City of Burning Snow

At first, when the car was parked in front of the old dam staff dormitory, Gogol looked out the window without much expectation.This is a dilapidated building that has been in disrepair for a long time. On the outside of a tall building, there are several extremely simple carports. He squinted his eyes and took a closer look, only to realize that these carports are the so-called dormitories.The windows are extremely small, staring at him like parallel black eyes in the freezing suburbs, the sun has completely set, and the only thing he is satisfied with here is the quiet and clear sky full of stars.

"I guess you've got the water and electricity connected."

A gust of wind blew past, prompting him to retract his head into the isolation cloak again.He keenly smelled the smell of Dostoyevsky's body, and there was still a little body temperature on his clothes. Before he knew it, he had regained the feeling of being at ease with his old acquaintances, but this was very important for Gogol. It is not good news for him, because he knows that the other party will leave soon.

His day had undergone a sudden change.He'd killed a few people earlier on, and of course he didn't mean to; it was a horribly unavoidable medical malpractice, but he didn't want to excuse it.Then he met Dostoevsky.Dostoevsky, as a senior guide, could of course ask him to do anything.He obediently follows, and thus commits his second crime: he escapes from prison, temporarily becoming a fugitive.

The senior guide who lured him out showed a kind of decent calm from the beginning to the end. When he briefly introduced the local facilities to Gogol, Dostoyevsky seemed to return to his own manor.

"Not only water and electricity, but also medicines. If you go to the second floor of the factory to look for furniture, fabrics—you can get local materials for everything. I shipped some fresh ingredients and put them in the cafeteria. It’s better to put on a cotton coat first.”

They chatted in the clearing between the dam and the dormitory, their boots clinking softly in the snow, wolves and nightingales chirping in the distance.Such an empty and deserted environment was one of the favorite resting places of the sentries. Gogol had never heard of this address in the past, which is really strange in the well-planned new Moscow.One end of the dam has been closed, and now it has become a paradise for animals and plants. His eyesight quickly adapted to the darkness. In a place where the highway streetlights could not illuminate, he saw that the walls were actually covered with moss-like cold-resistant plants.

"I missed it just now. In what year did you say this house was named?"

Before Dostoyevsky rubbed his hands and returned to the car, Gogol asked a thoughtful question.

The long two-hour drive and the warming robes that Gogol had given him made the senior guide's fever almost subside. He seemed to be thinking about other issues, and his smile was kind but not candid.

"I did not say it."

Lying in bed, Gogol had no idea that his adventure would begin with being free-range.

The heating system in the room was much better than that in the cell, and although the pipes that had not been used for a long time were constantly making noise, his spirit was gradually relaxing.It was better to be in a warm and bright house than to continue shivering in the basement.Before he left, Dostoevsky had told him that there were several tubes of suppressants secretly obtained in the bedside table, and that they would not be discontinued within a week, he thought, but did not get up to get them.

As he gets comfortable, his mental body takes shape.As if directly summoned by joy, the canary sang and hovered in the air, and the light rained beams of light through the bird's wings.He squinted at it, he had never liked his mental body very much.The canary was no match for his ambitions, a bird that was often kept in cages as if to satirize his life.In Ta's repressed and idle daily life, he had no chance to release it.His eyes followed it, and the little thing flew too fast.The surrounding golden light was mottled, and due to the uninterrupted rapid movement, he would see clear and clear purple wing shadows appearing on the wall from time to time.He thought of Dostoevsky's eyes, the lavender reflection of the setting sun on his hair.Soft thoughts flowed in Gogol's heart, and the golden bird made a pleasant cooing sound.

Gogol let out a long sigh——

"I'm the one chosen by him."

He was a little tired, and when he was about to close his eyes to take a rest, he heard a string of thin leaves falling from a chimney pipe, and he sat up again.Staring suspiciously at the dark corridor where the sound came from, the flimsy piece of paper fell from a height and bumped onto the old iron grid of the vent.

It was in the factory building 20 meters away from him, just within the range he could clearly perceive.He was sure that the piece of paper hadn't appeared in this area when Dostoevsky left just now.A sense of horror that made the hairs on his spine, and a strong curiosity that cannot be ignored, made it impossible for Gogol to sit idly by.

He put on his coat, left the employee lounge that had only become warmer, and stepped into the snow again trembling.The location of the paper has been confirmed by smell. On the fine-textured parchment, there is a strong, unfamiliar smell similar to rose perfumed water.He found it easily.

"English……"

He stepped on the table and picked the paper out of the iron sheet at the vent opening.The person who wrote the letter seemed to be extremely frugal and rigorous. He neatly condensed the text to a very dense size and wrote it on a piece of paper that was not too big.He jumped off the table, stood under the light, squinted his eyes and read quickly:

dear mr sentinel

I have considered many ways, and finally decided to contact you in such a simple way.If you can find this letter, you have passed my test.This paper has been specially treated, and I recommend that you wait until the end of the reading to consider the question of transcription: it will gradually burn as soon as it is picked up, of course from the top position.If it is not found, it will be automatically burned within half an hour...

Gogol looked up, and the top edge of this extremely long note really began to turn red. It cringed like a petal gradually entering its decay stage. The scorched edge first gave off a small flame, and then it was burned. Burnt to black ashes.He was startled, and hurriedly continued to read the densely packed small characters on the paper:

... burnt to a heap of coke, that means my predictions have failed and you have not been assigned to nearby accommodation.You don't have to worry about not knowing me now, let alone your personal safety. The person who got this letter will not be the little guy who delivered the letter. It has already been called back while completing its mission.I'm not interested in being backtracked, and you don't have to think about it.You will have time to see me when the time comes.At that time, I'm afraid you will forget this short reading. If I guess correctly, the sentry reading this note now should not have any outstanding mental abilities.Let me make a bold guess again, I am afraid that you still have an extremely precious stealth item on your body, which is what you Russians call "isolation coat"?It is a dirty thing, only a small number of people in New Russia know it. Not only does it only have one place of production, but it is used by very few departments.But don't try to hide it, young man, I beg you to put it away and take it with you.One day I will take it myself, along with the thief who stole him.Now let's talk about the most critical point, I guess the paper is almost burned...

Gogol smiled, and it was indeed almost burned. He smelled alcohol and sulfuric acid from the chemical that made the paper spontaneously combust, so he didn't dare to touch the part that was about to burn.Now he is pinching the end of the note, surprised and happy in his heart. He likes this kind of magical and puzzle-like events the most. He is tired of everything that he expected. The clothes were in his bedroom closet, and the clothes were handed to him by Dostoevsky. Could the thief be referring to him?

... Now that the burning has reached the end, I will use a declarative tone to predict the future to you.Mr. Dostoevsky was an excellent guide, and you will discover this more and more in your subsequent dealings with him.The sad truth is that, because of his brilliance, you will be the victim of a movement that has absolutely nothing to do with you.Hope he's not taking advantage of your kindness, poor young man.Sometimes I wish foreign Sentinels were as knowledgeable as ours, for at least they have the common sense that a High Guide is perfectly capable of falsifying the interests and feelings of others.That's all for now, if you're interested in sharing it with your guide friend, go ahead and maybe he'll make you forget about it by the way, it's a breeze.

your faithful

A·M·C·M

And: there is no need to raise the orchid finger like this, the fuel is non-toxic.