Chapter 32
"Hey ya..."
Mary Wollstonecraft Goodwin Shelley, commonly known as Mary Shelley, is carrying her enormous suitcase down the gangway of the cruise ship.
To make it easier to move around, her blonde hair was casually tied into a ponytail, and she wore a white coat that didn't fit her very well, with the sleeves folded several times at the wrists.
Rather, considering her petite frame struggling to drag her suitcase down the stairs, wearing a white lab coat, a common attire for researchers, was already quite eye-catching.
But the weather in Britain today was terrible—and probably usually is—lead-gray clouds rolled in, and strong sea winds swept across the sea, decks, and shore, accompanied by a damp, almost tangible mist that made it hard to feel cheerful or concentrate on whether there was a girl nearby who needed help.
There were too many tourists leaving the cruise ship, and one of them, a bulky man in a tight-fitting suit, bumped into Mary Shelley as he hurried past her.
Wow!
Being jolted forward on such a sloping gangway is very dangerous, especially for Mary Shelley, whose center of gravity is already unstable and who is pushing a 32-inch suitcase that is about 80 centimeters high. It would be a sudden disaster.
Just as she was about to fall to the ground along with her suitcase, another pair of hands reached out in time—not only stabilizing her but also pulling back the suitcase that was about to tip over.
The next moment, Mary Shelley faintly heard a very soft groan.
The noise from the sea breeze and the crowds was so loud that she almost thought she had misheard.
"I'm so sorry to trouble you..."
Mary Shelley quickly regained her balance and looked back to see which kind gentleman was willing to lend a helping hand at this time.
A handsome, black-haired man, who didn't look very old, was tall and slender compared to her. The irises of his eyes, which were looking in her direction, were a darker, more purplish-red, a very special and rare color.
Even in the maritime climate of Britain, where the temperature difference is not significant throughout the year, he wore a cloak with a white velvet trim around his shoulders, and a matching felt hat covered his sides, making him look very warm.
At this moment, his right hand had already withdrawn after stabilizing her, but his left hand, which was holding the suitcase, seemed to be acting strangely, and he switched it to his right hand.
"You're welcome, it's what I should do." The voice that spoke was also very pleasant, with a unique rhythm.
Mary Shelley was very fond of him upon their first meeting.
Compared to those guys who always use their canes to violently chase people away and call themselves nobles, she would much rather befriend this person in front of her. Look at the fat man who almost bumped into her just now, he left without even a word of apology!
Mary Shelley angrily pushed her round-framed glasses back onto her nose, tidied her somewhat disheveled white coat, hurriedly folded the sleeves that were a bit too long, and then prepared to take the huge suitcase from the other person.
"Where are you planning to go?" The other person shook his head, not letting her take it from his hands. "This suitcase is too heavy. Tell me a place, and I'll deliver it to you."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, it's full of heavy things inside,"
Mary Shelley rolled up her slipped sleeves again, her voice still a little unsteady, clearly exhausted from what she had just said. "I was thinking of hailing a taxi at that intersection. Well, John was going to pick me up, but I didn't like seeing that guy, so I declined."
“A wonderful trip—at least a relaxing trip that combines research and travel—doesn’t need any spoilers, including the final wrap-up stage, right?”
Not wanting to stand on the gangway for too long, Mary Shelley followed the flow of people out, continuing to grumble and complain.
"He was assigned to me as my assistant, but he's so stupid. He always messes things up and loves to swagger around showing off his doctoral degree... What's so great about a mere doctoral degree? I have more than four doctoral degrees. I was making them when I was thirteen—uh, um."
She unconsciously talked a bit too much, until she almost revealed state secrets before she had to stop abruptly.
Fortunately, the other party just listened with a smile and didn't ask any further questions. "What a coincidence, I'm also here to apply for an assistant position."
He even thoughtfully changed the subject.
The suitcase was indeed very heavy; the four omnidirectional wheels dragged on the ground, creating noticeable vibrations, and even some heavy collision sounds could be heard from inside.
Mary Shelley immediately responded with interest, "Where are you from? Abroad? Your accent is quite distinctive. By the way, my name is Mary Shelley, what's yours?"
"Fyodor Dostoevsky".
Ye Yihe calmly used the body's original name, "Just call me Fyodor. As for my accent, it's probably because of that; I'm Russian."
—Yeah, right. He even learned Russian on the spot. The reason the other person might find it strange is simply because he's learning too many languages at the same time, and his accent has become a hodgepodge.
"So that's how it is,"
No wonder his attire was more in line with the harsh northern climate. Mary Shelley nodded in realization, “Russians are quite rare here, especially those looking for work… I heard their economic situation is not good right now.”
“You’re right.” Ye Yihe recalled what he had seen and heard in the church. “It is indeed much more lively and peaceful here.”
Yokohama, where he lived, was actually quite chaotic. Not to mention that the [V] organization dared to kidnap people everywhere, Oda Sakunosuke, who was only a teenager, had already been working as an assassin for many years. He could often hear the sound of gunfire coming from the street when he was sleeping at night.
I heard that there's a deep crater next to Yokohama that was blasted out by an unknown weapon, which later turned into a slum—doubles the potential for unrest.
It seems to be called "Leibo Street"... He had never been there. Oda Sakunosuke warned him that it was a dangerous place, where wanted criminals, smugglers, gangs of thugs, and other thugs operating outside the law were all entrenched, plundering each other's power and interests.
“It’s good that you’ve come here,” Mary Shelley patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. “A bright future awaits you.”
"You too." Ye Yihe smiled at her.
A hint of bitterness lurked beneath the smile.
Who is burning the midnight oil, studying English, French, Japanese, and Russian every day... Ah.
“Indeed,” Mary Shelley said, quite proud of herself, “because I’m a genius, haha. It might sound like I’m bragging, but it’s true.”
"Hmm... how many languages do you speak?" Ye Yihe asked her after a moment's thought.
"Hmm, ah, if we're talking about expertise, then three countries..."
No one had ever asked that question before. Mary Shelley paused for a moment before answering, "English is enough for me to travel to most countries. I've been learning Japanese in my spare time as a hobby, and also for reading academic papers..."
She silently counted on her fingers, while Ye Yihe nodded inwardly.
Fyodor was fluent in at least five languages, a level above genius.
After chatting casually for a few more minutes, Ye Yihe accompanied Mary Shelley to wait for a taxi by the roadside, and helped her carry her suitcase to the trunk before watching her leave amidst her repeated thanks.
Under the guidance of a tutor hired by Sartre Bernhardt, he intensively studied English for a period of time before coming here, with the minimum requirement being to ensure that he could have normal spoken communication—fortunately, he still had some basic knowledge.
Although the teacher praised his impeccable listening skills, Ye Yihe knew it was thanks to Tofeodor, who had given him a brain plug-in that gave him maxed-out English listening comprehension.
He couldn't help but admire Fyodor; how did he manage to master so many languages?
Do you have to work this hard to be a villain these days?
Ye Yihe stood there for a while, and only after confirming that Mary Shelley was no longer in sight did he take out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfold it.
This is a small clipping from a British newspaper, displaying a few lines in standard font: "Seeking a personal assistant. Room and board provided. Salary negotiable. No educational or work experience required. The most important thing is intelligence, the second most important thing is intelligence, and the third most important thing is still intelligence. Cooking skills are a plus. Interested parties please arrive at xxx location at the following time for an interview. M·S."
M·S is an abbreviation for Mary Shelley.
Ye Yihe knew, of course, that the petite woman who had just left was Mary Shelley. She was quite distinctive in height and appearance, and it was not difficult to recognize her.
He simply wanted to make a friendly acquaintance with the other party before the formal interview.
Sartre Bernhardt helped forge various documents and learned that Mary Shelley, whose trip was over, planned to take this cruise back home, so he specially bought Ye Yihe a ticket for the same cruise as her.
In short, having roughly understood the situation, he was somewhat confident that he would succeed in getting the job.
With two days left before the interview, Ye Yihe planned to find a hotel first.
Unlike Fyodor, who went everywhere empty-handed, he earned a small salary as a bodyguard.
As for the wound on his left hand inflicted by Fyodor...
Ye Yihe moved his forearm, feeling a sudden, sharp pain.
Beneath the white sleeves, bandages were still carefully wrapped several times.
The suitcase was heavier than expected, and he reflexively grabbed it with his left hand, which caused the still-healing wound to tear slightly again. Fortunately, the bleeding was not significant.
When Fyodor used a dagger to carve those words, he really wasn't worried about leaving a scar...
Ye Yihe was urgently transferred this time, and it was up to him when to return it—but he didn't intend to keep delaying the return; he just needed to complete some things that the other party wouldn't do.
In another sense, it can be seen as him doing some after-sales service for the resurrection points he earned.
Hmm, I still need to think about how to respond to Fyodor's "greeting" when I return the body.
Ye Yihe stood there for a moment, observing, and then decided to take a bus to the vicinity of the interview location and find a reasonably priced hotel to stay in for two days.
Before he even reached the bus stop, two men with cold expressions blocked his way.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dostoevsky.”
The other person spoke in a cold, hard voice, "According to Lady Agatha Christie's instructions, you need to come with us."
Ye Yihe: "...Hmm?"
Did someone recognize Fedor when I first arrived here?
"Her exact words were, 'Let's have afternoon tea together, Mr. Fyodor. And hopefully the rats aren't up to any bad ideas.'"
Another man coldly recounted the story. One of his hands was behind his back, clearly concealing some kind of [involuntary] trickery.
Ye Yihe: "..."
Fyodor, that guy, really didn't waste his time learning any languages!
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