Chapter 503

France, the smell of decay lingers in the small hotel.

Aso Qiu also reached out and touched the drafts on the table, looking at the contents of the "Color Painting Collection", as if opening a yellowed picture in his memory.

Once upon a time, he hoped that Lan Tang could write such an excellent collection of poems.

Lan Tang, who has been given the status of a poet, has a thoughtful expression on his face when writing, and has the romance and elegance of literature in his eyes. He holds his cheek with one hand, and is very cute even if he is in a daze, like an explorer covered in stars and moonlight.

.

That is the ideal dimension of a writer, that is the ocean of the poet's soul...

That is an art that many people with special abilities cannot understand.

Aso Qiu also handed over the pen to Ran Tang, coaxing Ran Tang to write, and watching the other person complete the content of the poem always made him smile uncontrollably.

Write quickly.

What you write down will be your superpower.

Once you understand the source of your abilities, you will understand the source of your strength.

You are no longer the lonely and wandering Lan Tang in the original novel, but the Lan Tang who is by my side, possessing rich literary accomplishments and self-exploring the depth of his soul.

——You will get something more precious than your memory.

——Family, friendship, love, I create a bond in Japan for you.

Aso silently turned over the paper. Verlaine's handwriting was more beautiful than Rimbaud's. It was filled with Rimbaud's poems and Rimbaud's rebellious words about society. Rimbaud's sun is freedom in the distance, while Verlaine's sun

It's Rimbaud.

In everyone's eyes, the shining person is the sun.

The last thing Verlaine accomplished with his life was to let his sun shine and continue to leave precious footprints in the literary world.

This kind of behavior can be called gentle and restrained.

"He is not that person..."

Aso Qiu also thought of the blond Verlaine he faced before he died. The indifferent Nordic god had the pride to disdain to bend down. He would only stand there, waiting for those who loved him to bring the treasure to him, and would never do anything selfless.

.

When this thought came to mind, Aso Qiu could no longer confuse the identities of the two.

Compared to the blond Verlaine, the poet... has a shadow of Lan Tang.

Lan Tang's weakness.

Lan Tang's melancholy.

Lan Tang’s meticulousness and sensitivity.

At the same time, Lan Tang embodies the three-dimensional steadfastness of Rimbaud's later period and his desire for family. It is like the souls born after the characteristics of Rimbaud and Verlaine were shattered and re-aggregated.

cause and effect.

Aso Qiu also put the unfinished collection of poems in his arms, closed his eyes as if holding the poems written by Ran Tang, and suppressed the nameless sadness.

""Color Painting Collection"... is the name given by Verlaine."

"Part of the content is incomplete and you need to find Rimbaud to complete it."

"After completion——"

"Will I see Lan Tang?"

At the cost of the poet's life, he exchanged the opportunity for him to see his lover.

What a cold thing.

He used hatred and extremeness to kill a person who was grateful to him before he died, and imposed grievances that did not belong to the other person on the other person's head. Verlaine had no time to ascend the throne of the "King of Poets" in France, and died in

The moment of middle age.

A few days later.

With Wang Qiu's gift, Paul Verlaine's funeral was held as normal.

Friends who had originally avoided Paul Verlaine after his accident heard about Wang Qiu's arrival and attended the funeral one after another.

Stéphane Mallarmé gave a speech at the funeral of Paul Verlaine, reciting a poem from "The Grave": "The north wind turns a black, angry rock..."

Among the sparse crowd, an Oriental man in black stood in the corner. The writers who wanted to say hello did not dare to speak out, feeling the deep and low pressure on the other person's body. The Oriental man put his hands on his cane,

Holding a newly-taken-off hat, he remained silent, like a pale statue.

Stéphane Mallarmé temporarily glanced in Wang Qiu's direction.

He sighed in his heart.

If Wang Qiu had been in France, he might have been able to save Paul Verlaine.

However, these are all his unilateral speculations. After all, Wang Qiu is such a benevolent character to writers, and the only thing you have to pay for is your work.

In addition, Stéphane Mallarmé regretted not seeing Rimbaud at the scene.

The "Wandering Angel" still doesn't know where he wandered.

"Thank you, Mallarmé." After the funeral, and the coffin was about to be transported to the cemetery in Paris, France, Aso Aki also thanked Mallarmé for being invited to help.

Stéphane Mallarmé said implicitly: "I am also a friend of Verlaine."

How much of this statement is true or false is unknown.

Aso Qiu would not expose it, but looked at a woman crying against the coffin and asked: "Is that Verlaine's mother?"

Stéphane Mallarmé nodded: "Does Mr. Wang Qiu want to comfort her?"

Aso Qiuya's face was cold and emotionless since the beginning of the funeral, like a black ghost before the funeral, no longer gentle.

"I don't think she is short of money, and her life should be worry-free." Aso Qiu couldn't cheer up, "It's human nature for a mother to suffer grief for her dead son. Even I can't let Verlaine

After resurrecting from the dead, instead of saying some stage words, it would be better for her to say her final farewell to her son."

"Tell her something for me."

Before Aso Qiuya left, he warned Mallarmé.

"I will not refuse to publish his works like other publishing houses."

"What I can do is buy the copyright of his son's poetry collection, translate and publish those works, so that he can live in the hearts of readers..."

"And...condolences..."

The figure of the oriental man fades away.

Stéphane Mallarmé kept the other party's words in mind and slowly walked towards Verlaine's mother, conveying the goodwill of a publisher.

The atmosphere this winter seems to be particularly desolate due to the funeral of Paul Verlaine.

The creative enthusiasm of the literary circles in Britain and France decreased.

Everyone began to spend the winter, store supplies, and look for indoor leisure activities other than writing. Many salon parties tirelessly invited Wang Qiu, hoping that he would appear in the salons they organized and add to the conversation on the street.

Aso Qiuya also collected several debts he had released, and when he returned to London, Oscar Wilde also discovered his mental weakness and promoted various classmates' activities. He stayed with Aso Qiuya attentively throughout the winter, and learned

Skills such as roasting sweet potatoes.

As soon as he put on his warm autumn trousers, Oscar Wilde's style changed drastically, becoming simple and naive. He was no longer the flashy Wilde described by London social circles.

Aso Qiu also smiled while sitting in front of the fireplace.

Oscar Wilde was not shy either, showing his thick thighs in long johns to the other party. The color he chose was his favorite red!

Aso Qiu also picked up the measuring tape and measured the other party's latest height.

Wilde has already exceeded the 1.9 meter mark.

Put on high heels, two meters tall.

Oscar Wilde was troubled: "There are annoying people who like to attack my mother and I because of our height. I'm just a little taller."

Aso Qiu also said: "Don't listen to those people's nonsense. Only tall and thin men are good-looking." With his support, Oscar Wilde kept his figure, bent his arms, and looked like showing off his muscles: "Me too

I think so."

Aso Qiuya poked the opponent's showman down with one finger.

Oscar Wilde fell onto the sofa and protested: "You are too strong!"

Aso Qiu also misses: "In the eyes of the people I knew before, I was extremely weak and vulnerable... I had to be protected by three layers inside and three outside."

A secretary named Sen often feels that his boss will die unexpectedly.

"Impossible." Oscar Wilde was horrified.

"My physical skills are very weak." Aso Qiuya finally got into a joking mood and regained his normal state, "But it's no problem to fight ten with one."

Oscar Wilde once again believed that the place where Qiu lived in the past was full of great people.

"Qiu, tell me some more stories about people with super powers."
To be continued...