"What is it, specifically?" Lumian asked, feeling both thrilled and a little worried.
After taking a sip of her "Venus Holy Oil" specialty drink, the lady answered at an unhurried pace, "You'll have to ask yourself that."
With that, she bowed her head slightly and concentrated on enjoying her breakfast, adopting a posture that signaled she would say no more.
Honestly, why does she always reveal half and keep half hidden... Wait until next time to answer? Isn't that just wasting everyone's time? At that moment, Lumian actually felt that his own talent for infuriating people couldn't hold a candle to hers.
Controlling his breathing, he smiled, stood up, and took his leave.
For the rest of the day, Lumian stayed obediently at home without stepping foot outside.
It wasn't that he was so terrified of that owl that he didn't dare go out in broad daylight, nor that he had nothing to do; he was putting on a show for certain eyes.
He was very curious about the plea letter in Lia and the others' hands, desperate to find out what it said and who had written it. The best entry point for an investigation was to find an opportunity to look through every little blue book in the village and locate the one missing clipped words. As a local villager, Lumian was certainly in a better position to do this than Leyn, Lia, and Valentay. But he worried that launching an investigation right after talking to those three outlanders would draw the attention of certain people and invite unnecessary retaliation.
In matters that likely involved life and death, existence and ruin, even with Aurore's protection Lumian couldn't guarantee that the other side wouldn't take reckless measures against him.
Over the past two years, he had grown increasingly adept at gauging the proper boundaries of a "prank."
This came from rich experience.
He planned to wait a few days until the Lent Festival began, and then use the excuse of looking into festival-related legends to "visit" every single household.
Come nightfall, after dinner, Aurore returned to her bedroom to work on a manuscript she had put off for a long time.
Lumian entered the study, planning to look for books related to "dreams" in hopes of finding some inspiration as to what was so special about him in the dreamscape.
Since the house had only one battery-powered desk lamp, currently requisitioned by Aurore, he had no choice but to light a kerosene lamp that reeked and didn't provide great illumination.
Carrying the kerosene lamp as it cast a dim yellow glow, Lumian ran his other hand swiftly across the book spines, occasionally pulling out a volume and tucking it under his arm.
After a while, he returned to the desk carrying the three books he had selected.
Just as he set down the items in his hands, Lumian spotted his household's copy of the little blue book.
As always, it sat quietly in a corner of the desk, its grayish-blue cover lightly dusted.
Seeing this little blue book, Lumian instantly thought of the one he had obtained in the dream ruins, and of the one from which words had been clipped to piece together a plea letter.
He reached out, picked up the little blue book in front of him, and decided to flip through its contents to see what words were suitable for cutting out to form useful sentences.
After turning just a few pages, Lumian's gaze froze.
In the explanatory notes accompanying the current calendar page, there was an obvious gap.
A word had been clipped out!
"No way..." Lumian was thoroughly shocked.
He rapidly flipped through the little blue book in his hands and found traces of ten or twenty more clipped words.
"No way..." Lumian whispered again, his reaction virtually identical to before.
The little blue book Leyn, Lia, Valentay, and the others were looking for—the one used to piece together the plea letter—was actually the one in his own home!
Not to mention them, even Lumian himself had never imagined such a development!
Not even in his wildest dreams!
Amid an indescribable swirl of complex emotions, Lumian knitted his brows.
Could Aurore have written the plea letter?
Why would she seek help—and from official authorities? Why didn't she tell me?
From details like Lia and the others' modus operandi and their instinctive choice to consult the parish priest right upon arrival, he tentatively deduced that they were likely official personnel, perhaps from the government, or perhaps belonging to the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun or the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery in the Dariège region.
Lumian hesitated, his expression shifting continuously.
Finally, he made up his mind. Clutching the little blue book, he stepped out of the study and came to the door of Aurore's bedroom.
He intended to ask her directly.
He chose to trust Aurore.
Knock, knock, knock. Lumian curled his fingers and tapped on the door.
"Come in," Aurore's voice came from inside.
Lumian twisted the handle and pushed open the door. Under the bright glow of the desk lamp, Aurore, dressed in two-piece cotton pajamas with a headband holding back her blonde hair, was buried in writing her story.
"Did you cut these out?" Without waiting for his sister to ask, Lumian walked straight up to her.
"Huh?" Aurore turned around in confusion, her eyes vacant and detached, as if she were still immersed in her story.
Lumian held out the little blue book, turned to the relevant page, and looked into Aurore's eyes. "You didn't cut these?"
Aurore examined it closely for a few seconds, then looked up, amused.
"Would I be that bored and childish?
"Your older sister is sensible, mature, and poised—unlike you."
Aurore's reaction was completely natural... There was none of the surprise or panic that came with having a secret abruptly exposed—none at all... Without hiding his confusion, Lumian asked, "Then who would cut words out of the little blue book?"
"Wasn't it you?" Aurore scrutinized her younger brother. "After reading my novel, you decided to copy it, clipping words from books and newspapers to piece together a ransom note for a grand prank in the village—and before that, you wanted to test whether you could fool me first? Are you testing your big sister's deductive reasoning?"
It really doesn't look like Aurore's doing... Lumian kept his eyes fixed on Aurore's face, not missing a single subtle change in expression, but his sister showed no sign of deceit whatsoever.
"It wasn't me." Lumian frowned. "Who could have done it?"
Aurore laughed.
"Play your detective game on your own for now; I have a deadline to meet.
"If I have time tomorrow, I'll help you reconstruct the truth."
Through Beyonder means? Lumian gave an "Mm" and stopped disturbing his sister's writing.
Holding the little blue book, he went straight back to his unlit room and sat down on the chair behind his desk.
"Who could it be?"
Under the red moon high in the sky, Lumian began pondering again.
He tried his hand at deduction.
There are only two people in our household, and Aurore is a sorcerer with extraordinary powers; she wouldn't let anyone run amok in our home...
If it really wasn't her, then according to her saying, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how unbelievable, must be the truth.
So, between the two of us, I was the one who did it?
For a moment, Lumian found it both absurd and hilarious.
So the "culprit" is me?
How come I didn't know?
He couldn't help turning his body to look toward the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe.
In the crimson moonlight, the Lumian in the mirror wore a linen shirt and brown trousers, his handsome features devoid of any smile, his expression unusually solemn.
He was certain he had never clipped anything from the little blue book.
To be sure, he even recalled his experiences over the past month.
Although many details had grown fuzzy, he was quite certain about what he had done in general.
Bathed in the crimson moonlight seeping through the window, Lumian muttered silently to himself, "Could I have done it when I wasn't in my right mind?
"While having that dream, does the real me sleepwalk?
"No, impossible. Aurore said she'd keep an eye on me. If I really sleepwalked and cut up the little blue book, she would have pointed it out just now. Besides, sending a letter must happen during the day, and I'm wide awake then."
Ruling himself out, Lumian considered other possibilities.
Could it be someone else who visited our house?
Although their household rarely had visitors, that didn't mean they never had any.
First, poorer neighbors from nearby would come to borrow their stove or oven to smoke meat or bake bread;
Second, Lumian's friends would drop by from time to time, heading to the study to find novels written with simple vocabulary or to listen to him tell stories;
Finally, a few ladies like Naaraiza and Madame Pualis occasionally came over to visit and chat with Aurore. Among them, Madame Pualis visited most frequently, and she would even lend her pony to Aurore so she could ride freely through the mountains; the two were on fairly good terms.
After all, in a countryside place like Cordu Village, an author like Aurore was just about the only person worthy of Madame Pualis's acquaintance.
However, on the surface, Madame Pualis was very affable; she often sat with Naroka and the other village women in the sun, chatting and even helping them pick lice, which gave her quite a good reputation in the village.
Even though Madame Pualis and Aurore were passingly friends, Lumian disliked her intensely because she frequently tried to introduce one of her relatives to Aurore, urging her to marry and have children soon.
If those relatives of Madame Pualis had good character, it would be one thing, but every time Lumian went to Dariège to ask around, he discovered the candidates were either of foul character or utter incompetents nearly reduced to the destitute class—not a good one among them.
Once could be a coincidence, but happening every single time made Lumian hold a grudge against Madame Pualis.
Those who came to smoke meat or bake bread are definitely out of the question; someone's always watching, and they're never allowed upstairs... Raymond, Ava, and the others are impossible too; I'm with them the whole time... Ladies like Madame Pualis and Naaraiza do have some opportunity. Every time they visit, Aurore leaves them in the study to read while she goes to prepare refreshments...
If Madame Pualis really is a witch, it makes sense that she'd conceal her identity when seeking help from the authorities. And she was cautious enough to use someone else's little blue book so it couldn't be traced back to her...
Did she discover something while having an affair with the parish priest and have to protect herself this way?
The more Lumian thought about it, the more excited he became, feeling as though he was on the verge of pinning down the suspect.
He stood up, paced a few steps, and abruptly headed downstairs.
It wasn't that he wanted to confront Madame Pualis, nor did he intend to spy on her right now; rather, he planned to find Raymond or Little Guillaume from the Béry family and borrow their household's little blue book to cross-reference, reconstructing which words had been cut out and what sentences they could form.
That way, Lumian had a strong chance of reconstructing the exact contents of that plea letter.
He trotted downstairs, crossed the kitchen, and opened the front door.
The darkness outside, tinged with crimson, rushed in, cooling his head instantly.
"Uh, Aurore said not to go out after dark before we figure out what's going on with that owl..." Lumian muttered, took two steps back, and closed the door.
In any case, borrowing a little blue book wasn't urgent; doing it tomorrow would seem much more natural.
Stretching his limbs, Lumian turned toward the staircase.
Ding-dong, ding-dong.
The doorbell was pulled, its chime echoing through the house.
"Who is it?" Lumian turned back, asking in puzzlement as he walked toward the front door.
Outside the door, a soft, slightly magnetic female voice answered:
"It's me, Pualis de Roquefort."
Chapter 17