As the sun rose to the center of the sky, Nixon sat on the balcony of his hotel room, twirling a pen, leaning on a chair frame woven from thick rattan. On the round table in front of him were a stack of white paper and a laptop.
From time to time, my colleague Mike could be heard shouting in the room: "Someone found Bishop Leopold in the church's coffin, and he still hasn't woken up! The doctors at the Keminting Town Hospital said this is likely a symptom of hysteria or epilepsy. But we can't rule out the possibility that other psychological or psychiatric problems caused the coma."
"The capital church expressed great concern and is considering sending him to some major hospitals for treatment."
"Oh my god, you should read that headline, Nixon!"
"—"Richard Torum's 'Banquet' Scene Exposed; the Church in Keminting Town May Be Behind the Imago Feast"... Ugh, this photo is really disgusting. The weird habits of some people these days are truly unbelievable."
"But you better hurry up, Nixon!" A colleague slapped the blanket excitedly. "This is a scandal! An unacceptable scandal! From the moment the news and photos were leaked, they've been deleting trending searches non-stop. Ha! But what's the point? Now the question of the origins of the human-insect hybrids has been exposed, and then there's the treatment of prisoners after the war... It's a complete mess."
Nixon remained silent, spinning his pen faster and faster.
My colleague Mike pulled aside the curtain leading to the balcony and asked, "What do you think happened to Richard Torum?"
Nixon paused spinning his pen and finally said his first words: "Are you bored to death?"
"I didn't," my colleague said, "but Richard must be in a lot of trouble. He seems to be mentally ill and thinks he's the one who's wronged him in the past. He hugged the person's thigh and apologized profusely with tears and snot, and occasionally even engaged in self-harm. If the rescuers had arrived a step later, the bug would probably have attacked his lower body."
Nixon: “…”
He was in a very complicated mood. On the one hand, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pleasure of revenge when he thought that the person Richard Tolheim owed was his good friend. On the other hand, when he heard that this man was so crazy that he mistook a bug for Igor, he felt a little bored.
Perhaps this is the feeling of boredom that arises when watching a big boss defeat a small pawn because it is taken for granted.
Driven by boredom, he raised his still-bruised right wrist and began scribbling on paper. Seeing his indifference, Mike leaned over curiously, "What are you writing... Wait, you're not writing? You're actually drawing?"
Is this still the same Nixon Evelyn who doesn't focus on anything except work every day? !
"What's all the fuss?" Nixon scribbled absentmindedly on the paper. "I studied sketching and painting for a long time."
There were two windows open on the laptop screen next to him.
In the upper left corner was a half-finished document titled "Shocking! The Inside Story of Richard Tollem's Job Change!" Below it was a small print reading, "Analyzing the Marshal's Adjutant's Psychological Characteristics Based on His Secret Love History."
In the lower right corner is an unrelated astronomical webpage, which says that a rare red moon phenomenon occurred in Keminting Town at around 1:00 a.m. last night and lasted for two hours. However, astronomers had not previously predicted the occurrence of a total lunar eclipse, so the cause of this astronomical phenomenon needs further investigation.
"You're not fishing this time?" Mike wasn't paying attention to the total lunar eclipse; his focus was entirely on the article. "Why don't you just contribute to it in a legitimate way?"
"Fishing is a serious sin, and I've had some bad luck these past two days, so I decided to give it a try," Nixon replied. "Richard Torum has been abandoned by the Griffin family. The current ruler, Longman Griffin, may seem outspoken, but he's actually very clear-headed and never confused about the big issues. They won't stand up for Richard, and they'll try to distance this incident from Marshal Sullivan's treason."
A colleague said, "But Richard Tollem is already insane. As long as someone can prove that he has been under increasing psychological pressure in recent years and cannot guarantee that he will be sane when testifying in the Marshal's case, then Marshal Sullivan's treason case will be retried."
"So, to prevent this pawn from backfiring on them, Griffin will not only manipulate public opinion, but also completely dispel any past secret ties with Ptolemy. This way, even if Richard is criticized by the public, they will be innocent and may even be victims of deception."
"Longman Griffin is incredibly well-informed and quick to react," Mike exclaimed. "I've noticed that more than one person has already questioned the reliability of the witnesses in Marshal Sullivan's treason case, but he hasn't made the slightest attempt to attack the Griffin family, who have publicly stated their support for Richard on more than one occasion."
"It's a fact that the Griffin family is wealthy and powerful." Nixon held his chin and wrote on the paper. "If it were me, I wouldn't easily get involved in this mess unless I was sure I could defeat them and put them down forever."
So even though he felt extremely bored now, he could only play some edge balls in the matter of Richard and could not touch the core of interests at all.
Mike pulled out a chair and sat down next to him, snatching the drawing paper in front of him: "What are you drawing?"
"Uh... wow?" Nixon's colleague grudgingly praised him. "That's pretty good... So you had a nightmare last night?"
A human-like face suddenly appeared on the snow-white drawing paper.
Nixon's paintings weren't overly realistic. He did study painting for a long time, and he used a very abstract brushstroke to depict the facial features of the people in his paintings, full of messy lines, unknown symbols, and large blocks of lead-black shadows.
The only thing depicted in detail is a blooming rose, its branches growing out of the skull of the person in the painting, becoming the only bright spot in the rich black; the roots seem to be absorbing warm nutrients from the brain, and dark red lines flow faintly between the snow-white petals, like the gently beating arteries of a living organism, or like the slender fingertips of a beautiful woman, with a breathtaking beauty.
Mike was stunned, and it took him a long time to tentatively touch the rose petals, as if they had come alive from the painting and were kissing his fingertips.
But Nixon pushed his hand away.
"Don't touch it, the ink isn't dry yet."
"Are you really okay?" The colleague leaned back, gazing at the painting from afar with lingering fear. "That face is too scary! Who in their right mind would draw something like that?"
Nixon asked him in return: "Don't you think it's very beautiful?"
The two of them sat on the balcony in the midday breeze of Kemingting Town, looking at each other.
After a while, my colleague Mike stood up and muttered, "Forget it, forget it. I think you're too busy to think clearly. A good night's sleep tonight should be fine."
After saying that, he turned and walked into the room, took out his equipment and started working for the day.
Nixon stared at the painting for a long time behind him, then he picked up his brush and added a St. Martin bird with gray feathers on the portrait's shoulder. At first glance, it looked like the bird was sleeping in the arms of the god in the painting.
**
"Richard Torum is anything but innocent." Longman Griffin sat at the table, legs crossed. He was dressed in a suit and tie, his hair waxed, and the smile on his face was even more fake than a painted one. "He's an incompetent, stupid piece of shit. Igor Sullivan saved him on the battlefield and trained him as his adjutant, but how did he repay his benefactor? He's just an ungrateful idiot who only cares about himself. He's worth less than a maggot. I wouldn't even bother to look at him."
Ford Hill sat across from him, his dark gray eyes, tinged with blue, looking at him inquiringly. "What is your purpose in telling me this?"
"Do you need a reason to insult a scumbag?" Lang Man said matter-of-factly. "I was hoping you'd join me in scolding him. Although I heard you don't have a good relationship with Marshal Sullivan's clique, I'm sure you'd look down on such a villain, right?"
Ford didn't refute his claim of having a bad relationship with Igor. "But as far as I know, your family has repeatedly helped Mr. Tolrum, who is 'not afraid of power,' and there are also some negative rumors against Marshal Sullivan."
"Nonsense," the head of the Griffin family denied without hesitation. "We helped Tolheim because we believed we were doing the right thing at the time. Even now, I don't think his mistakes should be conflated with testifying in Marshal Sullivan's treason case—not that I believe the witness's testimony is irrefutable."
He looked at Ford meaningfully. "It's just that we should discuss each incident objectively and independently, don't you think, Mr. Ford?"
Ford remained noncommittal and did not respond.
"In short," Langman said, his smile widening slightly. "I've always admired you, Mr. Ford, for your ability to stand apart from the crowd. I'm also somewhat aware of your achievements in your career. When you were on a business trip to Port Alplai, I saw on the news the chaotic situation in that remote rural area, and I was worried about whether you might be harmed."
"I'm relieved to see you return safely."
"Just please excuse me, there's one thing I don't understand."
"What is the true nature of the Port Alplai incident? Those slum dwellers, the idiot anchors sent from the capital planet, and of course, wise men like you, sir, what did you witness?"
Ford: "I have everything..."
"Hush." Langman stood up gracefully and made a silent gesture, looking at him with a smile. "Please don't jump to conclusions so easily, Mr. Ford."
"I heard that you rested for half a day in Keminting Town on your way back."
"Have you been so unlucky lately that wherever you go, people turn crazy?"
His emotionless gaze contrasted sharply with the smile on his face. "God, should I also be worried about myself meeting you?"
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