After leading Ed to his destination, Russell turned and left, leaving Ed alone in front of the door. He looked at the straight, tall, translucent double door in front of him that seemed to be made of some kind of hedron, and his lips were closed, and his heart fluttered.

The door alone is already a work of art.

"Be careful." Russell's final warning echoed in Ed's head, "She doesn't like loud noises, she likes quiet, she doesn't like light, she doesn't like light coming into her world, and she only lets people approach her when it's allowed." Russell seemed a little sad when he said it, "I don't know if she'll be like this for the rest of her life." If she kept not letting people hold her hand, there was nothing she could do to stop her from slipping into that damn abyss. ”

Ed thought it might be some kind of art description so abstract that it made him feel a little crazy. But he wasn't at all unable to understand what Russell was saying. The great artists in history are more or less crazy in the eyes of normal people, maybe they are all sliding into the abyss step by step, or they are already in the abyss, or they have fallen into the abyss and crawled out of the abyss, and since then they are incompatible with everything in the world, crazy. Maybe Ed is facing such a monster now, and the other party is still a little girl under the age of twenty.

Ed felt like he should shiver or something, but he didn't. He pinched himself hard, causing his body to shake twice. Then he pushed open the door and walked into the room inside.

It's a studio, a large, exaggerated studio, empty as if it's on its own outside of the Overworld, but at the same time it's hilarious and scary. It was empty because there was nothing in front of the innermost wall in the whole room, and there was nothing left, not even a table or a chair. And the reason for the excitement is that the wall opposite the window is covered with oil paintings, and everyone on the paintings seems to be staring at him.

The windows were huge, floor-to-ceiling, but no light was letting in, not only because the stars were still hanging lazily in the sky outside, but also because of the thick curtains. The curtain was dark, but visibly luxurious and expensive, as if it had been made of robes ripped from the enchanted old witch from a fairy tale.

The person Ed was looking for—or the person Ed was looking for—was there, in front of the innermost wall of the studio. With her back to Ed, facing the wall, she sat on a tall barstool with a drawingpad, a giant canvaspad in front of her. She seemed to be drawing something there, but Ed was too far away to see clearly. All he could see was the long hair—a long black hair that flowed down to the ground like a waterfall. Ed mentally calculated, the girl's height should be about one meter six, and her hair was more than three meters.

.

Russell's words rang in Ed's ears again—"She doesn't like loud noises, she likes quiet, she doesn't like light, she doesn't like light coming into her world, she only lets people approach her when it's allowed." ”

Eddard felt that he should be in a situation where he was allowed to be approached, so he stepped forward, towards the depths of the studio, towards the back of the silent painting in front of the huge walls of the huge studio.

"Stop." The light voice echoed in the space, without any human emotion, without kindness or malice, like a tinkling spring, a dripping rain, like a sound made by nature itself, which made Ed involuntarily stop.

He was standing right in the middle of the studio. He felt like he had become an amber in a mosquito.

"Miss Lilith." Ed spoke quietly, "I think that's your name - I think you might have something to do with me." ”

Although he didn't show it, Ed knew that he was a little nervous. He rarely speaks nervously, even in life-and-death moments, he is rarely nervous, and the more critical the moment, the more you need to calm down, the more you need to relax, otherwise whatever you do will only backfire. But now, in the face of a little girl who was not yet twenty years old, he was nervous.

No, it's not so much nervousness as awe. He doesn't understand art, but he understands the purity of art and the greatness of art. And now he might be in front of one of the greatest giants in that realm.

At this point, he was able to see what was being painted on the painting the girl was drawing with the little light in the room. It was a tree, a tree shrouded in twilight, its branches twisted and weird, like a ghost tree. What is even more striking is that in the gap between the trunk of the ghost tree, in the body of the tree, there seems to be a hidden person, only half of his body is exposed, and a hand is stretched outward, Ed is not sure what the person means by reaching out, whether he is calling someone or asking for help, because the girl has not finished drawing, both the person and the hand are blurred, and Ed can't even tell if the person is a man or a woman.

Ed's words didn't make the girl turn around, didn't make the girl turn back, didn't even make the girl stop writing. She still sits there, wielding her paintbrush with her heart, sketching on the huge canvas of paper a color that only she can understand is within.

Ed felt his throat dry and swallowed, but stood patiently still, waiting for the girl's response. Finally, after a few minutes, the girl's pen stopped. But she still didn't go to see Eddard.

"Detective," the voice that seemed to be nature itself sounded again, empty and light, "Detective...... Ed? ”

"It's me."

"I came to you?"

“…… That's what your brother said. ”

"My brother?"

"Right...... I guess that's your brother. He calls you sister. ”

"Ah, Russell."

"Yes, Mr. Russell."

"He's my brother."

"Right...... I think he is. ”

"He's the curator here."

"No wonder he has an extraordinary temperament."

"I asked him to come to you."

"That's what he told me."

"There's something I want you to help me with."

"That's why I'm here."

"I need help."

"I'm here to help you."

"I want you to help me find someone."

"We're here for you, Miss Lilith."

Ed wiped a sweat from his heart. The conversation with a young genius artist girl was more strenuous than he had imagined, and he even wondered if he had come at the wrong time, if it was the stupidest time for this girl to be made by the art she loved. But fortunately, after a big circle, he finally got the conversation on track. It was even more tiring for him than bathing a cat.

"I want you to help me find a boy," Lilith's ethereal voice changed a little at this point, "his name is Tommy, and he's my assistant. He's been working for me for a while, but he's been missing recently. ”

"Didn't call the police?"

"I don't want the police to get involved in this. Tommy hates the cops. I hate it too. ”

"I see." Ed nodded, "Can you talk to me about the details?" ”

"Details?" The girl seemed stunned, "What details?" ”

“…… For example, the specific situation of this boy named Tommy, what he looks like, how old he is this year, how long he has been missing, where he often went outside of this place before his disappearance, and who he came into contact with—"

Ed patiently explained little by little to this genius-level silly girl, trying to make her understand what she meant, but was calmly interrupted in the middle of speaking.

"I know what you're talking about," she said, "I know what you want to know — ask Russell." ”

"What?"

"Ask Russell. He will tell you everything you just asked. ”

"What do you mean......"

"You can go." The girl picked up her paintbrush again, "I've finished what I want to say to you. ”

“……”

Ed stood in the center of the studio, silently looking at the girl's back. God, it's just that back, just the back of a girl who paints in front of the dim light and the spacious studio wall with her back to the world, which can be called an art in itself. Russell was right, the girl was a demon, a mermaid, a living art, a fucking art itself.

However, Ed was sure that if he had such a sister, then sooner or later he would ask her to paint himself on the wall, immortal and liberated. Otherwise, he would have been sure that he would have gone silent and insane in the broken silence of the night one day before death came, when the dawn was just shining in the sky.

He turned, controlled his steps, and quietly left, looking for the poor smoky-eyed handsome fellow. He wished he hadn't slept on his luxurious coffin-like desk yet, and that he would have to force himself to speak at his funeral.