For a long time after that, Hoffa didn't appear in front of anyone again. After parting with Mille in London, he disappeared with Aglaia in England.
After their first day together, life fell into simple travel mode. They had breakfast in a street market. The cement counter of the stall was as smooth as polished marble. After breakfast, they read the newspaper by the stall. The sun was warm in the intersection of sweet oranges and weak tea.
In the morning, they went to the beach to swim and play in the water together until the sun chased them back to the cool room in the hotel, where they fell asleep under the slowly rotating wooden ceiling fan.
In the afternoon, they explored the maze of narrow streets behind the main roads of the city or hiked in the mountains. At sunset, they lay on the beach and called each other's names. At night, they had dinner in a restaurant facing the beach and drank in the courtyard of the White Wall Hotel. The moonlight wrapped around the edge of the waves.
Sometimes, Hoffa would open his mouth and give a long talk without a topic, like an old woman. Aglaia, on the other hand, said very little. She was always holding him and listening to him. But Hoffa had learned to cherish the few words she said.
There were fewer and fewer people in the world who could talk. Many times, the cities abroad seemed to be asleep. Although they were still operating as usual, sometimes they wouldn't meet a single person to talk to after walking for a whole day.
The whole world was so quiet that it was as if they were the only two people left who could talk.
But there was nothing wrong with that.
They sat in the empty music halls of Vienna and looked at the non-existent stage. They tried every instrument they had seen or not and made all kinds of noises with them.
They went to the Louvre in France. Aglaia would draw two little turtles on the marble chest of the Venus with a broken arm, put the head of the Sphinx on the head of the Goddess of Victory, or draw circles on the face of the Mona Lisa.
One afternoon, he took a camera and took her to the largest clothing center in Milan, Italy. He watched her try on every piece of clothing in the display window. Artistic, intellectual, pure, sexy, fashionable, retro … She changed into one piece after another. Huo Fa also took photos of her one by one and took an entire album.
In the end, they found them in an underground studio in Berlin, but they didn't take them with them.
A week went by, then another, then another … they went all over Europe and at last came back to England.
One morning, Hoffa suggested that they go for a walk.
So they walked along the Thames to the Tube line, where a coffee shop had been open all night.
On the concrete arch of the coffee shop were the words in a childish handwriting written in seashells - Romanticism
"Romanticism …"
Aglaia looked at the sign of the coffee shop and suddenly asked with a smile, "Do you drink coffee?"
"Sure."
Hoffa nodded and took Aglaia's arm into the café.
In the early morning café, the cashier was quietly washing the white porcelain cups. The radio under the spider plant was playing a quiet music with only three octaves. Huo Fa was very familiar with the song, but he couldn't name it. But he didn't care.
Aglaia found a seat by the window for Hoffa and sat down. She put her hand in his and asked with concern, "Last night, you almost finished a bottle of Tequila. Is there something on your mind? "
Hoffa nodded. Her hand in his was warm and dry. He looked at her palm. The pink enamel on her nails was transparent like glass.
"Can you tell me?"
Aglaia's palm was facing down and holding the back of his hand.
At this time, the waiter brought the menu and interrupted Aglaia's question.
Aglaia let go of his hand and looked down at the menu. The morning sun shone into the coffee shop through the hardwood window and painted her slender arm with a few streaks of gold.
Hoffa looked at the girl across the table without blinking. The various faces he saw during his adventures in the world were like the logo of God.
Those men and women's faces were similar and lonely. In front of him, they were naked and meaningless. But this face was different.
He could clearly feel that he had a connection with it.
Meaning, name, and identity.
After Aglaia ordered the coffee.
Hoffa sat up slowly and said seriously, "Aglaia, let me tell you a story."
"You learned how to tell stories?"
The silver-haired girl held her chin and pointed at his chest with her finger.
Hoffa pointed at his head with a smile. "It's right here. Do you want to hear it?"
"Okay, tell me. What story? "
The silver-haired girl looked at him as if she couldn't get enough of him.
Hoffa tilted his head and thought for a while. "I think this story is called — Arrow of Time."
"Arrow of Time?"
Aglaia was curious. "What's that?"
"Arrow of Time …"
Hoffa turned his head, fiddled with the cup in front of him, and looked out the window. The coffee shop's wooden shutters were not glazed and were strung together with green plastic rope. Looking out from between the hardwood planks, there was a dry fountain, flower-like tiles, and a Volkswagen Mini Beetle in the morning sun.
"A long, long time ago, when I was still in Paris, one day, I felt that someone was watching me from behind …"
He sat in the coffee shop and slowly narrated his adventure through time and space — whether it was his confusion to sell firearms, his encounter with the magical nun, or the crazy dream, the cold-blooded officer, the blood-sucking city, her father who fell into the abyss, and the terrible opponent in the dark.
The sun gradually rose, the clouds in the sky were unruly, and the shadows of the two gradually elongated.
Hoffa's tone did not fluctuate much. Aglaia was still calm at first, but gradually, she was attracted by the story, and in the end, she was sobbing.
After Hoffa slowly finished his story, he took a sip of the coffee on the table and waited quietly.
"The past, can't be changed?" she asked softly with a choked voice.
"I'm sorry, Aglaia, I couldn't save Fatir. His soul was swallowed by the mistletoe." Hoffa said lightly.
"I don't blame you." Aglaia covered her face and sobbed. "I just … I just couldn't help you."
Hoffa reached out and held her hand. He didn't let go, nor did he say anything to comfort her. He just sat there calmly like a Buddha statue. When she was choking with sobs, he calmly narrated the story again.
He talked about the ruthless time flare and the death of the old Hoffa. He talked about his cooperation with Lord Voldemort, his compromise, Grindelwald's plan, his destiny in the Hogwarts, his six thousand reincarnations in the Underworld, the death of Barty and his son, and his rebellion against fate.
Until a subway came rumbling outside the coffee shop's window, Hoffa stopped talking, and the story came to an abrupt end.
After listening to the second half of the story, Aglaia wiped her eyes and couldn't help but smile excitedly. "You haven't told me the end of the story yet."
"Then I'll leave it to others to guess."
Hoffa stretched and stood up. "However, I don't think this story is over yet."
Aglaia stared blankly at Hoffa who stood up and noticed the approaching subway in the distance. She suddenly understood everything. Her face lost all color, and all the beautiful, sweet, and gentle things disappeared like bubbles. Her voice trembled slightly.
"You … You brought me here to … to … say goodbye to me?"
"Yes."
Hoffa sighed softly as if he had spat out his soul. "Yes."
"Go back to the past? Fifty years ago?
"Yes."
Hoffa shrugged and ran his fingertips across the table. He smiled and said, "I still have a few small problems left in the past, waiting for me to solve them."
Aglaia clenched her fists and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was extremely miserable. "But do you know your clear destiny? What if you don't come back? What if your life stays in these fifty years forever? "
Hoffa said calmly. He had already thought of the answer. "Then continue to live like a normal person. Eat, study, sleep. "
"What about us? What about us?"
Aglaia stood up in despair. "Are you tired of it?"
Hoffa shook his head. "I love you, Aglaia, more than I love anyone else."
"Why?"
She suddenly stood up and hugged Hoffa. Her palms were like steel bars that tightly gripped his waist.
"Why can't you stay in this time and space!? Let's go shopping together, eat ice cream together, watch movies together, and … do very happy things together. "As she spoke, she was already choking with sobs." Why must it be you? Can't you let someone else do it? "
Hoffa lovingly wiped her tears. There was not much expression on his face. Only the sunlight flowed in his obsidian-like eyes like the Milky Way.
"When I was in third grade, I once asked you what life is. At that time, I didn't know anything. But now, I know. Life is a game for the brave, and a sorrow for the cowardly.
There are too many original sins in this world. Humans have too many original sins. Ugliness, poverty, loneliness, inadequacy, and death. How much courage does it take to face these cold original sins? Perhaps not many people can do it, but I think I can, because this is the meaning of my existence. "
"Then take me with you."
Aglaia grabbed his arm, her fingers almost sinking into his flesh.
Hoffa shook his head. "I can't do it. Can you understand me?"
"I can understand you, but I can't accept it. If that's the case, why did you save me? Why did you go to the Underworld to find me? Why did you leave me in an empty and strange time and space? "
"There are still many beautiful things …"
"Don't reason with me. I only want you."
"I'm here. I'll always be here."
"Will you come back?"
"Yes."
"Can you promise?"
Looking at her red eyes, Hoffa thought of the past, thought of the future, thought of himself in the past, thought of his mysterious smile, thought of the past, thought of the strange life, thought of the future, thought of the unpredictable fate.
In the end, he lowered his head and kissed Aglaia's lips.
"I promise."
Aglaia smiled through her tears. She wrapped her arms around Hoffa's neck and hugged him.
The subway headed for the unknown, coming closer and closer, and stopped for a short while.
Hoffa let go of the girl in his arms. The door opened in front of him. Hoffa, like an ordinary office worker, walked into the bustling crowd and blended in with them.
Before the door closed, he looked back one last time. He saw Aglaia standing at the station, waving at him with tears in her eyes. Her waist-length silver hair fluttered in the air, bleached by the sun, just like when they first met.
And he waved at her calmly.
The door closed, and the subway started.
The carriage swayed, and the people around Huo Fa went up and down, coming and going around him. He found a seat by the window.
The subway went underground and fell into darkness. There were only one or two bright lights or street signs waiting for maintenance. His face was reflected in the dark glass, face to face. Before he could see his face clearly, the darkness had disappeared, leaving him with endless bright sunlight.
On the wide and flat asphalt road, a red double-decker bus sped past. Pedestrians chatted leisurely. Colorful balloons were flying in the air. On the side of the road, there were bright and beautiful brand-name shops. Teenagers were sliding down the stairs on skateboards. Couples were kissing on the side of the street.
The scenery outside the window was imprinted on Hoffa's face through the subway window. Whether it was the deep and dark underground tunnel or the sunny city park. He looked at it quietly.
Unknowingly, he had begun to cry.
Those intense and surging emotions turned into relief. The unforgettable loneliness turned into deep affection. He knew that it was the calmness of facing fate alone. It was the ultimate romance given to him by God.
"Why are you crying?"
There was a soft and curious voice beside him. It was an ignorant little boy. He handed Hoffa a piece of paper.
"Because I'm very happy."
Hoffa took the paper with a choked voice.
"Why are you crying when you're happy?" The little boy asked him.
"Then what should I do when I'm happy?"
"Smile if you're happy." The little boy comforted him.
"Is that so?"
Hoffa wiped his tears and smiled. "Take me away."
The train arrived at the station. Countless well-dressed men and women carrying briefcases swarmed into the subway. Some of them had numb expressions, some had empty eyes, as if they were sleepwalking.
But there was a teenager and a middle-aged man among them. They looked out of place with the surrounding crowd.
The boy had messy hair, round glasses, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He looked a little depressed and uneasy. The middle-aged man, on the other hand, was wearing thin pants and an old jacket. He was touching the rings on the subway with a curious expression.
"Mr. Weasley, if I'm convicted, will I be imprisoned in Azkaban?" The teenager with glasses asked uneasily.
"What are you thinking?" The middle-aged man couldn't help but laugh. "How can the wizard society be so lawless?"
"Then what's the worst outcome?"
"Well, maybe you'll be expelled from the Hogwarts. That's the worst outcome." Arthur Weasley thought for a while and comforted him. "Don't worry, that won't happen …"
Harry couldn't help but turn his head. Arthur's words didn't comfort him. That was a trial by the Ministry of Magic. How many people had experienced it, and how many could really bear it? He didn't think that Arthur could truly understand his current feelings.
But then, Harry felt someone looking at him from the crowd. He turned his head. He saw the slightly older teenager leaning his head against the glass in the corner. Under the sunlight, the teenager nodded at him and smiled. He was quiet and easy-going.
Harry was stunned. The teenager looked ordinary, but his smile seemed to have a strange healing power. People who saw it couldn't help but feel good about him. Those bright black eyes were like a bird flying across the sky – free and unrestrained. It seemed that just by looking at him, the trial didn't seem so scary anymore.
"Mr. Weasley, look."
Harry tugged at the clothes of the middle-aged man beside him, wanting him to take a look at the strange teenager.
But when he looked again, the seat was empty. The strange teenager had disappeared without a trace.
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