"99 Princes Street. 99 Princes Street. 99 Princes Street. ”

With the same address in his mind, Hodden was ninety-nine percent sure that it should be his home address, and as for the one percent chance of the remaining, he decided to open up all possibilities and look forward to surprises.

In fact, he now needs to solve the problem of cold more than surprise.

The wet linen shirt stuck to the skin, the slightest needle-like cold air drilled into the skin along the pores, and the inadvertent breeze blew, and I couldn't help but shiver again and again, and the slender but slightly thin body was a little unable to resist the cooling attack in the middle of the night, so that it was impossible to tell exactly what time of year and what latitude it was.

"Hot ginger tea is the best choice, hot cocoa is also good, and if it doesn't work, hot honey water can also be used. Ahh And donuts. There are also fried chicken nuggets. There is also a lot about the stew. ”

Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, always feeling that his stomach was singing in protest, Hoden temporarily collected the cluttered thoughts in his mind, and his body was hidden in the shadows cast by the moonlight, keeping his guard to make sure he didn't reveal his whereabouts, hoping that he didn't follow his tail.

When I turned around, I could see the light of the fire reflecting the red sky, and the burning house was in the northeast behind me, about eight blocks away, and the bustling noise faded away, and the noisy neighborhood gradually quieted down, but the unpleasant smell could still be captured—

What the hell is this place?

The pungent smell has always lingered in the nose, and I used to think that it was a mixture of the fire scene and the smell of the river, but now it still lingers.

The smell was slightly different, but still indescribable, some dry, some damp, some lively, some silent, words that shouldn't have been used to describe the smell came to mind, mixed with the smell of rotten fish and pungent soot, like entering a mobile toilet at a music festival.

It's hard to put into words.

Only the sound of Howlen's trivial footsteps sounded softly on the lonely streets, so much so that he couldn't help but stand on tiptoe and step on catwalks.

In the thick of the night, through the moonlight, you can see a series of gray buildings, generally low, the highest is only three stories, faded shutters, rusty iron railings, exposed red bricks, plus the wet and slimy black mud on the soles of the feet, you can judge that this is obviously not a wealthy area.

What really catches the eye is the steel frame standing on both sides of the street, erecting a double rail track in the air at a height of three stories, crossing the block and extending towards the north of the city, which looks like a light rail, but Holden can't remember where the urban spatial planning is so rough and arbitrary-

The fact that the steel columns unreasonably occupy the important space of the street and stand in front of the houses without any special planning also makes the already not spacious street even narrower, and now only one and a half cars are allowed to run in parallel, who knows how to solve the problem during the rush hour.

"No. 95, No. 97, No. 99. ”

This was obviously not the best time to look around, Hodden just took a cursory look, followed the guidance of vague memories, and successfully found his destination.

It's a low, three-story building that doesn't differ much from the rest of the buildings around the street, with mottled walls, dirty door panels, and gray house numbers.

At this point, Hoden got closer and noticed that the grid street lamp next to him seemed to be a gas lamp, and then looked back at the double-track railway overhead—hell, where the hell was he now?

I took out the key from my pants pocket, inserted it smoothly into the keyhole, and with a slight turn, I could hear a clicking sound, and with a push of my left hand, the door opened.

It seems that there is no wrong place.

According to memory, it should have been the room at the end of the corridor on the third floor.

Crunchy.

Even as Holden tiptoed to lighten his steps, the old plank structure let out a painful moan, as if pain could be felt with every footstep.

"Babble. ”

There was a sound of the door opening behind him, and Hoden stopped his movement to go upstairs, froze in place, reflexively turned his head, and then met the eye with a teenager in pajamas.

The air was suddenly quiet.

So, this is the tense moment of extinguishing or being extinguished?

The boy glanced at Hoden sleepily, rubbed his eyes, and said in a milky voice, "Good night, Hoden." ”

"......" Haddon blinked and gently bowed his head in response, "Good night." ”

And then, the boy just walked away, in style.

The boy pushed open the door to the room across the hallway, closed it again, and only the creaking sound of the floor could be heard faintly, and finally disappeared completely behind the door, as if nothing had happened.

Hoden's movements stood still for a moment, a second, two seconds, and then he turned around and climbed the stairs again.

Gently pushing open the door of the room, the silver moonlight spilled through the window lattice, filling most of the space, faintly outlining the scene of the room, obviously an extremely unfamiliar environment, but Hoden could feel a sense of familiarity from the depths of his soul.

A room of about 30 square meters can be seen at a glance:

On the right-hand side by the door is a single bed, neatly folded with a set of bedding, and at the foot of the bed against the wall is a bookshelf--cupboard, the top half filled with books, and the bottom half with three drawers.

Directly in front of him faced the window, a desk with a mess of papers and books scattered on the table, and an oil lamp—he read that right, a kerosene lamp, not a table lamp.

The most eye-catching on the left-hand side is undoubtedly a fireplace in the center of the wall, while near the main door is a kitchenette with a square table, a cupboard and a bucket, and near the window there is a wardrobe and a standing cupboard, and that's all.

Although it is not a home, it is not far away, and I don't know if I can find a little food.

Closing the door of the room, bathing in the moonlight, he stood still, quietly searching the memories in his mind, then turned and walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet next to it, and found a small bag of bread on the top floor, and a small piece of butter carefully wrapped in tin foil hidden in the corner.

Very good!

He took the bread and butter to the desk next to the window and put it down, cut a small piece of butter with a butter knife, put it in his mouth, and savored it with the tip of his tongue for a while, and then went to the kitchen again, found the coarse salt, twisted a few grains, sprinkled it on the butter, and then came to the desk and sat down formally.

Despite the gurgling of his stomach, Hoden methodically cut the bread, carefully and carefully spread a thin layer of butter to make sure that it was evenly spread, and then put it in his mouth, took a big bite hard, chewed it slowly—

The wheat is still a little rough, and the roasting is a little excessive, but the faint burnt taste gently brings out the sweetness of the wheat, as if you can feel the sound of the wind blowing the wheat waves surging in your ears, and even the unique wheat aroma lingers under the nose, mixed with a little butter and coarse salt, and a elastic tenacity makes the teeth can't help but chew for a long time, the more you bite, the more fragrant it becomes, and it seems that every cell has woken up.

Morsel. Morsel.

Hodden treated the small packet of bread with solemnity and formality, as if he were enjoying a formal French meal at this time, and it was not until all the bread and butter were eaten and wiped that he raised the corners of his mouth contentedly, put down the knife, and slowly leaned back in his chair, and let out a happy murmur.

Not enough, of course not enough, but given the current situation, Hoden is very content.

If he could, Holden wanted to lie on the bed and let his eyelids droop.

However, he can't.

At this moment, there are really too many problems left to solve, and for the time being, I don't think about whether anyone is chasing him, and I can't say that he still can't be sure if this is a dream or something else, there are more urgent things at the moment-

The wet clothes still did not dry naturally, but absorbed the cold of the dew, and became more and more cold and biting, so that the body trembled slightly uncontrollably. I just focused on the supper and didn't feel much for a while, but now that I'm relaxed, I start to shiver continuously.

One after the other.

He needs a hot bath.

But obviously, there was no bathroom in the room - there was a shared public restroom on each floor, as if the teenager on the first floor had to go to the public restroom in the middle of the night to solve his physiological needs.

He needed to light the kerosene lamp before heading to the public restroom to shower, or he wasn't sure if he would take two shirts with him.

Lighter?

Match?

Flint?

Howlen's eyes searched the room again, but he couldn't find any clues about his memory, but instead an inspiration came out of nowhere, and he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers, and then he could see a small flame floating on his fingertips, gently swaying in the wind.

It was a real flame, and the orange-red flames were shaking slightly, and it seemed a little unstable.

Holden ignorantly stretched out his right hand and lit the wick of the kerosene lamp, and then the firelight gradually brightened, and the cold and solemn moonlight exited the room like a tide, and the silver-blue space was dyed with a layer of milky yellow, which invisibly produced the illusion that the indoor temperature was rising, and the shiver stopped.

The fingertip flame was extinguished.

Hodden stared silently at his fingertips: nothing went wrong, not even a hot sensation, in stark contrast to the experience of being in the sea of fire just now, could it be that one was a real flame and the other was a magic flame?

Wrong.

Immediately Hoden denied this ridiculous speculation, obviously both are real flames, the difference is only in the level and scale, and perhaps the difference between internal and external forces, so, could the fire just now be caused by Hoden himself? Also, what is going on with this flame?

"Smack. ”

Hoden snapped his fingers again, and the flames appeared on his fingertips again, swaying tamely and softly, like a jumping elf.

"Ah...... Possible...... It seems like...... Maybe you really can't drink bubble tea. ”