Chapter 454

The next day at noon.

District 2, Saint-Michel Street.

After Lu Mian arrived here, he discovered that it was only a few hundred meters away from Saint-Varo Street, where the "Dream Seeker" charity organization was located, just a distance of one block and a square.

"As expected of the Art District..." Lu Mian raised an eyebrow, having a feeling that he was slowly approaching the truth and discovering the answer.

He withdrew his gaze from the sun obelisk in the middle of the square and walked along the road, which was obviously old and dilapidated, on Saint-Michel Street.

At a glance, he could see many poor painters setting up easels to do sketches for people at the edge of the square and on both sides of the street, as well as music lovers playing different pieces with six-string guitars, violins, flutes, etc., while beside the occasionally flying white pigeons were fountains rising and falling with rhythm.

The warm autumn sun sprinkled here, bringing a certain poetic beauty.

Lu Mian had long been hanging around the Market District, and when he went to other places in Trier, it was either for revenge, investigation, or attending banquets; he rarely experienced this kind of daily life in the core area of Trier.

He didn't become lazy because of the sun's irradiation and the surrounding environment; wearing a brown round hat, a light blue shirt, and casual brownish-yellow formal wear, he turned into a bar named "Third-Rate Writer."

Most of the guests here had old clothes, drinking inexpensive alcoholic beverages, discussing all kinds of things, and occasionally, when they had inspiration, they would take out a notebook that didn't know how many times it had been flipped through and record it with a fountain pen they carried with them.

On the way to the bar counter, Lu Mian heard several drinkers discussing a recent art exhibition:

"That work named 'Cafe' is very controversial; some people praise its gorgeous colors, bold composition, and use of absurd forms to express silent protest, while others think it's deliberately using an abstract concept to paint, fooling the public's intelligence.

"I think it's very interesting; the writer's conception is fully displayed in the overlapping color blocks. Think about it, aren't many cafes like this? Noisy, lively, lives from different places piled together, polluting each other, like mud...

"I am willing to call it a milestone masterpiece of the abstract school!

"Are you trying to say that abstract school that has never been recognized and has never sold a painting?"

"Cafe"... Isn't this the work Ma Lun painted with his butt? Does anyone really appreciate it? Could this become the most famous and valuable work of his life? Lu Mian quietly curled his lips and sighed sincerely in his heart:

"You Trier people..."

After arriving at the bar counter, Lu Mian spent 8 Rick to order a glass of absinthe and raised his voice:

"Everyone, I have a question. Whoever answers me, this drink is his!"

After everyone quieted down and cast their eyes on him, Lu Mian continued to shout:

"I want to know where the playwright Gabriel lives.

"I want to ask him to write a script."

On Saint-Michel Street, even if you just bump into someone on the road, there is a high probability that they are a writer or a painter, let alone in this bar known for literary discussion and artistic creation exchange.

And Gabriel often gathered with his peers, and might even have held private banquets in the apartment he rented; after all, "The Light Chaser" could be considered successfully staged and quite popular, which would bring him enough income.

"Gabriel hasn't appeared for a few days, saying he wants to lock himself up to finish a story on hand," a middle-aged man not far from the bar counter answered Lu Mian's question with a smile. "He probably won't take your commission; he's already too busy to handle it, with too many scripts to write. How about it, do you want to consider other playwrights? There are several equally talented young people here."

Hasn't appeared for a few days... Lu Mian frowned slightly, then relaxed:

"How do you know it won't work without trying? I have brought enough generous sincerity."

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

He led Lu Mian to 34 Saint-Michel Street, along the stairs to the fifth floor, which was very close to the attic.

Here, whether it was the outer wall or the stairs, it was quite old, and some parts still had decorative patterns popular decades ago, but compared to the Golden Rooster Hotel, it was clean enough and spacious enough.

"Gabriel lives here," the middle-aged man with two mustaches raised his hand and patted the brown wooden door of Room 503.

The sound of bang, bang, bang echoed out, with no response.

"Maybe he went out to find food, or maybe he finished his creation and went to find the theater manager who commissioned him," the middle-aged man piled up a smile. "Do you want to go back to the bar for another drink? I am also an experienced writer; although I haven't written scripts, my novels sell very well in the underground market."

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

The middle-aged man sighed:

" 'The Monk Chasing the Dog' and its sequel 'The Dog Chasing the Monk,' these were all written by me, but they weren't signed with my name. One is that it would lead to me being arrested by secret agents, and two is that my boss doesn't allow it."

"There's a sequel?" Lu Mian hadn't visited the underground book market and forbidden bookstores for a while; the last time he went was to buy the "Secret Records of Emperor Roselle."

When he looked at this somewhat sleazy and greasy middle-aged man again, his gaze changed somewhat.

This could be considered one of his initiators!

"Came out last month," the middle-aged man nodded lightly. "These two novels helped my boss earn a lot, but what I got wasn't even a tenth, no, not even a hundredth!"

"Boss?" Lu Mian asked along the way.

He remembered that the core member of the "Fool's Day," "Bard," had once written the "Secret Records of Emperor Roselle," and intended to take the opportunity to understand the situation in this line to prepare for subsequent tracking.

The middle-aged man sighed again:

"We don't have the right to sign our names; we are just the boss's writing tools. He pays us a fixed but small manuscript fee, puts forward the direction and requirements for writing, and finally sells it through his own channels.

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

"How should I address you?" Lu Mian asked quite respectfully.

"Labe," the middle-aged man looked at Lu Mian, his eyes full of expectation.

Lu Mian asked some questions related to underground literature and finally said:

"If I ultimately fail to negotiate with Gabriel, I can consider giving you a chance."

"As long as the boss doesn't have new tasks, I am at the 'Third-Rate Writer' bar every day!" Labe's joyful emotions were beyond words.

Watching this underground writer, the initiator of countless Intis teenagers, go down the stairs, Lu Mian took a piece of iron wire from his pocket and opened Gabriel's room door.

Here, it was much more spacious than the playwright's room at the Golden Rooster Hotel, with its own washroom and a small bedroom; the outside was a living room, as well as a study, dining room, and kitchen, and the coal stove for cooking was piled in the corner.

Lu Mian swept a circle quickly and saw a stack of paper suspected to be a manuscript placed messily on the desk by the window.

He closed the wooden door behind him and walked toward there.

"It's Gabriel's handwriting; Labe didn't lie to me. This is indeed the place where Gabriel lives..." Lu Mian held the stack of paper and flipped through it casually.

He turned into the bedroom and found a pair of black suspender pants hanging by the bed, becoming more and more certain that he hadn't found the wrong room.

This was a pair of pants Gabriel often wore before.

But this playwright didn't know where he had gone now.

Thinking of Labe saying Gabriel hadn't appeared for several days, Lu Mian suddenly felt vigilant.

He examined every item here seriously, just like a hunter distinguishing the traces of prey.

After a few minutes, Lu Mian picked up the white glazed porcelain single-ear water cup on the desk and found that there was still a third of cold water inside, with many dust particles floating on the surface that were difficult for normal people to see clearly.

"At least a day." Lu Mian's heart tightened.

What could have happened to Gabriel?

Could it be that he was too famous and was taken by government secret agents for a "talk," or did he attract kidnappers chasing money?

Lu Mian put the white glazed porcelain water cup next to the manuscript and searched the room carefully, but didn't find any traces worth noting.

Finally, he returned to the desk, picked up the manuscript, and wanted to see what Gabriel was writing before he disappeared.

The story outline of this script was about a down-and-out writer meeting a woman forced to join a gang. The two comforted each other and encouraged each other in the desperate, painful, agonizing, and harsh daily life, warming each other's hearts with their bodies. Later, the writer was appreciated by the newspaper editor-in-chief, gained stable income, and his reputation gradually became famous, while the woman who was still sinking in the gang chose to disappear.

The story hadn't been finished yet, stopping at the part after the lover disappeared, stopping at the writer's inner monologue:

"She came;

"My lover came from the dark night.

"She left;

"My lover walked toward the distant hostel..."

Seeing the word "Hostel," Lu Mian's forehead jumped suddenly.

Although in the script, this was a perfectly normal word, not abrupt at all, Lu Mian, who had been chanting it every day recently, still inevitably felt a shock in his spirit and had associations.

Suddenly, he withdrew his gaze from the manuscript and cast it toward the desk.

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

Lu Mian's eyes narrowed, and the skin and muscles under his clothes tightened instantly.

As a "Hunter," he wouldn't forget any slight change he had made to the environment; this was the basis of a trap!

A creature invisible to the naked eye, can only confirm its existence through some traces? Lu Mian muttered to himself silently and quickly remembered the official intelligence Jenna had relayed.

He suddenly reached his hand into his pocket, made a choice, and took out a pair of glasses.

Those were tea-colored gold-rimmed glasses; those were the "Spectator's Glasses"!

PS: Second addition, asking for base monthly votes~

(End of Chapter)