CHAPTER 624: VALENTINE’S DAY SPECIAL: A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM (1) (6K)_3

It’s enough to take you down.

Although you’re probably clueless, I can buy some time and play a bit to thoroughly entertain you. Once I’ve got a plan, I’ll tweak it slightly.

But the result was...

The red-haired woman laughed directly. She didn’t make a sound, though; she just seemed playful. Because the scar-faced man’s Leather Armor was severely worn, reeking of sea stench and sweat. The scar-faced man, with stubbled beard, was earnestly discussing composition, but lacked basic knowledge and couldn’t even read music scores. How could he talk about creation? Moreover, when it concerns the rise and fall of the art world, you’re really... bragging without a draft.

The red-haired woman dropped the knife. This man posed no threat to her; she could end him anytime. She might as well have fun with this foolish thief.

"I just happen to know how to, you just have to demonstrate once, and I can remember it all. I’ll fulfill your wish then eliminate you without any pain. Sorry, but these are the survival rules of the no-law zone."

The red-haired woman’s fingers beckoned, and a blank book and charcoal pencil floated directly from the bookshelf into her hand, wanting to see what performance this person would put on.

Shit! You really know this!

Liszt knew that merely adding onto the memory foundation couldn’t cause a qualitative change; organisms were always hormonal, animalistic. Only pheromones could transform bricks into... damn, the ultimate aphrodisiac to last a lifetime.

He took off his shoulder guards, chest armor, and leg armor.

Shit!

Damn, not changing clothes for over ten days, the white shirt was full of oil stains and smoke stains. Damn, Shadi Reen Wallman’s a smoker, especially Wallman’s Great Wetland leaf tobacco. Smoking together while playing cards was really unbearable. Now a few rounds of fun!

Looking at the woman’s expression, not impressed by his looks, there was no reaction at all!

But it doesn’t matter!

Liszt took a deep breath, damn, all these years just chopping people, never even touched this. Hope he doesn’t screw up.

The red-haired woman initially thought this foolish thief was going to hum a tune or pull out a mouth organ or flute or something dirty from his trouser pocket.

But Liszt pulled off the cloth covering the piano. He didn’t understand which miscellaneous brand this was on the Western Continent, but considering it was a place where General Aran’s family stayed, anything placed here was Steinway caliber.

This really made the red-haired woman get ready seriously, sitting in the Imperial Concubine Chair, picking up the charcoal pencil and record book, staring intently at Liszt.

Liszt’s scalp tingled, damn, that stare was terrifying. If he didn’t have real skills, he’d truly be chopped by this mad woman.

His hands trembled slightly; nerves were normal. Pretend it’s about chopping now, quickly returning to calm.

First, he tested the sound, checking the difference from back home. There were some detail variances, but generally the scale arrangement was similar, not a big issue.

Liszt sat down. There were many performance options, but what to play? He glanced at the mad woman, expressionless and staring, merely completing a last-will task.

Better play something melancholic, first calm this mad woman down. Also, showing himself as the underdog, he’s already so miserably screwed, if she still wants to kill him isn’t she being a bit impolite?

Liszt isn’t exactly master-level, one could say having Ivy talent, slightly better than amateur.

Damned if he cares, let’s begin.

Chopin’s posthumous work, Waltz in A minor, fitting since he’s gonna damn die too.

Liszt’s hands were quite coarse, full of scratches. In the deathly silence, his fingers touched the keys.

Given the life-and-death peril, Liszt never thought about making it artistic, he just damn played it, completely following previous lessons.

Main theme, section A, left-hand floating rhythm, intentionally blurry strong beat accent, bass extending to second beat, creating a swaying melancholic feeling. Downward two-degree phrases with dotted rhythm in first two measures form a lament-like language, heavily using unresolved dominant seventh chords, suggesting emotional instability.

Middle section, section B, from A minor through E major turning to C major, eventually circling back to main key via sixth-degree chords, right hand presenting three-degree layered embellishments, left hand developing arpeggios, forming a three-dimensional voice dialogue.

Recapitulation creates emotional fracture, coda closes with dissolving arpeggios, leaving unfinished yearning.

Over three minutes, one piece finished playing.

All technique, no emotion.

But Liszt’s back was soaked in cold sweat, it worked! Damn, it worked!

Though just a display of technical prowess, the piano piece itself was like a storm locked inside a jewelry box, so melancholic and damn melancholic lung treatment, damn melancholic to suffocation, couldn’t this take you down?

Glancing sideways at the mad woman.

What the hell!

Completely beaten! The mad woman, expressionless, finished recording the score with the charcoal pencil, still staring intently at him, without any change.

"What’s your name?"

The red-haired woman asked calmly.

Liszt breathed a sigh of relief inside, so my piano skills are still on point. He truthfully told her his name.

However...

Boss! The car’s ready.

"I’ll publish in your name after you’re dead, you won’t become an anonymous author. What will you name this piece?"

The red-haired woman asked coldly.

A wake-up call!

"Just... call it Waltz."

Liszt understood everything.

The red-haired woman gestured for Liszt to continue.