The three of them stared at Sean in shock. Cotton asked, "An event from a few years ago? What event?"
Sean's expression was solemn as he slowly enunciated three numbers: "9/11."
"9/11!" The three of them shouted almost simultaneously, practically jumping off the sofa. Lu Hua's mouth hung open. "How is that possible?"
Sean grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen from the desk and handed them to Lu Hua. "Write down the poem you just read," he said firmly.
Lu Hua hesitated for a moment, then took the pen and paper and wrote down the translated poem in Chinese:
Nergal visited the new city for the second time in September,
bringing four terrifying flying beasts.
The frenzied white monster perished alongside the twin towers,
while Satan laughed wildly amidst the smoke and dust.
"Look at these two lines—" Sean pointed at the second and third lines in the middle and said, "'Four terrifying flying beasts.' What do you think this refers to?"
Cotton's mouth fell open, and his body involuntarily shuddered. "You think it refers to the four planes hijacked by the terrorist organization?"
"Exactly! And the third line of the poem supports this—'the frenzied white monster in the sky.' Think about it, for someone from the Middle Ages, wouldn't a massive object like an airplane, something they'd never seen before, look just like a 'white flying beast'?"
"Ah!" Lu Hua exclaimed. "So the 'twin towers' refer to…"
"You've got it!" Sean said loudly. "'Twin towers' refers to the two World Trade Center skyscrapers destroyed by the planes! And isn't the situation described in the poem exactly what happened? The 'white monsters' perished alongside the 'twin towers'!"
The three of them exchanged looks, their shock beyond words.
"Wait, wait, hold on," Lancy interjected, gesturing with her hands to get their attention. "How can you be so sure that this poem is describing the 9/11 attacks? I mean, maybe this medieval poet just happened to write a poem that coincidentally resembles the events of 9/11?"
"I thought the same at first," Sean said, his tone growing more confident. "But after asking Lu Hua what 'Nergal' represents, I realized this couldn't be a coincidence—because the poem's first line accurately states both the time and place of the event!"
Lu Hua stared in shock, his mouth agape. "Time and place… I think I understand what you mean now…"
"Let me explain," Sean said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Lu Hua just mentioned that 'Nergal' represents the god of Tuesday. And it says he came to the city for the second time in September…"
"Which means the second Tuesday of September!" Cotton shouted.
Sean's voice quivered, barely steady: "Exactly! And that day was September 11th!"Lu Hua stared in shock, his mouth agape. "Time and place… I think I understand what you mean now…"
"Let me explain," Sean said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Lu Hua just mentioned that 'Nergal' represents the god of Tuesday. And it says he came to the city for the second time in September…"
"Which means the second Tuesday of September!" Cotton shouted.
Sean's voice quivered, barely steady: "Exactly! And that day was September 11th!"
"Then what does 'new city' refer to?" Lancy asked.
"'New city' obviously refers to New York City," Sean explained. "During the Middle Ages, New York didn't exist. So, for people of that time, such a massive metropolis would undoubtedly be seen as a 'new city.'"
"Oh my God!" Lancy gasped, covering her mouth. "With that explanation—time, place, and event—they all match 9/11 perfectly!"
"Yes," Sean said. "Once the first three lines are clear, the meaning of the final line becomes obvious. It's said that after the World Trade Center attacks, a face resembling Satan's appeared in the billowing smoke—many people claimed to see a 'grinning face' in a photo taken by the Associated Press. Of course, that could just be the random shape of the smoke. But 'Satan' could also be interpreted as the mastermind behind the attack—Osama bin Laden! Either way, this last line unmistakably sums up the 9/11 tragedy."
Sean's explanation was so compelling that the other three were left speechless in shock. After a long pause, Lu Hua finally asked, "9/11 happened in 2001, right? Are you sure the second Tuesday of September that year was the 11th? It's been so long—could you be mistaken?"
"I'm absolutely sure," Sean replied confidently. "That day is etched in my memory because my mom was urgently called back to the U.S. right after the attacks. I'll never forget it. But if you don't believe me, you can check the calendar for that day online."
Cotton walked over to Sean's laptop, typed a few things on the keyboard, and then stared at the screen, saying, "Yes, September 11, 2001, was indeed the second Tuesday of September."
Then came a heavy silence, so thick that even their breathing seemed loud. It was as if the bizarre thoughts circling in their minds had momentarily detached their souls. After a long pause, Lancy finally spoke slowly, "I want to know if you're all thinking the same thing I am—could this be a prophetic poem collection written by a Frenchman in the Middle Ages?"
Lu Hua said in confusion, "Is it really possible for something so strange to happen in the world—a person from ancient times could clearly predict events that would happen hundreds of years later? This is unbelievable!"
Sean replied, "As far as I know, such people do exist. The most famous one happens to be a Frenchman named Nostradamus, who wrote an extraordinary book of prophetic poems called Les Prophéties, which is full of mysterious predictions about the fate of humanity."
"Ah, I know who you're talking about," Cotten interjected. "The great prophet Nostradamus. He predicted things like Hitler's role in starting World War II and the atomic bomb leading to Japan's surrender. I read about these in a science magazine."
Lu Hua flipped through the book's cover and said, "I certainly know about Nostradamus. But this book was clearly not written by him. It's written by someone named…" He spelled out the name "Mars. Barthes" from the cover. "A guy named Mars Barthes. I've never heard of him, and this book isn't Les Prophéties either."
"Maybe it's another, lesser-known prophet?" Cotten suggested.
Sean thought for a moment before saying, "I think we should be more cautious before we define this book as a prophetic poetry collection. What if the fact that the poem predicted the 9/11 event was just a coincidence?"
Cotten looked at him and asked, "But weren't you just really sure that the poem predicted the 9/11 event? Why do you think it's a coincidence now?"
Sean replied, "I just feel that… after all, it doesn't explicitly mention the year when the event happened. So, the event described in the poem is a little vague. Maybe the September 11th it refers to is from hundreds of years ago?"
Lancy suddenly remembered something and exclaimed, "Didn't Lu Hua translate several poems? Let's take a look at the others!"
Sean nodded and looked at Lu Hua, "That's exactly what I was thinking."
Lu Hua slapped his forehead. "Right! I also translated the fourth and eighth poems!" He said, flipping to the back of the book, carefully searching through the pages by the small page numbers in the bottom right corner. "Fourth page… Here it is, I found it."
Cotten, a bit confused, asked, "Why are you skipping around with the pages? Why didn't you just translate the poems in order?"
Lu Hua, feeling a bit embarrassed, replied, "The ancient grammar used in this collection is really difficult… so I picked the shorter, simpler poems to translate first."
Cotten raised an eyebrow slightly, "You really know how to take shortcuts."
Lance urged, "Forget about that! The fourth poem, just get to it and see what it says!"Cotten, a bit confused, asked, "Why are you skipping around with the pages? Why didn't you just translate the poems in order?"
Lu Hua, feeling a bit embarrassed, replied, "The ancient grammar used in this collection is really difficult… so I picked the shorter, simpler poems to translate first."
Cotten raised an eyebrow slightly, "You really know how to take shortcuts."
Lancy urged, "Forget about that! The fourth poem, just get to it and see what it says!"
Sean pushed the paper and pen from the glass coffee table towards Lu Hua. "You should write it down," he said.
Lu Hua looked at the poem on the fourth page again, then bent over the coffee table and wrote out his translation of the four-line poem:
Poseidon suddenly rages in the final days,
The Eritrean Sea becomes the place of his wrath.
A massive sea wall swallows the land,
Humans and fish perish together in sacrifice.
Lu Hua finished writing the poem, then looked up at the three pairs of eyes. "I think… the meaning of this poem seems pretty clear…"
"Tsunami!" Without waiting for him to finish, all three of them shouted at once.
Lu Hua leaned back slightly, startled by their synchronized and loud shout. He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and sat up straight again.
"The meaning of this poem is clear. 'Poseidon' refers to the sea god in Greek mythology, and his 'sudden rage' leads to the consequence of 'a massive sea wall swallowing the land, and humans and fish perishing together'—this clearly refers to a tsunami!" Shawn said in one breath, offering his analysis.Lu Hua finished writing the poem, then looked up at the three pairs of eyes. "I think… the meaning of this poem seems pretty clear…"
"Tsunami!" Without waiting for him to finish, all three of them shouted at once.
Lu Hua leaned back slightly, startled by their synchronized and loud shout. He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and sat up straight again.
"The meaning of this poem is clear. 'Poseidon' refers to the sea god in Greek mythology, and his 'sudden rage' leads to the consequence of 'a massive sea wall swallowing the land, and humans and fish perishing together'—this clearly refers to a tsunami!" Sean said in one breath, offering his analysis.
"But there have been countless tsunamis on Earth—how can we know which one this poem is referring to?" Lancy asked in confusion.
Cotton pointed to the second line of the poem and said, "Doesn't it say 'in the Eritrean Sea'? But…" He turned to Lu Hua, "Where is the Eritrean Sea? I've never heard of it."
Lu Hua adjusted his glasses, then said, "No, it's not referring to a specific sea here."
"Not a sea? Then what is it?" Cotton asked curiously."
"Much broader than the sea— the Eritrean Sea actually refers to the Indian Ocean," Lu Hua explained. "That was the term used in ancient times before the name 'Indian Ocean' was established."
"Indian Ocean tsunami!" Sean exclaimed loudly. "So this poem is referring to the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, the deadliest in history! It was a catastrophic disaster that claimed over 150,000 lives!"
Lu Hua frowned and said, "But there have been countless tsunamis in the Indian Ocean throughout history— this poem doesn't specify a time, so we can't be sure if it's referring to the massive tsunami of 2004."
Lancy sighed, "If it's just referring to the Indian Ocean tsunami in general, then this poem really has no 'prophetic' significance."
Everyone fell silent. Sean sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa cushion. "Yeah, if none of the poems in this 'prophetic anthology' specify a particular year or time, then with all the events that have happened in the world, I bet every poem could be matched to some incident—this kind of 'prophetic poetry' I could write too."
Lancy, feeling disappointed by Sean's words, sighed again, "I thought we had stumbled upon some kind of extraordinary book. I was already imagining us being interviewed by reporters… but it turns out, it's just an ordinary poetry collection after all."
Lu Hua chuckled bitterly and said to her, "Lancy, I believe even if you saw that scene, the title of the interview would just be 'Four Fools.'"
"No, I don't believe that." Lancy seemed unwilling to give up, and stubbornly said to Lu Hua, "Didn't you also translate the poem on page eight? Even if the first and fourth poems don't specify a time clearly, we should at least take a look at the eighth one—maybe this one clearly mentions the time?"
"You'll probably be disappointed." Lu Hua said, "I already knew the content of the eighth poem yesterday—it's also about some kind of disaster. But unfortunately, it still doesn't specify the time clearly. From what I see, this poetry collection…"
"Wait a minute, Lu Hua," Cotton suddenly called out to him. "The two poems you just translated, are they the first and fourth ones?"
"Yes, why?" Lu Hua asked.
"Let me see the book," Cotton said, taking the poetry collection from Lu Hua's hands. He flipped to the later pages, his eyes moving up and down as his expression grew increasingly serious.
Sean sensed something was off and asked, "Cotton, did you find something?"
"I understand now," Cotton took a deep breath, looked up, and said, "I know where the 'time' of each poem is hidden."