Chapter 41, Episode 28: I never said that...

Episode 28 "I never said that."

Shadows of people were everywhere.

I strode toward Ivy Blackwell.

Before I knew it, Watson's arm slipped from my grasp; I don't even know who let go first. When I noticed, I said to Watson, who was a couple of steps away, "I've run into my friend, I'll talk to her for a bit. You'll have to wait for me."

I once read a comment that said Watson, as a military doctor who had served on the front lines for a long time, was inclined to follow orders. Therefore, he could accept Holmes's sometimes forceful and rude demands.

Similarly, in my conversations with him, I also emphasize these undeniable biases. I just make sure my tone doesn't sound so forceful.

Even if Watson wanted to leave, he would eventually have no choice but to accept my request.

In fact, Holmes noticed that I used verbal control.

Because I speak differently to different people.

If he observes how I interact with different people more, he will clearly see that my personality is not inherent, but rather a result of scheming and trickery.

However, people like him, who don't need to communicate or cooperate with others yet still receive favor and care, and who are naturally likable, will never know how much effort it takes for those who have to rack their brains to get more attention.

I always knew that I wouldn't be likable, or that I wouldn't receive lasting support and favor from others.

But what should I do?

I have been humbled to the point of being insignificant, and I have pretended to be indifferent and unconcerned. I have tried to comfort myself and shift my focus, but none of these things have truly made me happy or satisfied.

The existence of the "X crematorium" is the self-delusion of the loser, the self-comfort of the powerless, and the daydream of the one who, despite exhausting all his efforts, remains trapped in his own self-imposed prison.

Just as children who do not receive understanding and love from their parents may choose suicide, they always assume that their parents will regret it and finally understand their pain.

No, it won't.

They would only get a reply from their parents: "Isn't this just a small problem? Why are you making such a fuss? You're too cowardly."

Therefore, one day while I was hospitalized, I had an epiphany.

A lifestyle where you can only survive by seeking approval from others is incredibly foolish.

I don't need any of these to survive.

I forcefully, almost obsessively, etched this thought into my heart—I must live better than those who don't love me, much better, so much better that they can never reach me. This thought was burning hot, even carrying a heart-wrenching sense of resentment, and became the only flame that supported my spine.

Methods, cunning.

Tricks, lies.

Insincere, hypocritical.

Bonds, relationships, connections.

Whatever it is, don't give others the right to hurt you, not even those who love you or those you love.

They are all enemies.

And we must never give weapons to the enemy.

Having put Watson down, I walked even more recklessly toward Ivy.

"Ever since I heard that you became the chief planner of the Noah cruise ship, I have been especially proud of you. I thought that after boarding the ship, I would have a chance to meet you privately. I didn't expect that the first meeting would be in this setting, and there are many things I can't say here directly. It's such a pity."

I reached out my hand in her direction and smiled.

Seeing her freeze, her makeup looking like a lifeless mask, I smiled and said, "Shake hands."

As soon as she finished speaking, she instinctively stretched out her left hand. I shifted my gaze and said, "I want my right hand."

Ivy's expression turned even more unpleasant.

Judging from our positions and the hand I offered, this was at least a social handshake. But forcing her to switch hands was like training a dog, conducting an obedience test.

I just wanted to see how she would react.

When observing weather changes, start by looking at the sky and clouds.

Changes in a person can be observed by looking at what they do.

If she was afraid, or couldn't find the right opportunity, then it's understandable, and I won't hold it against her for leaving me hanging on the boat for two or three hours.

However, if she has ulterior motives and ill intentions, then we don't need to pretend to be polite to her now.

I stared at her face. "Three, two..."

Seeing her hand trembling as she reached out to me, the blond youth suddenly stepped in and said, "Please don't tease her."

I raised an eyebrow, looked at the blond youth, and couldn't help but chuckle: "If I were teasing her, why didn't anyone around stop me? Just what do you think?"

As I said this, I looked around at the people who had previously avoided eye contact with me.

I suddenly realized something: do those bullies really not realize they are bullying others? Even I find it all too obvious.

Because of my firm and unyielding attitude, even the blond youth couldn't find a way to deal with me for a while.

At this moment, Watson spoke softly, saying, "Milverton."

I pretended not to hear.

Then Watson strode over to me, leaned close to my ear, and said in a low, gentle voice, "Didn't you say you wanted to sleep in my room tonight?"

This should have been an annoying interference. But the usual sharp retort inexplicably dissipated in Watson's calm tone. I heard myself almost blurt out, "Fine, fine!"

When I said those words, even I was a little stunned.

Even though I myself wanted to see this situation, I was indeed a little too obedient.

What I'm unsure of is whether this is a recently developed, controlled habit, or something like subconsciously clinging to a warm, solid, and stable piece of driftwood that won't sink.

Okay, okay!

I will always listen to Watson.

"I was just saying hello." I smiled and waved to Ivy, then followed suit and greeted Professor Belfa from Durham University, who was in the center of the field. "We can grab a coffee sometime."

Finally, my gaze fell on the blond youth, and I said, "You're Albert's brother, aren't you?"

London: "How did you know?"

I was thrilled by London's question.

Because this proves that I am right.

The blond youth, whose identity I had just revealed, readily agreed: "I am William James Moriarty."

However, he still had a question on his mind: "How did you know?"

I laughed and said, "You can try to guess. If you still can't figure it out when we meet next time, you can ask me again."

Under normal circumstances, the other party would have already agreed.

But William was different. He asked me, "So next time, will your answer depend on your mood, just like now?"

His words hit my bullseye instantly.

I really like smart people.

"I really like you." I said, referring to you specifically.

Albert is also very smart, but he always provokes me and goes against my wishes, so he is not likable.

William ignored my words, showing no expression whatsoever.

"You should tell your brother that he should learn more from you. His behavior is very unlikable."

William laughed at my words: "He's your friend, so isn't it more worthwhile for him to be disliked than to be liked by you?"

"..."

For a moment, I was stunned by his question. It felt like I'd been tapped on the head—it didn't hurt, but my brain short-circuited for a second.

But I quickly retracted my logic.

If someone raises a question you don't understand or that seems off, then you should first look for the problem in them. For example, if someone criticizes me, isn't that the other person's problem first?

"It's so strange that you would even think that way."

Tsk tsk.

I shook my head, then pulled Watson away.

Before Watson could speak, I was about to complain, saying, "I don't know what's wrong with this guy?"

"Miss Blackwell?"

These words were like a lamp that lit up my head.

I never mentioned Ivy Blackwell's name.

Why did Watson know about her?

Of course, it's also possible that they are indeed famous, and their names are as easy to remember as vegetables and radishes, so they can be remembered at a glance.

The key point is that everyone would think that I had a conflict with William, and that Ivy was someone I had the upper hand. Why would anyone think that I need to complain about her?

"Why do you say that?" I asked, looking at Watson.

“Because you’re the one most dissatisfied with her out there?” Watson said candidly. “Just like a cat grooming itself, it first cleans the part that makes it the most uncomfortable.”

I see.

He then asked, "Are you unhappy with her?"

Since he asked that, I had to say: "Because she invited me here, but then left me hanging. I felt that she didn't respect me at all, and she was also very impolite."

"That would indeed make people feel that there is a lack of etiquette."

I said, “I haven’t suffered such mistreatment at home. Herbs would definitely be unhappy if he knew.”

London: "Hebers at home let out a questioning sound."

Me: "If I tell Hebers, will he not react at all?"

I said firmly, "I don't believe it."

London: "It has nothing to do with whether or not he would react; it's simply that he doesn't dare to remain completely silent."

Watson then asked, "Who is Herbers?"

"My butler."

"What about your family?"

“I have no family,” I said without thinking.

Watson's eyes flashed with pity and concern. "My condolences."

I laughed: "They're still alive, they just don't contact me anymore."

But soon I realized that this seemed like a sign of weakness.

I said confidently, "Because they don't love me, and I don't love them. They don't care about me, and I don't care about them. So I have no family."

“So—” I looked up at him with an indifferent smile, but felt a momentary tension in my voice, so I deliberately looked down at Watson, “Are you going to pity me?”

As soon as the words were spoken, the wind on the cruise ship swept across the flags at the edge of the horizon, bringing with it the faint, joyful sound of string music.

That's Holmes's Bach's Chaconne.

I had heard his piano playing before. It lacked Tchaikovsky's tenderness and Sarasate's fiery passion, but he always had a habit of adding unexpected variations, just like his voice, which could never be easily imitated or replaced.

At that moment, the music was like a small pebble accidentally thrown into a deep pool, precisely finding a crack in my impenetrable defenses, creating a tiny but real ripple.

I immediately forgot why I was standing here.

"Hey, we've found Sherlock Holmes! Just follow the music and we'll catch him!"

Watson was taken aback at first, then looked at me and couldn't help but chuckle. The smile made the corners of his mouth particularly warm, a gentle curve that came from having seen life and death on the battlefield. "Has anyone ever told you," he said, with a hint of helplessness and indulgence in his voice, "that you are actually very easy to distract? Like a child who forgets about arguing when they see a new toy."

The word "child" is as light as a feather, yet it inexplicably warmed my ears.

It wasn't anger, but a strange, exposed shame—as if all my sharp edges and complex schemes were reduced to a simple, clumsy soul that would be captivated by the slightest sound in the face of his words.

But I don't dislike them, perhaps because I know Holmes and Watson are good people.

Or perhaps it's because the image of me reflected in Watson's eyes at this moment, though somewhat foolish, doesn't require fighting and isn't unlikeable. This sense of security feels strangely unfamiliar, making my heart ache.

"What?! What did you say? The wind is blowing very loudly, you know that?"

I pretended not to hear, shouted in a bluffing manner, and almost impatiently turned around, striding ahead, temporarily leaving behind the deck still resonating with Bach's melody and all the complicated thoughts on the deck.

*

The name Ivy Blackwell is ultimately unavoidable.

I lay on Watson's bed, the sheets wrinkled and creased, but Watson didn't seem to care. Meanwhile, Watson stood at the table, slowly melting the chocolate in a ceramic cup by candlelight.

The flame was very steady, and the chocolate melted at a very steady rate.

I grabbed handfuls of chocolate from the living room; there was dark chocolate, white chocolate, and caramel chocolate with a pale golden sheen. The sweetness was overwhelming, the chocolate aroma almost too strong even before they tasted. So, Watson picked out most of the white and gold chocolate, and deliberately added more dark chocolate.

As the chocolate melts in the cup, its edges gradually lose their sharpness, collapse, and its color deepens.

He didn't rush to stir it; he just waited for it to completely give way on its own.

While waiting, he put the cut fruit into the freezer compartment.

When the fruit is taken out, its surface is already covered with a very fine layer of cold air; the chill immediately adheres to the skin when touched with a fingertip. At this point, the water inside the fruit has not yet been completely frozen into ice crystals, so it will not spoil the taste of the fruit.

“Lower temperatures allow the chocolate to solidify faster,” he explained, carefully skewering fruit with a thin skewer and dipping it into the already silky, thick chocolate syrup, “so it won’t drip everywhere.”

He's right.

The chocolate begins to tighten and solidify rapidly upon contact with the cold surface of fruit, forming a crisp, shiny shell almost instantly upon leaving the liquid. The entire process is as fast as some kind of magic, from flowing to solidifying, from warm to crisp and cold.

When I took the first chocolate strawberry he offered, I popped it into my mouth in one bite.

The richness of the chocolate and the sweetness of the fruit complement each other perfectly, with juice bursting out from the chocolate, creating a rich and layered taste experience.

"tasty!!!"

I can eat a whole plate.

I had barely finished speaking when Holmes' voice rang out from the shadows by the window.

He had been sitting there, quiet as if he were part of the room itself. He had heard about my meeting with Ivy, but he hadn't spoken up immediately, probably because I wouldn't concentrate if I didn't get my strawberry, so Holmes had been waiting.

“Miss Blackwell was the one who invited you here,” he said in a steady, calm voice, “but her reaction when she saw you was more like that of someone who had stumbled upon a knife-wielding stranger in a dark alley than that of someone who had met an old friend. These are two completely opposite emotions.”

As I reached for the second bunch of fruit Watson offered, I casually remarked, "I also felt that she clearly wanted to see me, but when she saw me, she acted like she'd seen a ghost. If I hadn't never met her before, I would have thought she had killed me, and that she thought I was an evil spirit."

London: "How can you just spout such nonsense?"

Me: "Didn't I already demonstrate my intelligence and quick wit a long time ago?"

Holmes, of course, was not swayed by my words, and simply said, "Isn't the reason she's afraid of you because you have something on her?"

"Hmm?" I tilted my head and said, "Even if I have something on her, I'm not a police officer. Why should she be afraid of a criminal?"

I turned to look at Watson and asked, "If I had your bedwetting records from elementary school, would you be afraid of me?"

Watson paused for a moment, then said, "...You don't really have it, do you?"

"Really?!" My eyes lit up.

Holmes's voice rang out, interrupting my conversation with Watson: "So, you have her criminal record?"

"I can't say things like that carelessly."

When I said this, my tone was so light it was almost joking, but my eyes curved slightly.

“Assuming I really have her criminal record, then if I speak up now, I will already be violating the agreement.”

"If I didn't, and I just made it up, then I would be facing the charge of defamation."

I shrugged.

"So whether it exists or not, this answer will never come out of my mouth."

The room fell silent for a moment.

I then looked at Holmes, my tone becoming serious: "More importantly, have you thought about this?"

"What do you plan to do if you find out about this?"

"Are you going to pretend you didn't hear, or do you have to intervene?"

I paused for a moment, as if giving him time to realize the weight of the problem.

“Holmes,” I said softly, “you will be held responsible once you find out. Is this the situation you want to face?”

The room quieted down.

Holmes did not answer immediately.

Watson stood by the table, still holding the bunch of fruit that had completely cooled. The chocolate shell was clean and hard, but he didn't touch it.

He glanced down at the thin layer of chocolate, then looked up at me.

My words took a beat longer to really land in his mind.

It's not "I can't say".

Instead, I'm the one preventing them from knowing.

If Holmes were to actually confirm that someone had a criminal record, the matter would not stop at mere deduction.

If that person were still alive in London, that name would be pursued.

Those standing next to him could not possibly pretend to be uninvolved.

I looked at Watson, and his Adam's apple moved slightly as we made eye contact.

“…So,” he finally spoke, his voice lower than before, “you’re not avoiding the issue.”

I didn't look at him, but looked at Holmes again and said, "I'm trying to prevent you from getting involved."

I said this very softly, as if stating a result that had already been predicted.

Watson paused for a few seconds before slowly placing the bunch of fruit back on the plate. His movements were much more cautious than before, as if he had suddenly realized that some things aren't necessarily better the cleaner they are.

“If you really do tell,” he said, “Holmes won’t stop.”

"Um."

I looked at Watson, "You can't either."

Watson's gaze swept back and forth between me and Holmes.

I spoke first: "Today I heard them discussing torsion-free abelian groups (TFAB groups) in their math salon, which is the problem of isomorphism in the countable case."

"This problem has puzzled mathematicians for many years since the late 1980s. This is not because inflexible abelian groups are inherently ambiguous, but because of the classification..."

I looked at Watson and asked for confirmation, "Right? You saw it written on the screen too, right?"

Watson's gaze momentarily lost focus: "..."

“It’s okay, I only glanced at it.” I continued, “In other words, the problem is that the object is clear, the problem is well-defined, but the isomorphism itself is structurally highly complex.”

I paused for a moment before continuing, "The difficulty mathematicians face comes not from calculation, but from classification."

I looked at Holmes.

"Similarly, if we are dealing with people and crimes, and we cannot ascertain the nature of their actions, the scope of their consequences, or even which information is reliable, how can we correctly classify them?"

"Accuracy itself is dangerous when the information structure is incomplete."

I raised my hand and tapped my forehead.

"It's not because we don't want to judge, or because we can't judge."

"It's because our minds trust the incomplete structure of information. Any overly precise judgment will become a misjudgment."

“In some people’s eyes, I am an extortionist; in some people’s eyes, I am an executioner who punishes evildoers; in some people’s eyes, I am a warning light; in some people’s eyes, I am a thorn in their side.”

Hegel said, "Whatever is rational is real, and whatever is real is rational."

"Holmes, although you don't believe me, I haven't done anything beyond reality or against reason."

I looked at him and asked, "You're a smart man. You can't be unaware of the answer, nor can you be without the means to find it. The only thing that has made you hesitate until now is whether you want to be the one who knows the answer, and what you're prepared to bear the consequences."

To put it simply, the original novel makes it very clear.

The law can punish extortionists like Milwalton.

However, this is completely impossible from a practical standpoint.

For Milverton, the worst that could happen is a lawsuit against him, resulting in a few months in jail. But for others, it means a lifetime of disgrace. If anyone were willing to take that risk, I wouldn't be living such a wealthy life now.

Similarly, if he is commissioned by a criminal to steal incriminating evidence that Milvolton is holding against them, he is obligated, by professional ethics and legal regulations, to hand over the criminal's incriminating evidence. In this way, he is essentially helping Milvolton punish the perpetrator. Likewise, what he does is essentially no different from what Milvolton does.

Everyone is punishing criminals.

If he doesn't hand over the evidence and chooses to conceal it, then wouldn't Holmes be just as bad as Milverton?

Holmes was walking into a dead end.

I showed them a way, and their best course of action was to ignore it and not do it.

"So, why did you approach us?" Holmes said. "Is it also to find incriminating evidence against us, so that one day we too can become weapons in your hands?"

This statement already represents his stance.

He's testing me now, to see if I'm a good person or a bad person.

If I were a bad person, then all the previous arguments would be sophistry and paradox.

Actually, you don't need to listen to a single word.

But now that he's asking questions, even if he listens to them, he still can't judge my character.

“There’s a saying in China,” I said, “The friendship between gentlemen is as bland as water, while the friendship between petty men is as sweet as wine.”

"If a relationship is driven by self-interest from the very beginning, it will inevitably deteriorate sooner or later."

I looked at them, my tone calm.

“One day, I will be imprisoned for what I have done. You need not pity me, nor do you need to help me.”

"If I can get out on my own, and you are still willing to be my friends, that is a true friendship between gentlemen."

"If they are unwilling at that time, then this is simply the end of our relationship."

I chuckled softly.

"I can accept either outcome. So you can distrust me from beginning to end while still being friends with me. I don't mind at all."

I do not ask for trust, nor do I guarantee my innocence; I have only this one principle.

The important thing is that everyone is happy when they get together.

If you're unhappy, there's no need to make things difficult for each other.

I believe this is the highest level of respect and courtesy I can show to Holmes and Watson.

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Continuing to think is itself a choice.

Surprisingly, Watson was the first to move.

I thought that after saying all that, Watson was still thinking about the analogy of the indestructible Abel group.

Watson didn't look at Holmes. Instead, he reached out and pushed the plate of completely cooled chocolate fruit a little further away. The movement was small, but clear, as if he were removing something from the table. It was obvious that he was actually sorting out his emotions and thoughts.

“If you were here to harm people,” he said, looking me in the eyes, “you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble.”

Watson paused for a moment, then said, "You won't waste time explaining, reminding us of our responsibilities, or telling us all your thoughts."

After he finished speaking, it was as if he had finally made up his mind.

“So,” Watson turned back to look at Holmes, “this time, I’m on his side.”

I:"……"

That's not necessary.

Personally, I like that Watson always sees things from Holmes' perspective.

Holmes did not immediately refute, as if Watson had stated his opinion.

My feelings were incredibly complex, and I barely knew what to say.

"So, I can roll around in Holmes' bed at night too."

"I didn't say that."

Holmes coldly refused with a single sentence.

Me: "No wonder he's Sherlock Holmes! He rejected me so quickly!"

London: "Why do you always want to lie in someone else's bed?"

Before the first night on the cruise ship had even officially ended, I received an invitation from Ivy.

She wanted me to come to her room for a get-together at 8 p.m.

I threw the invitation in the trash.

The next morning, a man was found dead in Ivy's room.

He is Professor Belfa from Durham University.

-----------------------

Author's note: See you next year!

1. The cover was removed because I had no other covers available. People kept mentioning that my previous cover was the same as other works, worrying about copyright infringement. I've always been bothered by people having the same character cover, but I'm too poor to customize my own. Commercial covers are just too expensive, really too expensive! Orz

2. Removing the copy is a habit I have.

Thank you for your concern!