Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
My fingertips trembled sharply on the guitar strings, the discordant sound bursting forth from the body of the instrument startled the sparrows outside the window. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds of the music classroom, casting alternating shadows and light between me and Xiao Ya. "It's the Thirteenth," I said, staring at the yellowed sheet music on the stand, where the ink remained perpetually half-dried in its loops.
Suddenly, Xiao Ya slammed her hand against the music stand, the sharp clash of metal and wood echoed throughout the classroom. "This damned melody is definitely problematic!" She pulled her ponytail loose, her chestnut hair cascading like a flood over her white school uniform. "We've tried piano, violin, clarinet... even a recorder! Every time we reach the third measure, it just..." Her voice trailed off; we both understood that eerie pattern—whenever we approached a complete melody, the vibrations of the instruments would suddenly defy physical laws.
I traced my fingers over a new crack on the side of my guitar, the scent of rosin mixed with wood shavings tickling my nostrils. On the thirty-seventh day of this cycle, twenty-three different instruments had already piled up in the Storage Locker. I remembered my first attempt with the guzheng when all thirteen strings snapped simultaneously, reminiscent of hidden weapons being unleashed in a martial arts film.
"Maybe we need more..." I began to speak but was silenced by Xiao Ya's glare; her ink-stained fingers were doodling abstract shapes on the staff paper. The distant sound of the school choir practicing wafted in through the window, and a particularly off-key note sent a shiver down my neck. In that instant, Xiao Ya and I exchanged glances and rushed toward the innermost archive box in the Storage Locker.
Yellowed pages from "Star Sea School History" fluttered as paper scraps fell. On a manuscript of our school song from 1937, half a note's curve bore an uncanny resemblance to that mysterious melody. I felt something hard tucked between the pages—a charred old photograph showing a man in Western formal attire holding some kind of tubular instrument; an annotation read "Founder Zhou Mingxuan and his sister Zhou Mu Yun."
"Ms. Mu Yun went missing in 1943..." Xiao Ya read aloud from a faded clipping, suddenly gripping my sleeve. "Look at this!" A small block in Declaration noted that "Zhou's Music Therapy Seminar was shut down," dated just three days after Mu Yun's disappearance. Sweat pooled in my palm as it spread across the edge of the newspaper; I suddenly recalled the faint scent of incense that always lingered in the infirmary, matching perfectly with the frequency of buzzing I heard each time we reset the cycle.
That night in the Physics Laboratory, images of sound waves on the oscilloscope were going haywire. The stolen school broadcast wires coiled across our desk like green snakes, and an old amplifier emitted a dangerous burnt smell. "Are we really going to try?" Xiao Ya's hand trembled over the main switch; I noticed beads of sweat forming on her nose—this was our first time alone together at night.
"What’s there to be afraid of?" I deliberately made our modified electronic keyboard emit strange sounds. "If worse comes to worst, we can just reset..." Before I could finish my sentence, Xiao Ya had already flipped off the power switch. The school's loudspeakers screeched simultaneously as I slammed my hands down on the keys; that melody—altered twelve times—soared into existence wrapped in electrical noise.
The motion-sensor lights in the corridor exploded into shards as glass fragments floated like stars amidst the sound waves. Xiao Ya's scream warped and elongated; I saw my reflection splintering into countless echoes on the window glass. Suddenly, all twenty-three instruments in Storage Locker began to play autonomously, their sound waves crystallizing into visible silver patterns in the air.
My heart skipped a beat as a familiar wave of dizziness washed over me along with a scent reminiscent of disinfectant. This time there was no darkness, no falling—only Xiao Ya’s hand gripping my wrist tightly. When dawn finally pierced through my eyelids, real sounds from outside—the bustling playground—almost made me cry out—distant aromas of scallion pancakes wafted from the cafeteria while a cleaning lady scolded some class for scattering chalk dust everywhere.
Xiao Ya and I laughed until we could hardly stand before the flag-raising platform until she suddenly pinched my arm: "Your phone is vibrating!" The screen displayed seven unread messages; the latest one from an unfamiliar number read: "There will be a special concert at Zhou Family Old Residence tonight. Would you like to hear the complete version?" When I looked up, I saw a woman in a black trench coat standing under a sycamore tree at the school gate, holding up a strange instrument resembling a pocket watch.
Comment 0 Comment Count