Sherlock didn't say much. If it were normal www.biquge.info she would definitely not believe Dior's words, but now she would rather she was deceived. She stood by the bed, looking indifferent to her condition, holding a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo in her hand. When she was in London, she rarely went out during the day, and most of the time she spent her time at home reading a book.

It didn't take long for Sixteen Nights to come with Sakuya as well. Originally, this condition required treatment in the intensive care unit, but Dio rejected the doctor's proposal and 'bought' a ward and lived here alone. When Sixteen Nights carried some condolences such as fruits and led Sakuya into the ward with one hand, a visible disgust appeared on Dior's face.

The disgust wasn't particularly strong, it wasn't so much disgust as it was that she was troublesome. Sherlock believes that Dio has at least a close affection for Sakuya.

"Do you want to kill me? Human food is one of the few nutrients that I can provide other than increase the burden on my body. ”

Immediately, the source of her disgust was identified as the condolences in Sixteen Nights' hands.

"You can eat it if you don't eat Saki Night," Sixteen Night dissatisfiedly put the condolences on the bedside table, "And who do you think helped you discover the disease?"

"Jacqueline. Dior replied without hesitation.

"It's me! Look into my eyes! You are mine, your hair, your lips, your body, your soul, everything is mine!"

"Ah, Wuthering Heights?" Dior snapped his fingers, "I'm really nostalgic, it's been more than ten years." Emily Brontë, a legendary poet, did not have a particularly complicated experience in her life, and she did not receive a systematic higher education, and the so-called education experts hated the writer. It's really funny, I haven't learned anything, but I can still write intoxicating poems. No, this should be attributed to the relationship between the three Brontë sisters. Because of poverty, Emily supported each other, and although Emily died of lung disease, her spirit was inherited by her sister. Despite being not wealthy and living an extremely difficult life, they are still staring towards the future they desire. ”

"Huh, is that so?" Sixteen Nights craned her neck, apparently she had no knowledge of the life of the book's author.

"Dior. ”

Misaki lay on the side of the hospital bed at night, and some worry appeared on her face that had always looked dull. Dior's expression softened, and he reached out and gently stroked her head. Sixteen Nights also sighed and looked at them with a smile.

The calm lasted for a moment, and Sherlock took one look at the seemingly harmonious 'family' and closed his eyes. Dior turned his head to look at Sixteen Nights.

"Sixteen nights, if..."

"Needless to say, I know. ”

Sixteen Nights interrupted her, and Dio froze, her face still showing dissatisfaction with Sixteen Nights interrupting her, but she still took it back.

"The three Brontë sisters may not be as pure as you think," Sherlock shook his head, "maybe their efforts are just out of jealousy. ”

"Ahh ”

Dior's words made Sherlock almost jump in anger.

"Well, human beings are not pure things in themselves, and expecting pure feelings in human beings is a fool's dream, and I am not a person who is standing still towards an impossible goal," Dior smiled slightly, "But, even for a moment, human beings may shine unexpectedly." The elder sister and sister spent their not-so-happy childhood in the children's playroom, where Emily Brontë finished writing "Wuthering Heights". After the book was published, the only son of the Brontë family died of alcohol and drugs, Emily suffered from lung disease, she refused any treatment, and finally left her sisters to die alone. She never received her own honor until her death. ”

Their initial submissions were failures, and the work of Emily, Charlotte, and Anne all failed. "Wuthering Heights" was also not recognized at the time. I think her death was "unregrettable", and although Wuthering Heights didn't take credit at the time, Charlotte's Jane Eyre was a success before it reached the end of its life. 'Only loneliness belongs to you'. ”

"You like books very much, I don't know why, but can I ask now?"

"If you've lived in a six-and-a-half-fold room since childhood, and you don't have any entertainment other than gambling and cheating, I think you'll be drawn to the 'reality' and 'fantasy' in the book. ”

Dio said something heavy with ease.

She considered herself lucky that at least that bastard father didn't sell her to the kiln and didn't beat her up and use her to vent his grievances. On the contrary, she did not feel that her father was a "disgrace" to her, and for Dalio, death was the best destination. Only then will he be able to reunite with his dead mother, Chong – an unrealistic fantasy that occasionally pops up in her mind.

"At the end of life, there is nothing more than death. Death is seen as a form of escape, and Emily Brontë's refusal to receive treatment is not an escape. Even when her life came to an end, the spirit under the tip of her pen would continue to live. This spirit is "pure things." ”

"As if you're going to refuse treatment?" Sherlock snorted.

"Why, if I die, I won't see anything like this," Dior lay comfortably on the bed, "Even if I die, it will only stink for 10,000 years at most." Only as the opponent of these who sparkle at the end of their lives can they see the most precious scenery. ”

"And what are you going to do?"

"Survive, get bigger rights, more money, only then can you have the capital to fight. ”

"Unscrupulous?"

"Unscrupulous means. ”

Also, you don't have to ask to know that Dior would say that.

"I've heard, you still have the mission of the Ming Empire on you, right?" Sherlock straightened his clothes and walked to the door of the ward.

"Yes, but it doesn't seem like it can be done for the time being. Dio picked up the condolences brought by Sixteen Nights, took out an egg tart, and handed it to Misaki.

"Wouldn't it be nice to relax for a while? ”

Sherlock strode out of the room, closed the door to the room, and stood in front of the door.

"Slightly... Just help. She spoke to herself in a voice that only she could hear.

In the room, Dio looked at the door and raised the corners of his mouth slightly.

For the dying man, the end of life is neither death nor destruction. It is neither the end nor the beginning, but transcendent. Only then can we understand the so-called "life", the incomprehensible, and after that, all knowledge and memories will be reduced to their most primitive form.

"Alright, now it's show time. She said for no reason.

"What do you say?"

"Nothing. ”