Silent Crown Chapter 48

In the clock shop late at night:

"I see. That kid practiced more than a hundred thousand times over these past days. His determination is impressive."

In the clock shop, blonde Hermes had his foot propped on Ye's work table, playing with Ye Qingxuan's aether ball. He whistled at the ball, and the quiet aether ball lit up. The clear crystal reflected the candlelight, displaying the shadows of complicated runes and images on the wall.

If measuring aether was its most common usage, then this was the aether ball's most valuable ability.

The music score crystallized when it recorded every note, and melody interacted with the ball. It could display it as data and help the user compare notes, remove white noise, increase resonance with aether to help one reach the standard.

But Ye Qingxuan had never once activated it, so he had never experienced the most helpful tool for other students.

But Hermes woke it up, overrode its protective measures. He unlocked the music scores, and clucked in awe as he skimmed the data.

"Amazing. One hundred forty-three thousand three hundred eleven times over eight days. He'd had to spend at least nine hours on this every day, right? It's amazing how he could continue this intense level. Too bad…" Hermes shook his head, pondering. "He didn't succeed, not even once. What kind of bad luck does he have?"

"Isn't everyone like this?" Setton asked. "Some people will never be able to sing the right note in their entire life, right?"

"That's because they didn't try one hundred forty thousand times. Even an ape that keeps dancing on a piano would be able to transcribe 'Ode to Joy.' But this kid hasn't even gotten the chance to touch a piano key yet. With his luck, he'd probably get kidnapped and sold just walking down the street.

"Anyway, I haven't heard something like this in my years of being an artist. So, he either has the worst luck in history, or there's another reason," Hermes said.

"Another reason?" Setton asked.

Hearing his question, Hermes laughed. Rather than replying, he asked, "Setton, do you know what's most important for a musician? Tell me. I'm in a good mood, so I won't tease you."

"Hey, you...isn't the most important thing to have resonance with the aether?"

"Yes, but not entirely." Hermes squinted. "It's important for a musician to resonate with the aether. The higher the resonance, the better. But for a musician, the most important part within that resonance is merely the breakthrough between zero and one!

"To go from nothing to something, from zero to one, is to create something from emptiness. A person will only have one chance. In other words, it is the door for musicians. No matter how hard you work, if you can't push open the door, you can only pace outside forever."

He spun the aether ball on his fingertip, whistling and playing with the light. The silver light illuminated the mocking smile on his lips.

"Some people say that pushing open the door is one percent luck, nine percent talent, and ninety percent hard work. But luck and talent are the most important. Some people can open the door only with their snores. They're known as geniuses. But then there are those who are stuck outside the door, never allowed in. It's cruel, but sometimes, hard work is useless."

"Are you saying that the kid doesn't have talent?"

"F*ck no," Hermes swore, his eyes full of disdain. "The nine families of the Dragon bloodline have the blood of the Deva. He was born more powerful than others…those born with a golden spoon have no right to complain!

"And he still has white hair even as a mixed-blood. If he was born in the East and had some powerful 'talent,' he might have a spot in the Lingyan Pavilion someday!"

Setton's head hurt trying to process all the words. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just want to say that he's very hard working, and he definitely has talent from his Deva bloodline. So if he's not unlucky, then there's only one possibility…"

Hermes laughed, but there was something sinister in his smile. "The Aether Seal."

Setton went pale. He knew what Hermes was talking about now.

The Aether Seal was a byproduct from early experiments and research on musicians. Word of it slowly disappeared afterward. But from what Hermes said, copies of it were still kept and could be used.

When the Dark Ages had ended, many countries experimented on captive musicians to explore "the Originator."

During this time, thousands of strange techniques were created, including the Aether Seal.

Embedding more than nineteen silencer nails into the vertebrae of an ordinary person would shut his door to music forever. This type of surgery seemed to be useful, but it had three disadvantages that caused it to be discarded.

It was too expensive, had a high death rate, and the aether's incompatibility with foreign substances made it impossible to use on musicians. So in the end, it could only be discarded.

But what Setton did not understand was why anyone would put something so expensive into a boy's body to make sure he could not become a musician.

"Ha, who knows?" Hermes tossed the aether ball around, his eyes mocking. "The Aether Seal really is a good idea. The person would feel pain in the proximity of Aether. In the end, he'd die under the pain of beautiful dreams. Logically, that's how it is. But no matter who did it, this was a waste.

"They didn't understand the Deva's blood, and didn't know what a laughable thing they had done. The lock could make sure he couldn't open the door, but it can't stop someone behind the door from bursting through…

"For some things, the more it is restricted, the harder it bounces back. Especially for this abnormal hereditary, Deva bloodline, it's useless."

Setton asked, "Is the Deva bloodline really that powerful?"

"Of course, you idiot. It was built using countless bodies and lives…

"For hundreds of years, the Easterners have tried to get closer to the aether. They explored their bodies, even experimenting on themselves. Nine emperors in a row sent out their armies, just so they could have people to experiment on. Who knows how many died in the process?

"The most aggressive was Emperor Qin. He even labeled the musicians who couldn't complete task as failures and burned the books of their schools. Until finally, one experiment succeeded. After letting the resonance of aether blend into blood, it transformed into 'talent.' Like a wild beast, they turned this experiment into a hereditary ability."

Setton was stunned. "You're saying that the boy…"

"Yes," Hermes nodded. "You can forget memories and change your personality. But as long as you're alive, your instincts will remain. That boy pounded on the door one hundred and forty times. He only needs someone to give him a little push before he completely shatters that door."

He paused, lamenting. "When the synchronization rate goes from zero to one, the musician's door will open. Easterners sacrificed so much just for that moment. When the aether first melds with one's body, it transforms the soul and becomes part of that person's life."

Hermes murmured, as if regretful, "At that time, the aether would be the leader, guiding the lost rebel back to the Originator. Even if it was just for a moment, the human's conceited soul would try to escape from the Originator and return to its body, but only in that moment would they be able to see their true selves with the aether!"

He traced a ring in the air, his eyes full of pity. "All stray paths start here."

For a moment, Ye Qingxuan fell into a heavy daze.

The pale blue moon rose from the edge of the sky, illuminating his eyes.

The painful dreamland was back. Time flew and all living things wilted. Everything disappeared, and was replaced by indescribable ruins and graveyards.

The pale blue moon hung in the sky.

Cobwebs and dust lingered between the tombstones. The sharp and heavy stones were like palms reaching up to the sky, trying to capture the moonlight.

Ye Qingxuan saw it again—that white-haired man. He paced among the tombstones in deep thought. Moss and fallen leaves clung to his long robe. Seeing Ye Qingxuan, he raised his head. His face was so familiar.

It was like seeing himself, or his father, or an old man. But he had retained the features of a youth, pretty like a girl, yet handsome and masculine at the same time.

The longer he looked, the less sure Ye Qingxuan was of his appearance. He did not know if this man was truly human, or was some ancient being. He was like some symbol from long ago—the source of all bloodlines.

He stood in the flow of time, taking in the past and future. But as he gazed at Ye Qingxuan, he came from the past to the present. He dropped from the future to stand before him. His eyes were cold and sad.

"Do you regret it?"

This time, Ye Qingxuan could finally hear his voice clearly. His voice was deep, yet bright, like the sound of shattering jade. It pierced through his fate and past. His eyes went through Ye Qingxuan's body, as if landing on his heart. They saw those long years of pain and persistence, looking at the times he fell into mud and struggled to crawl out.

His eyes were full of pity.

"Do you regret it?"

Ye Qingxuan froze. An ineffable sadness and misery surged in his chest.

Those forgotten things appeared once again, bringing with them a burning bitterness, pushing him to face this question.

The question transformed into a hook. It dug through his bones, looking for even the smallest shred of doubt.

"No," a quiet voice replied in Ye Qingxuan's heart. He stared at the man in front of him, bursting into laughter. Softly, he said, "And I won't in the future either."

And so the man in the dream began to laugh too, as if finding reprieve in this vast land.

"That's great," he murmured, gazing up into the sky.

Moonlight fell into his eyes, igniting the light of a spirit in his irises. The fallen leaves and moss sparked, flames gathered in his palm and turned silver-white.

He reached out, pushing a palm into the boy's chest. The flames burned in Ye Qingxuan's heart, flowing with his blood.

But something under Ye Qingxuan's feet suddenly shattered. It was the birth of some type of power from underneath him. After brewing for so long, it finally broke through the ground.

This was an invitation to step onto the road to death. It was a guiding light to the world of death and mystery. He finally signed the contract with the Originator in this fantasy dream.

"All stray paths start from here," the white-haired man murmured behind his back. He pressed down on Ye Qingxuan's shoulder. His voice had suddenly changed, becoming so familiar!

"Little Yezi, this is the only thing I can give you."

His soul seemed to latch onto the youth's body, guiding him to raise his hand, reaching into the emptiness, and plucking at nonexistent strings.

"—Your Symphony of Predestination!"

Chapter end