The sky had darkened quite a bit, and a cold wind blew over the river, signaling that it was going to rain. Unfortunately, I didn't have an umbrella with me. I hurriedly searched for that bridge, the "new bridge" from the movie "The Lovers on the Bridge," just like how anyone visiting the Thames in London would seek out the Waterloo Bridge from "The Bridge on the River Kwai."
I didn't find the "new bridge," but there were many old bridges one after another. I gave them all Chinese names, from "Laozha Bridge" to "Waibaidu Bridge."
Unluckily, it started to rain, and April showers were upon Paris. I searched for a place to take shelter from the rain and finally found refuge under a bridge along the Seine.
The river water was right beside me. The rain made the river muddy, and a few small boats were moored by the bank, just like "no one at the ferry crossing, boats crossing themselves" from the Chinese idiom.
Suddenly, someone behind me called out, "Sir! Sir!"
I nervously turned around and saw a shabby-looking man with long, wild hair in an 18th-century style. His chin was covered in stubble, and he smiled at me, then said something in French.
Unfortunately, I didn't understand a word and could only shake my head in confusion. The man then said in English, "Hello, how are you?"
I searched my brain for the few English words I knew and answered hesitantly, "How's yourself?"
"Bread - " He pointed at the long loaf of bread behind me, and I immediately understood what he meant. It was the English word for bread.
What surprised me even more was that he opened his arms, and I realized he was a beggar! What was funny was that he had a smile on his face, as if he were singing the praises of Franco-Chinese friendship.
I thought about how I was always charitable in China, and naturally, I should continue to display the kindness of the Chinese people abroad. So I took out the two long loaves of bread and gave them to this destined person under the bridge. The main reason was that I couldn't eat anymore, and it was too troublesome to take them back.
"Thank you!" The man gentlemanly accepted the bread and had an "equal trade" attitude. He looked at my eyes and asked, "Chinese?"
I guess the Japanese and Koreans who came to Paris were stingy, so they could tell at a glance that I came from the mighty Middle Kingdom. I couldn't help but nod proudly.
At this moment, the wind and rain outside the bridge were still unrelenting, and it seemed that the Seine was going to overflow its banks. I could only shiver with cold and hold my shoulders.
The man saw my condition, patted my shoulder, and then pulled out a tattered umbrella from behind the old sofa under the bridge. I immediately thanked him a few times, but with only a few pitiful English words left, I didn't know how to express my gratitude. But he just waved the bread in his hand, and his big black eyes seemed to say, "You gave me bread, and I gave you an umbrella. We have a fair trade."
Suddenly, I noticed that he looked somewhat like Alain Delon. How did he end up joining the Beggar's Sect? Life is really unpredictable. After hastily saying "bye", I opened the umbrella and ran out of the bridge tunnel.
Outside, the wind and rain were getting worse, shrouding Paris in a misty rain. I ran along the Seine River for a while, finally found the subway station, and took the subway back to Voltaire University according to the map instructions.
By the time I returned to the university, it was already dark. Yu Li was waiting for me in the cafeteria, and he took me to have a graduate student dinner. He looked tired, as if he had been studying the parchment all day. He shook his head and said, "This matter seems to be getting more and more complicated. Professor Orleans believes that this parchment is of great value, both in terms of its material and production, as well as the way the text is written. It is indeed an original from the 13th century. As for whether the author is Louis IX himself, this still needs further research tomorrow."
"That's great. Isn't Professor Orleans' appraisal the most authoritative? The parchment is real, and the content recorded inside must be very important."
"Yes, but the problem now is, if it is really a 13th-century relic, it will definitely cause a sensation in the entire European history community. At that time, many people will come to interview you. However, the professor does not want this situation to happen. He hopes that we can all keep it secret and study it in a state of secrecy. Because cracking the mystery of Louis IX has been his lifelong dream and a research project for many other scholars..."
"I understand what you mean. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about this."
Yu Li nodded, "Well, actually, you don't know that in the 1970s, our Voltaire University also had an expert who devoted his life to studying the mystery of Louis IX. It is said that he found a clue in a certain place in the south of France and discovered a mysterious tomb, in which the coffin board was engraved with records about Louis IX in Egypt. This expert spent three months studying the coffin and announced that he would reveal the final answer to the world on Christmas Day 1975. However, on that year's Christmas Eve, people found his body lying in the coffin he was studying. The police never found the cause of death, and no one dared to study that coffin again. It could only be re-buried secretly."
"Is it really that mysterious?"
I couldn't help but think of the curse of the ancient Egyptian pharaohs. Perhaps there are many historical mysteries that modern people are not allowed to explore, and many people often perish in their curiosity.
"The death incident I mentioned earlier is just one of the more famous examples in recent decades. In fact, since the 19th century, there have been numerous famous scholars and explorers who have died under mysterious circumstances while researching the 'Mystery of Louis IX.' It's not so much Louis IX who made this secret famous, as it is the deaths of these researchers that made their object of study even more mysterious and elusive. Based on my incomplete statistics, between 1945 and 2000, a total of thirteen European and American scholars and explorers died under tragic circumstances related to the 'Mystery of Louis IX,' and the cause of their deaths is still unknown to this day. Of course, these are only recorded deaths, and there are likely even more deaths that were not recorded."
Upon hearing this, I was already feeling a sense of dread. The sheepskin book that I had personally brought to Paris was related to the "Mystery of Louis IX." I had touched it myself. Could such a terrifying thing drag me into it as well?
Now I regretted it a bit. There's no such thing as a free lunch. They invited me on a free European tour, but the price was some kind of unknown danger. But where exactly is this danger?
I looked at Yu Li's silent face, feeling ignorant and clueless.
Today, Lin Hai woke up very early, before dawn at six o'clock, and quietly went down to the attic. Margaret was still sleeping in bed, the covers just covering her neck. Her long black hair was spread out on the pillow, perhaps having been washed last night.
He walked slowly to Margaret's side, the morning light shining on her eyelids. Her fair skin was as translucent as glass, easily evoking the legend of Sleeping Beauty.
Could a kiss wake her up?
Lin Hai's heart rate increased again, and he quickly suppressed the thought and let it die out.
Was Margaret in front of him a person or a ghost? Her physical body had aged over four hundred years ago, turning into a pile of bones buried in the soil of France. But if she were only a ghost now, how could her eating, sleeping and other behaviors be explained?
Perhaps her soul died with her beloved Ramor on April 30th, 1574, and the remaining body was just a walking corpse, accompanying her husband to death years later. But her mother, Queen Catherine, still loved her and did not want to see her daughter become a soulless person. So the queen, who had the power of magic, summoned Margaret's soul back and imprisoned her in the secret room of the Louvre.
In other words, Margaret died on April 30th, 1574, at least in spirit, but she was later resurrected under the summoning of Nostradamus's magic, or rather, her other self—the true Margaret with a soul—could only be imprisoned in the secret room of the Louvre. And this so-called "secret room" was actually the oil painting of "Margaret."
Just as life has countless possible forks, there were two possible outcomes for Margaret's life after April 30, 1574: the first was to become a completely "dead-hearted" Queen Margaret, and the second was to be forever imprisoned in the secret room of the Louvre. What we see in history books is her first possibility, but the second possibility does exist, it's just that ordinary people can't see it, or it can only be discovered through the oil painting. And at this moment, what Lin Hai sees is Margaret in this second possibility.
If viewed from the external world, Margaret is indeed imprisoned in the painting, but from Margaret's own perspective, she is imprisoned in the secret room of the Louvre. In this mysterious space of the oil painting (secret room), time is forever stagnant, which reminds Lin Hai of the theory of time travel at the speed of light-when astronauts who travel at the speed of light in space return to Earth, they find that hundreds of years have passed on Earth while only a few hours have passed on the spacecraft. Their descendants on Earth have already reproduced for several generations, while they themselves are still young men. This is perhaps why, despite more than four hundred years having passed in the world, Margaret in the oil painting (secret room) still maintains her beautiful youth.
There is a window between Margaret's world in the oil painting (secret room) and our real world, which is the frame of the painting for us and the mirror of the secret room for Margaret. She can see us, the people who appreciate the painting, through the mirror in the secret room, and we can also see Margaret in person through the frame. Through this frame (mirror), Margaret in the oil painting (secret room) and people in our real world can spy on each other.
As for why Margaret was able to leave the oil painting (secret room), cross over from her world into the human world more than four hundred years later, Lin Hai was at a loss.
At this point, Margaret finally woke up. She opened her emerald eyes and seemed to be murmuring something. Lin Hai couldn't hear what she was saying, so he lowered his head and approached her, "What are you saying?"
But she immediately closed her mouth, shook her head and said nothing.
Suddenly, Lin Hai realized that he should not be standing in front of a girl's bed, so he tactfully retreated to the outer room of the old house and went out to buy breakfast and lunch.
When he returned with the food, Margaret had finished dressing, her hair seemed to be tied up, and she had casually made a hairstyle with some unknown tool.
While having breakfast, Margaret said softly, "Why were you looking at me like that just now?"
"Because..." Lin Hai hesitated for a while before finally daring to say, "You are very charming."
Although all women in the world love this sentence, Margaret's expression did not change at all. She said calmly, "I seem to remember that many men have said this to me a long, long time ago."
Her answer stunned Lin Hai. Yes, Margaret in history was stunningly beautiful and had countless kings and nobles kneeling under her skirt. Who knows how many romantic stories have been passed down about her. The sentence just now was too ordinary for her.
Lin Hai's heart sank and he felt ashamed. Although he was considered a handsome young man that many girls secretly liked at school, whenever he thought of the French court of the 16th century and the French movie called "Queen Margot," he felt inferior. On that grand and romantic historical stage, Marguerite was the captivating female lead, while Lin Hai couldn't even compare to an extra.
Suddenly, a hand lifted Lin Hai's chin. It was Marguerite's gentle hand, her fingers were as cool as crystal, gently holding his jaw, causing the Chinese boy to tremble slightly.
"Did my words hurt you?" Her breath blew onto Lin Hai's face as she spoke in a whisper. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. Your words just reminded me of some things...Oh my, I almost forgot about those people. My brothers, the Duke of Guise, and..."
Her words suddenly stopped, her eyes trembling, as if some ancient liquid was about to surge out. This surprised Lin Hai. She must have thought of someone, right?
Lin Hai took out a handkerchief to give to her, but she shook her head and refused it. Marguerite seemed to be enduring the pain, but tears slowly flowed down her cheeks.
This was the first time Lin Hai had seen Marguerite cry. She was so lovely, but who was she sad for? Lin Hai had a faint answer in his heart.
He didn't want to disturb Marguerite any longer, so he placed the lunch on the table and said softly, "I'm going to school now. I'll come back to see you this afternoon."
Lin Hai left the old house, feeling a bit sour inside.
An hour later, he returned to school and met a few roommates. They asked where he had been these past few days, and Lin Hai could only make up an excuse, saying he went to the suburbs to take care of his father.
There were two big classes in the morning that Lin Hai didn't like. He listened like he was in a daze for three hours before rushing to the cafeteria for lunch.
After lunch, he returned to his dormitory and turned on the computer that hadn't been used for a long time. He went online and entered the Google search engine.
The keyword he searched for was "Nostradamus."
Yes, Lin Hai wanted to find out about the ghost Marguerite spoke of. This person imprisoned Marguerite in a painting (or secret room) using some kind of means, and was famous in history as a mysterious prophet.
He searched many Chinese websites and even entered French websites to obtain more French information. Nostradamus, the mysterious 16th century French figure, gradually surfaced.
Nostradamus' real name was Michel de Nostredame, and "Nostradamus" was his Latin-style name. He was born on December 14, 1503, in Provence, southern France. It is said that his ancestors had served as court physicians.
Nostradamus had extraordinary abilities from a young age and became a doctor in his youth. Because he was punished by the religious court, he had six years of ups and downs in his life and began to reveal his prophetic abilities - a nobleman pointed at two small pigs and asked Nostradamus to predict their fate. Nostradamus predicted that the black pig would become a meal and the white pig would be eaten by a wolf. The lord ordered the killing of the white pig for dinner, but a wolf stole the meat while people were not paying attention, so the servant had to kill the black pig to make the dish. The lord said that the white pig was already on the table, but Nostradamus insisted that it was the black pig. Finally, the servant was called to discover the truth.
In 1555, Nostradamus published his first collection of prophecies, "Les Propheties," covering the period from his lifetime to the end of the world. He originally planned to write a thousand poems and compile them into ten collections of prophecies, but the seventh collection was not completed. "Les Propheties" was written in an obscure medieval style with French, Provençal dialect, Latin, Italian, and Greek. The chronological order was deliberately disrupted, and the secrets hidden in the book could only be deciphered by experts.
After "Les Propheties" was published, Nostradamus' name shocked Europe, especially the court, because one of the prophecies hinted at the king's death. In 1556, Queen Catherine summoned Nostradamus in Paris and asked about the four-line poem that hinted at the king's death. In 1559, the king did die, and the prophecy was validated. So in Catherine's long life, she always believed in Nostradamus' prophecies.
In 1564, Queen Catherine led a royal tour of the country and met Nostradamus again in Provence. One of the queen's attendants was a young man. Nostradamus wanted to see the mole on his body but was refused. The next day, when the young man was asleep, Nostradamus took a peek and prophesied, "This young man will become the King of France in the future." At the time, no one believed it because the young man was Henry of Navarre, and the queen had several sons who were healthy, so he was not in line for the throne. But many years later, the prophecy of Nostradamus came true. The young man became Marguerite's husband and, after all of his political enemies died, finally ascended to the throne of France as Henry IV.
In 1566, Nostradamus passed away, and when people found his body, it was as he had prophesied: "lying stiff between the chair and the bed."
As Lin Hai read this, he took a deep breath, and the terrifying footsteps from the museum seemed to ring in his ears again... Yes, that was Nostradamus, a terrible magic ghost.
According to historical records, Nostradamus died in 1566, and by the time Margaret was imprisoned in 1574, he had been dead for eight years. Lin Hai could only think of two possibilities: the first possibility was that the Nostradamus of 1574 was already a ghost; the second possibility was that the Nostradamus who died in 1566 was just a substitute, and the real magician Nostradamus did not die (or his life had changed into another special form), and he was secretly summoned by Catherine de' Medici to the palace in Paris, becoming an important tool for the queen mother to deal with political enemies.
Perhaps it is not important whether Nostradamus is a ghost or not. What is important is that he lives forever in the darkness, in some hidden corner of the oil painting (the secret room), accompanying Margaret for more than four hundred years.
And now that Margaret has escaped from the prison of the oil painting (the secret room), Nostradamus has the responsibility of watching over her, how could he give up easily? Perhaps he will soon catch up, and the terrifying footsteps will echo in the darkness...