Letters from Home in the Newspaper 711: 230.
Letters from Home in the Newspaper Although the outcome was poignant, it wouldn’t be considered a tragedy.
Because this was not the end of the novel.
The Emotion Potion was not a real antidote; as time went on, Jamie had to increase the dosage and reduce the intervals to prevent emotions from vanishing from his life.
On the last page, several decades had passed.
Jamie still maintained the appearance of a young man, astonishing the world, but he was developing a tolerance to the Emotion Potion and was about to lose his emotions completely.
When the last bottle of potion dissolved in his stomach, Jamie finally realized that his desire for immortality stemmed from his acute awareness of all the beauty in the world.
Yet, he had discarded them on his quest for eternal life.
It’s hard to imagine Aileen would read such a thing.
Perhaps the indifferent butler liked it?
Closing “Voice of Tragedy,” Lu Li placed it beside him and gazed at the burning fire outside the cabin, pondering amidst the sobbing sea breeze.
More than the story itself, Lu Li noted the similarities between the male protagonist and Anna.
Anna had also lost the same things: touch, smell, taste, and emotions gradually eroded by the atmosphere of the Inner World.
Jamie struggled desperately with the Emotion Potion, but Anna could not; her only possession came at a cost—harming humans.
The only solutions seemed to be waiting for a response from the Exorcist Association or inquiring with merchants.
Having finished the book, there was less than two hours until dawn.
The Elm Forest surroundings were not always devoid of strangeness that deterred entry.
For example, shortly after Lu Li’s contemplation, a distant foghorn sounded not far from the sea.
No ships would come to Belfast, especially under the cover of Mist of Strangeness at night.
The intervals of the foghorn sound moved from distant to close, pausing momentarily somewhere, perhaps Rodest Port, then continued farther away until it disappeared into the gradually brightening thick mist.
The night quietly departed.
Another morning arrived, and no one knew what day of the week it was.
After the outdoor bell of the cabin cluster rang, the underground inhabitants gradually left their homes and headed to the open-air canteen.
They had almost grown accustomed to underground life.
Apart from the lack of sunlight, need-based distribution, and the oppressive underground atmosphere, there wasn’t much difference here compared to above ground.
There was no sunlight there either.
Moreover, it was safer here.
The menu changed every two days, but only lunch and dinner varied, with few options for breakfast: bran bread without sawdust, as wood was scarcer than wheat.
Mashed potatoes drenched in chicken broth, milk diluted with half water—or water with a touch of milk, surprising to find the shelter even kept cows.
Lulu pushed the Baron to the outdoor canteen.
Tesla had arrived a bit earlier, pouring chicken soup into his mashed potatoes.
“Thought you’d sleep in a bit longer,” Aileen said, breaking apart black bread into her wooden bowl of chicken soup.
Tesla had been doing the work of two these days, seemingly tireless.
Whether truly for building the shelter or to numb his heart, only he knew.
The underground dwellers gathered around the long table, taking advantage of the rare free time to chat, with laughter occasionally bursting from one table.
Halfway through breakfast, the daily morning newspaper of the shelter was delivered.
Lulu picked up Aileen’s copy and was about to get Tesla’s.
“Don’t get me one,” Tesla said, his voice hoarse.
“I don’t want to see it.”
If Aileen had known Tesla’s story and how crucial Aidanvoya was to him, perhaps she would have praised him.
Unfortunately, she did not.
Aileen only saw Tesla’s evasive cowardice, which she despised, “You’re even more spineless than a woman without legs.”
“Say whatever you want,” Tesla responded indifferently, his expression blank.
Aileen stopped paying him any attention and opened the newspaper.
After reading a few lines, her eyebrows suddenly rose.
“I remember you’re called Michael Tesla?”
“Is there anyone else here named Michael?” Tesla continued stirring his mashed potatoes in circles with his spoon.
Lulu whispered in Aileen’s ear, “In shelter 685 only one resident and manager is named Michael.”
“Then it must be you,” Aileen said, as if she had discovered something interesting, pushing the newspaper toward Tesla.
“Someone wrote you a letter, quite extravagantly, it’s even published in our newspaper.”
“And quite clever,” Lulu added with admiration.
The blank look in Tesla’s eyes finally fluctuated, and the wrist that had been turning stopped; his gaze fell on the newspaper.
are you okay over there?]
[The gentleman, mysterious as the night yet filled with compassion, received your letter and brought me back to his refuge]
[It’s safe here, maybe not as safe as where you are but…
[When the weather is good, I can vaguely see where we used to live, pleased that the Mist of Strangeness hasn’t ruined it, looking there reminds me of every day of our life…
[They said we can’t contact you, thankfully, the mysterious gentleman thought of this idea, albeit at some cost]
[Michael, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, whether I can wait for your return before my consciousness fades, but I will keep waiting]
see you in a few days.
The mysterious gentleman said I can keep writing to you]
The paused wrist began to move again, Tesla’s voice sounded hoarse as if he hadn’t drunk water for days, but the numbness disappeared.
“Thank you, and the rest I think is meant for you.”
This letter brought Tesla’s soul back as well.
Aileen curiously took back the newspaper, skipping past the “touching part” to look at the bottom.
It was a promissory note.
The brief style almost made Aileen envision him, dressed in a black trench coat, calmly explaining it to her.
The content was simple; he had borrowed a batch of books from Aileen’s library.
If she could return there, she could find a note in that bedroom that had his whereabouts written on it.
It sounded intriguing, but Aileen knew “that bedroom” referred to the one Sara had lived in.
“Is the ‘mysterious gentleman’ Lu Li?” Aileen looked up and asked Tesla.
It was clear, the appearance of the two letters in the newspaper was no coincidence.
“The one who wrote to me was Aidanvoya, my wife.”
A buzz of discussion started around the long table, as the underground residents noticed this strange content that was more like a letter than news.
However, not many knew Tesla’s name, and even if they did, they wouldn’t connect it to this chief investigator.
Next, Tesla told Aileen and Lulu about the letter he sent to Lu Li containing a secret code, and Lu Li did not let him down—he caught the code and brought back Aidanvoya.
“So you’ve been like a zombie these past few days because you were worried about your wife?” Aileen asked.
Tesla did not deny it.
Outsiders would not understand how important Aidanvoya was to him.
“It looks like we won’t be seeing a workhorse like you chugging along today,” Aileen was glad Tesla had regained his fighting spirit, but what frustrated her was—
“That bastard really only wrote me these few words!”