America 1881: They Call Me Legend

The passengers who were talking away from Chen Jianqiu just now opened their mouths.

It was hard for them to believe that this yellow-skinned country bumpkin would know the owner of the luxury carriage.

Under their watch, Chen Jianqiu and the writer stood up, followed the attendants, and walked to the luxury carriage at the back.

There were actually everyone in the carriage, and some luggage couldn't fit in and was blocked in the aisle.

Chen Jianqiu and the writer were led by their servants, and after passing through several carriages, they finally arrived at the door of the luxury carriage.

Russell, whom he had met just now, was standing at the door of the carriage. He was very professional, and there was no big change in the expression on his face.

He opened the carriage door, and the servant and writer in front walked in.

But when Chen Jianqiu was about to follow him in, Russell stretched out his hand to stop him.

"Please hand over your gun, sir." The detective's voice was emotionless. "This is our job. Please cooperate."

Chen Jianqiu was too lazy to pay attention to him, turned around and left.

He didn't care who was in the carriage. If he really wanted to know, he could just ask Sean to go out for work a little later.

I'm afraid any black man could tell the carriage owner the color of his underwear.

But before he took two steps, a voice came from the carriage: "Where is Mr. Mark Twain's bodyguard friend? Why didn't he come in?"

The servant who had brought them just now hurried out of the door. When he saw Chen Jianqiu turning back, he rushed forward and greeted loudly:

"Sir, sir, come back quickly."

Chen Jianqiu turned his head and shook his head regretfully at the servant: "I'm afraid I won't be able to pass your 'security regulations'. You know, in the west, we will not disarm under the orders of anyone other than law enforcement officers."

"Especially after what happened just now." He added, "There are too many bad people."

"Sir, please clarify, what do you mean?" Ross's face fell a little. He was very dissatisfied with Chen Jianqiu's words with a gun and a stick.

"Okay, okay! I beg you, two of you, stop arguing." The servant walked between the two of them, with a bitter look on his face, and turned to the detective.

"Mr. Russell, I know that you are very professional, and I am very grateful for your dedication to your duties. Give me some face. Mr. Mark Twain and his bodyguards were invited by us. There is no reason to block them from the door."

Russell didn't know if he had rhinitis or some other problem with his nose. He wiped his nose with a square towel again and snorted angrily:

"I'm just a bodyguard you hired to fulfill my obligation to protect you. You can do whatever you want."

So, Chen Jianqiu walked into the carriage swaggeringly behind the servant.

The carriage was very luxurious. The floor was covered with red camel hair carpets, which were spotless. Two silver chandeliers hung side by side from the ceiling of the carriage.

Chen Jianqiu took out his pocket watch. It was now around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was shining brightly outside, but the chandelier was on.

Because the velvet curtains were closed and covered with a thin layer of silk white gauze.

The entire carriage presents a retro deep red color, with red fir boards covering and wrapping the iron sheets on the roof and walls of the carriage.

The furniture is also red, made of red oak and placed in the carriage. There are tables, bookcases, and even a bed. If you look carefully, you can see that the craftsmanship is very exquisite and must have been made by skilled craftsmen.

There are two paintings hanging on the wall at the top of the carriage. The owner of the paintings obviously cherishes the paintings very much, because they are mounted in exquisite gilded frames. This thing itself is worth a lot of money.

The servant saw Chen Jianqiu's gaze and pointed to one of the paintings.

Chen Jianqiu seemed to have some impression of this painting. He had seen it before traveling through time. It had mottled colors and a strong impact of light and shadow.

"This painting is the young master's favorite. It's called "Sunrise Impression". The author is a Frenchman named Monet. Those stupid people in Europe can't accept new things at all. It is said that the writer is so poor that he is about to starve to death.

.”

"The young master has already sent invitations to those people and is arranging art exhibition matters for them in New York."

Chen Jianqiu sighed a little, who would have thought that the painting in front of him was the pioneering work of Impressionism and would become a priceless treasure of the Marmodin Museum of Art in France a hundred years later.

Unfortunately, it would take at least twenty years for Monet to become successful.

The servant continued to say to him:

"These carriages are custom-made by the young master. They are usually placed in the New York train station. When needed, they can be directly connected to the front of the train and gone."

It was still a game played by wealthy Americans in the 19th century. Chen Jianqiu originally thought that the one in the back was just a first-class seat from the railway company, but he never expected that it turned out to be a private carriage for the rich.

A young man was chatting and laughing with Mark Twain under the painting.

"Sir, you are so funny, hahaha..."

I don’t know what kind of short joke the writer told him. The young man laughed so hard that he slapped the table.

"I really like your works. I am your loyal reader. That... yes, "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer". I bought many, many copies and gave them to our friends."

Mark Twain seemed to like the innocence and straightforwardness of young people, and he also laughed.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is John Jacob Astor IV, and old Astor is my great-grandfather." The young man suddenly realized that he had not introduced himself yet.

, he said with an apologetic look.

The Astor family was probably one of the richest families in the United States at the time and the largest landowner in New York.

The young man stood up. He turned around and saw Chen Jianqiu standing at the door. He waved to him, "Sir, please sit down."

The young man walked to a bookcase, opened the drawer under the cabinet, and took out a thick stack of manuscripts.

He walked back to Mark Twain and handed him the manuscript: "Actually, I have always had a desire to be a writer. This is the beginning of my novel "Journey to the Stars". I hope you can give me some advice."

The writer took the manuscript and began to read it one by one. The young man leaned on the table, leaning forward, with an expression that was both nervous and expectant.

Chen Jianqiu is not very interested in this kind of scene where rich people are chasing stars. He can just give him a round of applause after the rich people are happy to reward him.

He continued to look at the car.

The cabinet where the young man had taken the manuscript had a variety of works of art on it, and Chen Jianqiu had no doubt about the authenticity of these things.

But when his eyes swept to the middle layer of the cabinet, he suddenly stopped.

Something like a picture album placed there attracted him.

The picture album was placed aside alone, with a bookmark-like thing inside. It had obviously been read by someone just now. It should have been taken by the young man from the table when they came in.

The packaging of the picture album looked ordinary from the outside, but the string of names on the top of the book made him focus.

The names above are:

George Lockhart.