When the last cigarette was finished, all that remained of this battered world was its final outline, and the last door beside President that had not yet been closed.

"The fourteenth abandoned Eden and Promised Land..."

President quietly gazed at the empty chessboard before him. He took out a bouquet of pure white flowers from his coat; dewdrops still lingered on the petals, their origin unknown.

Like tears, they dripped into the cracks of the chessboard.

"Thank you for your shelter and patience over these three hundred years. You have truly endured much."

He took off his hat and bid a gentle farewell, to all of this:

"—One day, let us meet again in another hell."

.

At last, the door closed.

In the eternal darkness and silence, the meaningless space contracted inward, dragging the struggling spectrum into a futile blue shift. As the four fundamental forces collapsed, the chessboard and flowers were annihilated in the void.

Earth No. 8 was completely obliterated.

The fourteenth apocalypse plan of the International Astronomical Society was thus completed.

In the final instant, a faint glimmer appeared above the chessboard, outlining the pure white silhouette of the queen in the flower’s tears, like a shooting star flying into the distance.

The old world died once again, as it had countless times before.

And then, a new world arrived.

All things moved as usual.

.

This is the record that survived from ninety years ago, the last afterglow of a glorious era.

Since then, such splendor has never returned.

Chapter Two

"Name?"

"Henry Parker."

"Age?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen?"

The man conducting the interview raised his eyebrows and looked at the boy sitting in front of the table. The thin boy, carrying a heavy cello case on his back, quickly put on a flattering smile.

He wore a somewhat old suit, his face a bit pale as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time. His hair was slightly messy, but his pitch-black eyes seemed to glow as if lit by candlelight, so bright it was almost startling.

"Gothic style, huh? That’s rare. Not many people are into that these days..."

The man in charge of the interview muttered inexplicably, scrutinizing the boy, his tone turning serious: "Listen, Little Henry, you need to understand, our club is on an elite track. Not just any Tom, Dick, or Harry can get in."

"Elite, elite! I get it!"

Henry Parker straightened his small frame and nodded vigorously, acting every bit the sycophant: "Before I came, Mr. Parker already told me—your standards are strict. Don’t worry, I’m very experienced!"

With that, he squeezed out a smile that could only be described as obsequious.

The requirements might be strict, but the pay was good!

These days, the economy was in shambles, and recently, huge numbers of people in Xinhai had lost their jobs. For a poor student to find a part-time gig playing the cello was nearly impossible. Henry Parker was almost broke to the point of collapse. When the agent Mr. Parker said he’d found him a lucrative job, he was nearly over the moon.

If this job slipped through his fingers, it would be a disaster!

Before coming, Mr. Parker had said this was a members-only club for the wealthy. Even the waiters inside could make thousands in tips. If he could play the cello here, how could he not make money?

Perhaps surprised by his inexplicable sincerity, the interviewer paused, then nodded slightly: "Alright, the application says you can play the cello. Give us a performance, but don’t be sloppy."

"You can count on me!"

Henry Parker sat down confidently, opened his case, cradled the cello, picked up the bow, and after a brief moment of thought, let the cello’s unique deep melody flow from the strings.

He might be nervous about other things, but when it came to the cello, he never backed down. He’d won so many awards since he was a child that his hands were full. If he could afford a famous teacher, he might have already appeared on the international stage by now.

This piece, which he had practiced countless times, could stand up to any professional judge without a single flaw. Once he started playing, he immediately calmed down, performing even better than usual. The profound melancholy between the lively notes was almost palpable.

But after just a few minutes, the interviewer waved his hand impatiently: "Alright, that’s enough."

"Huh?"

Henry Parker looked up in surprise, not knowing what he’d done wrong, and hurriedly rummaged through his bag: "I also have professional certificates, ABRSM Grade 8. If that’s not enough, I’m taking the professional preliminary exam next month..."

"Enough, don’t bother with all that fancy stuff."

The interviewer shook his head impatiently. "We don’t care about degrees here. As long as you can play decently and have a gimmick, that’s enough. What matters is your real skills..."

As he spoke, he bent down and took a few things out of the drawer, placing them in a row on the table and pointing at them: "Which one can you play?"

"What?"

Henry Parker was dumbfounded, staring at the items on the table in total confusion:

"These... are musical instruments?"

"Hey, do you even know what you’re doing? Didn’t you say you had lots of experience?"

The interviewer pointed at the items on the table, introducing them impatiently: "Rich Lady’s Happy Ball, Rich Lady’s Happy Fire... which one can you play?"

"..."