412 Afternoon Tea

Hundreds of years ago, the nine Dragon bloodline families went through countless experiments and sacrifices to finally succeed with the miracle of 'music theory inheritance.' They were then able to pass down their music theory to their descendants. This was how the talents were born. It was essentially a convergence of music theory and the prototype of a heart of sound, symphony of predestination, and even a scepter!

A man's life had a limit. Compared to the world, it was as insignificant as dust.

To explore the true nature of the Originator, the ancestors of the nine families created Deva's blood. They turned music theory into an inheritance that could be passed down the generations. Countless descendants carried the same theory. As long as the bloodline was not cut off, they would be able to develop into the Originator one day.

After revisions from dozens of generations, Ye Qingxuan's Heaven Ladder was practically flawless. Its ability to cross all seven schools went without saying. In addition, it even ignored the boundaries to resonate over extremely large distances. It had the terrifying ability to send its strength over thousands of miles.

All Ye Qingxuan had to do was combine the Heaven Ladder with his own music theory. After much thinking, Ye Qingxuan felt that he had learned too much. He decided to give up on Modifications, Summoning, and Choir and just focus on what he already grasped: Revelations, Illusion, Mind, and the core—Abstinence.

This was why he had a headache.

Trying to combine everything at once was very difficult. Furthermore, he also had the music theory of the Philosopher's Stone. If he abandoned it to complete his heart of sound, it would be like selling a gem to buy a stone. Not only would his research on the sub-originator go to waste, he would also lose the vast foundation brought by the Stone. Thinking this made his heart break…

So then there was another problem.

How could he combine such vast and complicated music theories and turn the chaos into a complete unit?

Ye Qingxuan's expression grew troubled. "What…is wrong?" he murmured. He studied the countless music notes, trying to use the interpretation method to find any holes. But the music theory involved was too much. Even with the large tuning instrument for help, it was still a huge task. He could not do this by himself at all. It had already been close to half a month and he was still clueless.

Closing his eyes, he stopped thinking about it. He tapped against the wall and hummed a broken tune. It was okay. There was no need to hurry.

He still had a lot of time.

-

That same afternoon, two old prisoners across the hallway started talking behind the bars to pass time. The old man on a wheelchair drank his tea slowly. He smacked his lips and shook his head in dissatisfaction.

"Did they change the druggist? They didn't put in enough 'seasoning.' There's no taste." Putting down the teacup, he sighed. "I can practically smell my feet."

In the cell across from him was a bald old man with his face buried in a porn magazine. He used the afternoon sunlight to peruse it with his bad vision. Hearing the other man's voice, he pursed his lips and looked up saying, "Your foot's long gone. I cut it off myself, remember?"

"No, your memory's bad. I got a new one later. It's better than the old one." The wheelchair guy lifted the blanket on his knee and shook his foot proudly at the other. "See, look. Look…" There was nothing under the calf. However, the bald guy stared with his rheumy eyes and hit his forehead in realization. "Oh, right. How did I forget?"

"Right." The wheelchair guy put the blanket back. There was nothing under his calf but there was a bulge under the blanket. There seemed to be a writhing limb, squirming slowly.

"So itchy…" The wheelchair guy reached out and scratched the nonexistent foot over the blanket. As he scratched, his expression grew bitter. "Hey, you know Old Tom is going to die tonight. Old George is going soon too. Probably the day after tomorrow."

Stunned, Bald Guy closed his magazine. "Wasn't he still fine yesterday?"

"He changed his heart too much back in the day. It's going to fail soon." Wheelchair Guy shook his head. "He won't be able to keep going for long."

"I see…"

"He's so old now. He's at the age to die." Wheelchair Guy smacked his lips. "We've been neighbors for all these years. No one's had it easy."

"He was at the age to die eighty years ago." Bald Guy opened the magazine again. Burying his face in it, he said indifferently, "The undying old guy is going to die, what a pity. You should convince him to just confess. Maybe the Sacred City will feel merciful and get him a prostitute to send him off."

"Nah." Wheelchair Guy shook his head. "That secret could be exchanged for three cities eighty years ago. Now you want him to exchange it for a prostitute? If I tell him, he'd probably bite me to death. If you want to bow to the Sacred City, then you do it."

"I want to but they won't let me." Bald Guy snickered. "Otherwise, they wouldn't send me here to look at porn after the Inquisition disbanded. If I still had some secrets to exchange for more of these books, I'd do it. I really don't know why the Sacred City-"

"Because you're a pervert, Mollien," Wheelchair Guy said emotionlessly. "You're a son of a b*tch."

"Thanks."

Silence returned.

After a long while, Wheelchair Guy asked, "Why are you reading that again? You never have good ideas when you read that magazine."

Mollien looked up. He gave an old and kind smile. "For some reason, I want to kill again."

Understanding him, Wheelchair Guy looked up into a certain direction. "Because of him?"

"Yeah." Mollien sighed. "Your foot itches but my hand itches really, really badly. If it was thirty years ago, I wouldn't be able to resist it."

Listening to the vague humming in the distance, he could not help but chew on his nails. His ground his teeth with cracking sounds.

"Youngsters these days…" he murmured. "So impressive."

"Yeah, you cruddy grandmasters from the Sacred City detonated an instrument because of him and instantly killed six people."

"I'm not talking about that…" Mollien looked up with bloodshot eyes. "Not that."

Wheelchair Guy suddenly fell silent. He smacked his lips and listened to the vague voice in the wind. He tapped his knee to the rhythm. The singing was very unclear. He could not hear any details and it was broken like a hallucination floating in the wind. However, these two old guys who had been submerged in music theory for decades could still hear the details hidden into the song.

The tapping finger stiffened. The foot writhing under the blanket stopped quickly as well.

"…I see," he sighed. "He shouldn't be twenty yet. Did some dead guy take over his body?"

Mollien looked at him mockingly. "If someone is talented enough to be like this without using a god's help, who would be stupid enough to be a dark musician?"

Wheelchair Guy could not reply. He gave a long and hard stare, saying, "As your neighbor for so long, I'll give you a piece of advice. Don't get any ideas. You don't want to get a bag thrown over your head and taken to be experimented on, right?"

"Don't worry. I just think it's a pity." Mollien cackled. "Even if I don't do anything, those old beasts at the Cardinals aren't going to let him leave this place alive. What a pity that such a good kid can't die in my hands…"

"Let's end the distasteful conversation here." Wheelchair Guy sighed. "If you keep going, the tea will be even more disgusting." He lifted the teacup and drank all the cold tea. He wiped his mouth. Some remaining drops fell onto the table and sizzled.