London School of Economics,
commonly known as LSE, is a specialized research university.
(Actually, it wasn't called LSE back then, but for consistency's sake, let's just use the modern name here.)
It is jointly acclaimed as one of the G5 super elite universities along with Oxford University, Cambridge University, Imperial College London, and University College London. Many prominent politicians are alumni of LSE.
However, the school was founded in 1895 and only joined the University of London federation in 1900, so it hadn't even awarded its first undergraduate degree yet.
In short, the current size of LSE is very small, with only a few hundred students.
Nikageti Nicolić is one of them.
At this moment, he was lurking in the library of the University of London, eyes half-closed, making a faint snoring sound.
Smack—
Someone patted his left shoulder.
Nicolić turned around, but saw no one.
Then,
"Over here~"
The voice came from behind and to the right.
Nicolić couldn't help but sigh and muttered, "Thierry, are you bored or something? Aren't you a bit too old for these childish tricks?"
Thierry Solomon was his classmate.
Both of them preferred the University of London's library to LSE's library because the former had more books. They had bumped into each other here so many times that they had become acquainted.
Solomon sat down beside him.
"What's up? Didn't sleep well last night?"
Nicolić hadn't slept well for the past few days.
He had just finished reading chapters five and six of "And Then There Were None" and found it unsatisfying, so he had spent the past two nights rereading previous chapters, resulting in his mind replaying the plot like a movie, making it hard for him to fall asleep until late at night.
He couldn't say this was the reason because he would be ridiculed by his friends.
"I've got this French roommate who's partying every day..."
French people do tend to be quite the party animals.
Solomon couldn't help but chuckle. "You dare talk about the French? Spanish people like you aren't much better. Besides, didn't you choose to share a room instead of living alone? Isn't it your own fault for putting up with it?"
Nicolić rolled his eyes.
"Are you going to pay for a single room for me? If you're willing, I'll move to Adelphi right away. I'm already fed up with where I'm staying now. The room is tiny, and it's very inconvenient to get to school. I have to leave half an hour early every day."
Solomon hurriedly comforted him. "Alright, alright~ But your place has a good view, doesn't it?"
Nicolić snorted. "The view is good, as long as I don't have to go to school. Everything about where I live is great except going to school."
Solomon scratched his head. "Uh... um... Oh! The Tower Bridge! You're right next to the Tower Bridge. Ordinary people can't even get close to that view."
Talking about the Tower Bridge made Nicolić angry.
"Now that the weather's getting colder, I'm afraid I'll be blown into the ditch when I cross the river. Oh no, I won't even be able to cross the river when the Tower Bridge is raised."
He was full of complaints.
The topic of dormitories was exhausted.
Solomon surrendered and took out a copy of "The Manchester Guardian," saying, "Alright, alright, consider this my apology? I haven't read today's newspaper yet. You go first."
Because of its avant-garde nature among left-wing newspapers, "The Manchester Guardian" was quite popular among young people, especially university students who liked the rebellious feeling it gave.
Nicolić took it and said, "Thanks~"
He flipped directly to the book review section, wanting to read the newspaper's evaluation of "The Hound of the Baskervilles" and "And Then There Were None."
It was said that "The Manchester Guardian" had an absolutely independent stance, so he wanted to see if it was true.
Unexpectedly, the book review section was unusually clean.
There, in bold and oversized font, it read:
THE SCOTSMAN
SOLD
20,000 COPIES!
"The Scottish People"
Sold
Twenty Thousand Copies!
...
The entire book review section consisted of these simple three lines, with no other content. Yet, it was this sentence that stirred something inexplicable in Nicatelli's heart, igniting a blazing fire that couldn't be extinguished no matter how much cold water was poured on it.
Perhaps it was because he hadn't slept well last night, he felt somewhat exhausted.
"Hmm... what is this?"
Solomon raised his head.
"What's wrong?"
Nicatelli glanced at the book Solomon was flipping through, realizing it was "The Seaside Magazine," but many words were stuck in his chest, unsure of what to say.
After a while, he said, "I've finished reading."
Solomon was astonished, "So fast?"
It couldn't possibly be this quick.
Nicatelli simply couldn't focus due to his emotional turmoil.
At this moment, all he could think about was the phrase "The Scottish People sold twenty thousand copies," not knowing what magical power these words held, as if they were stamped into his mind like a steel engraving, impossible to erase.
"Never mind, I won't read it."
Nicatelli waved his hand, returning "The Manchester Guardian" to Solomon.
Solomon didn't mind, casually taking it back.
He tossed "The Seaside Magazine" aside and quickly flipped through several pages of "The Manchester Guardian," his gaze stopping on a certain page.
After a few seconds, his breathing began to quicken, his face turning red.
Nicatelli couldn't help but be surprised; he was quite sure his state just now was similar to Solomon's.
Snap—
Solomon closed the newspaper.
Nicatelli's probing gaze fell on him cautiously, "Terry, what's wrong?"
Solomon's eyes flickered, not rushing to answer, but instead lingered slightly on "The Seaside Magazine," murmuring softly, "Tasteless."
Finishing, he turned to Nicatelli.
"Nicatelli, have you read the new installment of the Sherlock Holmes series?"
Nicatelli replied, "I have, but I haven't finished it. My assessment is the same as yours, tasteless. Dr. Doyle seems to have lost his innovative ability, and Holmes is like an actor unwilling to leave the stage, performing terribly."
Solomon exclaimed, "Tsk, are you not afraid of being hunted down by the fervent Holmes fans for saying that?"
Nicatelli blinked subtly, "Are you?"
Solomon shook his head, "Of course not. People need to grow. I used to like Holmes, but now I prefer another mystery novel."
The air suddenly became quiet.
...
Nicatelli finally spoke up, "So, you've also read 'And Then There Were None.'"
Solomon chuckled, "Looks like you have too."
He flipped to the book review section of "The Manchester Guardian" and then said, "I don't know what's going on, but looking at these words, I always feel my blood boiling. The last time I had this feeling was when I first encountered Fabianism."
Nicatelli didn't respond directly, but his expression clearly mirrored Solomon's thoughts.
The phrase "less is more," proposed by the architectural master Ludwig, had since influenced the world, with the attitude of extreme simplicity spreading from the design industry to the advertising industry, where these four words were regarded as a golden rule.
But people in 1900 had never seen this avant-garde play.
Solomon and Nicatelli just felt it was ingenious, yet couldn't quite articulate why.
After a moment of silence, they said in unison, "The editors of 'The Manchester Guardian' must be extraordinary."