Writer saves the world

The night belongs to the kingdom of dreams. The invisible silk thread pulls the sleeping consciousness, like the morning sun falling on the forehead, and the dew drops on the eyelids, gently and gently awakening the soul in the dream.

Jules Verne knew that he was dreaming, his body was light and light, his consciousness seemed to be soaked in a ball of cotton candy, and the whole person fell into that fluffy sweet trap, and the door that was tightly closed was pried open The gap makes the cowardly and lonely soul inside unable to hide its whereabouts.

The first thing Verne saw in his dream was books—arranged neatly along the wall, books one after another, stretching from his feet to an endless place above his head. The central hall of the office is very spacious, and it is not a problem to accommodate hundreds of people. There are so many books stacked around him that he can't count the number, but for some reason, he feels that these books are very pitifully few.

He heard a complaining voice behind him, "What, this place is like a prison built by books."

Before turning around, Verne felt his shoulders being pressed heavily, "Oh, it's a new face I haven't seen before."

Verne turned his head, and a handsome young man with blond hair and blue eyes put his arm on his shoulder, and was looking at him with a smile: "What's your name? What country are you from?"

He spoke English, but Verne miraculously understood what he was saying.

"I—" he just spoke when another voice rang out, "If you want to talk to others, shouldn't you state your name first, Wilde?"

Verne followed the sound and saw another tall, black-haired young man standing in the corner, with a high nose bridge and frowning—he seemed to frown often, with deep marks between his brows. It looked cold and unapproachable, which made Verne feel a little intimidated.

This man and the blond young man named Wilde seemed to know each other, and Wilde was not affected by his bad face at all, and smiled freely, "Oh, I see you old acquaintances every day, it's really nice to see I'm about to throw up."

As he spoke, he patted Verne on the shoulder again, and comforted him, "The Germans are dead like this. Don't be afraid of him. If he kills you, I'll show you off—hey, Sevan Mr. Tees! I didn't expect you to come too!"

Wilde and Verne were halfway through their conversation, and then warmly greeted another man who appeared in the hall. The other man looked to be in his 30s and 40s. He was wearing a smart training uniform, with short beards on his cheeks, and he had a serious expression on his face. Exuding the arrogance that often gives orders.

This Mr. Cervantes looked around, shook his head and said: "If I had known that it was all you young people, I would not have joined in this fun."

"You're still young. What's more, you need someone like you to hold back what's happening today." Wilde laughed twice, and didn't let go of Verne, just draping his shoulders like a butterfly Say hello to others in the lobby.

It was only then that Verne discovered that during their short conversation, several people appeared in the hall at some point, but they did not rashly join their conversation. Some stood together and whispered something, and some were not far away. Not close to watching the situation alone.

Only a young man came over on his own initiative, called Wilde "sir" respectfully, and nodded to the black-haired young man, "Long time no see, Mr. Heine, I am glad to see that you are all well."

Heine—a tall, thin young man with black hair still had a straight face, his body was like a tight bowstring, "Good night, Orwell."

"I mean George." Wilde patted Orwell on the shoulder, then pulled his cheek again, "Don't be so serious, it's rare to get together with old friends, shouldn't you be happier?"

"You're talking about it." George replied sternly, with the corners of his mouth pulled up symbolically, and he looked at Verne who was embraced by Wilde, "George Orwell, are you—?"

Verne was speechless, suddenly speechless.He seems to have strayed into a mortal in the pantheon, and can only cower under Wilde's arms like a little quail, not even knowing where to put his hands.

"Okay, you scared him." The only woman present rescued Verne from Wilde. She had her hair in a bun and wore a string of pearl necklaces around her neck. She looked kind and dignified, like an aristocrat Miss at home.

Verne smelled the faint fragrance of roses on her body, and couldn't help but feel his cheeks get hot.

"Praise for your kindness, dear Miss Lagerloff." Wilde shrugged without arguing, his eyes fell on the young man with a face full of panic, and he said, "However, everyone should be very happy." Want to know who you are—or rather, you invited us here?"

He spoke casually and frivolously, but the originally relaxed atmosphere suddenly became tense, as if countless sharp swords condensed in the air in an instant, resting on Verne's neck and pressing against his eyes, making his legs go weak, It felt like the skin had been scratched and tingled.

"Ahem." The brown-haired young man standing alone cleared his throat, "Since Mr. Wilde said so, I guess everyone should have received that letter..." He struggled with the wording he should use, and finally sighed loudly He took a breath, "Okay, that's quite an interesting invitation."

His tone was lively and playful, and his cheeks were a little cute and cute, but everyone present was a few steps away from him, and he almost wrote "Don't come over" on his face.

"I think it's better not to be some 'surprise gift' from you?" Heine said the other person's name word by word with a cold face, "Mr. O. Henry."

"You think too much of me, Mr. Heine." O. Henry looked innocent and aggrieved, "If I had the ability, I would definitely not choose such a boring scene—not to mention that I am with You are separated by the Atlantic Ocean."

He raised his hand and vowed that before going to sleep, he was still counting the stars in the Amazon rainforest, which is thousands of miles away from Europe. Even if he wanted to add a little surprise to everyone's life, he couldn't reach it.

"And I'm also very curious about how I was found. It's a ghostly place where even Miss Lagerlof's [Nils] might get lost."

O. Henry looked at Wilde, and sighed more happily: "I think Mr. Wilde should be more curious? If the British government knows that you have 'that' idea, it will be really—wow!"

Just imagining the reaction of the British government, he couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth wildly.

You must know that Wilde's supernatural ability [Portrait of Dorian Gray] can fix the state of the person in the painting at the time of painting, and replace it with all negative effects such as injury, illness and aging. It can be called a bug-level auxiliary ability.

Even if the painting will be damaged naturally if it is injured too much, you only need to draw another one to continue it. Unless the painting is damaged by external force, it will not backfire on the person in the painting. It is basically equivalent to giving a second life to the person. Derby's eyeballs were still tight.

Regardless of how Wilde can talk to anyone here like a courtesan, O. Henry has seen his residence when he went to England on a mission - a two-story villa with a small garden, which is full of traps everywhere Killing intent, the inner three floors and the outer three floors are surrounded by guards so that even a fly cannot fly in.

Even if the garden is filled with roses according to Wilde's preference, you can see the fresh and pleasant natural scenery of the forest and lake from any window; , as gorgeous as a king's palace...

But no matter how it is decorated, it still cannot change the fact that it is a cold prison.

In fact, except for George Orwell, the liaison officer, Wilde has only seen photos of other people in intelligence, and others have also only seen photos of Wilde in intelligence, and it is not the current youth version, it is Before he was taken away by the British government, he looked like an immature and young child.

Wilde sighed softly: "I can't help it, I also want to try entertainment other than painting once in a while." He counterattacked O. Henry in the same tone, "If the US government knows that their chief intelligence officer is actually Thinking... ah, this is probably the same as the sentence you often say, it will definitely be a great 'surprise'."

——Verne suddenly noticed that although Wilde was smiling, his eyes were so cold that there was no warmth, like two beautiful and hard sapphires, without the slightest emotion that a human should have.

He trembled because of this discovery, and subconsciously approached Miss Ragerlof, who was kind to him, and Miss Ragerlof stroked his hair as a comfort.

Verne touched his heart that was still beating wildly, and finally mustered up his courage, Qi Qiai said: "My name is Jules...Jules Verne."

Heine raised his eyebrows, and said in a cold tone, "French?"

Verne nodded, biting his lip and not daring to look into each other's eyes - if Wilde's eyes were cold sapphires, then Heine's eyes were sharp knives, just a glance from those eyes felt like his chest had been cut open , even the deepest part of the soul has been seen through.

Heine looked at Verne, and after a while his expression eased, "He doesn't know anything."

Heine just said something like this, and the tense atmosphere in the field was relaxed. Verne felt the big hand that squeezed his lungs relax, and the air flowed into his chest smoothly again. body, told him to breathe heavily and rapidly.

Mr. Cervantes came over and patted him on the back, "Don't be nervous, take a deep breath—yes, hold it, and let it out slowly."

There were physiological tears in the corners of Verne's eyes, and he felt uncomfortable retching while covering his mouth.He didn't know who these people in front of him were and what he was involved in, and he was filled with indescribable despair and frustration.

He was indeed longing for something. When he received the invitation letter, he could feel his heart beating faster involuntarily. Something more attractive than the call from the depths of the sea gave him something practical hope.

Maybe, maybe someone would be willing to hold his hand.

He clearly fell into the dream with such a beautiful fantasy in his arms.

But standing here at this moment, he actually felt that it was a huge mistake for him to exist here.

Verne lowered his head even lower, wishing there was a gap in the ground for him to disappear in place.

Finally, George Orwell, who stood aside and watched for a long time, sighed, and said loudly: "The host has avoided seeing the guests. I think this is not the principle of hospitality."

His voice is clear and full of conviction and strength, which makes people feel that he must be a reliable and steady good person, no matter how ridiculous things he says, there must be reason and reason to believe that he is absolutely right in the world truth……

—Whatever George Orwell said was certainly true.

When Orwell opened his mouth, other people had already covered their ears with aspirations. Verne also saw Heine kneading the center of his brows as if he was in extreme pain, his lips twitching and muttering something in a low voice to distract attention.

"Heine's ability [Romancello] doesn't quite match Orwell's [1984]." Miss Lagerloff explained softly.

[Roman Tsello], which can see through all hypocrisy and lies, and [1984], which can distort thinking and manipulate people's hearts, can be said to be two abilities that are so conflicting that they are about to form a singularity.

Cervantes interjected with great interest: "I also really want to ask what the inviter thinks. He actually invited several of us at the same time."

The basis of his ability [Don Quixote] is delusion, the more absurd the imagination, the stronger it is, the more unrealistic the illusion is, the more real it is, and the compatibility with [Romancello] is not very good.

As for the inviter in his mouth, Erye Tingming, who was still writing hard at the last moment, waited and watched the situation for a long time, and finally figured out the character of the characters on stage. After writing all the lines for tonight, he appeared in the hall belatedly.

"Good night, all great... traitors."