Chapter 25
Paul Verlaine.
Ye Yihe silently went over the name in his mind, certain that he had never heard of it before.
After all, the native in front of him spoke fluent French, while he only knew how to say "hello".
Even if the other party seems to know the original owner, he absolutely cannot pretend to know him in the same way at this time—regardless of whether the two are friends or enemies.
Hmm, judging from the tall, handsome guy in front of me and his composed and elegant demeanor, he probably isn't the fanatic type like Ivan... right?
It's hard to imagine him reciting Fyodor's name with such reverence; it gives me goosebumps.
“Paul Verlaine”.
Separated by an open door, Ye Yihe and Verlaine smiled at each other, repeating the name softly and slowly without uttering a single syllable.
She merely smiled slightly, her slightly long, soft black hair falling gently on either side of her cheeks beneath the white bandages, also concealing her dark red eyes that were devoid of any emotion.
Regardless of who the other party is, is he obligated to explain any reason behind his actions? No.
As long as he appears calm and composed enough, no one dares to point fingers at him.
Verlaine first carefully examined the two bandages around Ye Yihe's head, then his dark and inscrutable gaze moved downwards, as if assessing Ye Yihe's purpose in suddenly arriving here and the greatest threat he could pose to him.
“I didn’t know you had your eye on this place too.”
Compared to Ye Yihe, Verlaine's smile seemed more dismissive, but it wasn't the arrogance of a ruler looking down on ordinary people; if one had to describe it, it was more like a god looking down on all living beings, seemingly not taking ordinary people seriously.
"And what is your purpose?"
He said this in a relaxed tone, without any tension or vigilance, but it was full of probing.
"Dostoevsky".
When these lines reached Ye Yihe's ears, he basically figured out who the person in front of him was—they were both outlaws in the same industry, no wonder they knew each other.
Moreover, this Verlaine is of a much higher rank. Judging from his complete indifference to the original owner's appearance, he must be convinced that even if Fyodor intends to personally sabotage his plans, he will not succeed.
But standing in front of him now was Ye Yihe.
Yeikh didn't even know what Fyodor was thinking when he came to France, let alone guess Verlaine's goal.
So his answer to the question was to smile and tilt his head slightly, pretending to be thinking nonchalantly, or perhaps it was a subtle way of avoiding the question.
What's the point of answering? He doesn't even know what the French word for "don't know" is. He might as well stay silent.
As long as he doesn't speak, Verlaine will never know whether he will speak in the next second, which is what is known as "Schrödinger's opening."
"…………"
Faced with Dostoevsky's persistent reluctance to get straight to the point, Verlaine's smile faded slightly.
He had certainly heard of the formidable reputation of this "demon" before him. The other party's organization wasn't particularly powerful; he'd heard they didn't even have a decent territory, and were full of secretive, enigmatic individuals, jokingly referred to as "rats hiding in the sewers."
Compared to the thieves and lawyers in Russia, this devil's style of doing things is frighteningly low-key.
After all, those lawyers not only used tattoos as a highly distinctive identifier, but also had strict internal rules: severing ties with family members, prohibiting marriage, prohibiting legal work, prohibiting service to the government and military in any form, and providing assistance to any criminals.
Even when asked by anyone whether they are a lawyer thief, lawyer thieves must answer "yes" honestly and are not allowed to lie.
But the Fedor in front of us is the complete opposite.
Rumor has it that he is elusive and rarely acts personally. Aside from a few events that can be deduced from subtle clues that he orchestrated, it remains unclear how many things he quietly and secretly pushes forward behind the scenes.
Before becoming the "King of Assassins" in Europe, Verlaine worked as a French intelligence agent for a long time.
At least two years ago, the name of the Demon began to circulate secretly in the inner world, becoming a taboo subject that most people were unwilling to mention.
In many people's eyes, he was even a monster who could "steal people's minds with just his words".
Right now, the other party, claiming to "not speak much French" and bearing a head wound, was led back by Mrs. Bernhardt on the first floor with pity and sympathy.
The cunning and dangerous man is making himself appear harmless and unsuspecting in his new plan.
Even his own special abilities are mysterious and unpredictable, becoming an unknown mystery in the inner world—so far he has heard many speculations, but none of them are credible without conclusive evidence.
Even though they had only met a few times, it always ended with the other party bowing and leaving, and there was never a direct confrontation.
The more he recalled, the more wary he became of the demon before him.
He absolutely refused to believe that the other party was as weak as he appeared. Moreover, the activation of superpowers was more related to mental strength. Even the weakest-looking guy could be a powerful and cruel killer in real life.
Verlaine didn't feel he needed to fear the demon, but some inexplicable intuition told him that the other party was extremely difficult to deal with and could not be resolved by force.
So, what is his goal in doing this now? Is it the same as his own?
Verlaine pondered in silence.
But that was only his assassination target this time.
He might gather some information from the other party before taking action, but that only relates to his own questions—and he might not even get an answer—it's not something particularly important that would make a demon go to such lengths to come in person.
...Could it be that the minister really knows some secrets? ...Could it be related to that kind of thing?
Or rather, what exactly does the other party want to achieve?
Paul Verlaine's gaze darkened slightly, his expression becoming serious.
Ye Yihe was unaware that Verlaine's mind was racing, considering countermeasures based on the premise that he was extremely dangerous.
In fact, after waiting for Verlaine for a long time without hearing a word or making any other move, he was already making a list of items he needed to buy later.
The temperature in France is quite warm. Hmm, should he continue wearing this outfit? It feels a bit hot when the sun comes out... Never mind, I'll just buy a couple of ordinary jackets for now.
He wondered if the malls here sold houttuynia cordata; he was thinking of eating some.
"…………"
Ye Yihe had already mentally reviewed the items he wanted to buy three times before he finally heard the other person speak, their voice gentle and deep.
"I'm so sorry, I forgot you don't speak much French."
Verlaine took a step towards the door, then gently closed the solid wood door behind him. "As you command, Madam, I'll take you to buy some things first."
The tense atmosphere between the two suddenly disappeared.
Verlaine seemed to suddenly accept his explanation and never mentioned the question again.
Just like how Ivan suddenly stopped caring about the second personality identity he had given himself.
Regardless of what the other person was really thinking, Ye Yihe was happy not to have to deal with him anymore—besides, this Verlaine seemed anything but simple, and Ye Yihe found himself lacking confidence in defeating him.
...Hmm, after carefully considering that subtle, strange feeling lingering in my heart, I realized that I really didn't have the confidence to beat him, but at the same time, I was absolutely certain that nothing would happen to me.
These two things are quite contradictory.
Ye Yihe, who followed Verlaine downstairs, pondered some explanations, but unfortunately, he couldn't come up with any concrete clues.
Ye Yihe quickly bought everything he needed at the mall, and while he was at it, he grabbed several beginner French textbooks from the book section.
As expected of French textbooks, they are all thicker than those of other publishers.
He had heard before that French was the most rigorous language in the world, and that they had to use fifteen pages for an eight-page Chinese document, with countless verb conjugations and gender variations in their word choice and sentence structure—this alone made Ye Yihe's eyes reveal a faint sadness.
How many words must one memorize?
And the pronunciation is different from Russian and Japanese... sigh.
This is truly like getting on a pirate ship and falling into a fire pit. When he agreed to the system, how could he have imagined that the difficulty of doing good deeds would be that he had to work hard to learn a foreign language?
Verlaine glanced at the French textbook Yeych was holding, but didn't say anything more.
He has decided to temporarily distance himself from the demon and carry out his assassination plan while keeping an eye on him—launching an attack before fully understanding the enemy's capabilities would be extremely foolish and suicidal.
Fortunately, most of the information he had about demons came from rumors in the underworld, and this was another opportunity.
Noticing the other person's gaze, Ye Yihe turned her head and gave him a faint smile, as if asking, "Is there something wrong with me taking this?"
Verlaine paused slightly, his vigilance towards him rising even higher.
After paying in cash, Ye Yihe carried the heavy shopping bags back to his apartment.
With his survival problem solved, he started thinking about where to find a French teacher.
He managed to get through the meeting with Verlaine with an inscrutable expression, but what should he do next? He couldn't just remain silent forever.
If all else fails... perhaps we could try contacting Ivan? He seems like the kind of foreign aristocrat who can socialize effortlessly in French at a dinner party.
Ye Yihe didn't have a phone on hand at the moment, but he decided to ask later, since he had memorized Ivan's contact information anyway.
On their first night as new residents, Bernhardt's mother warmly prepared a sumptuous French dinner and invited him and Verlaine to join them.
The meal was very elaborate, featuring macaroni, vegetable medley, red wine chicken stew, meringue, bread with cheese, and a large pot of bouillabaisse, served separately as aperitif, appetizer, main course, and dessert.
Even though she wasn't sure if the original owner's body was actually sixteen years old, Grandma Bernhardt still poured him a glass of wine, emphasizing that it was a sweet wine with an alcohol content of no more than 3%, and that it would be fine for him to drink a little.
Ye Yihe readily accepted, and felt that this meal was more than ten times better than the one at the church, truly deserving of the title of the best Western food recognized by most people.
Verlaine sat opposite him, elegantly cutting the chicken with a knife and fork into smaller, more palatable pieces.
During the meal, he would even respond attentively to Bernhardt's concern or patiently echo her repeated instructions, appearing both polite and considerate.
Even if it's unclear whether he was pretending or genuinely sincere, at least during his time as a tenant in this apartment building, he didn't show his mother a colder side.
“Fyodor, my good boy,”
Bernhardt smiled and said to Ye Yihe, "I'll serve you another big bowl of bouillabaisse, which is full of ingredients."
"I noticed you bought some textbooks. Are you planning to learn French on your own?"
Ye Yihe nodded shyly and scooped up a spoonful of the milky white soup from the bowl.
“Self-study is too difficult. Many words are more difficult to use in sentences than you imagine,” Grandma Bernhardt frowned disapprovingly—after a moment of thought, she turned her gaze to Verlaine, “Paul, I remember you said you were currently working as a private tutor?”
—It's a fake job used to cover up assassinations outside the home; using freelance work to package oneself is usually a very suitable choice.
But at that moment, Verlaine had a bad feeling.
"Since you haven't had any work lately, could you please tutor Fyodor in French? I really can't bear to see him struggling so much."
Grandma Bernhardt smiled kindly and warmly, "Your payment will be deducted from his salary."
The atmosphere suddenly fell into a deathly silence.
Ye Yihe, who was drinking soup, almost coughed as if he was choking, but he managed to suppress it.
At the very least, we can't let him down in front of his peers.
"…………"
Verlaine, who had failed in his attempt to cautiously distance himself from the other party in less than a day, suddenly had an epiphany.
Pretending not to speak French... So, even this step was part of the demon's plan?
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