Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
In early June, major media outlets in Shanghai, including websites and newspapers, published the same headline: renowned German pianist Eric will hold the second performance of his world tour at the Shanghai Concert Hall on the evening of June 28.
On the afternoon of the 27th, Eric's private jet arrived at Shanghai Pudong Airport. After an hour's drive, he successfully reached one of Shanghai's finest five-star hotels. Aside from scheduled interviews, he stayed indoors, fully focused on preparing for the next day's performance.
Eric was born in 1978 to a humble and devout Christian farming family. Before turning thirty, he was still unknown, unappreciated in Europe's ever-changing fashion center, living in obscurity like billions of others in the world.
In the spring of 2004, he moved to Paris and quietly settled in the outskirts of the city. A week later, he participated in a prestigious International Piano Competition in Europe. His extraordinary technique and unparalleled music captivated all the audience and judges, leading to his sudden fame.
At that time, he performed Beethoven's "Fate." People had never heard such a beautiful rendition; the initial music was solemn, tenacious, even perilous, creating an atmosphere of tension as if fate itself were knocking at the door. Then came a lyrical melody that was gentle and soothing, reflecting the complex world of human emotional experiences—deep and serene, imbued with inner passion—as the music gradually transformed from tender fragility into a powerful march.
The final notes were loud and commanding; fate and strength alternated in presentation until they ultimately subdued the throat of fate's demon. When the triumphant and joyful finale played, fate's demon had completely vanished, leaving behind a celebration that praised and glorified human strength.
Some described the chaotic scene during his performance: various phantoms shifted before people's eyes, gripping all spectators and judges tightly. The audience sat motionless as if enchanted; some broke out in cold sweat from fear as if battling death itself, while others struggled painfully to maintain their sanity.
Women screamed loudly, some even losing their minds; men wept openly—no matter how strong they were, they found themselves helpless...
After the finale concluded, thunderous applause lasted nearly five minutes, with frenzied cheers becoming desperate cries...
Since then, Eric has created a sensation worldwide. People sing praises for this pianist with admiration and reverence whenever they mention his name. Many artists have tried to imitate him, but none have succeeded; to this day, he remains unique in the music world.
At ten o'clock on the night of the 27th, Eric prepared for bed as usual. Before sleeping, he carefully placed his dark green bronze ring into its box; the ring featured a bright red heart-shaped design at its center. The box had a small lock which he solemnly secured.
Perhaps due to jet lag or excitement about tomorrow's performance, he tossed and turned in bed for a long time without falling asleep. In the first half of the night, he felt like a beast trapped in a cage—restless and anxious—pacing around his room.
Until three in the morning, he was utterly exhausted and collapsed onto his bed, falling into a deep sleep without dreaming.
When dawn broke, he woke up again, saw that it was still early, and fell back asleep. In this sleep, he had a dream that was so vivid it felt real; the scenes in the dream were so lifelike that he was convinced it was an illusion rather than just a dream.
He locked his ring in its box and placed it on the nightstand, keeping the key close at all times. Ever since her soul had entered that Bronze Ring, he had never let the ring out of his sight, except when he was sleeping.
But at that moment, in the dream, he saw himself staring at the locked ring box, as if something inside was drawing him in; his gaze could not be torn away from it. Suddenly, he noticed the box eerily opening a small crack, and from that gap, he caught sight of a pair of tiny green eyes glowing faintly.
He was all too familiar with those eyes. They gazed at him with deep affection and filled with pleading. Yet, he still felt terrified. A sharp voice echoed in his ear, seemingly emanating from those eyes. He heard it say: "Dear, the ring is squeezing me so tightly that I can hardly breathe. Can you let me leave... leave them?"
The desperate plea and sorrowful voice reverberated within the box. He stood there, frozen in place, feeling his scalp tingle and his blood run cold; every cell in his body trembled.
He tried to reassure himself from within that this was just a dream, merely a dream and not reality.
Suddenly, that sharp pleading voice rang out again: "I have tried my best, dear, but I truly cannot endure it any longer. The Bronze Ring is pressing down on me like a demon. I can't breathe."
It then emitted a series of mournful sounds, each one sharper and more piercing than the last. Its voice seemed to be dragged out by some force and echoed hauntingly in the empty room.
Eric had heard this voice before. Ever since he participated in that overnight sensation at the International Piano Competition, he often sensed these strange sounds. But each time, he was held back by a profound sense of fear within him. He tried to convince himself that these voices were merely hallucinations.
Yet with such a vivid scene laid out before him, he began to deeply doubt whether this was a dream or reality. If it were an illusion, it seemed more real than reality itself. He struggled to speak to it but found himself unable to move closer; it felt as if he were being pinned down by a ghost—he couldn't utter a word or move a finger.
The force pulling at the box grew stronger and louder, as if the Bronze Ring were about to snap apart. He stood there in shock, drenched in cold sweat.
At that moment, the voice of the invisible soul echoed once more with a final plea: "Dear, please help me. I want to be free from the ring."
He became extraordinarily angry, like a fierce beast protecting its prey. He rushed to the front of the ring box and interrupted its plea: "Don't touch my Bronze Ring. You have no one to blame but yourself; you agreed to use your soul to help me."
His voice was filled with rage, hoarse and trembling. Then he closed the automatically opening ring box, pressing down on it tightly with his left hand, while taking a pen from his right hand to draw a Hexagram symbol above the box. This symbol was the mark used by Solomon Kingdom to imprison traitors in a bottle.
A sound of weeping came from inside the box, a desperate and heart-wrenching cry.
"Your art is disgraceful, very disgraceful. You are using my soul to please your art," the soul sobbed. "But I forgive you because I still love you. However, you cannot keep me bound to this ring forever because I am suffering and will do things beyond my control."
After saying this, a stream of black mist began to spread out from the box, enveloping the air above it and rising upward. At first, its shape was not very clear; as the mist increased, it expanded further. It felt as if something large, long, warm, and cold wrapped around him, like the body of a giant serpent, sticky and nauseating.
He screamed and woke up, realizing he was not lying in bed but standing in front of the bedside table, his hands gripping the ring box tightly.
He regained his composure and muttered to himself: "It was just a dream." Yet he still felt shaken; the weight in his heart had not lifted and remained heavy.
It took considerable effort for him to calm down. He used a key to open the box and looked inside; the Bronze Ring lay quietly within, intact, regaining its usual coldness and composure. He took distilled water from his pocket and carefully cleaned the Bronze Ring before placing it back in the box.
Finally, he stood in front of the mirror, examining his appearance. He could easily evoke awe in others; besides his extraordinary musical performances, it was also related to his looks. He was not handsome at all; in fact, he looked somewhat peculiar. Some people even nervously thought he resembled a devil upon seeing him...
Comment 0 Comment Count