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The crystal lamps above their heads shrouded everyone with a soft light, illuminating the trout soup on the table in a sparkling light.

As the minutes ticked by, the trout soup in front of the table was already cold, but they didn't notice it, for Baudelaire had all his attention on the paper.

Pan Shen, who pursued fairies but could not obtain them, a half-dreaming and half-awake dream, brought into full play the symbolist spirit advocated by Baudelaire.

Baudelaire took the manuscript paper with an incredulous expression, and he said to Michelle, "Are you sure this is really a newcomer?" And not the pen name of some prestigious poet? ”

Michelle scratched her head worriedly and said hesitantly, "It's a newcomer." ”

Baudelaire's reaction was already beyond his expectations, so he had to briefly explain what had happened.

After listening, Wilmesang said excitedly, "I'm very interested in this manuscript, if you don't need it, give it to me." Of course, I am willing to pay the author 30 francs for this poem. As for the beginning of this novel, for Michel's sake, it can be serialized in 25 francs per thousand words. ”

Thirty francs for a thousand words is already a good salary for a newcomer, and the rent on rue Saint-Anthony is less than 70, which at least keeps Zola from worrying about three meals a day.

Wilmesan's generosity was surprising, and since that was the case, Michelle sold his favor.

"Since Your Excellency Will Mesan thinks these two manuscripts are good, then I will pass him on to you. But when the time comes, I hope that Michelle Publishing House will be the first to get the agency rights. ”

Michelle blinked, he was a businessman, and of course he stopped thinking about how to make money all the time. If this newcomer's new work can really become a hit, he won't suffer.

Will Mesan scolded with a smile and said, "Michelle, you old fox, you really don't think about making money all the time. The next time you go to a brothel, will you have a treat? ”

Michelle smiled knowingly and said, "Of course, of course." ”

In these years, *** is regarded as a sacred and glorious communication, so it is also an era when syphilis is rampant. Incidentally, Baudelaire died of syphilis.

As he famously said, "We all have a republican spirit in our blood, just as we have syphilis in our bones." ”

Baudelaire, who was not speaking, also spoke, and he said bluntly, "By the way, I will hold a literary salon at home next weekend." If I'm lucky, I'd like to invite the newcomer named Garion to attend. ”

This time, it was Michel and Wilmesan who cast surprised glances at Baudelaire. Everyone knows who will be attending Baudelaire's party, Flaubert, Alexandre Dumas and Sainte-Beuve. Even Mérimée, the author of Carmen and Baudelaire's literary enemy, can only satirize his peers with sourness, and these people should really go to see if there is something wrong with their eyes.

The quick-thinking Michelle realized that this was an opportunity, and quickly nodded and said, "Okay, I'll go and inform him." ”

If it's true as Baudelaire suggests, then the Garion is definitely a worthwhile long-term investment.

At this time, Zola and Garion didn't know that they were being put on the topic stage by three giants in the literary and artistic world. After coming out of the Michel Press, Zola took Garian to a nondescript tavern.

Pushing open the door, a sultry and sour body smell came to his nose, and Garion frowned and subconsciously covered his nose.

The price of the tavern at the bottom of the society is naturally very close to the people, and as for how much water is mixed in the wine, I am afraid only the boss knows.

Passing through the noisy and vulgar crowd, Zola took Garion's hand to the relatively secluded bar, and the two of them moved their butts to sit on the bar, their eyes on the dazzling array of drinks.

The whole bar was so noisy that Garion had to pull his throat and say to the bartender, "A glass of Acquavet, thank you." ”

The stout bartender sipped his pipe and said unceremoniously, "I'm sorry, but we don't sell Germanic hillbillies here." ”

The pipe and beard shook up and down with his lips.

Remembering the German Confederation, which was still under the feet of the First French Empire at this time, the people at the bottom of Paris expressed their superiority and contempt for their neighbors.

Garion smiled and did not speak, ten years later Napoleon III would also feel the fear of being dominated by Prussia.

Zola interjected, "Then two glasses of rum, I'll treat you." ”

He grinned and took the glass from the bartender's hand, brought it to Garion, and smiled, "Thank you, dear friend. I never dreamed that you would know the editor-in-chief of the publishing house. ”

The flush on Garion's face became noticeable after a glass of wine. However, he still reminded the other party very rationally, "But I don't know if I can pass it, you also have to be mentally prepared." ”

"It's okay, I just want a drink."

Zola held up his glass and said, "Boss, have another drink." ”

After three glasses of wine, Zola's words gradually increased, and by this time the things in his eyes had become psychedelic ghosts, and he felt that his tongue had become unstraight.

However, he patted Garion on the shoulder, still babbling, "I'll tell you...... I just want everybody else to know that I'm Zola...... Belch...... Can write...... A masterpiece ......"

As soon as the words fell, there was a plop, and the whole person fell on the bar.

The glass was knocked over, the unfinished rum seeped in all directions, and the bartender picked up the rag and began to wipe the table. After paying a franc, Garion picked up Zola and walked out the door.

However, Garion overestimated Zola's drink, and before he had gone far, he broke free of Garion's hands, and hurriedly ran to the wall, holding on to the corner, and vomited out.

Zola's mind cleared up a little, and he began to babble, "Actually...... I'm just sad. ”

He sat in the corner, his face blown by the cold wind of the night. With his hands on his knees, he muttered to himself, "I know it's a difficult road, and after my father's death, life in the family has been struggling and the family is getting poorer, dear Garion, do you know?" At the age of twelve, I experienced first-hand the pain of being coerced by creditors. My mother had no choice but to bring me here to earn a living. I went to Saint-Louis in Paris, but I did a bad job in my baccalaureate. After that, I was forced to come out to look for a job, and I suffered more cold eyes and discrimination than you think. ”

Zola kept talking, and Garion crouched down to listen to his slow talk.

He tugged at Garion's sleeve and babbled, "It's been a long time since I've spoken so much to anyone......

The streets were full of trouser men, drunken and drunk walking in the direction of home.

No one notices the wall on the street corner, and the frustrated Wenqing uses a hangover to express his suppressed emotions.

The gesture of Zola reminded him of the years before the crossing, when a few like-minded friends drank late at night and discussed literature and love in his youth. And a trip about the world.

It's just that at the end of the cups touching together, it's the sound of broken dreams.

It's the best of times, it's the worst of times.

People go straight to heaven; People go straight to hell.

Gary, who didn't speak, was so relieved that he stood up, pulled a water storage pen out of his pocket, and stomped the tip of his nose off. Then he turned around and scribbled quickly on the wall, and wrote a poem in engraving.

Meanness is the pass of the mean,

Noble is the epitaph of the noble.

Behold, in that gilded sky,

Floating with the crooked reflection of the dead.

The glacial age has passed,

Why are there ice cubes everywhere?

The Cape of Good Hope was found,

Why are thousands of sails competing in the Dead Sea?

I came into this world,

Only paper, rope, and figure.

In order that before the trial,

Read out the voices that have been sentenced.

Let me tell you, world,

I--no--phase--believe!

Even if you have a thousand challengers under your feet,

Then count me as the thousandth and onest.

I don't believe the sky is blue,

I don't believe in the echo of thunder,

I don't believe that dreams are fake,

I don't believe that death is without retribution.

If the ocean is destined to burst,

Just let all the bitter water pour into my heart.

If the land is destined to rise,

Let human beings choose the peak of survival again.

New turnarounds and sparkling stars,

is filling the unobstructed sky,

That's the words carved for thousands of years,

That's the gaze of people in the future.

The bright moonlight hung high in the sky, and the silver glow illuminated the vast dark sky. The cold luster poured down like water, softly enveloping Garion who was struggling to write in the moonlight.

The silver-white light gently melted a scene.

When Garion finishes writing the last character, the pen is officially dead.

At the end of the poem, there is a point title written in beautiful handwriting.

Questions and Answers.

Author: G.