Silent night.
The next day, Lu Shi woke up rather late because he had been drinking the night before, still feeling a slight hangover.
He leaned over the sink to rinse his mouth, washed his face, and then realized he was alone in the room.
On the other side of the bed where Natsume Soseki had slept, the sheets were curled up, indicating he had already left, probably for London University.
Because there were no windows, the room was pitch black, and Lu Shi wasn't sure what time it was exactly.
He lit the gas lamp and began to carefully search through his luggage, aiming to find some identification.
Soon, he found some letters that helped him deduce his identity as a student studying abroad, albeit from a poor background with both parents deceased, raised by relatives.
In modern times, the opportunity for a scholarship to study abroad would surely be highly sought after, but during that time, many Qing Dynasty Chinese still regarded foreign countries as barbaric lands, believing that Westerners were uncivilized savages who ate human flesh and drank human blood. This mindset led most affluent families to be unwilling to send their children overseas.
Those who were relatively open-minded and harbored no bias against Westerners would only consider studying in America, which made the opportunity to go to England relatively easy for Lu Shi.
Even with a background like his, from a poor family, he found the idea of studying abroad perplexing. His relatives had expressed their disapproval vehemently in their correspondence, even cutting off his living expenses.
He muttered to himself, "No wonder there's no money."
Because his family didn't support him, he only had the meager support provided by the Qing court. What's more outrageous was that they hadn't even arranged for him to attend a school; his luggage was simply put on a ship and sent over.
It was like being sent to play a beggar simulator.
Lu Shi stretched lazily, tucked away the letters, and turned off the lamp.
"Sigh, I need to figure out a way to make money," he murmured as he left his lodgings.
The weather was nice.
On both sides of Blythe Road, many drunks gathered, half-lounging and enjoying the sunshine. Occasionally, they would pat the wall with their hands, mutter a few words, and then find a more comfortable position. Their clothes were already dirty from the mud splashed by passing carriages, but they didn't seem to mind.
Lu Shi walked past these people and headed towards the main street.
After a few steps, someone called out to him from behind, "Lu, wait for me!"
Lu Shi turned around and saw Natsume Soseki walking towards him, followed by two white men with typical English mustaches.
One of them was about sixty years old, leaning on a cane and looking somewhat frail, while the other had just been featured in a recent photo in "The Strand Magazine"—he was none other than Arthur Conan Doyle.
Natsume Soseki approached quickly, his face full of excitement as he introduced, "This is my teacher, Mr. Smith. He read my articles and greatly appreciates your profound insights into English literature. And this is Dr. Doyle, the creator of the Sherlock Holmes series. He's a friend of Mr. Smith's and is also very interested in you."
The two Englishmen shook hands with Lu Shi in a friendly manner.
Doyle extended an invitation, "Mr. Lu, I see there's a coffee shop nearby. I'd like to invite you for a cup."
Being able to sit at the same table with a legendary author, Lu Shi naturally had no reason to refuse.
The four of them arrived at the coffee shop and sat by the glass window, basking in the sunlight.
The interior of the shop was quaint, and the combination of the vibrant sunlight and the wooden decor brought a sense of tranquility to Lu Shi, making him feel oddly connected to the year 1900.
Smith tapped his cane and motioned for the waiter to bring four cups of coffee, then joked, "This is the perfect time for a rich cup of coffee and to daydream while watching the hustle and bustle outside, leisurely passing the whole afternoon."
Doyle smiled, "I thought you'd be reading, not daydreaming."
Smith shook his head, "Reading your novels? Boring."
Lu Shi vaguely felt like the two of them were engaging in a bit of banter, so he shook his head at the seemingly confused Natsume Soseki beside him, then watched as the two British men continued their performance.
Sure enough, Doyle began to steer the conversation towards the main topic, "Esteemed Mr. Smith, perhaps you find detective fiction boring due to your lack of aesthetic appreciation. Look, these two Eastern exchange students seem to quite enjoy my work, don't they?"
His gaze subtly shifted towards Lu Shi.
The two locked eyes.
Lu Shi replied, "Dr. Doyle's works are all the rage in England, beloved by all."
He didn't say "Sherlock Holmes is all the rage in England," but rather "Dr. Doyle's works are all the rage in England," which pleased Doyle greatly.
He detested the fact that people only knew Sherlock Holmes and not him, even writing to his mother, "I'm considering killing off Sherlock Holmes... Get rid of him, once and for all. He's taking up too much of my time."
So, Lu Shi's praise was quite appropriate, and the atmosphere suddenly became lively.
Doyle happily twirled his mustache and said, "Mr. Lu's level is quite high. You see, regarding the understanding of the title 'Scarlet Studies,' very few people can grasp it as thoroughly as you. From what I recall, perhaps only Mr. Wilde."
Natsume Soseki was surprised, "That Mr. Wilde? Oscar Wilde?"
Doyle nodded, "Exactly. Mr. Stoddart, the editor of The Lippincott's Monthly Magazine, once hosted me and Oscar for dinner and invited us to contribute. That dinner eventually gave birth to two works, one being my 'The Sign of Four' and the other Oscar's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.'"
Pride was written all over his face.
Natsume Soseki was a bit confused, not understanding the connection to the previous topic.
Smith, on the other hand, shook his head in disbelief, explaining, "During that meeting, Oscar once praised 'Scarlet Studies' as an 'artistically charming title,' which coincides with Mr. Lu's sentiments."
Having been interrupted, Doyle was slightly annoyed, but he covered it up by taking a sip of his coffee.
Smith teased, "Alright, you've mentioned that a hundred and seventy-five times already. I could recite the menu from that dinner perfectly by now."
After saying that, he turned to Lu Shi, "Seriously, if Mr. Wilde weren't in Paris, he would definitely want to meet you."
Lu Shi remained silent.
He knew that Wilde had passed away in Paris in November 1900 from meningitis, so there wasn't much time left.
Doyle cleared his throat and interjected, "However, Mr. Lu seems to have many misunderstandings about my works."
His gaze suddenly sharpened, like two swords, piercing directly at Lu Shi.
Natsume Soseki squirmed uncomfortably; this whole situation stemmed from him, so it was understandable that he felt awkward.
But Lu Shi responded nonchalantly, "It's not Dr. Doyle's fault."
His words sounded rather exaggerated, implying that there were indeed issues with the Sherlock Holmes series.
Doyle frowned, "Could you elaborate?"
Lu Shi continued, "Take 'The Speckled Band,' for example. The murderer uses a snake as a weapon, which is quite implausible. First, the snake would suffocate inside the safe; second, snakes are reptiles and cannot consume milk; third, it's illogical to use a whistle to call the snake, as snakes lack external ears and cannot hear the sound of a whistle..."
Doyle's face turned as black as ink.
After all, "The Speckled Band" was one of the most bizarre and dramatic short stories in the entire series, naturally one of the most popular as well. He hadn't expected this Easterner in front of him to casually point out three flaws.
Doyle couldn't help but argue, "How do you know snakes don't drink milk?"
Lu Shi found this question a bit silly.
He replied, "Human infants drink milk because their mothers produce milk. So only mammals would drink milk; it's the simplest logic."
Doyle's face grew even darker.
Natsume Soseki cleared his throat awkwardly and intervened, "Dr. Doyle's writing style is scientific and professional. Here, 'scientific' doesn't mean... uh... 'scientific' in the literal sense... ah, yes, deductive reasoning! Dr. Doyle is adept at using rigorous causal reasoning to unfold his stories."
After this statement, Doyle's expression didn't improve.
He said, "But Mr. Soseki, why did you mention in your writing that Holmes's deductions are highly subjective?"
Natsume Soseki's face fell.
Lu Shi glanced over, questioning with his eyes, silently mouthing, "I didn't say that."
Natsume Soseki lowered his voice, "I did."
Lu Shi was confused.
"What? You said that?"
Natsume Soseki nodded and explained, "In 'The Adventure of the Reigate Squire,' Holmes himself said, 'The chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.' But it's quite obvious that Holmes hardly ever lays out all the clues for readers to discern what the 'chief issues' are."
This couldn't be blamed on the author; it was mainly because the genre of detective fiction wasn't mature yet, and the concept of "fair play" hadn't even been established. Having a few small issues in the creation process was quite normal.
But Doyle didn't care about these nuances.
He looked at Lu Shi, clenching his fists tightly, veins popping on his forehead.
Clearly, Lu Shi was going to bear the brunt of this blame.
Literary men hold grudges—this was true across different times and cultures.