Started with a green hat for Verlaine

"Sir, do you believe that novels have mystical powers?"

In autumn, when the weather cools down, the windows of Flaubert's house are open for ventilation, and a fire is lit in the fireplace, creating a warm salon atmosphere in the house.

Today, many writers from home and abroad are here. The French writers include Emile Zola, Edmond de Goncourt and others. There are two Russian writers, namely Ivan Sergeyevich. · Turgenev and Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy.

Writers are a group of creatures who crawl on the level of thinking to spy on the world and love fantasy. Many of them worship mysticism and believe in the existence of devils and wizards.

As soon as the salon started, Ma Shengqiu walked up to Flaubert and sat down. The strong Maupassant approached with a smile and handed him a cigar.

Ma Shengqiu also patted the back of his hand away: "Don't smoke, hold it farther away."

Maupassant said cynically: "Mr. Wang Qiu, you are too pursuing the standard of health, and let us miss the opportunity to light cigarettes for you."

The atmosphere suddenly warmed up.

In any circle, only top beauties can ignite the enthusiasm of writers.

Immediately afterwards, with Flaubert's consent, Ma Shengqiu also formulated a discussion theme for the salon: literary works and mysticism.

Discuss between those who do not believe in mysticism and those who believe in mysticism.

Emile Zola said: "I insist on the agnosticism of mysticism. It is not something that human beings can observe with the senses and experience. The so-called mysticism is just an excessive product of this era."

Guy de Maupassant touched his chin and said, "I do believe in mysticism. If you want to say who has the strongest mystic style, it must belong to Mr. Baudelaire."

Edmond de Goncourt squinted at Maupassant: "Are you talking about his "Flowers of Evil"? That book is full of demonism! According to Baudelaire, angels should have the face of a bitch , all good things are ugly appearances.”

"Fiction and mysticism, an interesting topic." Jules Verne and Dumas also joined the topic, and Dumas smiled frankly: "I am a realist writer, and I firmly believe that art will always return to reality in the end. Gentlemen, mystics, draw your swords, and we shall fight."

Emile Zola retorted: "Mr. Dumas, you are wrong. Art should return to nature! We live in nature!"

The 55-year-old Turgenev and Tolstoy, who was ten years younger than him, sat across from each other with a long distance.

More than ten years ago, the two failed to resolve the conflict in time because of the quarrel, and the two as friends broke up completely. This time Tolstoy will be invited here, not by Turgenev, but by a number of French writers invitation to join forces.These people gave Tolstoy enough face, which caused Tolstoy to be embarrassed, and he hesitated to agree to the invitation.

Gustave Flaubert wiped off his sweat. He boasted to Wang Qiu and vowed to invite Tolstoy, but he ignored the writer's private conflicts.

Fortunately, he succeeded.

Gustave Flaubert told Maupassant in advance: "If two people want to duel, you have to stop them for me."

Maupassant patted his chest and said: "I can defeat them alone!"

You can't compete with literature, but you can compete with martial arts!

Aso Qiuya saw Tolstoy's strange performance. Of the more than ten writers present, only Tolstoy did not speak about mysticism.

The Russian writer has a thick white beard like tree roots, and the whole face is covered with gullies,

Under the expectation of Aso Akiya, although Tolstoy was at a loss, he saw the oriental classical beauty that could not grow in Russia's frozen soil from inside his warm eyes, and the other party was silently waiting for him. answer.

Thanks to the Almighty God of Youth, Tolstoy can understand everyone's impulse after seeing Wang Qiu, and calmly criticize his own distracting thoughts.

Finally, Tolstoy said after drawing on the opinions of others.

"The ultimate form of mysticism is to build an ideal utopia on the basis of reality, so as to become one's own god."

"To create a novel is to create the world that the mystic wants."

This sentence has resonated with all writers, many things in the world will leave you, only the words you write are your own!

Turgenev couldn't help looking at Tolstoy, opened his mouth, and couldn't say anything more.They fell out because of a trivial matter, and at this time, Turgenev remembered the excitement of wanting to meet and communicate with Tolstoy. This young man who is no longer young now will always have a love that ordinary people do not have. with kindness.

After Tolstoy, Aso put his fingers on his knees, crossed them, and his waist was as straight as a pine tree unwilling to bend.

His eyes lit up, and he said, "Excellent insight. As writers, you spark sparks in the collision of ideas. As readers, please let me thank you for giving me the opportunity to pick up sparks beside you."

Maupassant subconsciously laughed and said, "I can spark sparks for you every day..."

"Shut up, Maupassant, you haven't even crossed the threshold of the Writers Association." Ma Shengqiu also interrupted Maupassant's coquettish remarks. A writer who has not yet started his writing career will always be an unqualified backup in the eyes of editors.

Maupassant was so depressed that he closed his mouth resentfully.

"I think novels have mysterious power. They can heal people's hearts and trigger other 'miracles'." Ma Shengqiu also said, "A sad person will laugh through tears when reading a happy book. A happy person will shed tears when reading a tragic novel, and a dying person will read a sequel to a novel written in his lifetime, even if he has to hold his breath, he wants to finish it.”

"As for those who have passed away, they may leave a will, so that future generations can give them the author's books to read in the world of death. If they can't even wait for their sons and grandchildren, their resentment will be passed down from generation to generation... "

The writers present were all smiling, but they broke into a cold sweat when they heard it.

Are there such exaggerated readers?

"Even babies will tell fairy tales with their mothers by their side, babbling for their mother's voice when they can't understand them at all."

"These are invisible forces."

"It's all writer's magic."

"I think words are mysterious. Those who create stories with words can bridge the gap between life and death, bring hope to the living and good news to the dead."

Ma Shengqiuya clasped his palms together, and smiled in front of these literary treasures.

"Take me as an example, I live by you."

"Before I see the novel I want to read, I wish all the writers present and not present good health and long life."

"Please pay attention to maintenance, and don't let the readers down—"

"otherwise."

"I will send someone to bring warmth."

He finished his joking words.

Emile Zola muttered to his friends: "What does it mean to send warmth?"

Edmond de Goncourt guessed: "Mr. Wang Qiu often helps writers through difficult times, and it should be a good thing to send warmth."

Turgenev said suddenly: "Well, I understand. I heard that the Russian gangster was hired by an editor. He came to the door and pointed a gun at Dostoevsky to press the manuscript. During that time, he was locked up at home. writing."

Émile Zola: "..."

Edmond de Goncourt: "..."

The other writers shuddered, Qi Qi looked at Aso Qiuya.

Ma Shengqiu also smiled and said: "Those are all misinformation. The real situation is that I hired maids and chefs for Mr. Dostoevsky, and I am recuperating his body. He is too empty. I want to write for him. career considerations."

This kind of behavior is in line with Wang Qiu's reputation in the outside world, and the writers praised him one after another, calling him a great benevolent person in the literary world.

Turgenev could not deny it.

Deserved to be cheated.

In the salon party, Aso was obviously more interested in Tolstoy, and the seat was changed from Flaubert's side to the other's side, making the air filled with a sour smell.

Flaubert was also a little jealous, thinking: Tolstoy is so ugly!

Maupassant thought to himself: Everyone here is ugly, but I am the handsome man!

Fortunately, Ma Shengqiu doesn't know how to read minds. If he could know the active thinking of these writers, he would die laughing today.

"Mr. Tolstoy, is Russia cold now?"

"fine……"

"I have been fascinated by Russian writers for a long time, and I have never had the opportunity to go to your country. Thank you for coming. I have read your "War and Peace". It is an epic story. I don't know your next one. What is the work?"

"I'm writing it, and I haven't finalized it yet."

Tolstoy couldn't bear Wang Qiu's initiative and avoided the topic.

Compared with his fame, Tolstoy was in a state of confusion in the few years after his marriage. His income increased day by day, but he felt that his life lost his joy, he lost his goal ahead, and he could not find the meaning of life.

His thought was eager to be transformed, so he traveled thousands of miles to France to participate in the salon.After seeing Wang Qiu's impeccable appearance, Tolstoy's curiosity was satisfied, and he lamented that God favored him when he created human beings.

In addition, his sense of satisfaction is rapidly fading, as if the colorful world has turned into black and white again, falling into a new round of boredom.

creation?

What it is.

I came to France to travel, not to write a novel.

In fact, Tolstoy's idea of ​​composition has been temporarily suspended.

Ma Shengqiu also asked tentatively: "Mr. Tolstoy, I want to ask you to make an appointment for a manuscript. I wonder if you are interested?"

Tolstoy flatly refused: "No."

Ma Shengqiu did not understand Tolstoy's psychological condition, but he could see the calmness in the other party's eyes. This is a well-fed aristocratic writer, and Ma Shengqiu could not use conventional methods to stimulate the other party's creative ideas.

Ma Shengqiu did not give up either, and said aggressively: "As long as you ask, there is nothing I cannot accomplish."

Writers out there: Jealousy has distorted our handsome faces.

In front of these people, Tolstoy was stunned for a moment, and looked squarely at Aso's determination, perhaps the Orientals would use ancient wisdom to solve his problems.

"Can you... let me know what the true meaning of life is?"

"..."

Oh man, another person who wants to understand the meaning of life.

Ma Shengqiu also deeply felt that anyone with this kind of thinking should go to the main god's space to roll with swords and fires, and see the dangers, and they should understand after they come out.

The essence of life has no meaning, and it is human intellect that gives meaning.

Can't think anymore... If you think about it, it will be philosophy.

"I can." Ma Shengqiu also smiled slightly, "Wait for me in the middle of the night."

For a moment, Tolstoy's heart skipped a beat.

He suddenly wanted to shout out: If you have something to say, why are you looking for me in the middle of the night? !

On second thought——

Forget it.

Come on, I'm not against men.

France is really a welcoming country, Tolstoy realized.

……

Today, there was a weird night.

Gustave Flaubert prepared meals and rooms for the guests from afar, allowing them to move freely in the manor during these few days.

Ten p.m.

It's time for serious people to rest.

Ma Shengqiu also passed the corridor and knocked on the door of Tolstoy's room.

The door creaked and opened, and Ma Shengqiu also stepped into Tolstoy's resting place. The blanket under his feet supported his shoes, which were moderately soft and hard. He closed the door behind his back, as if he didn't hear the other doors. movement from within.

A group of night owls outside who didn't want to sleep opened the door. Among them, Guy de Maupassant squatted outside the door with a cat.

Candles glow in warm colors from the lamps in the room.

"Take the liberty to disturb your rest, I hope I can bring you a sleepless night." Aso Qiuya's skin was also slightly sallow, imprinted with the unique ambiguity of night.

The Oriental unbuttoned his collar in front of Tolstoy.

The first button is undone.

The light-colored silk scarf around the man's neck wrapped his slender neck, which was similar in color to the shirt, but did not reveal much skin.

Tolstoy hissed.

It's too exciting today, it's okay, he can hold on, it can be more exciting!

Aso Qiuya put his hand on the silk scarf and slowly pulled it away. Time seemed to slow down. He also unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the ground.

The hideous sutures are all over the muscles of his upper body, ruining all illusions!

His neck seemed to have been cut off by an executioner, coupled with his pale and bloodless complexion, and his smiling angelic expression under the warm light, he was an undead crawling out of hell!

"That's my answer."

"The true meaning of life is that the living want to die, and the dead want to live."

……

You can't look for excitement in life, because you don't know what kind of excitement you will encounter.