this possible, how is this possible…how is this possible?”

-

”How is this possible?” In the office, Ingmar watched Bart’s video and compared it to his notes, his expression livid.

Over and over and over again…every time he watched, his anger worsened. In the end, he flipped the table in manic rage and roared at Bart, ”How is this possible?! How can I be wrong?!”

An invisible tornado enveloped the room. Everything began shaking crazily with almost cracking cacophony. It all fell to the ground in the end.

Bart stood in the corner, trembling in fear, not daring to make a sound. He was thankfully from the School of Revelations, which was not good at destruction. If it was Egor who was raging today, the entire office would be burned to ashes.

After a long, long time, Ingmar finally calmed down. He compared his notes to the video one last time, flipping through the pages. As he flipped past every page, it would crumble. They broke apart soundlessly and scattered on Ingmar’s robe like cinders after a fire. In the end, it seemed as if Ingmar was sitting in a pile of ghastly white cinder. His hands were empty, but his face was as white as skeletons and dead ashes.

”It seems that my direction truly was wrong…” he murmured. His hands shook, veins bulging on his forehead, and he sounded as if he was crying. ”Why am I wrong? Why me? Why—”

Bart froze. He heard his professor’s heartbeat—it was incomparably loud and heavy, like drum beats. The drum beats grew faster and faster, pulling him into it. He seemed to see a spinning starry sky, but the stars shook crazily and patches were extinguishing.

When it finally dawned on Bart, his face paled. This was a sign of his sound of heart’s collapse. Bart rushed forward and forcefully shook Ingmar’s shoulders to clear his mind. But Ingmar was like a piece of wood that had no reaction at all. Finally, determination flashed past Bart’s eyes. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Ingmar’s hand and stabbed it with a sharp pen.

Boom! The air pressure shot up.