Perhaps it was destined from that night in Paris 431 years ago. This story begins on April Fool's Day in the year 2005 in Shanghai, on a cold and damp spring day.
It wasn't until 3:33 pm when I entered the 13th floor of a building in Nanjing West Road, into the "Cloud Space" company's guest chat room, that my drowsy mind was suddenly stimulated, and I realized what day it was.
I quickly took out my phone to check the time, and yes, it was April Fool's Day, and also a Friday.
I looked at the editors at Cloud Space with some suspicion. They were whispering to each other, probably not expecting me to be so young.
An editor turned around and looked at me, giggling as she asked, "Can we start now?"
"Why did you choose today?" I asked.
"Today? You mean April Fool's Day? Hehe, because joking on April Fool's Day is not a crime, and even if you exaggerate a little when you speak later, no one will blame you," she explained.
After hearing her explanation, I could only concede. Fortunately, they invited me, an honest person. If they had invited my friends who love to brag, wouldn't they have blown off the roof of this forty-story building?
Actually, I don't really care about holidays like April Fool's Day or Valentine's Day. I'm just worried that what I say as a guest during the chat will be taken as a joke by the netizens as an April Fool's joke.
If you have read the two books "Desolate Apartment" and "The 19th Floor of Hell", you will understand why I am so worried. These two books sold quite well, and many readers and netizens speculated whether the stories in the books were true, whether I myself was one of the male protagonists in the book, and whether a certain female protagonist in the book is still wandering in the subway.
Because of so many speculations and doubts, the nationally famous portal website, Yunjian Net, specially invited me as a guest to chat with netizens from all over the country. Although I have participated in many activities such as book signings and radio interviews, I was still a bit nervous facing the Yunjian Net editor girls, who were rumored to be as beautiful as clouds in the literary world.
At 3:45 pm, the Yunjian Net guest chat room officially opened. The beautiful hostess first introduced me to the netizens, and then asked a dozen or so irrelevant questions. Although today is a special day, my answers were still cautious and careful, not wanting to be misunderstood.
But the questions from the netizens later on were strange and varied. A netizen named "marzolini" asked, "I read your 'The 19th Floor of Hell', and I want to ask if you know what the 20th floor of hell is." There was also a netizen with a particularly scary name, "Shan Cun Zhenzi", who said, "I read your 'Desolate Apartment' while at the bottom of a well. I am now crawling out of the TV, but suddenly there was a power outage here, and half of my body is stuck outside the TV screen and I can't move. By the way, I want to ask you a question - have you met Xiaozhi again?"
These netizen IDs seemed to have come out of the seams of my book, and the strange questions made me very worried. It turned out that this was the advantage of April Fool's Day, allowing guests to make fools of themselves in the chat room.
When I suffered through two hours like a punishment and the scheduled time was about to end, I was preparing to escape from this ordeal when suddenly a netizen named "De La More" appeared.
De La More?
This strange name floated on the screen like a ghost, causing me to hold my breath and stare for several seconds, as if a needle had pierced my brain. So I closed my eyes and racked my brain trying to recall this name. It seemed like I had known this person a long, long time ago.
The editor from CloudNet gently patted me and asked, "Are you okay?"
I shuddered and opened my eyes to see that another line of text had appeared on the screen:
"Netizen De La Morel: I read your novel 'The Head of My Beloved' where the protagonist takes away her beheaded lover's head. Why did you write this? Is it because of Stendhal's 'The Red and the Black'?"
As I looked at the text on the screen, the needle in my brain seemed to pierce even deeper, causing me to forget all my previous questions. All I could see was a crescent moon with a hook-shaped curve.
It was an era many years ago when a white figure flashed out from behind a red wall with green tiles. Her footsteps were as light as silk, making no sound. She was wrapped in a plain white dress that showed off her alluring figure, and she appeared out of nowhere at the city gates. She cradled her lover's head in her arms, her mourning clothes stained with a few drops of blood from the severed head, like a plum blossom blooming in the dark of night. The head passed over her fair neck, past her rouge-colored lips, and into her deep, dark eyes. She bravely looked into the eyes of the head, until their hot red lips met the cold, dead ones of her lover.
It was strange. On April Fool's Day in 2005, I suddenly found myself immersed in a novel I had written five years earlier, so much so that I almost forgot about the website editors who were beside me in the CloudNet chat room.
When I emerged from the depths of the novel and took a deep breath, I noticed the strange expressions on the faces of the girls around me. They probably thought I was neurotic. I smiled awkwardly and said, "I'm sorry, maybe I ran into an old friend. Please answer him, 'You guessed it right, do you know Margaret?'"
The editor paused for a moment and asked me, "Is that all?"
"Yes, just answer him like that."
A few minutes later, the guest chat finally ended. I didn't plan to stay for dinner, but looking at the beautiful women around me, I couldn't resist and followed them to the second floor of the building, where we had a meal at a Hangzhou restaurant.
Normally, I should have been energetic in front of a table of girls, but I was absent-minded. Although they had told a few jokes, I didn't understand them at all, and made them feel embarrassed.
In fact, I was still thinking about the strange question that a netizen named "De La Morel" had asked in the chat room just now - why did the heroine take the head of her beheaded lover away?
During the meal, I didn't touch a drop of alcohol, and I didn't listen to any of the jokes the girls told. Only this strange question kept haunting me, like the familiar name "De La Morel."
No, I couldn't stay any longer. There seemed to be a voice in my ear, constantly urging me to leave.
At 8 o'clock in the evening, I hurriedly said goodbye to them and walked out of the door of this 40-story office building.
It was April Fool's night.
Nanjing West Road is the most bourgeois place in Shanghai, with lights hanging from the plane trees on both sides, illuminating the fashionable men and women snuggled up together.
In fact, we celebrate April Fool's Day every day.
Suddenly, I felt a strange feeling beside me, like a cold wind blowing on my face. Before I could turn around, a young man's voice rang in my ear, "Excuse me, are you the author of 'The 19th Floor of Hell'?"
I quickly took a step back and, in front of the advertising lightbox at the entrance of the office building, saw the man clearly - he looked very young, in his early twenties, with a tall and slender figure, dressed in black clothes from head to toe, which matched the night scene of the street.
His movements were very strange, approaching me while constantly looking around, as if someone was following him.
My vigilance also increased, and I leaned to the side and said, "Yes, it's me. How did you know?"
"I saw your photo in a book." Under the illumination of the advertising light box, the other person's face gradually became clear. He looked more like a college student, with two small but black and bright eyes, a pale and thin face, and a pretty nose and lips. At first glance, he looked a bit like Jay Chou.
"Then how did you know I would be here?"
"Well, I've been waiting for you here for more than two hours." His voice was light and heavy, as if it was swallowed by the wind as soon as it was spoken. He looked around cautiously and hid behind the side of the advertising light box. "I knew that you would be a guest in the Yunjian website's chat room this afternoon, so I specially waited for you here."
No wonder I felt uneasy when I was eating just now - according to what the elderly say, you will have some kind of intuition when someone is waiting for you.
But I still shook my head and said, "You said you waited for me downstairs for two hours?"
"Yes, I was surfing the internet in the cyber cafe across the street this afternoon. I also entered the Yunjian website's chat room. As soon as your guest chat ended, I immediately left the internet cafe and came to wait for you downstairs."
"But what if I went out from the other door of the building?"
He was silent for a moment, and a mysterious smile appeared on his lips. "No, you couldn't have gone out from the back door. I know you will definitely come out from this door - my intuition won't be wrong."
The tone of his last sentence was a bit like that of a wizard, which was very inappropriate for his age. Suddenly, I realized that I might be interested in this, which made me more vigilant and uneasy. I quickly asked coldly, "Enough, who are you? Why are you looking for me?"
"My name is Lin Hai, Lin from the forest, Hai from the ocean." He approached me, and that pale face made me involuntarily step back. He continued, "I'm sorry, I have something important to tell you. Please listen to me."
What's with all the secrecy? We writers aren't really that different from ordinary people, so why do people always mystify us? He looked around for a moment, as if there were eyes watching him all the time, which made me also look around cautiously, like a CIA agent passing on intelligence.
He leaned in close to my ear and said in a chilling voice, "Do you believe in ghosts?" I was immediately taken aback by this question, which is the oldest and most frightening in the world, coming from this boy who appeared like a ghost on Nanjing West Road, amid the lights and wine, at the door of a forty-story high-end office building.
Before I could react, his second whisper came, "I'm being haunted by a ghost, and it's right next to you." With the special tone of his words and the direct gaze of his eyes, anyone would probably be scared, including myself. I felt a shiver in my heart, and then a cool night wind blew over me, as if the ghost had just passed through my body.
I immediately shuddered, but when I looked around, there were still crowds of people and bright lights. There couldn't possibly be a ghost here, but this boy named Lin Hai seemed more like a phantom. Suddenly, I thought that today was a special day, and his sudden appearance might be an April Fool's joke.
Just as I was starting to feel unhappy, his expression softened, and he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so direct. Can we find a place to talk?" But I didn't answer him immediately and stood still, hesitant.
Lin Hai looked into my eyes and said after a moment of silence, "When you were chatting with the guests this afternoon, I asked you a question - why did the female protagonist in 'Lover's Head' take away her lover's severed head?" He finally said this, and my eyes widened, and a name came out of my mouth, "De la Morel! You're the one called 'De la Morel' on the internet, aren't you?"
Lin Hai revealed a strange smile and nodded, saying, "Yes, I asked you using the name 'De La Moer', and your answer did not disappoint me, so I had to wait for you here." Feeling inexplicably excited, the person named "De La Moer" was now standing in front of me, and the problem that had been bothering me for over two hours was about to be solved.
I immediately agreed to his request and we went to a small cafe across the street together. Strangely, on this April Fools' night, the cafe was particularly quiet, and people probably didn't want to talk about anything serious tonight. Lin Hai deliberately found an inconspicuous corner and sat down face-to-face with me.
The lighting here was bright enough, although Lin Hai's complexion was still pale, and his hair was a mess, emitting a sense of exhaustion. But he was indeed a quite handsome young man, especially with those Jay-style eyes that were probably very attractive to girls.
Lin Hai still seemed absent-minded, occasionally peeking behind me, and his gaze made my hair stand on end, as if there really was a female ghost standing behind me.
I finally interrupted his wandering thoughts and asked, "I'm sorry you waited for me for over two hours. Are you here just to ask me about 'The Lover's Head'?"
"Of course not. That was just a beginning, a very small beginning," he emphasized again. Still peeking behind me to make sure there was neither a person nor a ghost, he carefully placed his backpack on the table.
Lin Hai slowly unzipped his backpack and his hand trembled for a while inside, almost making me think he had been shocked by something.
Finally, his hand reached into the backpack and, like magic, pulled out a tin box.
This new discovery immediately lifted my spirits. The tin box was about twenty centimeters long, ten centimeters wide, and as thick as a book.
The tin box looked very old, but there was no rust on it and it seemed to have been well preserved.
Lin Hai's hand was still trembling, he took a deep breath, and then carefully opened the tin box.
Just as he opened the lid of the box, I suddenly thought of the scene of archaeologists opening a pharaoh's coffin in the Egyptian desert.
Strange, why did I think of that?
In such a small tin box, of course there would be no pharaoh, so what could be inside that was so mysterious?
A scroll made of sheepskin.
Yes, I had already seen what was inside the box. It was a scroll made of sheepskin, curled up in the tin box like a mummified baby.
I couldn't be mistaken, I had seen ancient Middle Eastern and European sheepskin scrolls in a museum before, and they were all like this, dry, yellow, and wrinkled, like the face of a hundred-year-old woman.
Sheepskin scrolls were produced around the 8th century BC, and the oldest known sheepskin scroll is the Persian ancient scripture from the 6th to 5th century BC. The earliest form of sheepskin scrolls was in the form of a scroll, and it was changed to a book in the 4th century AD, which was more durable and easier to preserve than papyrus scrolls. European sheepskin books have always been the standard form of hand-copied books until they were replaced by printed books made of paper in the 15th century.
However, not all medieval sheepskin scrolls were in the form of books, and ancient sheepskin scrolls were still being used by some people. The sheepskin scroll in front of me seemed to be a medieval work.
I dared not breathe heavily, and watched the sheepskin scroll in the tin box with bated breath. In this cafe on Nanjing West Road, it was as if I had suddenly traveled through a time tunnel to a castle in the time of Charlemagne.
I looked back at Lin Hai, and his eyes showed a strange look, but then he cautiously looked behind me, indicating that this sheepskin scroll was very valuable and should not be seen by a third person.
Lin Hai slowly reached out his hand and took the parchment book out of the iron box. He carefully unfolded the scroll, just like the ancient Chinese handscrolls, showing that the East and the West still have something in common.
The beginning of the book had strange patterns that looked like curtains, which were common in ancient Europe. Without finding a title, the text began with row after row of densely written Latin letters. My English was already terrible, and with this being ancient writing, it was like an alien language to me.
As the old parchment scroll was slowly unfolded, a particular musty smell wafted out, reminding me of an unfortunate sheep that was slaughtered eight hundred years ago.
Finally, the entire parchment book was revealed before me, and the long rectangular scroll was covered with European letters. There were probably several hundred lines, which would be thousands of characters if translated into Chinese.
I shook my head like I was facing a secret code and asked in a soft voice, "What does it say?"
Lin Hai immediately made a gesture to silence me and covered his mouth with his hand. "Be careful not to get your saliva on the parchment book."
"I'm sorry." I had to cover my mouth with my hand too, which felt a bit ridiculous. "What language is this?"
"It's Old French," Lin Hai replied softly, frowning. "During the Middle Ages in France, there were many feudal lords and various dialects. In the thirteenth century, the Capetian dynasty unified the entire country, and the dialect in the Paris region gradually became the common language of the Frankish people, which is Old French. Around the early thirteenth century, Old French appeared in official documents."
"So you mean this parchment book is from thirteenth-century France?"
"From the language analysis, I believe so," Lin Hai said.
But I was still curious. "How do you know?"
"Because I am currently majoring in French," Lin Hai lowered his head, appearing a little shy. "I am already a junior in college this year, and I just studied Old French last semester."
"Do you know what this sheepskin book is about?" I asked.
Lin Hai shook his head helplessly. "I'm just a third-year French major. I'm not an expert in history or linguistics. This ancient French from the 13th century is very different from modern French, and even authentic French people wouldn't be able to understand it with this ancient writing style unless they specialize in professional research."
"You're right," I replied. "It's like ancient Chinese bamboo slips or hand scrolls, which are difficult for modern people to understand."
I carefully examined the strange patterns on the sheepskin book's cover. They seemed to be infused with a hint of evil. Wasn't the medieval era in Europe a time of magic and witchcraft?
Since it was a sheepskin book from the 13th century, it was undoubtedly a very valuable treasure. How did Lin Hai, a university student, get his hands on it? I immediately asked my question, "How did the sheepskin book end up in your possession?"
Lin Hai was silent for a moment before rolling up the sheepskin book and saying slowly, "I came to see you today for this matter, but...I'm afraid you won't believe me."