She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 728

Though caught off guard, Jethro quickly masked his hesitation, adopting an air of dismissive superiority. "Music transcends time. Why trap yourself in a specific era? What matters is the inspiration it provides us right now. Do you honestly think knowing whether this is from the Baroque or Classical period is magically going to fill in the missing notes for you?"

Loyce didn't bother mocking his ignorance. She stated the facts with chilling precision. "This manuscript is a Shamanic Ritual Tune from the late reign of King Vorlag the Fierce, originating from the southwestern borders. It heavily utilizes complex microtones and circular breathing rhythms to simulate the hallucinatory trance of a sacrifice. That massive void in the center? That isn't a blank space for a 'free-form cadenza.' It's the high priest's solo chant. That melody is the emotional linchpin of the entire ritual, bridging the preparatory incantations directly into the chaotic frenzy of the mass sacrifice."

She didn't raise her voice, but her steady, authoritative tone commanded the space with an undeniable magnetism.

The smug, relaxed sneer on Jethro's face completely shattered.

King Vorlag the Fierce? A Shamanic Ritual Tune? Microtones? Hearing such obscure, highly academic terminology flow so effortlessly from a seemingly average girl holding a brown paper bag left him momentarily paralyzed.

A few actual music students in the crowd began exchanging bewildered, fascinated looks. Whispers rippled through the onlookers.

"King Vorlag the Fierce? The ancient warlord? I read somewhere that his dynasty's musical theory was incredibly unorthodox..."

"Wait, microtones? I thought that was strictly a modern experimental concept. They used that in ancient rituals?"

The murmurs hit Jethro's ears, and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

He absolutely refused to be publicly humiliated by some random tourist—especially with his fans watching.

Swallowing his panic, he ramped up his volume, trying to bulldoze her with sheer arrogance. "Ha! You make it sound so convincing. Shamanic tunes, microtones... you spin a good story. If you're such a prodigy, why aren't you enrolled here? Let me guess, you failed the entrance exams, so now you just hang around campus trying to sound smart?"

He scanned her simple outfit and the paper bag on her wrist, his sneer deepening. "Music is a practical art, sweetheart. It isn't about regurgitating a few wiki articles on obscure history. Real talent is proven on the keys, in the studio. Coming out here, tossing around buzzwords, and critiquing a score that has actual academy professors stumped is just pathetic. It's an insult to real academia."

He leaned heavily on the words "academy professors" and "real academia," desperately trying to paint Loyce as a delusional amateur desperate for attention.

Loyce stood perfectly still, letting him finish his rant. Her expression hadn't shifted a fraction of an inch. When he finally ran out of breath, she spoke, her voice as calm and cutting as glass. "You're right about one thing. Music requires practical proof. But I wasn't quoting 'wiki articles.'"

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