Blade and Poetry

Layan stopped writing and drawing, and leaned into my ear and said, "It seems that the evidence we prepared is useless."

"It seems so," I said, looking at the portfolio in his hand, "but they can be kept. I think it will deter them from the momentum."

The people in the arena were still arguing, and the judge seemed to have no desire to interrupt.

"If we can fly over, we can leave later—leave from here at [-]:[-] at the latest." Karajan stood up and said, "I'll go downstairs to get our luggage and find someone to deliver it in advance go there."

"Okay." I took the portfolio and pen from him, and winked at him, "Bon voyage."

It was the turn of the jury for a show of hands.I counted, and far more than half of the people voted me innocent.The judge propped up his body a little bit, and suddenly seemed to have some energy, raised the gavel in his hand, and said:

"Referring to the jury's point of view, the testimony of all witnesses, and the materials submitted by both parties, I hereby make the following decision on behalf of the Post-war Coordination Tribunal: Although Vicente Xiao and Xiao Carr do have the same identity, but—"

The clerk was sweating profusely, and said something behind his ear.All I saw was that the judge's expression turned pale, and he returned to his original state of lack of interest.

"Because there is no record to prove the whereabouts of the accused Vicente Shaw," he said slowly, "this court cannot determine whether the 'defection' is true. It is hereby decided to withhold the results of the trial until..."

The voice he finally raised was drowned out by the uproar—"defection" was actually the least credible of all accusations.I saw Coleman stand up from it, as if pulling out one of his medals, and wanted to make a speech.I asked the listeners to move away from their chairs, and with the bag of materials between them, I stumbled across to the front of the court and pulled off the scarf that covered half of my face.

"I'm Vicente Xiao," I said facing the judge, "There's no need to keep the result, I'm here today."

The judge said "Oh", looking very surprised, and asked me if I had anything else to say.I don't mind whether the previous debates covered the evidence at hand, and with the attitude of "applying what I have learned", I took out the stack of materials in the portfolio and read the titles one by one.Karajan sorted this bag for me overnight, but in fact, it was rarely written by me.I glanced at the numbers on the front page on the spot and said:

"When I was a commander, I experienced a total of 69 large and small battles..."

In this way, I flipped through the stack of materials one by one, gradually speaking; it was not until I turned to the last page that the words in my mouth got stuck unexpectedly.I couldn't help but glanced at that page several times, put it into my arms pretending to be calm, and handed it over to the judge for the rest as if nothing had happened, but I couldn't suppress the smile on the corner of my mouth.

"Sorry," I said, "that page wasn't there."

The entire noisy mediation court remained silent during this process, and then the voice in the court immediately rose, so high that it almost toppled the ceiling.The first sounds I caught were from small birds and flowers.

"Vicente! I'm right!" He said with joy, looking back frequently, "Look, I knew this guy definitely didn't want to miss this occasion!"

The mess that followed immediately followed:

"Why are you still here, when are you leaving?"

"Hofta Division really has a commander."

"I still remember his face, it was very similar to the one I saw when I was a freshman!"

"I heard that you were with one of our former professors. Is this true?"

"Vicente, are you going to our wedding?"

I couldn't help laughing, and turned to each sound source in turn and said:

"Three fifteen, let's go right away - Commander Coleman will give my opinion for me - thank you, I am honored that my facial features impressed you - yes, Professor Karajan -" I looked towards last place.Lan Duo sat on the seat there, tears welling up in the eyes of the scene.I softened my voice and continued, "Of course I will. I remember that Coleman told me that half a year later? No matter how far I ran with him, we will come to congratulate the prince and his princess .”

The jury closed their notebooks and looked at us with a smile.A rather formal beginning seemed to end with a farce; the litigants over there lost their temper and planned to leave early in desperation.The judge seemed to have pronounced "not guilty", but few people were paying attention to his subsequent sentence.I watched the clock go to three fourteen and explained to the court that I needed to leave early.

The judge seemed to have no grudges against the chaos here, and nodded to me in approval.So I went to the window to see where Karajan was waiting.

"I guess he really wants to go out the window!" An excited voice sounded from the crowd.

I turned around in disbelief: "Wait, what rumors do the students at Hoftas believe—what kind of absurdity is this?"

Ordgo looked at me and pointed out the window solemnly.

"It's Professor Karajan!" Someone said.

I looked there suddenly - just outside the window on the third floor, Karajan was sitting on a snow-white paper bird.His facial camouflage had been removed, and his blond hair had fallen.Coleman, Lando, and Odego were all waving at him, Francesco whistled, Ms. Rogers clapped her hands, and more people wanted to get closer with curiosity.

I saw that the crowd was getting denser and denser after the court ended, and the hands of the watch had to go through another round, so I had to raise my voice, trying my best to convey my farewell to my friends not far away:

"There will be a period later!"

I heard the words yelled from everyone, and they all said this at almost the same time:

"There will be a period later!"

"There will be a period later!"

The window was pulled open by me.I put one hand on the window frame and jumped into Karajan's open arms.The paper bird shook under us; Karajan lowered his eyes and smiled, as if he knew everything without me saying it.

"Your prank on the last page of the profile," I said, "almost got me into trouble."

"I didn't expect it to come in so timely," Karajan said. "So where's your answer?"

Our paper bird took off again and flew into the depths of the blue sky.It flapped its wings, as if it was about to touch the clouds in mid-air in the next second.The holly forest outside the building was blown to one side by the wind, where clusters of lush leaves were rustling, gradually shrinking to nothing in our field of vision.

The text written by Karajan on that page is still attached to my chest, vibrating gently with my heartbeat.

"Charon's edge, burns as summer fire

The new leaves of holly, swaying into poetry

would you like to be with me

Since then? "

"What's the problem?" I said to him. "Of course I would."

——End of full text——

☆、Extra: An Ordinary Day in Aixental

This is an ordinary day for Aixental Galenno.

He approved several project applications in the laboratory, and transferred a sum of money; there was a dispute in Congress over the new regulations, which was suppressed by the voices of his people; this afternoon he should go to the fourth and fifth City tour, select a few newborn blessings.He went at noon, came back in the evening, and ate his first meal of the day.

His meal was prepared for him by a special person.Maybe there was fish and vegetables in it, but there was no difference between the two chewing in his mouth.

After eating, he seemed to think of lighting a lamp, and drafted a new plan at this time.He was quite satisfied with this, and after writing the prototype, he made a few more lines of comments beside it.He felt sleepy and lowered his eyelids.

He lay on the hard plank bed, eyes closed, thinking: Hate.

He slowly tossed back and forth a few times, like a pendulum that often got stuck, mechanical and quite regular—it took about 10 minutes, he turned over—there was a whine from time to time inside, it was an old mechanical antique The kind that often comes out when twisting a joint.He thought: Hate—hate—hate.

He sat up all of a sudden.He took a chair and sat at the door of his room, looking at the exact same arrangement as here, seeing a simple corner of the room, as if looking at a broken mirror.He suddenly felt that the darkness was enlarging, while he was shrinking.

He thought to himself: ... Hate.

Then he forgot about hatred.Only at this time of day can he temporarily forget his hatred.Sleep was not enough to provide him with moments of forgetting, and the wretched man dreamed mostly of his ambition and vengeance, blazing into a conflagration.And at this moment, what he was thinking of was "Freud".

He slowly recalled the stories that belonged to his past.He has taken this story out of the depths of his memory and carefully read it countless times, until each time its handwriting was enlarged in front of him and turned into a blurred shadow.Perhaps for others, after such a search-style reading, any good-looking story will gradually become dull.But his story was too long, too many, and too easy to impress a fanciful recaller, so he read it another time after countless times.

He thinks about raising his family.The couple were caught by the king's loyal dog as evidence of a violation of the law, and they were both imprisoned when he was four years old.His family's property was confiscated, and all kinds of people came and went in the house that day, but no one took a look at him.At that time, he was too young to leave any memories that touched him deeply, and he couldn't even remember the faces of his adoptive parents clearly.He only remembered the feeling of being huddled in the corner: cold and isolated.It was as if since he was leaning against a wall behind him, there was a similar one growing in front of him.

He stayed in the corner from morning to night, thinking of those rotting leapfrogs in the gutters of the outer city--they rushed to the first water they found after a long drought, only to be overturned by the cross-flowing sewage The belly, floating in the white sun, was exposed to the sun, like a row of plump and shiny meat.Until these dead jumping frogs are rotten to the bone, they won't be picked up by the hungriest waif for a good meal.The waifs don't need them either.

The so-called misfortunes of life and family misfortune failed to bring sufficient fear to this child who had insufficient knowledge of the world; however, the images of those dead jumping frogs he conceived suddenly made him tremble.He thought he should cross his arms, so he crossed his arms, as if he was completely different from those splay-legged jumping frogs; he felt that he should go to the door, so he took a small step first, which no longer belonged to him. place.He stopped there, and suddenly saw a stranger who stopped in front of him.

The stranger was still very young, and his attitude was both friendly and with a natural sense of alienation.The man touched the back of his head, as if meditating on something, then gently withdrew his hand.

"Let me take you later, okay?" the beige-haired man said, bending down in front of him. "My name is Floyd. I need an apprentice."

He didn't know what he was about to get, but the arrival of this person cleared away the nightmarish images in his mind.At the same time, he has such an unreasonable belief that whether it is today or in the future, this person's influence on him will be the same.

Since then, he spent his childhood with Freud and lived with Freud in his simple house.Freud was the most knowledgeable person he had ever met, and he could get answers to many childish or tricky questions from his caretakers.And besides endless knowledge, the man had endless patience with him.

"Floyd is such a good man," he thought with some pride, "that he could be my friend."

Children often have a different definition of "friend" than adults.In their eyes, whether it is a butterfly flying across the lawn, a crystal clear glass bottle, or a round-headed little paper ball, as long as they communicate with it properly, it can become their friend.

But there are no butterflies, glass bottles, or paper balls in Axiental.He had only Freud in his childhood, so Freud became his only friend.

Floyd undoubtedly shone brightly in his eyes.The documents piled up in his hand and flipped by his fingers, his fluent pen, and the transparent glasses on the bridge of his nose all imbue Axiental with an inexplicable sense of mystery.He, like the rest of the country, has known wise men as he has known kings since he was a child.When he learned that the person who accompanied him and loved him was that unreachable big man, he was shocked.It took him some time to seriously overlap this "sage" identity with his "Freud," and they have never been separated since.

…Even at the side of the blood-stained Weiming Lake, Freud said he wanted to pass on this identity to him, but he stubbornly believed that the only wise man in Pu was Freud.

He was ashamed of having the title of wise man.While he quietly compiled the quotations of the wise Freud into the canon, he only planted the name "Bishop Galenno" in the hearts of the New God believers.

Thinking of this, Eichenthal quickly remembered what happened next: how he skillfully seized the power to control the country after Freud left, doing what Freud never did in his life. thing.It was he who quietly stretched out his hand and spread some rumors about the murder of a wise man, which disturbed the common people. At the same time, he preached the magical effect of the New God to the king, so that the suspicious king listened to him wholeheartedly.He promised that his deeds would stabilize the king's power, but suddenly turned his face after the church grew quietly, and unceremoniously let the king see the miserable situation under his empty throne.

He hated the king who was afraid of wise men, and also hated Columbus who took away his teacher.

A good move, he thought.I can do more—tomorrow there will be more.

Once he is overwhelmed by those things, he can forget about others; for example, he was in a state of embarrassment and embarrassment when he was floating and rootless, begging those in power to keep the former site of Floyd 29th Street.Although he was finally able to achieve his wish, he carefully expanded an identical one just opposite Floyd's room, and built an artificial lake outside the rear window.He sleeps in the newly built room, and often stops to look at the opposite side, which is not like nostalgia, but more like admiration.

He knew that Freud had no preference for anyone, that Freud had the same love for everyone—a love that was inexhaustible.He has many spontaneous believers, all of whom have blind dependence and fanatical love for him; and as an unavoidable member of them, he has only been closest to him, and even within reach at certain moments And that's all.

He knew that he was different from Freud, and he would never have such broad and inclusive feelings towards everything in the world.Although what he fills in himself, every word and deed, every action, every detail in life, every preference, is inherited from the wise man in his memory.He was born too late and was raised by Freud, so that he would never achieve the catch-up he expected.He speculates, imitates, and does good deeds, but unknowingly, he has accumulated many sins.

Hate overwhelmed all his gentle emotions and made a vigorous man.

hate.He shook his head, looked out of the open window, and used this word to end today's thinking.

He moved back the chair, lay down on the hard and cold bed, and couldn't help thinking: If there is no more hatred—what else can I long for?

He closed his eyes, like closing the window facing the lake, without allowing the question to be answered.

"Freud," a passer-by was passing under his closed window, quietly and respectfully reciting the name of the god he created with his own hands.The name floated into his ears, and then to the lake and mountains outside his other window, "Floyd."

He fell asleep.But he knew that he would soon wake up with hatred and start another morning tirelessly.

Tomorrow will also be an ordinary day for Aixental Galenno.

☆、Extra: Hildor Ryan's ordinary day

Today is an ordinary day for Hildo Ryan.

The July in Hoftas was mild and pleasant, and when he passed the door of the stone arch, it was as if he had returned to the early summer of 852.

There seems to be no difference between the early summer of 852 and that of 857.He served as a freshman guide that year, and became a professor of magic for another group of West Academy students.He met Vicente Shaw for the first time that year.

If he really wanted to talk about his first impression of that student, even Ryan himself couldn't explain clearly.He led too many students at that time, not bad for this one—he just remembered that the student made a joke while walking, and the expression of saying this was more dazzling than the words themselves, and the sun reflected the brown in his eyes very much clear.He seemed to be saying to the people around him:

"I like beauties with black hair and blue eyes..."

He was walking forward at a fast pace at that time, and the words that floated into his ears made him laugh in his heart, so he made fun of something casually, and just walked past the student.

The second time Ryan saw Vicente Shaw was in his first grade magic class.The student was active and quick-thinking, and even if Ryan intentionally hit him with questions when he was distracted, he could report a series of answers without thinking—half nonsense, half reasonable, but amazingly ingenious.He went to see the student's magic performance several times later; although the idea was a little immature, the idea was good.

He still remembers that the content of a class was very difficult, and the people who asked him questions after the class scattered around the podium, and the rest lined up in front of the podium.Vicente Xiao stood for a long time with a dozen test questions, then compromised and got out of the queue, wandered outside the queue, and came to the front row to laugh when Ryan nodded and explained.

"I'll show you my recent experience in magic science. It's very lethal." Vicente Xiao bent down and whispered to someone in the first row, "It's called: 'The Elegance of the Dean of the West Academy'."

Ryan caught this sentence, raised his eyes and quickly glanced over there, and found that the student was actually imitating his sitting posture at this time—he somehow shortened the standing self out of thin air, with his legs bent— The right elbow rests on the table, the back of the hand rests on the chin, and the body leans slightly to one side.Ryan couldn't see Vicente's expression from here, and guessed that there was some kind of laziness in it that was commensurate with his posture, but not suitable for this energetic young man, because the people in front of him who watched this amazing feat couldn't help but sigh. laugh.

"You can't just laugh, you have to give feedback on whether you are handsome..." He heard Vicente say again.

"Mr. Lane?" the person next to him reminded.

He recovered, apologized, and continued to answer new questions.He remembered that Vicente was the last to go to him that day; the student was again at the end of the line.He was as bright as ever when he talked about his ideas, and he probably didn't guess that Ryan had caught a glimpse of his interpretation in the midst of his busy schedule.

Then there was the third and fourth chapters, and it seemed that many accidents were added, whether it was inside or outside the main building.He passed Vicente in his uniform as many times as he had passed other students.There was one of the most top-notch, serious and rigorous students in Ryan's memory, and that person was actually an excellent friend with Vicente.He had seen them walking ahead as he went downstairs and overheard their conversation.

"I think it's definitely not good this time, maybe I have to hand in more homework to make up for the points." The student pushed his glasses and said quickly, "Only the grades of literature and magic have not been released, and it happens that I am more and more convinced that I am Misanswered in the last two analysis questions. Literature is the wrong angle, I wrote the rotten life of 'Philip V', and what they want to see is political reform; Magic is a misquote. I suspect that I should not use deeds List the magic direction of functional planning."

"There is no need to worry at all, Odego." Vicente said to the student, "The counterexample of 'Philip V' is fine, and the functional formula is also fine. Professor Ryan and Professor Karajan will only tell you the answer after marking the paper. It's great, and then they all raised your jaws..."

The person next to him paused, but his voice sounded much more relaxed.

"...Whose jaw did you pick?"

"That's good," Vicente Xiao smiled softly, and said noncommittally, "Anyone can do it. If you don't want to be the protagonist of the story, the plot can also be changed to two professors provoking each other. His chin...'Ryan!' Karajan said. I saw Ryan's eyes flicker, but not to be outdone, he also raised a hand, and quickly reached the person in front of him—"

Ryan was made to smile by the absurd plot, deliberately quickened his pace, and passed by them without turning their eyes.

"Mr Lane."

"Mr Lane."

The two people who were chatting stopped, coughed a few times immediately, and greeted him.He turned his head to pay his respects, then turned and left in a hurry.

As a professor of magic, Ryan has always followed the rules, although he is not rigid.The leniency he gave Vicente was within reason, perhaps a little bit of selfishness; but all those who taught him had such a little bit of selfishness, and Ryan himself was not the only one.Only Karajan acted more freely and made no secret of his preference for a certain student.

He brought Vicente into the field of the professors to watch the competition of the swordsmen; he told everyone during the introduction that this was a student he recognized; he only let Vicente into his office to enjoy with him A long afternoon tea.Alvin Karajan was absent from the formal farewell party of the professors before he left. Many students looked around that day, regretfully asking about the whereabouts of their professor of literature and advisor of the East Campus.And Ryan had seen Karajan's leave note, which said he couldn't make it—he was going to see another student give him a unique send-off.

Of course he understood that it was Vicente Shaw.

Ryan taught Vicente for five years and Karajan for three years.

Lane was Vicente's professor, and Karajan was more meaningful—he knew it with his piercing eyes before the two of them consciously acknowledged it.These two people are indeed made for each other, and no age, occupation, or belief can form a gap between them.They don't get along too much, but they are inseparable.They are of the same kind and always know each other.He knew it—it had been that way since day one.

In the subsequent interrogation of the four people, he became more aware that this kind of preference is by no means one-way.Even though Vicente was shocked by the news and his trust in Karajan was deeply shaken for a moment, he still didn't feel that he was defending the man with a concise answer, and he refused to say a superfluous confession that might raise doubts. .

"But I would like to make a few additional personal remarks," Vicente concluded, "... Karajan is the most upright, honest, and noble person I have ever met. I believe in his character, and I understand his soul……"

He had worried that this news would overwhelm Vicente for a while, but he failed to stop the truth from being revealed, and Vicente's reaction did not confirm his fears.The people around him are constantly recording, only his pen pauses on the paper for a long time, condensing a small ink dot.

"Not blue-eyed and dark-haired..." he thought.

How could he say it?Once some emotions are born in his life, they are destined not to emerge from the soil.Just like many wishes that cannot be realized in his heart-love is not the main ingredient in his life, it only occupies a small bit, curled up in a corner, shunning before ideals, responsibilities and rules.If he doesn't get what he wants, he'll let it go.

Maybe there are always too many questions, which quietly float out in the gentle air of early summer, like a bubble rising in a stream, or a flower seed floating in the air—why isn’t it your favorite?Why not the one that came first?Why is it one and not two in the same case?

But the bubbles burst at the surface, the seeds fell into new grassy slopes, and the problems buried themselves.Ryan walked past the student cafeteria and paused in his footsteps.He remembered: he hadn't been there for a cup of coffee in a while, and it was probably time to buy one when school started another day.

He put away the new letter in his hand, and hurriedly rushed to a building in the west courtyard.

Tomorrow will also be an ordinary day for Hildo Ryan.

☆、Extra: An Ordinary Day in Francesco

Francesco saw two people coming in from the back door of the audio-visual classroom, with a layer of blue and black under their eyes, and they fell into the last row of seats together.One was sleepily taking out books from his bag and spreading them randomly on the desk—it was undoubtedly Vicente in regular uniform; the other was looking at him with his hands folded, with a vague smile on his face, A gray coat that is slightly different from ordinary clothes.Fortunately, the lights were dimly lit, and the music theory professor who turned his back didn't notice.

Francesco glanced at this, so Odego on his left also glanced back, and even Lando beside Ode, and Minnelli beside Lando also looked back; he felt as if they were here What a wonderful consensus for a moment.Except for himself, these people seemed calm.

He glanced at the podium, couldn't bear it, and slapped the table, and then complained to his friends in a breathy voice:

"Those two people behind us—are they in a relationship?"

"What are you talking about?" Odd on his left was the first to notice his abnormality. "I didn't hear it just now."

"I said," Francesco said in a low voice, waving his hand and pointing to the back secretly, "is our good friend and our literature professor in love?"

"Probably your misreading, Francesco," Odego said. "It's no big deal to walk into a classroom with a professor in the middle of a class."

"'No big deal'!" Francisco spread his hands, "but they are tired, disheveled, and contented, and Professor Karajan is still wearing the same outfit as yesterday—I bet I was still in Vicente's hair I see leaves in there."

"Literary exaggeration?"

"--that's Professor Karajan! It's not the Lisbon gardener who invites us to dinner if nothing happens--have you ever seen a similar situation happen?"

"I think this is a very common thing." Odego said immediately, but this time he became a little hesitant, "There have been many times in the past that Vicente came back to the apartment very late, and one time he was wearing Professor Karajan's shirt. Coats... I can't say much, but I think they're—studying."

He added, "Like this time."

Francesco took a breath, crossed his arms over Odego, and patted Lando next door to him, "Did you hear that? When I slipped out to date my girlfriend when I was 12, I also told my family that I was going to study. !"

"what are you guys saying?"

Lando leaned over.

But unfortunately, Francisco was called by the name of the professor on the stage, and had to go through some unprepared fuss.A little tribulation obviously couldn't disturb the firm mind of this warrior.He immediately explained his inference to Lan Duo vividly, and there were many beautiful renderings and artistic modifications during the process.He spoke dryly, and Lan Duo nodded frequently.

"I thought they were dating a long time ago." Lando Moli said while he was drinking water, "I think everyone has already decided."

Francesco choked: "What?"

"I have never seen anyone who is so inseparable from Professor Karajan." She said thoughtfully, "I once saw the two of them on the grass outside the Literature Building, about a month or two ago. I Walking out of the building, they probably just finished their lunch break and sat up on the grass slope. Professor Karajan’s hair was messed up, and he was the one who watched Vicente and smoothed it slowly with his hands, and finally took the hair tie for him Fastened it. His eyes were tender then."

"Hair tie!" Francesco said, waving his hands slightly in front of his chest.

"Hair tie?" said Ordgo.

"A lover's hands are not the same as those of a barber," Francesco said. "It's like drizzle and light, but it doesn't remind you of the soapy smell of the barbershop. This kind of love happened to them." middle--"

His words were interrupted by a small ball of paper over his shoulder.He opened it to see that it was signed by Vicente.

"What are you talking about?" he wrote. "I seem to hear 'in love' and my name."

Vicente buried his head on the table and waved him a few rows away with an indistinct gesture.Just as he was about to write a long paragraph on the back, his movement was stopped by Karajan's half-smile expression.Francisco fell silent, quickly turned back, put the note back to its original shape, and pretended nothing happened.

"If they were really in a relationship, Vicente would be No. 1 in courage training," Francesco said veiledly, "He doesn't seem to have symptoms of excessive psychological stress at all."

"He definitely didn't," Lando whispered. "You know what? In the first literature class of the second grade, he described Professor Karajan as 'he's so cute'. At that time, Professor Karajan seemed to mention The knife came up to him—can you believe it?"

"That's what he says about most professors," Odego reminded. "He even says that about Francisco."

"You too," Francisco said. "But Professor Karajan must have the most."

Odgo made a few careful lines on the paper with his pen and said, "That's right—I counted them."

Francesco was overjoyed: "Odego, your other half is really going to fall on your research topic. Even if you suddenly unilaterally swear to marry it, I won't be particularly surprised."

"Is there a problem?" said Odego, "they are to me, as you say, hands 'like rain and light', and I touch these papers now as if I were with my lover's hands." But you are once again single, Francisco, you can't touch this hand, and I can't lend you mine."

Lan Duo laughed on the sidelines, her face gradually flushed a little.Francisco looked distraught, and blamed the surroundings:

"He learned badly from Vicente!"

His commotion was quite loud, but fortunately, the professor in front of the classroom cast a spell and was playing back a mighty symphony, so his voice only attracted Minnelli who was beside Lando.

"What are you talking about?" Minnelli said.

Francesco felt a little thirsty again, but out of the enthusiasm of an initiator, he still gave her a concise summary.Minnelli listened to him, his expression changed from surprise to deep thought.

"I don't know," she said with a rare hesitation, "but I seemed to see it when I was casting "Elma": the two of them sat side by side in the seat, with their heads close together. I heard someone say they Is it true that we once wrote love poems to each other?"

They immediately listed a bunch of new derivatives on the original issue, but from their perspective, the heads of the two people in the back corner seemed to have disappeared.They exchanged for a while and decided to hand over these issues to Coleman—mainly due to Francisco's instigation.

"They fought so many times, Coleman may know him very well, from an angle we can't predict." Francesco said deeply, "The person who knows you best may be your opponent."

But Coleman King did not take the music theory class, so he was not present at this time.Lan Duo called out the butterfly book, and all the eyes of the group were focused on her hand. Even Minnelli stopped writing, and only Odd still wrote down a few words occasionally.

"Coleman, think back to the past," Lando bit his fingertips, and wrote on the butterfly book, "Do you think Vicente and Professor Karajan are in love?"

Coleman's reply came quickly.

"He said he didn't think so." Lando relayed.

"It can't be written like that," Francisco seemed to have a sudden epiphany, "I don't think that person may be able to observe so deeply."

"Then what should we do?" Lando said.

"Just write it," Francesco suggested, "'