At noon the next day.

2nd arrondissement, rue Saint-Michel.

When Lumien arrived, he found that it was only a few hundred meters away from St. Vallo, where the Dream Seeker charity is located, just a block and a square away.

"It's the ...... of the Arts District," Lumian raised an eyebrow, feeling like he was slowly approaching the truth to find the answer.

He retracted his gaze from the obelisk in the middle of the square and walked along the obviously old and old road of the complex to rue Saint-Michel.

At a glance, he could see at the edge of the square and on the sides of the street that there were impoverished painters sketching with drawing boards, music lovers playing different pieces on the six-stringed instrument, violin, flute, etc., and the sometimes flying white carrier doves beside the rhythmic undulating fountain.

The warm autumn sun sprinkled here, bringing a certain poetic beauty.

Lumien has been in the market area for a long time, and when he goes to other places in Trier, he either takes revenge, investigates, or attends banquets, and rarely experiences the daily life of this core area of Trier.

Undaunted by the sun and his surroundings, he wore a brown bowler hat, a light blue shirt and a more casual brown and yellow suit, and walked into a bar called "Third-Rate Writers".

Most of the guests here wear old clothes, drink inexpensive alcoholic beverages, talk about all sorts of things, and occasionally when they are inspired, they take out a notebook that they have turned through many times and write it down with a pen and brush that they carry with them.

As Lumien walked to the bar, he overheard several drinkers discussing a recent art exhibition:

"The work called 'The Café' is very controversial, with some praising it for its brilliant colors, bold compositions, and absurd forms to express silent protest, while others think it is deliberately painting with an abstract concept to fool the public's intelligence.

"I think it's funny that the writer's ideas are very well represented in the overlapping color blocks, you think about it, isn't that the case in a lot of cafes? Noisy, lively, life from different places stacked on top of each other, polluting each other, shaped like mud ......"

"I would like to call it a landmark masterpiece of abstraction!

"You mean to say that the abstract school that has never been recognized, has never sold a painting?

"Cafe".... Isn't this the one that Mullen painted with his ass? Does anyone really appreciate it? Will this become the most famous and valuable work of his life? Lumian quietly pursed his lips and sighed in his heart: "You Trillians........"

Arriving at the bar, Lumian asked for a glass of absinthe for 8 Ricks, and raised his voice: "Guys, I have a question, if anyone answers me, this glass of wine is his!"

Only when everyone had quieted down and turned their eyes to him did Lumian continue to shout, "I want to know where the playwright Gabriel lives."

"I want to ask him to write a script."

In rue Saint-Michel, even if you just bump into a person on the road, you are likely to be a writer or a painter, not to mention this bar, which is famous for its literary discussions and artistic exchanges.

Gabriel often hangs out with his peers, and may even have held a private banquet in his rented apartment, after all, "The Light Chaser" is also a success and quite popular, which will bring him enough income.

"Gabriel hadn't shown up for a few days, saying he was going to shut himself up and finish a story at hand."

A middle-aged man not far from the bar answered Lumian's question with a smile, "He shouldn't take your commission, he can't be busy anymore, he has too many scripts to write, how about it, do you want to consider other playwrights?" There are several equally talented young people here. ”

Didn't show up for a few days...... Lumian frowned slightly, and immediately relaxed: "If you don't give it a try, how do you know it won't work?" I'm sincere enough. ”

"Okay." The middle-aged man in his old dress jacket muttered, "I hope you don't despair." ”

He led Lumien to 34 rue Saint-Michel and followed the stairs to the fifth floor, which was very close to the attic.

Both the exterior walls and the staircase are quite old, and some parts still have the decorative patterns that were popular decades ago, but compared to the Golden Rooster Hotel, it is clean enough and spacious enough.

"Gabriel lives right here." The middle-aged man with two beards raised his hand and patted the brown wooden door of room 503.

The thumping sound echoed, and no one responded.

"Maybe he's out looking for food, or maybe he's done with his work and going to the theater manager who commissioned him."

The middle-aged man smiled and said, "Do you want to go back to the bar and have another drink?" I'm also an experienced writer, and although I haven't written a screenplay, my ones sell well in the underground market. ”

"What have you written?" Lumian looked at the closed brown wooden door, not showing too much urgency.

The middle-aged man sighed and said, "The Monk Who Chased the Dog and its sequel, The Dog Chasing the Monk, I wrote them, but they were not signed by my name, which will lead to me being arrested by the secret agents, and second, my boss will not allow it."

"There's a sequel?" Lumian hadn't visited underground book markets or forbidden bookstores in a while, and the last time he went was to buy The Secret Book of Russell the Great.

When he looked at this middle-aged man who was a little obscene and greasy, his gaze changed to a certain extent, and this was one of his enlighteners!

"It came out last month." The middle-aged man nodded slightly, "These two books have helped my boss earn a lot, but I don't even get a tenth, no, not a hundredth!"

"Boss?" Lumian asked.

He remembered that the "Bard", a core member of the "April Fool's Day", had written "The Secret Record of Russell the Great", and planned to take the opportunity to learn about the situation in this line and prepare for the follow-up tracking.

The middle-aged man sighed again: "We don't have the right of authorship, just the boss's writing tool, he pays us a fixed but small remuneration, puts forward the direction and requirements of writing, and finally sells it through his own channels."

"On rue Saint-Michel, there are many, many third-rate writers like me who don't even have a pen name, just like the workers on the assembly line."

"What do you call it?" Lumian asked respectfully.

"Rabe." The middle-aged man looked at Lumian with anticipation written in his eyes.

Lumian asked a few more questions about underground literature, and finally said, "If I don't get to talk to Gabriel in the end, I can consider giving you a chance."

"As long as the boss doesn't have a new assignment, I'm in the 'third-rate writer' bar every day!" Rabe's joy was palpable.

After watching the underground writer, the countless enlighteners of the Intis boy descend the stairs, Lumian pulled a wire from his coat pocket and opened the door to Gabriel's room.

It was much more spacious than the playwright's room at the Golden Rooster Hotel, with a bathroom and a small bedroom, and outside it was a living room, a study, a dining room, and a kitchen, with a coal stove for cooking piled up in the corner.

Lumian quickly glanced around and saw a stack of papers that appeared to be manuscripts on the desk by the window.

He closed the wooden door with his backhand and walked there.

"It's Gabriel's handwriting, Rabe didn't lie to me, this is indeed where Gabriel lives.. Lumian took the stack of papers and flipped through them casually.

He turned into the bedroom and found a pair of black overalls next to the bed, and became more and more sure that he had found the wrong room.

This is a pair of pants that Gabriel used to wear regularly.

But the playwright now has no whereabouts.

Thinking of Rabe's remark that Gabriel hadn't shown up for days, Lumian suddenly became vigilant.

He scrutinized everything in the place, like a hunter discerning the trail of his prey.

After a few minutes, Lumian picked up the white-glazed porcelain mono-ear water cup on his desk, and found that there was still a third of the cold water in it, and there was a lot of dust floating on the surface that was difficult for normal people to see.

"At least for a day." Lumi tightened in peace of mind.

What will happen to Gabriel?

Wouldn't it be too famous, to be approached by government agents to "talk", or to attract kidnappers chasing money?

Lumian placed the white-glazed porcelain water cup next to the manuscript and searched the room carefully, but found no trace of note.

Finally, he returned to his desk and picked up the stack of manuscripts to see what Gabriel had written before he disappeared.

The synopsis of this play is that a down-and-out writer meets a woman who is forced to join a gang, and the two comfort each other in despair, pain, suffering, and harsh daily life, encourage each other, and warm each other's hearts with their bodies.

The story is not yet finished, and it stops at the part where the lovers are gone, and stops at the writer's inner monologue: "Here she comes;"

"My love has come out of the night.

"She's gone;

"My lover walked to a hostel far away... ….”

Seeing the word hostel, Lumian's forehead jumped.

Although in the script, this is a normal word, not abrupt at all, but Lumian, who has been talking about it every day recently, is still inevitably shocked and associated.

Suddenly, he withdrew his gaze from the manuscript and cast it on his desk.

The white-glazed porcelain one-ear water cup that he moved to the manuscript had returned to its original position at some point!

Lumien's eyes froze, and the skin and muscles under his clothes tensed instantly.

As a "hunter", he does not forget the slightest change he has made to the environment, which is the basis of the trap!

A creature that is hard to see with the naked eye, whose existence can only be confirmed by a few traces? Lumian muttered to himself, quickly remembering the official information that Janena had relayed.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, made a slight selection, and pulled out a pair of glasses.

That's brown gold-rimmed glasses, that's "voyeur glasses"!