Unable to control herself, moving from hesitation to determination, Scarlett gradually took a step forward. She set down the book by Sophocles, sat down in front of the piano, glanced at the settings of the player piano, and, like a baby taking its first steps, lightly pressed a couple of keys. Then, as if by magic, the piano began to play on its own.
Scarlett couldn't hide her delight. She mimicked Anson's earlier actions, dancing lightly and joyfully over the black and white keys—
Playing randomly.
This was the magical part—despite Scarlett's random and uncoordinated playing, the player piano still managed to produce a flowing, beautiful melody.
Scarlett couldn't help but open her mouth in a smile, exclaiming, "I'm a piano prodigy too!"
Anson couldn't help but chuckle. He returned to the piano, motioning with his left hand to slow down the tempo, palm facing downward. "Too fast, the tempo is too fast. This ruins the emotion of the piece."
However, Scarlett didn't know how to adjust the tempo. She couldn't slow down, and her eyes showed a hint of panic as she looked at Anson with wide eyes.
Anson tried to take over, but quickly realized it wasn't possible. So, he placed his hand over Scarlett's fingertips to guide the rhythm, gradually slowing down the pace.
Turning to Scarlett, he patiently explained, "The joy has ended; this part is no longer cheerful."
Just as Anson had mentioned,
A typical symphony's finale is often the most rapid and magnificent movement, but Tchaikovsky's "Pathétique" Symphony is quite the opposite—extremely somber and dark, emphasizing the theme of pathos, with a sorrowful melody made even more poignant by the horn accompaniment.
The mood shifted, becoming more and more sorrowful.
From brightness to gloom, even the air seemed to change quietly.
Instinctively, Scarlett looked up at Anson, only to find his profile suddenly so close, startling her. She quickly averted her gaze, lowering her head in a rush, only to see the broad hand covering her own, long and firm fingers enveloping her hand entirely.
It took several beats before Scarlett realized the warmth coming from the palm—
It was almost scalding.
In the next second, her cheeks grew just as hot. Scarlett quickly pulled her hand away and stood up, making room for the man.
Anson, without asking, casually handed an apple to Scarlett.
Scarlett took the apple, and after a brief moment of shyness and confusion, her gaze once again drifted toward Anson, her heart quickly filling with joy and delight.
She could still feel the faint warmth at her fingertips, almost burning her skin, but she couldn't help but curl her fingers, as if trying to grasp that warmth that was slowly slipping away. Her heart raced wildly.
Before she could fully process her emotions, her attention was swept away by the surge of melody, each cell in her body feeling the color and power of the notes.
At this moment, Scarlett could sense that Anson had completely slowed down the tempo, and the strength of the music had softened as well. All the noise and clamor gradually settled, revealing a subtle tranquility, with a gentle sadness flowing through.
Now, she finally understood what Anson meant:
It was different, truly different.
The calm after joy, the loneliness after the noise, released a powerful and moving force. Even the player piano conveyed this contrast.
However, as her emotions settled, they slowly descended into sorrow—not fear or pain, but a permeating sadness in the vastness, blending herself with the notes in a haze.
Silently, she became immersed in it.
Knock, knock!
"Scarlett!"
A voice broke the silence. The door was opened immediately after knocking, with no pause, and the noise from outside quickly flooded in like a torrent.
But just as quickly, the door was shut again, leaving Scarlett and Anson momentarily stunned.
Then, it was opened once more.
"My God, Scarlett, I finally found you."
The balance was broken.
The ripples from the first knock brought a slight panic, mixed with regret and frustration; before she could calm down, the second opening of the door completely disrupted her thoughts, as if gravity had yanked her body back to the ground.
Scarlett hurriedly straightened up to keep her distance, blinking in confusion. Before she could say anything, the newcomer stood at the door, waving urgently.
"Scarlett, come quickly. There's someone outside you absolutely must meet; this is an opportunity you can't miss."
Scarlett, trying to conceal her turbulent emotions, instinctively took two steps forward like an obedient puppet, her first reaction being to grab onto this rope to escape the sea of notes. Then she realized what she was doing, turning back to Anson to explain.
"This is my agent. I... uh, I have to go."
Anson wasn't surprised; he remained seated at the piano, waving his hand casually, "Tonight was delightful."
One sentence made Scarlett's smile blossom, and she nodded repeatedly in agreement, "For me too."
Then, without lingering, Scarlett quickly left the room. She didn't realize that her heart was soaring as she walked out.
As she followed her agent down the hallway, who was explaining the situation at length, Scarlett was completely distracted, her thoughts wandering, immersed in a vague emotion.
"Scarlett? Scarlett!"
Scarlett finally snapped back to reality.
"What are you doing with an apple that has a bite taken out of it? You shouldn't be seen eating anything—you know Hollywood doesn't allow that."
Scarlett blinked, looking down at the pitiful apple in her hand, finally understanding what was going on, and couldn't help but chuckle.
After a moment's thought, Scarlett glanced around, then deviated from her path, placing the bitten apple on a nearby Roman column as if it were an art display. She even adjusted its position carefully, making it look as deliberate as possible—
She could almost imagine the smile that would spread across Anson's face when he saw this little prank.
Satisfied, Scarlett took two steps back, then walked away with her agent.
Behind her, a voice called out, "Wow, what's this sculpture? It's so unique."
The wind carried those words to her ears, and Scarlett's lips curled into a secret smile. Her steps grew lighter, filled with a sense of joy.
Meanwhile, Anson lingered in the room for a while longer, contentedly enjoying the player piano, and even discovering some rare, out-of-print books. Before leaving, he left a note.
"Dear Mr. Robinov,
Today, the elderly ladies are fluttering around the room like a whirlwind, while their daughters, draped in gossamer, are twirling wildly to the music of a dissolute waltz. The old ones form a line, moving in waves; the young ones are uninhibited, limbs relaxed.
We are saddened to see that at the court ball, a vulgar dance from France has been introduced, posing a grave challenge to the once-proud tradition.
I am absolutely certain, and confident, that this is a good thing."
Period.
He placed the note under the sheet music for the "Pathétique Symphony," then walked away.
Fourth update.