Stendhal Syndrome [Entertainment]

Mo Ci went to drink at the bar not far from the hotel that night. After drinking, it was already early morning, and the winter air-conditioning swept in, immediately blowing away the smell of alcohol on his body, but it was accompanied by some headaches.

Mo Ci gathered the collar of his coat, and then walked into the hotel.

When he was about to walk to the hotel, Mo Ci looked up at the sky, the sky in Florence was very clean, he even saw a few stars emitting solitary light, and a clear moon was slightly covered by a cloud, which reminded him suddenly Lorwen's look today.

He had to be honest with himself, so he had to admit that that look moved him, not because of the surprise brought by his skin, not because of the affection brought about by his temperament, not because of his like-mindedness or the pleasure brought about by chatting.

It's not that he hasn't seen the love that others can't ask for, but Meroving is still a little different. This feeling is very special. He has never experienced it, so he finds it hard to explain and hard to accept.

Mo Ci blinked, then walked into the hotel and entered the elevator, because of time constraints, he didn't see the door of another elevator open, and people walking hurriedly came out of it.

Mo Ci woke up the next morning and planned to check the time, but found that the phone that was on silent when he went to drink last night was dead, so he put it there to charge and then went to wash up.

When I came back, the phone was finally turned on, and there were ten missed calls on it, all of which were from the same number, Meroving.

Mo Ci paused and chose to call, but unfortunately there was no answer.He sighed and opened the closet to change clothes.

Just as Mo Ci changed his clothes and was about to go out, he received a call from Xu Zihe, "I'll be there right away."

"No, Mo Ci, have you seen Meroving? After searching for a long time for the make-up artist, he couldn't be found, nor could he be found by the field manager, and no one answered the phone."

Mo Ci said as he walked out, "Maybe the phone is out of battery, and my phone was out of battery last night."

"Then you go to his room and take a look? Do you have his room card? I remember that you guys discussed the script endlessly and even exchanged room cards."

Mo Zhi went back and took the room card from the table, "Well, then I'll go and have a look."

Merovingen's room was right next to Mo Ci. He knocked on the door and got no response, so he swiped the door with his room card. He called twice but didn't respond, obviously Merovingian was not here.

Originally, there was an oil painting stand in the corner of the suite near the balcony, on which was the painting of Mr. Y, but Meroving said that the painting was not finished, so he kept it hidden from him to see, and he was willing to accept this final work, but now There was no covering cloth and no painting on it.

Mo Ci suddenly felt uncomfortable, and then he saw the open book on the table. He shouldn't have picked it up, after all, it was his privacy, but the familiar writing on it made him stop in his tracks. Picked up the book.

It's in Chinese, and it says a poem——

"I give you the streets of poverty, the sunsets of despair, the moon of shabby suburbs.

I offer you the sorrow of a man who looks long and long at the lonely moon.

I give you my dead ancestors, whose ghosts are honored in marble: my father's father, killed on the border of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his chest.He died with the beard and soldiers wrapped his body in cowhide; my mother's grandfather - then 24 - led a charge of three hundred soldiers in Peru, now ghosts on vanished horses .

I give you whatever insight my books can contain, any manliness or humor my life can contain.

I offer you the allegiance of a man who has never had faith.

I give you the core of myself that I have tried to preserve—the core that does not make sentences, that does not trade with dreams, that is untouched by time, joy, and adversity.

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose I saw one evening many years before you were born.

I give you explanations about yourself, theories about yourself, true and amazing news about yourself.

I give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I try to impress you with confusion, danger, failure. "

It is "What Can I Use to Keep You" by Borges. Mo Ci likes this poem very much, but it is a pity that he is not in the mood to be moved by these sad and magnificent words and sentences.

He flipped the notebook back, and there were records of Mr. Y's biography, sketches for Mo Cihua and other records. Most of these contents were in Chinese, with a few French words mixed in here and there.

......

"By the way, Mo Ci, I'm not very good at Chinese, will it have a big impact then?"

"It's not a big problem. You can speak English. Even if there are other situations, I can help you translate. But you said you are not very good at Chinese, do you mean you can speak a few words?"

"Hmm. I can only say a few words."

"Which words? Hello? Goodbye?"

"I like you."

"My friend said it. He told me that this sentence is very common, just like our greeting over there."

"Then your friend should be joking with you. He lied to you. This sentence is used to express love in Chinese. According to the tradition of this country, this kind of sentence is spoken alone to express love to the beloved. human."

"Really? Fortunately, I haven't said this to anyone other than you."

......

He was so stupid that he didn't realize these things, the arguments between him and his ex-lover, the conversations with Xu Zihe, the discussions with Rong Qing, all the things he thought Meroving couldn't understand, he actually knew all about it.

He thought he was in control of the speed of this tug-of-war, he decided to start and chose to end, but in fact, in fact, someone put on a frank and sincere coat, touched his proud bones, and then laughed in his heart.

All the specialness that Mo Ci gave to Meroving suddenly collapsed at this moment, making him feel that those rare true feelings were wasted, anger, frustration and pity.

At this time, his mobile phone rang. He saw the number on it, paused, and then picked it up.

"Hey."

"Mo Ci, I'm sorry, something happened to my family. I left in a hurry yesterday. I need to ask for a period of leave."

"no need."

"Mo Ci?"

"You don't need to come. The camera has already been filmed. If you have something to do, just take care of it."

"But Mr. Y's painting..."

Mo Ci glanced at the easel subconsciously, and then interrupted him, "I've thought about it, the final result of that painting will not appear in the movie, after all imagination is what dominates the definition of perfection in people's minds. The only answer."

"I don't think you're in the right mood."

"Yeah, I'm not in the right mood." Mo Ci leaned on the sofa, "I suddenly thought of a poem and planned to read it to you."

He didn't wait for Meroving's consent to speak——

"I give you the streets of poverty, the sunsets of despair, the moon of shabby suburbs.

I offer you the sorrow of a man who looks long and long at the lonely moon.

I give you my dead ancestors, whose ghosts are honored in marble: my father's father, killed on the border of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his chest.He died with the beard and soldiers wrapped his body in cowhide; my mother's grandfather - then 24 - led a charge of three hundred soldiers in Peru, now ghosts on vanished horses .

I give you whatever insight my books can contain, any manliness or humor my life can contain.

I offer you the allegiance of a man who has never had faith.

I give you the core of myself that I have tried to preserve—the core that does not make sentences, that does not trade with dreams, that is untouched by time, joy, and adversity.

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose I saw one evening many years before you were born.

I give you explanations about yourself, theories about yourself, true and amazing news about yourself.

I give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I try to impress you with confusion, danger, failure. "

He read the poem in Chinese, but it was definitely not talking about love. Meroving obviously understood what he meant and replied in Chinese. "Mo Ci, I can explain."

There was a sarcastic arc on the corner of Mo Ci's mouth. Sure enough, it was beautiful and fluent Chinese, without any strange accent of foreign countries. It was probably more standard and pleasant than some Chinese people.

"The salary has already been paid into your card from the very beginning. I will ask someone to pack the things you left in the hotel and put them in the hotel. If you have time to pick them up, what else can you do? Contact Xu Zihe."

"Goodbye, Lance Meroving."

Mo Ci paused and smiled, "No, it's not goodbye, there should be no need for us to meet again."

After Mo Ci said this, he hung up the phone and dragged the number into the blacklist.

He closed the book and put it on the table, stood up from the sofa, and strode out of the room.

"You're here, where are the Merovingians?" Xu Zihe saw Mo Ci

"He asked me for leave to go back to France, and there were no more scenes related to him. I simply gave him a complete leave. He probably won't come here again."

Xu Zihe noticed Mo Ci's cold face, and guessed that something big must have happened, but it's not good to ask directly, after all, this person is the proudest, and the one who can make him so angry is probably because someone wants or has damaged him He is so proud, and this person is probably the person he mentioned just now.

At this time, his mobile phone rang, and he picked it up to see that it was Meroving's call, but he chose to hang up directly, then raised his head and said to Mo Ci, "That's fine, we will still shoot as planned later, I will Go talk to the field manager."

"Well, let's go."

After Mo Ci responded to him, he suddenly felt a gust of cold wind blowing over him, which made him unable to hold back the neckline of his coat, and then raised his eyes to look at the sky. The sky in Florence was very clean, and he saw a few beautifully shaped clouds, perhaps There will be the wings of flying birds, but they are not present at this moment.

He looked back, and walked forward.