Chapter 6: Hell jokes are only fun if you don't care
After ten days of detention and interrogation, I was sent to court for trial.
As the paper materials were presented, everyone looked at me in an orderly manner, their mouths tightly closed. Some had no expression on their faces, some were indignant, and some were so sad, like the reflection of my dead colleague.
Taking the opportunity of handing me a pen and paper, I pierced my fingertip with the tip of the pen filled with transparent ink. Blood oozed out from my fingertips. I wanted to write something.
I was not informed, I did not know, the police did not give me the opportunity to appeal, anything is fine, I want to write something.
But what was finally presented was a smiling face drawn in blood.
The court was in an uproar, and I was eventually disqualified from appealing. I was charged with multiple crimes, including arson resulting in death, deprivation of others' freedom, torture resulting in death, etc., and was sentenced to death. The execution was broadcast live.
I walked through the crowd with a blank expression and returned to my prison.
The officer in charge of me stood at my prison door, and I was a typical example, he was there to prevent me from committing suicide or escaping from prison.
He remained silent so calmly, just like me, and even until now, I still think that silence is a virtue.
But if you don't say something, it will be too late.
In other words, it's too late now, so you might as well hurry up and say something.
"Quiet Syndrome" Part 6: Excerpt
】
We found Fukuzawa Yukichi and his duo in a coffee shop on the street.
There were cakes piled in front of the green boy. He ate with great satisfaction, not at all like the irritable and unruly person that was rumored to be. He was like a kitten in its growing period.
The tall man sitting opposite him was looking through some documents. His eyes were steady and peaceful, and he looked at the young man with indifferent and tolerant eyes.
It is not difficult to deny that the man is worthy of being a killer. Even if he is just sitting there, looking at home, there is still a sudden cold temperament lingering around him, like a sword in a sheath. The fact that it is not unsheathed does not mean it is absolutely safe. It is more likely that the time to strike has not come yet, and once a strike is made, it will definitely cause casualties.
Sengenmaku changed out of the black travel clothes he had been wearing and put on a Japanese-style black haori with crane patterns. Because the haori was a bit big, it hung loosely on his body, and he wore a Western-style base shirt, trousers and leather boots underneath. The style can be described as very mixed, but it is very eye-catching at first glance. He looks like a child from a wealthy family, at least he looks respectable.
But even so, as soon as they met, the boy raised his head from the pile of pastries and looked at him intently. The boy was indeed extraordinary. He wore a pair of black-framed glasses and scanned his whole body at an extremely fast speed that was almost imperceptible. Then he stared at his face as if thinking about something. Even this dazed expression was not useless. He was observing his expression. This went on for about 5 seconds. He then withdrew his gaze, swallowed the pastry in his hand in one gulp, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head to look at the man opposite him.
During this brief moment of less than ten seconds, Fukuzawa Yukichi tacitly did not say anything, but let the transition take its natural course. He waited until the boy looked at him before he spoke.
"What can I do for you?"
Sengenmaku's gaze passed over the young man and turned to look at Fukuzawa Yukichi. As his mind turned, he gave up his previous plan to pretend to be a child. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"Mr. Fukuzawa, I have a request that I would like to trouble you with."
"...Commission? Are you here on behalf of the parents?"
"No, it's my commission."
During this period, the boy did not speak a word, but just took off his glasses silently. He looked at Fukuzawa Yukichi and said almost bluntly:
"Because he has no family at all."
This hellish topic was spoken in a rather relaxed tone, and even Fukuzawa Yukichi was startled. He looked at the boy with a somewhat reproachful look, but the boy pretended not to care.
"This is just a small matter. He doesn't care at all. Mr. Bodyguard, this is a very interesting commission."
Just as he expected, Qian Jianmu didn't care about this at all. He had no concept of parents and siblings in his mind at all, and similarly, Qian Jianmu paid more attention to this young man. He was quite smart and had unusually sharp observation skills. But his eyes were very pure, so pure that he didn't look like a child from Yokohama.
"Then please sit down." Fukuzawa Yukichi finally had some concern for him. Although it was very little, it was still something. He called the waiter and ordered a cup of tea for him, then turned to look at the boy who was eager to order more pastries, and stopped the boy's action very calmly and firmly.
"This is this week's reward. If you want more, wait until next week."
Then he turned his head and looked at Qianjianmaku.
"What kind of request is it?"
The young man interrupted:
"We don't care about the mafia's affairs."
"Ranpo!" Fukuzawa Yukichi called out the boy's name in a slightly harsh tone, then turned around and said again in a gentler tone but without any other meaning:
"I don't want to interfere in matters related to power for the time being."
Chijianmu tilted his head. He was facing a window of the cafe, his eyes were shining, and he looked pure and clean.
"It's nothing like that. It's just a simple little thing."
He took out a stack of documents from his backpack and placed them on the table.
"I have written some articles, but I am not old enough and I don't have parents or guardians, so I can't submit them to magazines. I would like to ask you to submit the manuscripts on my behalf. I hope you will be fully responsible for the manuscripts. If you have any questions, you can contact me directly, but try not to reveal my existence."
The green-eyed boy leaned over like a cat, tentatively trying to take a look at the stack of manuscripts. Fukuzawa Yukichi was about to say something, but Chigenmaku handed it to him first, so the boy flipped through the manuscripts contentedly, leaving Chigenmaku and Fukuzawa Yukichi to continue their conversation.
“This is my first time writing, and I’m not sure if it can be published. But I will contact you for subsequent submissions, and for safety reasons, I will show you the manuscript in advance before it is published. I hope you will consider it.”
The young man over there had also finished reading the manuscript. He laughed and said:
"You really hate the current literary world, to the point where you want to write an article to criticize ordinary people. You have a unique personality, I like it very much!"
He handed the manuscript to Fukuzawa Yukichi and looked at him with one hand on his face:
"But why do you want to study and write books? You are not that type of person at all. Ranpo-sama, I can't understand this, it will do you no good, or -"
The smile on his face suddenly faded by eight points. His cold eyes locked onto Qian Jianmu's face, and he bluntly uttered a horrifying inference.
"What do you want to achieve with this article? This kind of writing is simply not something you can write at your age."
He paused and said softly:
"You are quite old, aren't you?"
Even in the sunlight, Qian Jianmu's eyes inevitably dimmed for a moment, but returned to normal the next second. No one except the boy noticed the difference. Qian Jianmu also turned his head and looked at him.
"Because the current literary world is really terrible, that's my reason."
Sengenmaku added in response to the boy's obvious doubt:
"I have read many books, but the books here are shamefully bad. The books in the bookstore are full of garbage, which is unbearable to look at. My teacher is a writer. If he saw this literary environment, he would definitely write about it. As for my goal, it would be even better if more people could write because of my writing."
Everything I said was true, but I didn't answer any of the questions I didn't want to answer.
The young man gasped in amazement, finding this kind of confrontation unbearable. His expression suddenly changed and turned into a lazy look.
"So, I think your obsession with books is weird. You're such a cunning person. Forget it. Mr. Bodyguard, how do you feel about the writing?"
Fukuzawa Yukichi also saw the ending, but what he got was not the complete version. In fact, the manuscript was unexpectedly long. Even though Fukuzawa Yukichi could read ten lines at a glance, it still took him a while to read it through. Ranpo's world was just right, he sorted out the manuscripts and placed them on the desk.
"Is your teacher a writer? Has he written any books?" he asked.
In fact, you shouldn’t ask about your employer’s affairs so directly, but since the person on the other end looks like a child, there’s actually nothing wrong with asking. Regarding this issue, Sengenmaku's tone is quite frank, but the content is hellish.
"His works were all burned because they were not allowed. He committed suicide a long time ago. I was the one who collected his body."
Because the topic was a bit confusing, the scene fell silent for a moment, but Chigenmaku continued to speak as if he hadn't noticed.
"But I remember he left me a line of words, written in red ink on a piece of paper next to his body. It felt like he shot himself and suddenly remembered that someone would come to see him, so he thought he should leave something behind in case others were too confused. Later, I buried all the books he had kept. It would be a good thing if his hard work was dug out one day."
After one died, he waited for his disciples to collect the body, while the other destroyed the person's treasures after collecting the body. What a grateful master and disciple relationship.
Fukuzawa Yukichi was about to say something but stopped himself. Sengenmaku noticed something and smiled slightly.
"Do you want to ask what he left behind? It was a very concise message."
He paused and said softly:
"In unfortunate times, even if you have the ability, you are not able to love the people around you. It is not so easy to connect with others."
His tone was calm, and in fact he really didn't feel anything. That year he experienced the departure of too many people, and the fierce war swept everyone away. In fact, when he found out that the old writer had passed away, he actually felt: Fortunately, the old writer chose to die. This feeling. He didn't know whether Mr. wanted to stay or disappear from this world as ashes. He thought about the corpse for a day and a night and felt that someone like Mr. should want to stay. He was buried next to the grave of his wife and daughter.
If the gentleman were still alive, he might look at him with a tolerant and encouraging look. Although Qian Jianmu always had a blank expression on his face, that kind of look was a rare indulgence he had ever encountered in his life.
He really had no emotions, and his expression was even unusually cold. But the listeners could sense a suffocating sense of oppression from just a few words and Qian Jianmu's cold and strange tone. The supernatural power war that had lasted for more than ten years had just ended. After a brief pause, Fukuzawa Yukichi immediately thought that the phrase "the ability to be unable to protect those around you" might refer to supernatural powers that could not be used to protect those around you. He guessed that Sengenmaku's teacher might be a victim of the war, a person with special abilities. Then it is natural for Senmamu, a student taught by an excellent psychic, to want to do something for his teacher. For an orphan child who has lost his teacher, doing something for others is truly worthy of praise. Even his obscure and dark articles, which almost pointed fingers at others and accused them of being stupid and ignorant and the government of inaction, were understandable. The reason that "I just can't stand the current literature" is really a bit strange. If I hadn't asked in advance and understood the previous situation, it would be hard to be convincing.
Only the young man muttered something after a brief silence, but in the end he said nothing.
Sengenbaku and Fukuzawa Yukichi finalized the subsequent commission matters, using the pen name "Makumanjin", and the final manuscript was scheduled to be submitted to Fukuzawa Yukichi within a month. This article is unexpectedly long, so it makes sense to split it up and publish it bit by bit. Fortunately, Qianjianmu has been divided into sections, so I can just submit it to the magazine and wait for feedback. As for the possible royalties, since Sengenmaku does not have an account for the time being, they will be deposited into Fukuzawa Yukichi's account first, and the cash can be directly handed over later.
As for the agreement, does Yokohama still depend on the agreement for its operations now? However, Fukuzawa Yukichi really wanted to sign a written agreement with the Sengenbaku, because if the property rights of texts were not clearly defined, it would be easy for them to encroach on each other in the later stage. Qian Jianmu stopped him and said that there would be no benefit even if the agreement was written, and he didn't really care who the words would eventually belong to. Qian Jianmu muddled through the process vaguely, and the young man watched clearly from the sidelines. He chuckled softly and took a bite of dessert.
"I'm Edogawa Ranpo, please remember me."
Qian Jianmu gave a sincere smile.
"Yes, Edogawa is a very powerful person."
So the boy started humming, which made people wonder where the rumors about the violent boy came from. The boy is essentially like a sleeping feline. On the contrary, if Edogawa Ranpo really gets angry, it is unknown what kind of earth-shattering and horrific impact will be caused.
Even if it was Qian Jianmu, he didn't want to see that scene at all.
The white-haired boy came and went in a hurry. Edogawa picked up Sengenmaku's cup curiously and shouted:
"This is incredible! How did he drink the water without touching the cup at all? There's not even a fingerprint! Did he deliberately apply glue to his fingers?"
Fukuzawa Yukichi was putting away the manuscripts on the table. Hearing this, he glanced at the cup and was slightly surprised in his heart but remained expressionless. He looked at the words "mutism syndrome" and "author intermediary" on the cover of the manuscript, and he always felt a sense of uneasiness in his heart.
"Don't underestimate him, he's killed a lot of people. He was sitting with us just an hour ago, and he might have just walked out of a mafia camp. Super-dangerous."
Such words really exceeded Fukuzawa Yukichi's expectations.
"I didn't sense the murderous aura from him?"
"He doesn't think death is a big deal. Would anyone be filled with murderous intent when sweeping away the chess pieces on the board? Not at all. And he doesn't seem to have any reason to kill anyone, although he will still do it if necessary. He is a super-troublesome person. But if he gets into trouble, even if he wants to hide until the end of the world, Ranpo-sama will definitely find him as soon as possible!"
"He's just a ten-year-old kid..."
"Hehe." Edogawa Ranpo gave an expression that said, "I know but I won't say it." But seeing that Fukuzawa Yukichi was really slightly affected, he spoke crisply:
"What are you thinking about, Mr. Bodyguard? Didn't someone say, 'It's very difficult to communicate with others!' If you really think it's not good, then buy me some more snacks! I want them as midnight snacks!"
Fukuzawa Yukichi suddenly came to his senses. He looked at the boy calmly and gently and sighed softly.
"When I think about these being the last words of someone who could say such tender and desperate words, it makes me feel a little more relatable."
Edogawa Ranpo stuffed all the remaining snacks into his mouth and mumbled while chewing:
“I like the second sentence.”
He looked out the window, his emerald green eyes reflecting the azure sky, clear as a crystal.
The young man's vague yet clear voice sounded, and his somewhat immature but already handsome profile was reflected on the glass window of the coffee shop.
"Because communicating with others' minds is a very difficult thing in itself."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
No comments yet.