Devil’s Music

Chapter 58: The Fourth Encounter with the Dead?

December 1882.

Saint Petersburg, Russia.

This city was called Leningrad until Lenin's death in 1924, but the people living here all referred to it by its old name, Saint Petersburg. December in Russia was incredibly cold. Geon walked through desolate dirt fields, scanning his surroundings.

"Is this another dream? It feels so cold, even in a dream. Ahh~"

He tugged at his coat, seeking shelter from the biting cold. In the distance, he spotted several buildings. They weren't tall, but as he approached, more buildings came into view. The ground, once just earth, was gradually taking on the form of roads. Occasionally, as he walked amidst the buildings, he glimpsed a few scattered people.

Towering Westerners, bundled in thick coats and fur hats, walked by, heads bowed against the sharp, cutting winds. To withstand the biting cold, people hunched over, focusing only on the ground as they walked. Geon maneuvered through these individuals, weaving between the large buildings. Typically, the spaces between tall buildings were windy, but here, perhaps due to the low walls, the wind was less fierce.

Surveying his surroundings with a slightly improved expression, Geon touched a wrought iron lamppost on the street.

"A wrought iron lamppost, must be from a long time ago. It doesn't seem like it's from Europe, judging by its design."

The lamppost had a diamond-shaped light fixture atop a black column, yet since it wasn't dark yet, the light remained unlit.

As he looked around, amidst the other buildings, Geon noticed one significantly larger structure. It was rectangular with numerous arched windows and elaborate decorations adorning its exterior. Even at a glance, it didn't seem like an ordinary residential building. Fascinated by its uncommon architecture, Geon approached.

"Wow, it's massive. Is it because the other buildings are relatively smaller? It seems even grander up close."

Admiring the impressive architecture, Geon wandered around, taking in the view. Suddenly, he heard voices, a dispute between two men, from a distance. Intrigued by what sounded like a discussion about music, Geon, stealing a glance, noticed two men seated on a bench a short distance away.

One man in his fifties, dressed in a brown winter suit with black, cropped curls, held rolled-up music sheets and spoke in an agitated tone.

"Pyotr! Why would you come all the way here to compose a Russian quintet piece? Are you trying to disgrace our Saint Petersburg Conservatory with such mediocre music?"

Another man, in his forties, with neatly groomed hair and beard, responded, gesturing with the music sheets in his hand.

"Anton, have you listened to the symphony I composed? Do you really think it's mediocre?"

Anton, in a disappointed tone, replied while examining the rolled-up sheets.

"The storm piece you submitted. Do you realize how disappointing it is? What will other professors think? If this is how it is, go to Moscow with Nikolai! Your music and our Saint Petersburg's style are too different!"

Pyotr, silently looking at Anton with a forlorn expression, prompted Anton to hand over the music sheets before leaving. Pyotr stood there, gazing at the sheets in his hands.

Geon, inadvertently eavesdropping, glanced at Pyotr and, catching his eye, startled and awkwardly twisted his neck.

Seeing Geon's reaction, Pyotr chuckled and approached him.

Geon, flustered, stood up and explained, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just heard loud voices while passing by..."

Pyotr waved it off reassuringly, "It's alright. Don't worry. Can I sit for a moment? I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Geon hastily gestured towards the bench, "Of course! Please, have a seat."

As Pyotr sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his forehead in his hands, he glanced at Geon.

"You look like a teenager, are you a student here? Oh, but it can't be. You seem to be in your late teens. If you were a student here, you would have studied for over ten years, wouldn't you?"

Geon shook his head, denying it, "Oh, no. I was just passing by."

Pyotr turned to face him again, "Ah, I see. Thankfully. It wouldn't be good to expose younger students to embarrassing scenes. Well, it won't matter soon since I'll be leaving here anyway."

Pyotr suddenly seemed to recall something, turning back to look at Geon and scrutinizing his face.

"Hmm... if it's not impolite to ask, Mister. You appear to be East Asian, is that correct?"

Geon nodded in confirmation, causing Pyotr's eyes to widen in surprise.

"It's my first time seeing an East Asian in Saint Petersburg. I've encountered the Korenok people they call the Koryo-Jin in Moscow, but they looked different from you. They had low noses, small eyes, and were shorter. Are you unique, or are the Koryo-Jin peculiar? I apologize if this was intrusive."

Acknowledging Pyotr's courteousness, Geon waved it off, "No, it's fine. There are many East Asians who look like you described. Just like how people here all look different, East Asians vary in appearance too."

Seemingly understanding, Pyotr nodded and chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"I see. In our country, people vary in height, nose shape, and size too. I realize now that my question might have been foolish. Ha-ha!"

Pyotr laughed sheepishly.

"Ah, I apologize for my late introduction. I am Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky."

Geon chuckled with Pyotr, then his eyes widened.

"Wh-what? Tchaikovsky?"

Seeing Geon's surprise, Pyotr chuckled, tilting his head.

"Do you know me? Oh, perhaps you've come to see a performance at the theater? Still, I've been on quite a few stages."

Geon, speechless and taken aback, looked puzzled. Pyotr smiled as he continued.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm just an ordinary person. Recognizing me suggests you might frequent performances. If that's the case, while you might not be an expert, you likely have a good musical understanding. Could I ask you for a favor?"

Pyotr extended the sheet music, asking, "You read music, right? Could you take a look at this piece for me?"

Geon, with a bewildered expression, took the sheet pushed toward him, glanced at it, then looked up at Pyotr.

"I-I'm not familiar with orchestral music, so... even if I look, I might not understand. I think I'd need to hear it played."

Pyotr, with a somber expression, took back the sheet music, saying, "I understand. If you're not a composer, it might take more time to grasp an unfamiliar score."

Looking at the sheet music in Pyotr's hands, Geon asked, "But why are the notes in different colors? Is that your way of notating?"

Pyotr paused for a moment, gazing intently at Geon. Geon felt flustered, thinking he might have made a mistake. After a while, Pyotr finally spoke.

"You say the same things as that child."

Geon, anxiously awaiting Pyotr's words, widened his eyes at the unexpected comment.

"That child? What do you mean?"

Pyotr held up the sheet music, pointing.

"You mentioned seeing colors in the notes. There was a child who said the same to me."

Geon, puzzled, gestured towards Pyotr's hand holding the sheet.

"I just pointed out what I see. Here, from the fourth measure to the sixteenth, it's green. Then, thirty-two measures in white, followed by eight in red. Can't you see?"

Watching Geon, Pyotr nodded slightly and said, "Seems like you, too, are fated to live within the realm of music. For me, I only see black notes."

After finishing speaking, Pyotr stood up. Geon, who had been sitting, looked up at Pyotr.

"It seems there's a connection we must make. It's perhaps my destiny to bring you both together. If you have time, would you like to meet?"

Geon stood up from the bench, asking, "Meet whom?"

Turning around, Pyotr walked ahead.

"The child I just mentioned. The one who sees the colors in musical notes."

Geon hurriedly followed Pyotr, asking, "Colors in musical notes? Wait, do you really not see them, Pyotr?"

Glancing back at Geon, Pyotr replied, "No, I don't see them. Until I met you, I didn't believe the child's words about seeing colors in musical notations. But when you pointed out the green notes, it reminded me that the child had said the same thing. In the end, the child wasn't lying."

Looking bewildered, Geon stood beside Pyotr as Pyotr pointed to a splendid building.

"That child is inside that building."

Geon looked to where Pyotr gestured and saw a sharply angular building resembling an opera house. Pyotr, with a serious expression, continued.

"The child's name is Sergei Rachmaninoff, a young genius from St. Petersburg."

>

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