Chapter 23: The Literary Girl Falls

  I don't recall the exact year of the Fourth Crusade in the past world, but here, Constantinople was sacked by the Crusaders in 1207.

  Sometimes, I feel that the history of the Roman Empire is very similar to that of a country where I used to live. Both were big brothers in their respective regions and both took great pride in their civilizations. Although the Romans did not invent paper, compasses, gunpowder, or other technologies that drove the progress of world civilization, they were an ancient empire that had already encompassed the Mediterranean and inland lakes when barbarian tribes were still small clans. Even as Rome declined, it remained the guardian of European Christian faith, standing at the forefront of the East and fighting against paganism for a thousand years. However, both empires declined due to a decline in national power, causing two ancient and proud nations and civilizations to be constantly humiliated. One was brutally opened up by foreign powers and insulted as the "Sick Man of East Asia", while the other suffered even more, with its capital being looted and its entire civilization and nation collapsing irreversibly until 1453, when it was completely exterminated under the iron hooves of the Ottomans.

  Fortunately, there was a traverser who kicked the damn wheel of fate hard, and the trajectory of the wheel crushed the eggs of Venetians and Crusaders into powder.

  The surviving Roman Empire will record the traces of that looting as accurately as we Chinese people regard the Nanjing Massacre and the Eight-Power Allied Forces entering Beijing, turning it into a shameful brand on their faces. Of course, this is also an indelible shame for the imperial army. So much so that every time in countless battles when the situation reached a critical point, the emperor would shout "Do you want to relive the shame of Constantinople?" and lead his personal guards to fight to the death.

  According to historians, before the Mongol Western Campaign, there were 78 emperors of the Eastern Roman Empire, and only a handful died on the battlefield. However, after the Mongol Western Campaign, there were another 57 emperors, with 11 dying on the battlefield. As someone who has imperial blood flowing through my veins, I grew up feeling the deep-seated hatred that our ancestors had towards the countries of Western Europe and the infidels. Hatred is a good thing, although it can drive people mad, but it also gave birth to many brave emperors and royal relatives in the Eastern Roman Empire.

  But what about women in the upper echelons of the empire?

  I quietly wait for the literary girl's reply, guessing what kind of attitude she will respond with. Is it a detached and arrogant expression? Or continue to respond to my strong words with anger? Or profoundly understand us?

  I waited for a long time until the literary girl with her increasingly drooping little head came in, and as she walked into the room, there were faint sounds of sobbing.

  Why are you crying again?

  I really couldn't understand women, so I rummaged through my pockets and handed her a handkerchief from behind.

  The artistic girl turned around, lifted her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. Her eyelashes were adorned with sparkling diamonds, shining in the dim light, making one's heart ache. She stared at the handkerchief for a moment before snatching it away.

  It's useless, and instead it came crashing down.

  A handkerchief floated out, swaying gently in mid-air, and then drifted to my feet.

  The artistic girl smeared her face randomly, with red eyes, and opened her mouth to shout in a crying tone: "You leave! I don't want to talk to you!!"

  Years later, I asked the literary girl who was crying inexplicably in the Talya Grand Theater. The girl, who had just passed through the Lolita age and entered the mature woman age, punched me angrily, saying that I made her become a sinner of Constantinople's fall, thinking of countless families being torn apart, facing the terrifying hellish scene in her mind, she had every reason to cry... Facing the reality that Dion Street was going to be demolished, she had even more reason to cry... Knowing clearly that she was being bullied by me, this despicable villain, and couldn't fight back, she should have cried even more...

  ...Actually she should be praying for God to strike me dead with lightning...

  At this moment and scene, I picked up the handkerchief on the ground and turned around to leave.

  The sobbing behind grew louder.

  "I hate you to death!!!!"

  The artistic girl's hysterical cry made me feel a pang of anxiety.

  Thinking about it, my actions were indeed excessive. What idiom can be used to describe this behavior... bullying the weak with power. That's right, I didn't think that the whole street would really be demolished, but others didn't know, so what's the difference between my actions and those scoundrels who drive luxury cars, kill people, and shout that their father is a high-ranking official without any concern?

  In other words, am I just a personal waste?

  I actually got excited about the proposal of topping up after boarding with Wendy.

  I remember I wasn't like this before.

  Will help the elderly cross the road, pick up a wallet and wait for the owner at the original location, hold a girl's hand and blush for half a day. If a girl of that level, like a literary girl, asks me out, I'll probably be so excited that I won't sleep all night, and then rush over early in the morning the next day...

  It seems like in the past, I was just an ordinary citizen, neither more nor less, but now...

  Has power really corrupted me into a despicable person? A despicable person who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals? Today, maybe it's just deceiving a young girl, but what about the future? I need to know that after some time, I'll be graduating from military school and once I step into the center of power, what kind of person will I become?

  "Your Highness, it's not good to leave that young lady like that." The attendant who opened the car door said with a glance at the pitiful noble girl wiping away tears in the distance. "Her father is a high-ranking official of the imperial court. You've met him before, Viscount Gjimichi, Vice President of the Ministry of Finance's Audit Office and Executive Officer and Imperial Advisor."

  "Thanks for the reminder." Today really isn't a good day, I almost got on the wrong bus. Things to worry about later can be said later, now I have to finish what I've started.

  The literary girl took a few steps back and kept her distance from me: "Bad guy, what are you coming back for again?"

  I put away the handkerchief and gave the artistic girl a glance: "Thanks to you for taking me to see that 'Hypocrite' today. What do you think of the ending?"

  The artistic girl was very eccentric and hummed coldly in an unfriendly manner: "If you have something to say, just say it quickly!"

  I shrugged, indifferent to her attitude. This was what I had asked for: "I don't like that ending. Don't you think it's abrupt that the king, who hasn't appeared from start to finish, suddenly sends an envoy to expose the hypocrite as if he's all-knowing? This play is just a third-rate work catering to those in power."

  "So what?"

  "I think the ending should be changed. The king did not send an envoy. The rich man and his brother were thrown into prison, and the whole family except for the daughter became homeless, the old mother could not withstand the blow and went mad, and finally died in the arms of the rich man's wife on a cold and hungry night. The rich man's wife had no choice but to humiliate herself and let the hypocrite defile her body in exchange for food. Later, the hypocrite used the contract to force the rich man's daughter into marriage. Her lover rushed to the wedding scene wanting to kill the hypocrite, but was shot by him with a fire gun instead. That night, the girl who lost her lover lost her mind. But unexpectedly, the hypocrite forced her and the rich man's wife to share a bed and serve him together, until the rich man's wife and daughter could no longer bear it and killed the hypocrite, finally hanging themselves in the house. In prison, the rich man also took his own life after hearing the news of his mother, wife, and daughter's deaths..."

  "Too cruel! How can you be like this!!!" The artistic girl screamed, covering her ears, "I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it!! I don't want to hear it!!!"

  "Don't you think this ending has some educational value?... The writer reminded me that as the creator of the script, he can write whatever he wants. So, I thought I'd come over and play a game with you, because I'm going to write a script and show you the difference between a good author and a third-rate writer." I muttered to myself and pulled out a coin, flashing it in front of the artistic girl squatting on the ground, the metallic light shining brightly under the streetlight. "The fate of Dion Street is on both sides of this coin, want to play?"

  Today is my third time wanting to play games, but I want to play a particularly special game.

  Pennyvis's lips moved, and after a few seconds, her eyes became unusually resolute: "Is the crossroads of fate after this coin? Fine! Whatever awaits me at the end, I'm ready! What do I need to do now? Do you go first and flip it, if I guess the face that lands up, I win?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'll make a guess first, then you flip it over. If the side facing up is what I guessed, then I win?"

  I shook my head again.

  "What exactly do you want?"

  "You guess first, and I'll tell you the result after I flip the coin."

  The artistic girl quickly grasped the key point: "In the end, whether I win or lose is still up to you to decide!"

  "Yes, because I dominate your fate!" A sly smile spread across my face, and I felt that this line was worthy of being recorded in a quote book. Unfortunately, there was no instant replay here.

  A 50% chance of being right, a 50% chance of being wrong. If it were just a guess, she would have had a 50% chance either way. But with my method, the final decision is all mine, which means that even if she wins, if I don't want her to win, she can't win! It seems like no matter what she thinks, it's always going to be a losing situation for her.

  "You...you...cheated!!" The artistic girl was so angry that she was trembling all over, I suppose a scoundrel like me was the first she had ever seen in her life.

  "Little sister, you can choose not to play."

  "Who says I won't play!! Not playing means there's no chance, but if I do play, at least there's a glimmer of hope that I might win! And another thing, I'm not little sister!" Pennywise said with wide eyes.

  "You're really stubborn."

  "It's persistence!"

  "Alright, little friend. Heads or tails?"

  "Opposite!"

  "I've had enough."

  To be honest, I quite like this girl who speaks with a literary tone yet is lovably stubborn, likes to cry, but seems to be one in ten thousand who can master martial arts on her own, especially when seeing those serious eyes following the constantly flipping coin with tension.

  The coin fell into my palm, the expectant glint in Penny's eyes gradually disappearing as I slowly lifted my hand off the coin on top of it. The coin that had fallen onto my palm was heads up.

  "Are you guessing the opposite?" I asked knowingly.

  Penny's eyes began to mist up again as she nodded.

  "Miss Pennywise, congratulations, you've won a chance to save Dionne Street."

  "Huh?" The artistic girl stared blankly, "What did you just say?"

  "You've earned a chance to save Dion Street." I repeated.

  Pennyvis was taken aback, and then she suddenly drew close to me, the kind of proximity that made our faces almost touch, nose to nose, with the warmth of our breath lingering between us in a rather ambiguous way: "You really promised not to demolish Dion Street?"

  "I didn't say no demolition, I just said you got a chance to save Dion Street."

  "What does it mean..." The artistic girl was dissatisfied.

  "To put it simply, I no longer support the demolition of Dionisou Street. But just me standing by your side is not enough, because our group has more than thirty people."

  "Oh no! Over thirty people, am I supposed to work with each one individually?"

  Staring? Stare back! Hmm, finally unable to withstand my fiery gaze, the little sister turned her head away. After being busy for half a day, making the little sister cry and throw a tantrum, I can finally reveal my true purpose: "You can mobilize your sisters and girlfriends!"