The Blood Moon had just fallen, and a lonely rusty iron tower stood in the city. Against the background of the iron tower, thick smoke still lingered in the city.
Old tires were piled together and ignited. The effect was the same as that of ancient smoke signals.
At this moment, Paris was a city that couldn't be described with simple words. Since the "September 27 Bloody Incident" two years ago, this largest city in Europe had embarked on the road of autonomy and was full of "revolutionary spirit".
All the government agencies in the city had been evacuated, and they would never return. It was extremely dangerous to appear in or around the city in the military uniform of the government and claim to be a public official of the government. Such people usually could not survive for more than 24 hours.
The Parisian citizens who had been abandoned in the disaster, various strange organizations, escaped prisoners, gangs, foreign snobs, and some capable summoners had completely taken over the city. They were extremely hostile to the government who had escaped to the Doomsday Bunker during the disaster and caused thousands of casualties.
The surviving Parisians described the tragedy as a massacre of the Parisians who had blocked the road by cowardly and shameless politicians in order to escape.
The wreckage of the armored vehicles on the street was still telling the story of the tragedy.
The people who had survived the chaos and the Holy Spirits spent two years gradually building their own order in the city.
The airport in Paris had been reopened a year ago.
The terrifying Space Invasion suddenly stopped. Although the Demonic Creatures had yet to be completely wiped out, and the evil and dark forces were still stirring, and even wreaking havoc in some places, the human countries still had a short respite and recovery time after the disaster.
After all, as long as people were alive, they had to live.
…
To the southwest of the iron tower, near the Seine River and the suburbs of the city, there was a large civilian area in the city. When the first ray of sunlight shone on the pointed church roof in the civilian area, the entire civilian area gradually became lively, although the black smoke in the sky hadn't dissipated yet.
All kinds of noises and smells of the marketplace began to surge in the civilian area.
Countless people in the city began to bustle about for their lives and survival.
The two fat pigs that had been driven out into the streets by the butcher caused chaos in the narrow streets of the commoner district. They attracted a lot of curses and envious gazes.
Due to the lack of energy and various living materials, the entire Paris seemed to have returned to the way it was 200 years ago. Dirty water was flowing on the streets of the civilian districts. Few running cars could be seen on the streets of the city. Peddlers carried guns on their backs and butchers carried submachine guns in their hands. Everything was magical.
…
The butcher and the fat pig passed through a place called Rose Street and passed by a cheap inn called The Old Man and the Sea. At this moment, at the end of the corridor on the second floor of the inn, the owner of the inn, Garcia, was violently knocking on the door of the room with the bronze plate No. 206 hanging on it with his fat hand as he shouted in half-baked Mandarin.
The poor door groaned in pain as the innkeeper pounded on it, as if it was going to fall apart at any moment.
The innkeeper didn't feel sorry for it at all. He had long lost his patience. His shouts echoed throughout the inn and even the people on the streets outside could hear him.
"Mr. Luo, I know you're in the room. You said that you'd have to pay a month's rent after the Blood Moon. I've already given you a week's grace. This is the greatest kindness I can give you on account of your identity as an artist …"
No matter how much the innkeeper shouted outside, no one responded from inside. After knocking on the door for a while, the innkeeper panted heavily, probably afraid that the poor door would really collapse and that it wouldn't be worth it for him to spend a sum of money to repair it. He finally stopped abusing the door.
"Tomorrow, I'll give you one more day. If you still can't pay the rent after tomorrow, I'll have to call the security team. If you're thrown into the collective farm, I won't be able to take care of your dignity …"
After saying that, the fat hotel owner finally left the door of Room 206, grumbling under his breath. The old floorboards were squeaking under his feet.
It seemed that the noise outside had finally woken up the person in the room. At this moment, the person in the room slowly woke up from the floorboards and opened his eyes.
Xia Pingan looked at everything in front of him. His mind was temporarily blank. His last memory was still the last image left behind by the secret doppelganger technique …
On the floor next to him, there was a collapsed chair, a broken rope, two empty beer bottles, and a bottle of AM medicine.
Xia Pingan raised his head and saw another piece of rope hanging from the ceiling beam.
The collapsed chair and the broken rope hanging from the ceiling beam. A wave of chaotic memories surged into Xia Pingan's mind.
In this memory, Xia Pingan saw himself drinking a lot of beer and randomly pouring some medicine into his mouth. Then, he walked woodenly onto the chair and wrapped his neck around the hanging rope. Then, like a salted fish that had flopped ashore, he stepped on the chair and began to struggle painfully and suffocatingly on the rope.
The rope broke. Then, he fell from the chair and his head hit the ground heavily.
The owner of this body was called Luo An. He was an international student from Huaxia who studied painting in Paris.
As an artist, it was the most difficult group to survive in troubled times. Everyone could not even keep their lives and their stomachs were still hungry. Who would care about painting?
The feeling on his neck was very uncomfortable. Xia Pingan touched his neck and found that there was a burning mark under his chin, near his Adam's apple.
In Xia Pingan's eyes, this body was really weak. A person who was not even a summoner. In Xia Pingan's eyes, this body was just like an ant. This body was still slowly adapting to the powerful spiritual body that had intruded into it.
In addition to the burning sensation on his neck, the muscles, bones, and meridians of this body were also slowly changing. This process of adaptation was that this body would gradually and slowly go through a terrifying and long process of being imbued with divine power. This process would take about half a month to a month. Because of Xia Pingan's powerful spiritual body, he could slowly create and nurture a powerful body.
In just a moment, following the changes in his body, Xia Pingan felt that the burning sensation on his neck became more and more acute. This was a sign that the sensory ability of his nerve endings was increasing.
Xia Pingan struggled to get up and stumbled to a mirror in the room. He could not wait to see what he looked like in the mirror.
The person in the mirror really had a completely unfamiliar Chinese face.
It was a Chinese man wearing a white shirt. His black hair was a little messy, and he had a melancholy temperament. His black eyes were somewhat vacant, and his nose was straight. He was about 30 years old, and his face was well-defined. He was even a little handsome.
However, the face of the person in the mirror was sickly pale, as if he had not seen the sun for many days. His body was not strong, and he had the frailty of a scholar.
The dark red strangle mark on his neck was very eye-catching.
Looking at the man in the mirror, Xia Pingan touched his face and smiled. "Don't worry, I will take care of this body in the future. I won't ruin it like you …"
Looking at the face in the mirror, Xia Pingan felt that this scene was a little funny, but he could not bring himself to laugh.
The tearing pain in his head suddenly appeared, and the pain was still increasing. Xia Pingan hugged his head and let out a painful groan. His body shook twice, and in the tearing pain in his head, more memories poured into Xia Pingan's mind.
This was an inevitable process of the Body Clone Technique, and it was somewhat uncomfortable. His spirit body was gradually adapting to this body, and at the same time, it would "browse" some of this body's memories.
A woman's face suddenly appeared in Xia Yang's mind. Oh, my dear Olivier …
This is not suicide, but a tragic and tragic … death for love. My lover is married, but the groom is not me. Since I can't be with my true love forever, then let me use my life to make you remember me forever …
Xia Pingan looked at the pale and weak face in the mirror and panted heavily. His hands grabbed the table in front of him, and his knuckles were a little white. After a full seven or eight minutes, the tearing pain in his brain gradually subsided and eased up bit by bit.
Xia Pingan raised his eyes and scanned the room, looking for some medicine. Unfortunately, the room was empty. This small hotel was too simple, and almost everything could be seen at a glance. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a chair were all the furnishings in the room.
Moreover, in Luo An's memory, he didn't have the money to buy expensive medicine. At this moment in Paris, the price of medicine was beyond imagination.
Although Luo An was poor, he loved cleanliness. He was probably an obsessive-compulsive disorder patient. Even if he wanted to hang himself, the things in the room were tidy. The bedding on the bed was neatly folded, without a single wrinkle. The red oak desk was spotless, and the books, pens, ink, and paper were all arranged in a straight line. A mobile phone with a broken screen was neatly placed on the desk, in a straight line with the books.
On the desk, there was a piece of paper, and a pendant was pressed on the paper.
Xia Pingan walked to the desk and picked up the silver and enamel pendant. The pendant could be opened, and there was an inch-long profile picture of Olivier. In the picture, Olivier was an exotic beauty. Olivier was standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, wearing a cap and a blue dress. Her face was a little chubby, but her facial features were very beautiful.
On the piece of paper pressed under the pendant was Luo An's last love poem to Olivier in French.
As an artist, Luo An could write beautiful Gertrude cursive characters, which was pleasing to the eye.
The love poem was as follows:
What can I do to keep you
I give you the poor streets, the despairing sunset, the blood moon in the ruined city.
I give you the sorrow of a man who looks at the lonely moon for a long time.
I give you my dead ancestors, whose ghosts are commemorated in marble: My father's father, who was killed at the border, two bullets pierced through his chest.
He died with his beard, and the soldiers wrapped his body in cowhide.
My mother's grandfather, who was twenty-four years old, who led the charge against the monsters under the yellow highlands, is now a ghost on horseback.
I give you all the understanding that my books can contain, all the manliness or humour that my life can contain, and all the meanness.
I give you the loyalty of a man who has never had faith.
I give you the fire that fills my breast, and the sea that will drown the world.
I give you the core of myself that I have tried to preserve — the core that does not make words, that does not trade with dreams, that is untouched by time and joy and adversity.
I give you the memory of a yellow rose that I saw one evening, many years before you were born.
I give you explanations of yourself, theories of yourself, true and shocking news of yourself.
I give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I try to touch you with perplexity, with danger, with failure. (Note 1)
At the bottom of the poem, there were two extra lines. The writing was a little blurred, as if tears had fallen on it, but the tears had dried, leaving only a vague mark …
My dear Olivia, if I can't give you this, then I hope to use my life, forever young, to live in your heart, to wish you happiness.
This is the last poem I write to you — Luo Anne, who loves you forever.
Looking at the last lines of Luo Anne's poem, Xia Pingan was a little moved.
Luo Anne, this poor artist, was definitely an infatuated man.
But wasn't this infatuated man afraid that the woman would have nightmares at night when she read his will? Hanging was the ugliest way to die. After death, people's tongues would linger out. Death was the least worth it. As long as you were alive, there was hope.
Also, this guy owed money to the innkeeper. Not only did he not pay it back, but he almost turned his room into a haunted house before he died. How unkind …
Xia Pingan picked up the mobile phone with the broken screen and looked at it. The phone couldn't be turned on, as it had run out of battery. Nowadays, charging was a luxury in Paris.
The books on the desk were all works of art, poetry, and philosophy. None of them were related to making money or survival.
Xia Pingan stood in front of the desk for two minutes. Then, Xia Pingan heard his stomach growling.
This was the idling and wriggling of the intestines caused by hunger. It was also a protest and reminder to Xia Pingan that this body was too weak. The transformation of the body by the spirit required a lot of food and calories.
When Xia Pingan woke up just now, he felt that there was still a lot of alcohol left in his body. His head was still a little confused. But in a short while, the alcohol seemed to have been digested, and his head became more and more clear.
Yesterday, poor Luo Anne locked himself in his room and didn't eat anything for the whole day. He only drank two bottles of wine.
The need to survive and the pressure suddenly hit him in the face.
Xia Pingan tried to sense his secret mandala. Because the spirit and body had not fully adapted, the secret was still trembling and faintly discernible. He couldn't use it at all.
He had to think of a way to get through the days when his spirit body and body were adapting.
Once he adapted, he would be the only Six-Sun realm summoner on this planet. He would be the undisputed strongest person in the world!
…
Note 1: Borges' "What Can I Use to Keep You", slightly modified.
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