Chapter 522

Chapter 522: Chapter 519: "To Alice and Moonlight."Goodnight,"

Gazing at Yuanyuan’s transparent figure under the night sky, Su Ming’an closed his eyes.

A sinking sensation emanated from the bed, and the scene before him gradually faded away.

The blurred danmaku in the upper right corner disappeared with it, and darkness fell before his eyes like a pitch-black curtain.

Before entering sleep, he always had a kind of premonition corresponding to wakefulness, which often left him in a state of sleep deprivation and fatigue.

At this moment, this premonition was also hinting to him... he was about to dream.

Now was a rare rest period in the instance; he relaxed his body and mind, fully entering sleep.

"Ding-dong, dong-dong..."

As the chirping in his ears gradually faded, he heard a series of piano sounds.

Warm, clear, like the bright sunlight of a winter’s day.

He opened his eyes and saw his hands hovering above the black-and-white piano keys.

"...Aren’t you going back yet? It’s almost dinner time," he hadn’t yet spoken when he heard his own somewhat childish voice.

He was dreaming.

A memory dream.

"My dad is probably still smashing things at home. If I go back now, he will hit me," a somewhat muffled female voice came from beside him, "I’ll go back after he’s done."

He turned his head and saw a black-haired girl sitting on a chair.

The sunlight outside the window shone on her hair, her face still green, round, and her eyes especially clear and bright were fixed on his black-and-white sheet music.

"Will you play more?" she asked.

"Yes," he averted his gaze.

A persistent haze lingered in his view; he could not control his body and could only watch as his fingers began to move, then heard several crisp notes emit.

After hearing just two notes, he recognized the piece; it was Beethoven’s Bagatelle in A minor.

Of course, it also has a well-known name, "Für Elise." This piece, slow-paced and simple in technique, is very suitable for beginners.

"Für Elise," he heard his own voice say, "It originates from a story."

The young Yuanyuan quietly listened, adjusting her sitting posture.

Her two little short legs couldn’t reach the ground, gently swaying beside the stool leg.

"...a kind-hearted girl named Alice, seeking help for a gravely ill old man. The composer, moved by her story, played a beautiful piece of music for the old man on Christmas Eve," he said.

The flowing piano sounds filled the sun-drenched room.

The music entered the second section; his right hand sped up, with clear high notes bursting forth, combining with the steady bass of his left hand, like a passionate heart jumping in the music score.

"...Listening to this piece, the old man gradually saw... ’the snowy peaks of the Alps, the surrounding seas of Tahiti, seagulls, forests, and the dazzling sunlight.’"

His right hand moved from slow to fast, continuously moving upward. The noonlight shone on the back of his hand, casting a fair sheen.

The girl bathed in the light, her eyelids slightly lowered; she tugged at her collar to shield the overly bright light from revealing the bruised scars beneath her neckline.

In her eyes, there remained only those reflective white piano keys and the fingers bouncing upon them.

Für Elise.

A piece suitable for beginners, yet she heard the abundant emotion within; the bright high notes were like the protagonist’s fiery feelings—sincere and resolute; the continuous bass notes were like a burning flame, on that Christmas Eve night, it was the undying flame that dispelled the cold.

As he played, his fingers gradually paused.

As if all the emotions were gradually captured within that dispersing music.

"...Seeing such beauty, the old man was no longer lonely or pitiful," he said, "And thus, he closed his eyes forever."

The piano notes stopped abruptly.

"The meanings in these scores actually cannot be universally defined, it mainly depends on the listener. The ’Für Elise’ you just heard, if you perceived some other imagery or emotion from it, that’s also quite normal..."

He gave her a glance.

"Do you want to listen to something else?" he said, "That woman is not here today, I can play a few more pieces for you."

"..." She blinked.

"Almost forgot... you don’t know the names of these pieces," he continued speaking to himself, "Then... ’Clair de Lune’ by Debussy."

Suddenly switching from "To Alice" to "Moonlight," he seemed unaware of the difficulty difference between the two pieces as he sat down again.

The afternoon light spilled onto the distinctly black and white piano keys.

Everything before his eyes appeared as if kissed by elves, with wispy particles floating in the air, twinkling like stars.

The blue, green, and orange strips in the top left corner were gone, and the live-streaming comments in the top right corner had vanished; this was an exceptionally peaceful dream.

Everything was as if nothing had happened yet.

The world game was still far away.

There were no cold system sounds ringing in his ears, only the music played for her.

He pressed down on the piano keys—

"Fire."

He suddenly heard the girl turn her head, her clear, large eyes gazing at him—

"If it is said that the dying old man heard the snow peaks, the ocean, forests, and seagulls."

"Ming’an."

"...in your piano sound, I heard fire."

"Bang!"

The door suddenly flung open.

Perhaps it was kicked open by someone, or perhaps it was unlocked with a key, but none of that mattered, as this was the least important detail in the dream.

Most noticeable were the floating dark shadows that broke into this world of light, standing in front of him, blocking the brilliant afternoon sun.

His hand was still hovering over the piano keys, not yet pressed, when someone abruptly pulled him down.

The light began to dim, the intruders gradually turning into vague, pale shadows, and the girl sitting beside him also began to fade away...

The piano in front of him was dismantled and taken away. Someone was pulling him away from that radiant piano room, with soothing voices telling him—

The scene gradually faded, shadows slowly overlapping, covering the light before his eyes.

Whispers reached his ears.

These voices, men and women, young and old, seemed to be a group of people chatting.

When they talked, they lowered their voices, but he had heard these voices when he was younger.

This was a man’s voice.

This was the voice of a young nurse.

This was a woman’s voice, loud as thunder, like a clanging loudspeaker.

the young nurse said.

another man lamented.

The loud-voiced woman sighed.

the man said.

the young nurse said.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

However, the white radiance filtered through his eyelids, tenderly caressing his face.

When he opened his eyes, he saw light casting down upon an exceptionally clean, white bedspread, reminiscent of angel wings.

In the air, tiny flecks floated gently before his eyes,

...those were the soft feathers shed by angels.

Everything was white—the sheets, bandages, medication, equipment... They all merged into a gateway to paradise, each trace exceedingly glaring.

He, dressed in sterilized hospital attire, reached out and grasped a hand that emerged from the white, a hand covered with prominent veins and tinted with shades of cyan and black.

Several needles pierced through the cyan-black hand, with blood stagnating atop the taut skin, marks left from excessive IV fluids and blood draws.

"Drip."

"Drip."

Countless tubes were inserted into his father’s body on the bed, tearing through his flesh and burrowing into his bones, encasing him like a dying hedgehog.

The blue-green lifelines tugged at his heartbeat and pulse, like a lifeline wrestling with the Grim Reaper.

On one side were the doctors and nurses fighting desperately, and on the other, the abyss of death.

The man’s body had become a battlefield for various devices and medications, a brutal war unfolding to the steady rhythm of the "dripping" sound.

...by then, the man’s body was barely clinging to life.

The man watched him cry, yet still tried to comfort him.

In his last few days, the man was in such pain that he writhed in bed, requiring nurses to restrain him with straps. seaʀᴄh thё Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The man couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep well, and would begin screaming in pain the moment he woke, his face wet with physiological tears, his pain so intense that he bit his mouth until it bled. His body was frail and skinny, and even taking a breath felt exhausting.

But when he visited, the man would still forcibly suppress his pain, put on a smile, and comfort him in the gentlest voice, as if he were the one in pain.

The man’s life appeared exceedingly tragic to him.

Even in the end, he had to endure tormenting pain and bear it while comforting him.

Yet beyond the illness, the man embodied many things that could bring joy and solace.

...just like his very existence.

Although he already knew the outcome, when it finally arrived, the grief and pain were still profound. Having attachments to this world indeed boosts one’s motivation for life, but when faced with insurmountable forces, it only leaves behind regret when it’s time to part.

The man didn’t want him to harbor regrets; he wanted him to live well.

To live with an undying passion, striving to live life to the fullest, without regrets.

Later, the man gradually lost his ability to speak. He just looked at him, continuously weeping.

After the removal of the ventilator, that white angel receded farther from him.

He held the man’s hand, gazing at it as it turned ashen with hues of cyan and purple, coated with a layer of white frost.

At that moment, the machine’s "beeping" made him think of many things.

...It seemed there was something eerily similar to this "beeping" sound.

Indeed.

It was that crisp, pleasing high pitch.

That high pitch... could make one see the ocean and fire.

"Ah, he gave up after all," the young nurse said.

"...There’s no choice, it’s thousands and thousands to pay, even selling the small house at home wouldn’t cover it," the woman said.

"It’s really tragic, it looks like we can’t save people anymore..."

"You can’t say that, who could have expected that both the perpetrator’s and the victim’s families had no money? It was an unforeseen situation, the compensation amount was not enough, the man was already sick, and the accident triggered a chain reaction in his body, he didn’t want to become a burden, that’s why he gave up."

"It was also for the sake of the children."

"Yes, it was the man who voluntarily gave up treatment."

"Even though there was still a chance to save him if he had delayed a while, he chose not to continue treatment, wanting to save the money for his child’s future. After all, even if he were cured, he would have been disabled and would have various illnesses..."

"The man really was a good person, what a pity."

"What was once a good family has turned into this..."

"Money, this world really can’t function without money... without money, not even life can be sustained..."

"This will leave a big psychological shadow on the child, with no one at home to guide him, and his father died like that, will he become a selfish, cold person in the future?"

"Who knows, with no one to lead the child on the right path, and at the age when his principles are being molded, there’s a high chance he’ll turn into a bad kid..."

"Ah, this world is really beyond saving... The man saved someone else, but who will save him?"

Su Ming’an reached out his hand.

The white, pure piano, nearly transparent in the light, reappeared in that room.

Because the man had given up on treatment and stopped paying the subsequent bills, the piano was sent back.

He sat on the piano bench, his fingers slightly curved—

Debussy’s Moonlight.

He played very slowly, very gently; the piece was beyond his level of ability, but even as he played, he could still feel the shimmering sea surface, the silver fish shuttling by, and a trace of moonlight, too fragile to hold, reflecting on the ocean.

The transparent, clean-haired young girl sat on a chair next to him.

In the midnight starlight, her floating black hair was blown by the wind, like the moonlight kissing that touch of black.

She listened intently, and then suddenly she spoke, saying—

"The fire has gone out."

"Ming’an."

"...I can no longer hear the fire in your piano music."

He opened his eyes.

The familiar blue, green, and orange strips hung in the upper left of his sight, the morning light slowly filtering into the room, illuminating the wooden cabin.

He rubbed his eyes, and Yuanyuan floating next to him turned her head.

"Awake? Good morning," she said.

"Morning," he replied.

Today marked the eighth day of instance activation, the young tribe leader’s succession ceremony.

This was a crucial moment, he had to be part of this plot to gain the ultimate, Fengchang’s Black Python Authority.

His vision was still blurry, the rainbow light from the sky casting a colorful patchwork into his eyes, a sensation of moisture and slight stinging lingering on his body.

He pushed open the door of the room, but unexpectedly heard a voice.

"...Big brother?"