247: Chapter 247 Logic Died in the Wasteland

At 5:30 PM, the setting sun was as red as blood.

As the heart of the world's music capital.

At this moment, luxury cars were as numerous as raindrops, and the sound of closing doors was muffled, carrying the heavy scent of wealth.

There was no loud shouting here, only the low and arrogant German flowing through the crowd—an exclusionary barrier sedimented over centuries.

"Buzz—"

The first entry bell rang, and the noisy chatter instantly receded.

Thousands of red velvet seats absorbed all the noise completely.

The lights went out one by one, and the magnificent dome appeared even more solemn in the shadows.

Behind the stage, Ye Xi took one last look at the deep blue book in her hand, the ferryman.

Lin Que's absurd joke about "feeding the audience like pigeons" flashed through her mind again.

She closed her eyes; in her mind were not complex scores, but that gray wasteland and Dylan's stubborn eyes.

"Whew..."

Her originally icy fingertips completely warmed up at this moment.

Following the host's brief and magnetic German introduction, all the lights in the hall went out.

In absolute silence, the lift in the center of the stage slowly rose.

The spotlight hit the center of the stage with precision.

Ye Xi, in a dark green backless haute couture gown, was like a green orchid emerging from the dark deep sea.

The satin of the dress shimmered with a cold luster under the lights, making her porcelain-white skin look almost transparent.

She didn't have a pleasing smile like other performers;

She just walked onto the stage quietly and bowed slightly.

At that moment, several veteran music critics in the audience subconsciously held their breath.

The gaze of the entire audience was firmly drawn.

She stood there, not deliberately displaying softness,

But instead, her whole being exuded a composure that made people afraid to disturb her easily.

She sat down and raised her hands.

Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 3 in C Major, Op. 2.

The notes exploded in the hall like a rainstorm!

...

Meanwhile, three blocks away from the Golden Hall.

Inside "The Silent Mozart" Bookstore, the atmosphere was the exact opposite of the Golden Hall's solemnity; it was at the center of a storm.

A balding Old Professor waved his cane, his nostrils trembling violently.

He pointed at the prime display spot where The Knight's Twilight was originally placed,

Which was now occupied by a stack of deep blue copies of the ferryman.

"This is simply a double disgrace to physics and logic!"

"It doesn't deserve to be here; this is a profanity against literature!"

The Old Professor's voice echoed in the bookstore, causing countless customers to stop and watch.

"Professor, please watch your language."

Zhang Yang stood in front of a group of international students, tightly clutching the book he had just bought, his eyes stubborn:

"The disgrace to physics you speak of made a science student from the University of Vienna publicly repent on social media last night.

Literature is not a cold formula. If you think it lacks logic,

It's because your heart is already as cold as a stone and can no longer feel warmth."

"You! What did you say?" The Old Professor's face turned blue with anger.

"You children from the East, what do you know about literature? Literature is a construction, a rigorous logical chain like architecture!

This kind of cheap chicken soup for the soul is polluting the sanctity of Vienna!"

"Can logic explain why we would die for an impossible person?" Zhang Yang shot back.

"If everything could be explained by logic, why would Beethoven write Moonlight Sonata? Couldn't he just write an audio frequency table?"

"Absurd! Unreasonable!"

The surrounding local old gentlemen joined the fray one after another, dressed in sophisticated suits and faces full of disgust.

In their view, this Eastern novel, which lacked the support of rigorous logic,

Was a barbaric invasion of their spiritual territory.

"Hans! Come out!" the Old Professor shouted loudly.

"Quickly tell these ignorant young people that this kind of Eastern street literature doesn't deserve to be on your shelves at all! Throw it out, throw it out now!"

More and more tourists gathered to watch, and the noise almost lifted the ancient roof of the bookstore.

The international students pursed their lips; although they were outnumbered,

Everyone stood straight, like a group of soldiers guarding a flame.

Just as the atmosphere became tense to the extreme, and someone was even preparing to start shoving,

The bookstore owner, Hans, pushed through the crowd and walked out with a grave expression.

He was still wearing that stiffly laundered vest and his gold-rimmed monocle, clutching a newly printed sales report in his hand.

"Hans, you're finally out."

The Old Professor, as if seeing a savior, grabbed Hans's arm and pointed at those deep blue covers.

"Quickly, fulfill your duty as the owner and gatekeeper of literature.

Tell them that your store does not welcome this kind of logic-lacking trash!"

The gaze of the entire audience instantly focused on Hans.

Hans remained silent, his fingers unconsciously rubbing in his pocket.

He remembered reading Dylan's line this morning, "I am here to take you away,"

And his heart, which had been silent for many years, actually skipped a beat violently.

That kind of throb couldn't be explained by logic, but his soul understood.

Hans slowly adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, ignored the Old Professor, and walked straight through the crowd toward the prime display spot.

His hand slowly reached toward that stack of deep blue new books.

The international students' hearts leaped into their throats, and Zhang Yang even subconsciously clenched his fists.

The Old Professor, on the other hand, wore a smug, cold smile.

He knew Hans too well; this old friend's pickiness about literature was almost pathological.

He would never allow such a work produced in the East to tarnish his reputation.

Hans's fingers touched the spine of the book, and the cool sensation cleared his head a bit.

He turned his head and looked at the Old Professor, who looked confident of victory,

Then looked at the group of international students with stubborn, even slightly desperate eyes.

At this moment, the air came to a strange standstill.

"Professor Klaus."

Hans spoke; his voice was somewhat raspy, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet bookstore.

"You are right. From the perspective of logic and physics, this book is indeed full of errors.

It doesn't construct a rigorous magic system, nor does it explain the biological basis for the existence of souls."

The smile on the Old Professor's face deepened, and he gave Zhang Yang a provocative look, as if to say:

See, this is the truth.

However, Hans's next move caused the Old Professor's smile to instantly freeze on his face.

Hans did not throw the book out.

Instead, he picked up a copy of the ferryman from the display,

And in front of everyone, he carefully tore off its plastic wrap and flipped to the title page.

He took out a fountain pen and wrote a line of words neatly on it:

[The only recommendation of this store for this month.]

"Hans! Are you crazy?" the Old Professor screamed, his voice changing pitch.

Hans readjusted his glasses,

His gaze moved away from the pages, his expression carrying both self-reflection and relief.

"I'm not crazy, Professor."

Hans put the book back in the most prominent position on the display and turned to face the audience, who were all in a daze:

"I have guarded this store for thirty years, and I have sold countless thick volumes with rigorous logic and profound philosophy.

But I found that those books taught us how to think, but they didn't teach us how to cry."

He pointed to his chest.

"Today, this book made me cry like a child for a wasteland that doesn't exist."

Hans looked at the Old Professor, his tone so calm it felt oppressive.

"If you think it's trash, then it means you haven't yet encountered the rain that can soak your soul through."

...