Tristan and Isolde

"--teacher?"

"I'm here."

The sky is bright and cloudy, and the sky is as blue as a circle.

"Mrs. Schuman, what do you think the teacher meant when he said "It wasn't...it was you" before he died? "

The young man is facing the sun, his slender golden hair melts into the brilliance of the spring sky, and the red-blue windbreaker rolls up and flows into the blue waves behind him.He is like a sea bird, like the white light feathers embroidered on his hat, flying away all the time.

"You still don't want to call me Clara?" Clara paused, putting her hands on her lips and chuckling.

"Dear Mrs. Schuman, this..."

Clara looked at the young man who lowered her eyelashes and covered her silver eyes in embarrassment, smiled sadly, and shook her head.

"—Johannes, Robert would not wish to see you wasting so much time and energy on our family."

Seeing this graceful woman with gentle steps, Brahms only smiled back, and inadvertently let go of her arm.

"Dear Mrs. Schuman, it's time to find the children of the Alps. I'm sorry I can't send you back."

—Even you, Madame Schuman, cannot give me instructions in the name of a teacher.

Just because he is him.

Others are mortal, but he is immortal.

Clara raised her arms slightly, half begging and half calling, trying to hold back the departing figure in front of her, but she still lowered it slowly, and her round nails dug half-moon-shaped marks on her palm.

The silver pupils in the shadows lowered quietly.

Endernich Asylum, July 1956, 7.

"...Joh, you are my student, this is the greatest joy in my life."

The patient lying on the bed struggled to organize his words, and his words sounded like singing, with trembling endings dragging out a long and empty voice.He was like a ghost, the fat white sleeves of his hospital gown were scattered on the bed, revealing a decadent room.Brahms bit his lower lip.He thought he should have seen that white figure before, in his dreams every night, his nightmares day and night.

Schumann's face was haggard and ashen, and his eyes glowed with a rare sense of wisdom in the past two years.His lips were trembling, and he was panting with difficulty. It seemed that the time had come back to life, and time was running out.

He stretched out his trembling hand towards Brahms, grabbing the folds of Brahms' rough coat.A green cloth was draped over the young man's shoulders, covered with a taupe cloak, his immature and shy cheeks were always steady, and there was a sadness that did not match his age in his warm eyes; everything was the appearance of two years of memory.Seemingly unable to control his limbs at all, he hugged his student with difficulty and smiled.

Brahms was sitting on the corner of the bed, pinching his hands deep into his hair nervously, almost pulling out a handful of hair.He bit his lips until they were pale, and the tears he tried to hold back finally overflowed and dripped on Schumann's forehead, bursting with high fever.

"I... jumped into the Rhine, made you... sad, my gentle and poor Joh?"

In the dark and stormy hour, the momentary brilliance of the sun is but a mockery.

Brahms gripped Schumann's fingers tightly, fearing that if he loosened his grip even a little bit, some soul would slip through the sand to find his dead friends.However, death still showed a cold beauty. Schumann's hand moved, and his light purple eyes were half exposed, and the inside was already gray.

"Joh...?"

"Teacher, I'm here."

"K... Clara..."

"Please don't worry, I will help you...!"

Schumann covered his face and interrupted the rest of Brahms' words.

"It's not...it's you...."

Brahms' eyes widened suddenly—

Is it not Johannes Brahms, but Clara Schumann?

Schumann's chapped lips touched the other's soft lips, rubbed lightly a few times, and then stretched out the tip of his tongue to lick it, just like a baby's instinctive, trusting, and helpless kiss.

When he left, Brahms felt his body was heavy and weak like lead, but his eyes were dry.He turned to the door, gave Schumann a final, deep, tender look, and closed the golden clock.He was like a child, sitting outside the door of the dead soul room, with his hands on his knees, his head buried between his legs, and he fell asleep in such a tired and peaceful way.

Time finally prevailed, and the old man fell to the ground.The clock is silent--

"Johannes...you don't know, Robert actually likes you.

"That sentence is—

—I don't like Clara Schumann, but Johannes Brahms. "

Clara's long hair like Robert's is draped over her shoulders, and the long scarf is fluttering in the wind in her hands, like a lone bird leaving the team, watching alone——

"Thank you, Johannes. In fact, you are Robert's northern star."

Forgive my concealment.

Because I love him and love you even more.

1876 11 Month 5 Day.

Brahms was in a very happy mood at the moment.

20 years of sharpening a sword.His diligent and revised works, as he expected, the premiere of the First Symphony was quite successful, and he finally won world fame for himself in the field of symphony.When he woke up early the next day, Brahms rewarded himself with a cup of coffee after paying homage to the marching band that had woken him up, playing his composition.Just as he was sitting leisurely at the dining table, playing with the water-green tablecloth and sipping coffee, there was a loud knock on the door that almost smashed the door.

His mood, as bright as the autumn sky, was cast in a shadow for an instant.

"Johannes? Johannes! Open the door, I need you urgently!"

The visitor was a violinist from Hannover, Germany, and his best friend, Joseph Joachim.

Brahms curled his lips dissatisfied. "Wait, here we come!" He was playful - or maybe he was trying to be awkward - anyway, he chose to clean up his own table first (he took all the food away), and even cleaned the floor. After wiping everything clean, I went to open the door dawdly.

"Good morning, Joseph... oh, my God! What are you doing!"

Brahms had to try his best not to laugh: Joachim, who has always paid attention to appearance and etiquette, not only buttoned his clothes wrongly, but also put on his overcoat backwards.His short hair was flying wildly, and his glasses drooped obliquely on the bridge of his nose, almost perpendicular to his lips——

"Let me in, little bastard. If it wasn't for you, would I be like this now? Let me in, you devil!"

Brahms was almost knocked into his home by Joachim.

"Damn, you burned the fireplace like purgatory again!" Joachim looked around and wailed, "You didn't prepare breakfast? I came here at night, and I didn't even have dinner yesterday!"

"I just put them away." Brahms' voice was dry.

"Then—put it away?" His glasses were completely cancelled.

"I would like to ask you, why did I suddenly hear the sound of a giant bear slamming on the door while enjoying breakfast, and it also lied to me, saying that there is something urgent!"

Brahms obviously didn't plan to prepare the food.He even got into a stance—a stance to push Joachim out.

"Of course it's urgent! This is too important to you, and I must tell you as quickly as I can." Joachim threw a thin booklet on the table. "You don't mind if I find something to eat?"

As soon as he finished speaking, he dodged and rushed into the kitchen of Brahms' home.

"New Music Magazine?" Brahms opened it suspiciously, and immediately saw that an article praising him on the cover took up three pages.Good guy, he thought proudly, this is really amazing, when did he have such a loyal admirer?He glanced at it casually, straight to the end of the article, and looked at the author's signature as if to confirm his thoughts——

Florestan and Eusbius.

--anger.This was the first emotion that came to Brahms' heart.

"Joseph, what do you mean!"

The door of the kitchen was kicked open, and she fell to the ground sadly.Brahms had a ferocious expression on his face, and the nightgown on his body accumulated a gloomy purple light.He stared at the figure who was wolfing down the dry bread, and yelled uncontrollably.

"Cough cough cough... For God's sake, don't pinch me! Look down!" Joachim choked on a mouthful of bread, and he hurriedly took a big gulp of coffee before exhaling.

A trace of anger gradually rose and rolled, he frowned, his eyes narrowed into a line, and finally decided to see how bold this person who stole Schumann's pseudonym was—

"Stop quarreling over this genius, my dear friends Florestan and Eusbius! Remember when I told you, 'I am sure there is a man who was destined to express the spirit of the age in the most noble and ideal way. He is now Here, a young man with Grace and heroes guarding his cradle, his name is Johannes Brahms". And now, my prophecy has been fulfilled. A new force in the music industry has grown Yes. Just yesterday, I heard his first symphony, it was the echo from the giant, a building that is immaculate, dense and airy, and the Alpine horn in the fourth movement played Beethoven’s first symphony. The echo of Symphony No. [-] echoes the carol of joy in the second half of the nineteenth century. This is the spirit of our time! The artist is like a torrent of rapids, rushing straight down, and finally merged into a rushing A waterfall of spray. Above it shines a serene iridescence, with butterflies fluttering on its banks, and nightingales singing. Believe your Robert Schuman, allies, the same applies to Mr. Brahms : Hats off, gentlemen, you have a genius in front of you."

"Click"—Joachim was not surprised to hear the sound of the newspaper falling to the ground.

"The grilled herring is on top of the closet. Don't forget to close the door before you leave!" Brahms grabbed his hat and coat and hurried out the door.He's going to Düsseldorf, he's going to Robert, he's going to...

"My God, JOHANNESBRAHMS, you mean bastard!"

This was Joachim's broken heart after seeing the three-meter-high wardrobe and the dead chair next to it.

Brahms ran wildly on the street with a grim expression, letting tears flow freely on his face.No one recognized the German master, and all the pedestrians who were hit by him talked and pointed: This is a madman!

Then, at last, he hailed a carriage.

It was late at night when we arrived at the small town on the Rhine.He paced back and forth in front of that apartment, only to hear his heart beating like a snare drum.Brahms gritted his teeth, made up his mind, and finally stretched out his hand cautiously, and gently pulled the door knocker.The copper door knocker in his hand had a strange shape of a beast's head, and it would not make people feel uncomfortable when holding it.But now, the delicate white and tender palm is spread out, but it is stained with spots of red and brown, which is in harmony with the fresh scarlet.

Not surprisingly, a strange face opened the door.His slight expectation was shattered in an instant, and his face was a little depressed and ashamed.

"Who are you looking for?" The woman was obviously dissatisfied with being disturbed from her dream in the middle of the night, and her tone was arrogant.

"Robert Schuman..." he mumbled.

"no!"

The door slammed shut.

He was dazed, not knowing how to get on the carriage.The coachman glanced at him and smiled meaningfully.The carriage stopped by the Rhine: he stopped for a moment, the moonlight was like jade, broken into pieces of gilt.He couldn't help shivering.

"How would it feel to go to Qingchi in this weather?"

It was only then that Brahms noticed that there was another person standing beside him.This gentle tone reminded him of the purpose of coming here this time.It's the coachman.He was wrapped in a black cloak, with a large scarf covering half of his face.Under the moonlight, her purple eyes glowed with silver luster, carrying an indescribable tenderness and tiredness.

"...It's extremely cold." He replied in a low voice, swallowed by the sobs of the night.Brahms crouched down and dipped his hands into the river.The expected cold touch spread across the body like a small snake, and what penetrated into the brain was the depth and suffocation from the essence of life.

"It was the same feeling when I jumped down."

After speaking, Brahms saw the driver take off his scarf.Hidden under the cloak is the face of Robert Schuman.

Then, he heard a "plop", the loud sound of water filling his eardrums.

The splashed water splashed all over him.He looked down, and the small warm bubbles gradually surfaced, whispering in the fading light and shadow, making it difficult to tell whether it was Zhuang Zhou's dream butterfly or not.

Suddenly it disappeared.

Only a big-brimmed hat floated on the river, seemingly sinking but not sinking.

Brahms wasn't too surprised.He just intuited that he might never see the teacher again.

"It's really... extremely cold."

He picked up the buckskin hat that Schumann left before sinking into the river again, put it on his head, and walked away silently.

In the hat, the pocket was full of water, which completely wiped him out.

Joachim left a long time ago, and before leaving, he left a note full of words of comfort.It seemed that he also knew that Brahms' business was doomed to end in vain.

"Joseph..."

Feeling a little moved, he threw the note into the fireplace.

The maze, which is as beautiful as an oil painting, stretches out its arms to him, and the mixed notes drag him into the hazy torrent.He didn't care that the sun was already shining, and he didn't care that he hadn't changed his clothes yet, so he fell straight down on the bed and passed out.

Then, it was like this.

In a life that is so long that it is numb, there is an obligation to live for it.Clara Schuman, whom he considered an important treasure and the widow of his mentor, took care of her dutifully, but also left a lot of gossip.

"Maybe it shouldn't be Felix Schumann, but Felix Brahms, don't you think so?" Clara's eyes were full of mockery.She stretched out her hand and straightened the brim of the buckskin hat for Brahms with a sigh.

"That's what you say. I also like children very much. Dear Mrs. Schuman, wouldn't it be the best to have such a lovable child—a child with a teacher's surname."

He laughed it off.

Felix Schuman was the boy who most resembled Robert among the Schuman children.Those beautiful, warm almond eyes, just like his father's.Brahms took a special liking to this child, to the point of doting.He did his best to teach this boy, just as Robert did his best for him.

His unusual affection for the child was finally discovered by outsiders with ulterior motives.The timing of Felix's birth is very sensitive, and it coincides with Robert's critical illness and Clara's most difficult time.As a result, rumors spread that "Felix is ​​actually the illegitimate child of Clara and Brahms".

Only Brahms knows that he likes Felix only because of those almond eyes that resemble Robert's and are full of raindrops.

His mission, his music (“my boy,” he says), takes the place of his proper companion.Life in Ledu Vienna is very leisurely and leisurely. From time to time, I serve as a judge for several famous competitions, discover newcomers, and occasionally moles a beautiful girl (such as abducting her to my old and unreliable handrail sit down in the chair) or something.

That's fine, because one by one his friends have left him.In the end he was left alone.

Wagner had long since died of a heart attack.It was raining when he heard the news, and he laughed gruffly as he played the famous funeral march from Ragnarok.Laughing, laughing, and suddenly stopped laughing.Then the baton fell from another of his fighting partners, Hans von Bülow; and finally, in 1896, the most precious life of all, Clara Schumann, the The woman whose husband had a very similar appearance and character also passed away.In this world, the last person who was inextricably linked with his teacher also left him.

After learning that the location of Clara's funeral was changed from Frankfurt to Bonn Robert's side, Brahms rushed off the wrong train and rushed to the holy body.He took out Schumann's blond hair, cut off 40 years ago, and put it together with Clara's blond hair.The long beige scarf was draped over the marble tombstone, covered with dust, and wrapped around a beautiful little diary.

Brahms recognized it as Robert's diary, titled "Rain Song".

He put all the scarves and notebooks in his arms, as gently as if he was treating his lover; he picked up the last handful of loess, and the sand and foam drew the arc of time in his hands, flying and splashing everywhere.With trembling hands, Brahms took out the violin, put it on his neck, and struck the bow——

"Ichliebedich, Schumann."

This is a special method invented by Robert, who can say everything he wants to express in notes, pitches and intervals.When Brahms showed him that he was curious, he was like a ecstatic kid showing everyone his favorite candy, and he gave it away.

I don't know whose eye was hurt by the bundle of hair that was as bright as platinum beside the coffin.

In a blink of an eye, it was April 1897, 4.

He looked at the world affectionately and full of nostalgia for the last time, he let out a slight breath, and there was a tremor in his throat, like an old bellows performing its duty for the last time.His head was tilted up slightly, and he hummed intermittently, like a melody.

"The patter of the rain reminds me of my old songs.

Whenever it rains outside the house, we sing this song together in front of the door,

Can I hear this song again, accompanied by the same sound of rain;

——In my pure childhood, it once moistened my heart. "

It was Robert who came to fetch him.

Tears welled up in his dim old eyes.

"Dear Mr. Schuman... I have been looking forward to this day."

He felt that consciousness was being stripped from the body.Feili looked up, and there seemed to be something flickering in Robert's hand.At first glance, it turned out to be a dandelion, fluffy and fluffy, with an ordinary appearance and a beautiful appearance, and the pigment was pure.The flowers wither into flocks, disappear with the wind, and disappear without a trace.

"On July 41, 7 years ago, the wish I made to Thanatos was not to see you like this."

The soul that had recovered its young body stood aside, looking down at the old body, listening to Schumann's long sigh.

"Come on, Joh. I think I can still be your teacher?"

The elderly students put on their buckskin hats that had been dusty for many years.

"Of course you have always been my teacher, Mr. Schuman."

—Yes, there is nothing wrong with that.

Robert Alexander Schumann would always have been Johannes Brahms' teacher.

——Is it just a teacher?

Schumann hesitated for a moment, and a stormy gloom floated up, but it immediately turned into a smile.

He is as handsome as a silver moon.Schumann's face is very upright, and the light-colored hair lying on it and slightly curled is soft and slender, and it rises without wind, dancing in an elegant arc; the rare lavender eyes are half-closed, full of raindrops The shape is gloomy, and the smile is like a light-colored hyacinth, sad and quiet.

By the time people realized that Johannes Brahms seemed to have been out of public view for a long time, it was too late.They broke down the gate of Brahms' house, carried out his decomposing body, lowered his flag at half-staff, and blew their horns in mourning.

At the moment, Schumann is leading Brahms to turn left and right, and hide into a remote alley.As they walked, it snowed heavily—this symbolized that they had entered the track of "Twilight of the Gods".Brahms was shivering in the cold in his nightgown.

"This reminds me of that nasty Slav Tchaikovsky!"

"Okay, don't complain, I'm sorry I forgot to bring you a coat... that's it."

He grabbed Brahms, unbuttoned his coat, and held Brahms in his arms, clinging to the warm underwear.

"You can't be frozen. But I don't think you want to see me frozen?"

Brahms staggered, knocked on a rock under his feet, and fell straight down, getting snow all over his body and face.

His teeth chattered from the cold.

"And I don't wear glasses," Schumann helped him up, took off his scarf and wiped the snow for him, then took out a pair of glasses from his pocket, and put them on for him. "You won't be able to see the beauty like this."

Schumann's gentle voice still couldn't hide the dim light in his eyes.

The blond boy was humming the melody of the song "The Poet's Love" softly in his arms, and the melody was intertwined with the cold wind comparable to the Far East.He huddled in the teacher's arms, and the beige woolen scarf spun and fluttered behind him, like Lucifer flapping his wings lightly.Frozen for thousands of miles, the flying snow casts a clear light in Schumann's eyes.

"Freedom, but loneliness." Looking at the thousands of miles of snow, Schumann whispered wistfully.

Cong Rui is as sensitive as Brahms, and immediately understood the deep meaning of this sentence.His eyes flashed, and the surprise disappeared in an instant——

"No, sir. Free, but happy."

He looked away, and a rare gorgeous smile appeared on his face, just like the bright spring, suddenly the sky was clear.

"--hapiness?"

"Hmm. Very happy."

"That's right." Schumann looked at the boy with a flushed face and pretending to be calm looking aside as he suddenly realized, and smiled sincerely.

"I'm very—happy, too."

Seeing Schumann's smile, Brahms slipped and fell again.

"I'll say it again, you won't be able to see the beauty like this!" Schumann complained verbally, but still fished Brahms out of the snow very quickly.

"When I need to see beautiful women, I will put on my glasses, teacher." Brahms patted Snow and put on his glasses slowly.

— But I've never seen you wear glasses.

Schumann held back the words, but couldn't hide the smile on the corner of his mouth.Apparently he was in a pretty good mood at the moment:

"Those who can come to Gotterdammerung (Twilight of the Gods) must contribute to the world. What have you contributed to this world, Dr. Brahms?"

"I've 'contributed' a lot of beauties to this world, teacher," Brahms replied unhurriedly, pulling the corners of his lips. "When I take off my glasses, the world is full of beauties."

"Shut up, you old rascal!" Schumann laughed and patted him a few times, thinking of his student's bearded and unkempt appearance in his later years.Brahms groaned a few times with his unique high-pitched voice, and also laughed.

—Free, yet happy.

Everything is going smooth.

Schumann quickly "drives" away his good friend Mendelssohn who has been living with him for many years, and quickly vacates a room, rushing to put all the items that Brahms may need into it.He took off his coat and began to wipe the glass, wash the dishes, push the tables and chairs, make the bed, and most importantly, arrange the music score, coffee and red wine, and stared at Brahms who was standing outside the door dumbfounded.

His teacher, that introverted, melancholy, sensitive and delicate teacher who drank his sorrows all day long, when did he become so capable?

Does no one take care of him?

He wisely never mentioned Clara again.

Afterwards, Brahms would always think sadly that the two played piano and composed music together and lived in the same room for only one year.A year later, on such a snowy day, he walked on the traceless Bai Hua, and walked the last part of the road walking side by side with the teacher.

On that snowy day, as usual, Schumann helped Brahms revise the Fourth Symphony they composed separately.When Brahms finally ended his fierce struggle with the notes, wiped off the sweat from his forehead, and waited for the teacher to make a suggestion, Schumann suddenly fainted in front of the black and white ivory keys, and disappeared in a flash of wind.

"Mein Lehrer?!"

He searched all over the house, but couldn't find the other party, so he rushed out of the door anxiously, only to see the unwelcome Tchaikovsky leaning against the wall.He was dressed in the standard leather jacket of the Russian landlord class, and his black figure avoided the lights and sank into the mournful shadow.The eyeballs like a pool of clear water are full of deep sorrow and indescribable desolation.

"The day has come, Herr Brahms. You have a right to know everything. Bach said he wished to discuss one matter with you—about Robert Schumann."

He was led into a house, resplendent with gold and gold, and with a deep dome.Tchaikovsky left knowingly, and he wanted to return to his snow country to build more worlds.A person who looked at least 1.9 meters tall was standing on the second floor, rubbing his dark green hair.Brahms knew it was Bach.

"In my name, Johann Sebastian Bach, I swear that Brahms is forbidden to meet Robert Schumann, and failure to do so entails his will being annihilated," said Bach.

"The reason." Brahms stood there numbly after hearing this, as if he hadn't realized it, he quickly stepped up the steps, rushed forward, grabbed Bach's collar, and shook him vigorously. "Give me a reason!"

"For him, and more for you." Bach swung his arms and broke free easily.He threw the other party down the thirteen steps with all his strength, and the vortex of philosophy and reason surged in his eyes. "I hope this fall can wake you up, my most important junior."

Brahms fell to the ground, blood snaked down from his nostrils like two little snakes.Huge pain swept through his heart. He stared at the ceiling painted with miracles of gods, and suddenly saw his teacher tied up on the bed in the shape of a withered one. His usually gorgeous purple eyes were staring blankly Opened wide, the air casts a sense of nothingness.

He thought of the nightmares he had day and night 40 years ago.

Brahms knew in his heart that the root cause of Bach's ban was himself—it was his own existence that allowed Schumann's already incomplete will to endure the erosion of the torrent of emotion; Fragmented again.

The spirit is the soul, and the soul is the will.Schumann's disappearance is entirely because of Brahms.

Use the level of life to experience time to spur, and use death to commemorate the eerie loneliness of the years.

"Free, yet happy—"

Sorry, I cannot personally fulfill this promise for you;

Holding on to the empty city, I will look into the distance with eternity.

Farewell, my teacher.

"Is that all right, my lord Mr. Bach?"

A healthy and handsome young man stood beside Bach on the gentle slope of the stairs. He had a tall and slender figure, black curly hair, and fiery eyes. His usual charming smile was replaced by nervousness and anxiety.

"I've said it many times, just call me John, Felix. I'll feel weird always calling you 'Dear Mr. Mendelssohn'." Bach frowned solemnly, and began to tidy up his clothing. "By the way, Robert is your good friend, Felix."

"That's right. Robert was my most loyal companion, and he always moved me—"

"Do you know where he has been lately?" Mendelssohn was rarely interrupted, without looking at Brahms, he began to walk upstairs slowly.In a dilemma, Mendelssohn finally decided to follow in Bach's footsteps.

"Since he let me live with you, I haven't seen him for a while, and he seems to have disappeared suddenly."

"You know he's not in good spirits."

"Yes. So I've been careful not to irritate his nerves."

"He lived with Johannes, a student he has always loved, for a whole year. It was such a huge stimulus." Bach stopped in front of a carved stone door, his hands trembling slightly.He turned his head and glanced at Mendelssohn behind him, cold sweat dripped from his forehead due to tension and worry. "Do you know where this is?" Mendelssohn continued without waiting for an answer. "This is the heart of Gotterdammerung, Valhalla."

"Valhalla?" Mendelssohn repeated the name lightly, his face immediately became ugly——

Valhalla, the place where the will to be destroyed is imprisoned.Even in "Twilight of the Gods", it is like a tomb.

"...Why?" Mendelssohn's voice became hoarse, like a cactus that has been drained of water. "Why did you bring me here? The will will not be easily destroyed, what happened to Roots?!"

"This scene may be a little scary to you." Ignoring his repeated questions, Bach muttered in a low voice, still made up his mind, and opened the door, and the scene inside almost prevented Mendelssohn from dying of a heart attack. one time.Mendelssohn smelled water: a damp, liquid smell against his face in the dark, a musty feeling filling the room, making the room feel like a basement.Bach lit a small lamp—he knew that the bright light would irritate the patient—and led Mendelssohn up the moss-covered green stone steps, the cold light hid the expressions of the two In the dark shadows.Dark green stagnant water filled the house, and the two had no choice but to roll up their trousers and wade into the water.They walked with difficulty, but the room went further and further down, not like the top floor at all.When the two saw Schumann, the water was probably belly-deep, and the dark water made the lights dim.Mendelssohn was not tall, so he had to support Bach to look far away——

The chains wrapped around the patient's body like hideous thorns.Soaking in water for a long time made Schumann's complexion appear unhealthy gray, and his hair was stuck to his cheeks, dripping water drops.However, his expression is very serene, his lips are slightly drawn, and his eyebrows are slender, which makes him look like a jasmine flower in distress.

"Ah! Two wills, two healthy wills! So who are you?" The patient slowly opened his eyes, and the smile on his face widened a bit.

Mendelssohn almost screamed—the hoarse, raspy voice hardly reminded him of what a lively boy it had once belonged to.The confused and pure joy in Schumann's voice made his nose sour, and two tears moistened a pool of stagnant water.

"I'm Phil... I'm Felix, your dear friend Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdi! You don't remember me?!"

"Felix...Mendelssohn-Bartholdi?" The patient's face was blank, and he shook his head in depression.

Mendelssohn's face showed a rare and great grief. He staggered a few steps back and stretched his hands forward, as if praying for something, but finally fell down slumped, rubbing against the cloth and making a harsh sound.

"Felix... oh." Bach seemed to have aged a bit.He ignored Mendelssohn who fell into the water, but sighed, and took a few steps forward. "I am Johann Sebastian Bach, the person in charge here. What is your wish?"

"I don't want the memory to continue to be lost." The light-haired young man seemed to remember something, and his tone suddenly became sonorous.

"Do you know how to mend your memory?"

Schumann shook his head, his eyes still blank.

"You are going to re-enter Midgard (the atrium) with a new identity. Do you know the risks of doing so? If you are not careful, you will never be able to return to Ragnarok."

"Maybe."

"That's a disservice to everybody."

"...Maybe." Schumann turned his head away, eyes full of powerless begging.He was full of reluctance, but it finally turned into a long sigh.

"That means you still have memories? Robert, I can keep you in this state. You can start over and get to know us again, and I can keep your memory from being lost, as long as you don't ask for it." Previous memories. Those memories only make you miserable—"

"I... have decided." Schumann interrupted Bach's words for the first time, but his face was completely different from his sonorous tone, the sadness of being buried in the fine sand in the deep sea and being touched by the sun for the first time. "I want to know my alpha, I want to know my omega. My beginning is not here, and my end will never be here. I have my world, I have my thoughts. I have my important people, they What I cherish is also the former me. Mr. Mendelssohn just now, I have a lot of