"What do you believe in?" I suddenly turned around and looked around, speaking mysteriously, "Are you trying to tell me that you've been haunted by a ghost, and it's right here with us?"
"No, that's just a small part of it." Lin Hai's emotions became somewhat tense, and he lowered his head, speaking restlessly, "This is really too unbelievable. It happened just a few days ago. If I hadn't experienced it myself, I wouldn't have believed it."
"Tell me about it. Do you know how many unbelievable things I've experienced?" I was almost about to boast about my experiences with mysterious events.
He quickly nodded and said, "I know. I've read almost all of your books, but the thing that happened to me, even the best novelist couldn't have imagined."
For some reason, the light in the café suddenly dimmed, and Lin Hai's face was blocked by a shadow, like a narrator behind a stage curtain. I only heard his unique voice telling the story on April Fool's night.
Lin Hai began talking about it from three days before April Fool's Day, March 29, 2005.
It was a sunny day, and warm sunlight was shining on the university campus. The willows outside the classroom had also grown thin threads, temporarily forgetting many sad memories - such as the two mysterious events that occurred at this university last year, which caused many college students to not dare to go to the bathroom alone at night. Fortunately, the details of these two incidents were recorded in the books "Desolate Village Apartment" and "The 19th Floor of Hell". Through these two books, Lin Hai also learned about the story of a pretty senior named Chunyu, who he used to often encounter in the student cafeteria.
However, in this story, Chunyu would not appear again.
On March 29th, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the spring scenery outside the window was beautiful, but inside the classroom, it was making people feel drowsy. It was said that this was the time when people were most likely to feel sleepy. There were many book covers on the seats at the back of the large classroom, and everyone sitting there had dreams about going to Paris and climbing the Eiffel Tower.
For French majors, it was understandable to have such spring dreams because the class was about French literature, taught by a genuine French teacher named Mr. Wenger.
Mr. Wenger had beautiful chestnut-colored long hair, a straight nose, gray eyes, and a certain European noble demeanor. What's more, he was a Frenchman, which often made many female students secretly like him. Compared with other foreign teachers, Wenger could make students feel closer to him because he could speak some simple Chinese and had no airs of a foreigner. He stood gracefully on the podium and wrote a name on the blackboard - Alexandre Dumas, père.
Sitting in the lecture hall, Lin Hai certainly knew this name, because this person was too famous. His name translated into Chinese was Dazhongma.
Today in Professor Wenger's French literature class, he talked about Alexandre Dumas' historical novels. He was currently discussing Dumas' trilogy set during the religious wars of the late 16th century in France: "Queen Margot," "The Lady of Monsoreau," and "The Forty-Five Guardsmen."
Lin Hai always enjoyed Professor Wenger's classes, especially when he talked about 19th-century French literature. He felt like he could become the protagonist in the novels.
As the class was coming to an end, Professor Wenger spoke in beautiful standard French, "Recently, the Western Art Museum in our city is holding an exhibition of treasures from the Saint Louis Museum in France. I happen to have an extra ticket, and I really want to give it to one of you to see the exhibition. However, I only have one extra ticket. So, I would like to use it as a reward. Whoever performs the best in this French literature class will receive the ticket."
After hearing this, everyone in the classroom became excited, even those who were dozing off at the back rushed back from Paris.
Professor Wenger continued, "I know you're all doing well in this class, but there is always one who is the best. Now, I am going to ask a question. Whoever can answer it first will receive the ticket. Okay, listen carefully to my question: at the end of Stendhal's 'The Red and the Black,' where is the protagonist Julien buried after his execution?"
This question immediately stumped the students. Most of the French majors had read "The Red and the Black," but because the book was too thick, many of them only read the beginning and then put it down.
Only Lin Hai was an exception. "The Red and the Black" was his favorite novel, and Stendhal was his most admired writer. He had read the French-Chinese bilingual version of "The Red and the Black" countless times, almost wearing it out.
So, just as everyone was at a loss, Lin Hai stood up and spoke in French, "After Julien was beheaded, his beloved Mathilde took his head and went to the cave on Mount Ruo-la that Julien had designated before his death. After the funeral service conducted by the priests, Mathilde personally buried her lover's head."
Professor Wenger was very satisfied with Lin Hai's answer. He smiled and nodded, then walked over to Lin Hai's seat and handed him the ticket.
The ticket read "Treasures from the Saint Louis Museum in France Exhibition," and the time was tomorrow. Lin Hai felt incredibly lucky, as if it were a gift from heaven. He didn't know what to say in thanks, but he remembered Professor Wenger patting him on the shoulder before announcing the end of class.
On the second day, March 30th, 2005, Lin Hai woke up with his right eye twitching, which reminded him of the old people's advice. Would something happen today? Although it was Saturday, he didn't go home and instead stayed in the school dormitory until 1 pm when he left for the Western Art Museum in the city.
The Western Art Museum was newly built three years ago and originally only exhibited modern art. However, in the past year, they had organized several exhibitions of Western classical artworks. Lin Hai was surprised to learn that they had invited the Saint Louis Museum from France to showcase their collection of treasures.
Perhaps it was because of his grandfather's influence that Lin Hai had loved painting since he was young. However, his father strongly opposed him learning to paint. Despite studying French, Lin Hai was accepted into this long-awaited university because his grandfather used to be a professor in the art department.
It was Lin Hai's first time at the Western Art Museum, and the building had a post-modern style. Perhaps due to the exclusivity of high art and the expensive ticket price of two hundred yuan, the museum was still relatively empty, even for the famous French exhibition.
As Lin Hai walked through the museum's entrance, a group of people squeezed out, and he accidentally collided with them, almost falling to the ground. Lin Hai moved his body a bit and felt a little dizzy in his head.
Near the entrance of the museum, there were some works by contemporary Chinese painters on display. Recently, classical styles had become popular again, and most of what Lin Hai saw were oil paintings of figures. As he walked further in, he saw a sign on the wall: "Treasures from the Saint Louis Museum in France Exhibition."
As soon as he entered the exhibition area, Lin Hai seemed to smell a peculiar scent. Perhaps every place that displays antiques has such a smell. His head was still a bit dizzy, feeling like he had been playing online games continuously for hours.
He rubbed his eyes vigorously before he could see the paintings hanging on the wall. They were all of the European style before the 17th century and were protected by railings at the bottom of the frame to prevent visitors from touching the precious canvas. Lin Hai looked at the explanations below and confirmed that they were all original works from three or four hundred years ago by court painters with little fame, and almost every painting was related to the French Bourbon royal family.
Perhaps frightened by the high ticket price, there weren't many people who came to see the exhibition. In the soft light of the art gallery, Lin Hai suddenly felt like he was alone in the world. It was his first time being so "intimately connected" with so many famous European paintings, and he seemed to truly feel the presence of the artists' souls.
However, the number of famous paintings in this exhibition was not many, only about twenty. In the innermost exhibition hall of the art gallery, there was a special treasure exhibition room. It was said that the treasure of the exhibition from France was displayed inside.
As expected, it was a treasure exhibition room, designed as a fully enclosed structure that looked more like a bank vault. Lin Hai walked in carefully and saw that it was designed like a secret room. Separated by an iron railing, the painting was hanging on the wall behind it.
At this moment, Lin Hai was the only visitor in the treasure room, and he seemed to smell that strange odor again, making his dizziness even worse. He suddenly shook his head, forced himself to regain his composure, and stared at the deadly oil painting with wide eyes...
Silence lasted for thirty seconds.
What did he see?
It seemed that a shadow flashed before his eyes. It was that noon so many years ago, in that narrow and cramped attic, where dust danced in the sunlight. The beautiful face was gazing sorrowfully at a young Chinese boy.
Yes, she was still there, still so beautiful and melancholic, just like the black night over four hundred years ago, when her lover's head was stained with blood.
Lin Hai saw her again, right here in the secret room of the Western Art Museum, on this cold, pale wall.
She was in the oil painting.
Yes, she has a pair of almost translucent emerald eyes, staring straight at the visitors in front of the canvas, her eyes with a hint of melancholy, as well as some kind of hope and suggestion, her complex gaze indicating her complex and painful heart. Yes, her expression is very strange, that kind of smiling but not smiling, that kind of sad but not sad look, perhaps she has already tasted the most painful thing in the world.
In the painter's brush, her face is so beautiful, with extremely soft lines on her cheeks and chin, unlike the coarse lines of European women, but more like the taste of an Oriental woman. Although she has black long hair, she is indeed a French woman, with a figure and temperament unique to the French.
She is wearing a pair of amber earrings and a gorgeous long dress in the style of the European court of the 16th or 17th century. However, only the upper body is revealed on the canvas, and a velvet shawl covers her enticing skin. Perhaps she no longer needs to seduce men with her body.
The background of the painting is immersed in shadows, and only black curtains and some white candles can be vaguely distinguished. It is really hard to tell where this is.
Lin Hai was struck by lightning, and it took him a long time to recover. He dared not breathe heavily, fearing that his breath would pollute the painting, and could only step back a few steps to observe it again. The whole painting is about sixty centimeters high and forty centimeters wide, set in a gorgeous wooden frame, which can only be considered a small framed painting like the Mona Lisa.
How could she be here?
It has been a long time since he was so shocked. Lin Hai kept shaking his head, feeling only a buzzing sound in his head, as if a voice kept chanting a spell to him.
There was still only him in the treasure exhibition hall, he stared at the painting on the wall in a daze, and then saw the explanation below -
"'Margaret', author unknown, suspected to be a French court painter at the end of the 16th century. This painting was completed around AD 1574. The character in the painting is Margaret, a famous queen in French history, the daughter of Henry II of the Valois dynasty, and later married the founder of the Bourbon dynasty, Henry IV."
It wasn't until now that Lin Hai knew her name - Margaret.
Four hundred years ago, there was a French queen named Margaret. However, this explanation was too simple and did not answer the many questions in Linhai's mind. He turned his gaze back to the painting on the wall, as if he had discovered something new...
Suddenly, Linhai covered his ears in pain. He could hear a young woman's voice speaking in 16th century French. It was the woman in the painting talking to him. It seemed like she was coming out of the canvas and was about to touch him!
Linhai couldn't see anything in front of him and his mind was overwhelmed by countless voices singing. He fell into darkness.
When Linhai woke up, he found himself in a narrow emergency room with a white world in front of him and the smell of disinfectant. He had no idea how he got there. He remembered going to the Western Art Museum to see the exhibition of the French St. Louis Museum's treasures, but then he saw a painting that shocked him and lost consciousness.
Fortunately, he had no serious injuries and his phone was still with him. It had been over two hours since he fainted. The museum staff had sent him to the hospital. The doctor could not explain why he fainted and attributed it to Linhai's lack of sleep and low blood sugar. The doctor advised him to rest and eat well.
After leaving the hospital, Linhai felt like he had just returned from a long journey in a distant world. Sitting on the bus back to school, he rubbed his head hard, but something seemed buried in his mind, and the more he tried to remember, the more it hurt. Yes, he remembered the treasure exhibition room that was like a secret chamber, where he was the only person there facing a 16th century French oil painting named "Margaret."
Margaret – the name finally came back to him like an electric current, piercing through Linhai's body, as if he could see her face again.
She was there, watching him.
Linhai shuddered, and her face seemed to appear on the bus window, but was quickly covered by the lights outside. The dusk in Shanghai was the busiest time for traffic, and the bus continued to crawl slowly through the flow of cars. Linhai tried hard to remember her face, which became clearer and clearer, along with her melancholy eyes, thin and elongated lips, and soft chin...
What an impressive face it was, one glance and it would never be forgotten.
Yes, he had known her for ten years, since that noon when he was just an eleven-year-old boy. His grandfather's old house was in the middle of a large group of old buildings, and to enter the small rooms, one had to climb a narrow staircase. That noon, his grandfather went out, and his only grandson came to the old house, smelling the peculiar odor of an elderly person's room, mixed with the smell of paint because his grandfather was a retired university art teacher.
Eleven-year-old Linhai walked into his grandfather's bedroom. He knew there was an attic in this old house, with a wooden staircase leading to the roof, but he had never been up there before. Because his grandfather strictly prohibited anyone from entering his attic, not even his only grandson. Throughout Linhai's childhood, the mysterious attic in the old house, like a legendary treasure cave, constantly tempted the imagination of this young boy.
What was hidden in the attic? Taking advantage of his grandfather's absence, eleven-year-old Linhai secretly climbed up the ladder, imagining himself as Alibaba. He didn't need to say "Open sesame," he just gently pushed open the wooden door of the small attic.
Lin Hai will never forget this noon ten years ago. The smell of expired paint still lingered in the small attic, and the noon sun shone through the old tiger window on the roof, spreading like a white carpet in this small space. Dust accumulated for many years flew up as the door opened.
There was a small wooden bed in the attic, and a small painting hung on the wall next to it. The frame of the painting was too small, probably only the size of an eight-page pencil drawing paper, like a mirror placed at the head of the bed, with the face of a Western woman inside.
The noon sun shone into Lin Hai's eyes, while the painting on the wall was outside the sun. He only remembered that the woman in the painting was very beautiful, with eyes and hair like a fairy in legend. She had a special look in her eyes, looking at the eleven-year-old boy with melancholy.
Yes, that was a face that he could never forget after just one glance.
Eleven-year-old Lin Hai was captured by her in the painting.
Just like a seed falling into the soil, no matter how much dust and time it is covered with, it will always grow roots underground and stubbornly create a life.
Many years have passed since that noon, and the boy has grown into a handsome young man. Has fate made strange arrangements again, letting him meet her again after ten years?
-They have met.
The voice in his head seemed to have sounded again. Lin Hai closed his eyes in pain. The bumpy bus was still crawling on the crowded street, as if to take him to a very distant place.
Now Lin Hai can be sure that the Marguerite in the French 16th-century oil painting he saw at the Western Art Museum in the afternoon is the woman in the painting he saw in the attic of the old house when he was eleven years old.