Lord of the Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

Noon the next day.

2nd arrondissement, rue Saint-Michel.

After Lumian arrived here, he discovered that it was only a few hundred meters away from San Valo Street where the "Dream Seekers" charity organization was located, only one block and a square away.

"As expected of the art district..." Lumian raised his eyebrows, feeling as if he was slowly getting closer to the truth and discovering the answer.

He retracted his gaze from the Obelisk of the Sun in the center of the square and walked along the Rue Saint-Michel along the obviously older and obsolete road of the building complex.

At a glance, he could see on the edge of the square and on both sides of the street many impoverished painters holding drawing boards to draw sketches for people, as well as music lovers playing different repertoire on lyres, violins, flutes, etc., next to the white homing pigeons that flew up from time to time. It is a fountain that rises and falls with rhythm.

The warm autumn sun shines here, bringing some kind of poetic beauty.

Lumian has been hanging out in the market area for a long time. He goes to other places in Trier either for revenge, investigation, or to attend banquets. He rarely experiences the daily life in the core area of ​​Trier.

He did not become lazy due to the sun and the surrounding environment. Wearing a brown round hat, a light blue shirt and a casual brown and yellow formal suit, he entered a bar called "Third-rate Writer".

Most of the guests here wear old clothes, drink inexpensive alcoholic drinks, and talk about various things. Occasionally, when they are inspired, they will take out a notebook that they have read countless times and use the pen they carry with them to write. Write it down.

On his way to the bar, Lumian heard several drinkers discussing a recent art exhibition:

"The work called "Cafe" is very controversial. Some people praise it for its bright colors, bold composition, and absurd form to express silent protest. Some people think that it is deliberately abstract. Use concepts to create paintings and fool the public’s IQ.

“I think it’s very interesting. The writer’s ideas are fully displayed in the overlapping color blocks. Think about it, isn’t that what many cafes are like? Noisy, lively, with lives from different places stacked together, polluting each other, and forming Like mud..."

“I would like to call it a landmark masterpiece of abstract painting!

“Are you talking about the abstract school that never got recognition and never sold a single painting?

"Cafe"... Isn't this the work that Mullen painted with his butt? Does anyone really appreciate it? Will this become the most famous and valuable work in his life? Lumian quietly curled his lips and I sighed sincerely in my heart: "You Trier people..."

After arriving at the bar, Lumian spent 8 Ricks to order a glass of absinthe and said in a loud voice: "Everyone, I have a question. Whoever answers me, this glass of wine will be his!"

After everyone fell silent and turned their attention to him, Lumian continued to shout: "I want to know where the playwright Gabriel lives."

"I'd like to ask him to write a script."

On Rue Saint-Michel, even if you just bump into someone on the street, there is a high chance that they are a writer or painter, let alone in this bar, which is famous for literary discussions and artistic creation exchanges.

Gabriel inevitably had gatherings with his colleagues, and may even have held private parties in the apartment he rented. After all, "Light Chaser" was successfully staged and was quite popular, which would bring him enough income.

"Gabriel hasn't been around for a few days, saying he needs to lock himself away to finish a story he's working on."

A middle-aged man not far from the bar smiled and answered Lumian's question, "He probably won't accept your commission. He is already too busy. There are too many scripts to write. How about it?" Don’t think about other playwrights? There are several equally talented young people here.”

He hasn't appeared for a few days... Lumian frowned slightly, then relaxed: "How can you know if it doesn't work if you don't give it a try? I have enough sincerity."

"Well," muttered the middle-aged man in an old formal coat, "I hope you won't be disappointed."

He led Lumian to No. 34, Rue Saint-Michel, and walked up the stairs to the fifth floor, which was very close to the attic.

Both the exterior walls and the stairs here are quite old, and some parts still retain the decorative patterns that were popular decades ago, but compared to the Golden Rooster Hotel, it is clean enough and spacious enough.

"Gabriel lives here." The middle-aged man with a beard raised his hand and patted the brown wooden door of Room 503.

The banging sound echoed, but no one responded.

"Maybe he went out to look for food, or maybe he finished his creation and went to find the theater manager who commissioned him."

The middle-aged man put on a smile and said, "Would you like to go back to the bar and have another drink? I am also an experienced writer. Although I have never written a script, mine sell very well in the underground market."

"What have you written?" Lumian glanced at the closed brown wooden door without appearing too eager.

The middle-aged man sighed and said: ""The Monk Chasing the Dog" and its sequel "The Monk Chasing the Dog" were both written by me, but they are not signed with my name. This will cause me to be The secret agent arrested me, and secondly, my boss didn’t allow it.”

"Is there a sequel?" Lumian hasn't visited the underground book market or banned bookstore for a while. The last time he went there was to buy "Secret Records of Emperor Russell".

When he looked at this middle-aged man who was a bit wretched and greasy, his eyes changed to a certain extent. This man was one of his enlighteners!

"They were published last month." The middle-aged man nodded lightly, "These two books helped my boss make a lot of money, but I didn't get even one-tenth, no, not even one percent! "

"Boss?" Lumian asked.

He remembered that the "Bard", a core member of "April Fool's Day", once wrote "Secret Records of Emperor Russell", and planned to take the opportunity to understand the situation in this industry and make some preparations for subsequent follow-up.

The middle-aged man sighed again: "We don't have the right to authorize, we are just the boss's writing tool. He pays us a fixed but small remuneration, puts forward the writing direction and requirements, and finally sells it through his own channels."

"In Rue Saint-Michel, there are many, many third-rate writers like me who don't even have a pen name, just like workers on the assembly line."

"What's your name?" Lumian asked respectfully.

"Rabe." The middle-aged man looked at Lumian, his eyes full of expectation.

Lumian asked some more questions related to underground literature, and finally said: "If I fail to reach an agreement with Gabriel in the end, I can consider giving you a chance."

"As long as the boss doesn't have any new tasks, I'll be in the 'Third-rate Writers' bar every day!" Rabe's joy was palpable.

After watching this underground writer, the initiator of countless Intis youths, go down the stairs, Lumian took out a piece of wire from his pocket and opened the door of Gabriel's room.

This room is much more spacious than the playwright's room in the Golden Rooster Hotel. It has its own bathroom and a small bedroom. The outside is a living room, a study, a dining room and a kitchen. The coal stove for cooking is piled in the corner.

Lumian quickly scanned around and saw a stack of papers that looked like manuscripts scattered on the desk by the window.

He closed the wooden door with his backhand and walked there.

"It's Gabriel's handwriting. Rabe didn't lie to me. This is indeed where Gabriel lives..." Lumian took the stack of paper and flipped through it casually.

He turned into the bedroom and found a pair of black suspenders hanging beside the bed. He became more and more sure that he had found the wrong room.

These were a pair of pants that Gabrielle used to wear.

But the playwright is now nowhere to be found.

Thinking of what Rabe said about Gabriel not showing up for several days, Lumian suddenly became wary.

He carefully examined every item here, like a hunter identifying the traces of his prey.

After a few minutes, Lumian picked up the white glazed porcelain one-ear water cup on the desk and found that there was still one-third of cold water in it, and there was a lot of dust floating on the surface that was difficult for normal people to see clearly.

"At least one day." Lumian felt relieved.

What will happen to Gabriel?

Could it be that he was so famous that he was asked to "talk" by government spies, or that he attracted kidnappers who were chasing money?

Lumian placed the white glazed porcelain water cup next to the manuscript and searched the room carefully, but found no traces worthy of attention.

Finally, he returned to the desk and picked up the stack of manuscripts to see what Gabriel had been writing before he disappeared.

The outline of the story of this script is that a down-and-out writer meets a woman who is forced to join a gang. The two comfort each other, encourage each other in the despair, pain, suffering, and harsh daily life, and warm each other's hearts with their bodies. Later, , the writer was appreciated by the editor-in-chief of the newspaper, gained stable income, and became famous gradually, but the woman who was still sinking into the gangster chose to disappear.

The story is not finished yet, and it stays at the part after the lover disappears, staying at the writer's inner monologue: "She's coming;"

"My love comes from the night.

"she left;

"My lover walked to the hotel far away..."

Lumian's forehead jumped suddenly when he saw the word hotel.

Although this is a perfectly normal word in the script and is not unexpected at all, Lumian, who has been saying it every day recently, is still inevitably shaken and has some associations.

Suddenly, he took his eyes away from the manuscript and looked at the desk.

The one-eared white glazed porcelain water cup that he had moved next to the manuscript had returned to its original position at some point!

Lumian's eyes narrowed, and the skin and muscles under his clothes tensed instantly.

As a "hunter", he will not forget any changes he has made to the environment. This is the basis of the trap!

A creature that is invisible to the naked eye, and its existence can only be confirmed through some traces? Lumian muttered to himself silently, and quickly remembered the official information Jenna relayed.

He suddenly put his hand into his pocket, made a brief selection, and took out a pair of glasses.

Those are brown gold-rimmed glasses, those are "secret-peeping glasses"!

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