238: Chapter 238 Literature in the General Store

The cabin door of the Boeing 787 opened, and the early summer breeze of Vienna poured in through the jet bridge.

Unlike the humid heat of Jiangcheng, the air here was dry and cool, with a hint of the dusty smell of an unfamiliar city.

Lin Que pressed down the brim of his hat and dragged his heavy suitcase through the customs gate with one hand.

“Hey, young man, where are you headed?”

At the airport exit, an Austrian uncle with a beer belly and a graying beard greeted him warmly.

Lin Que stated his destination:

“Hotel Sacher, thank you.”

Lin Que replied in fairly standard English, thanks to barely passing his Level 6 exam in his past life.

The uncle smiled and took the handle, but as soon as his arm applied force, his body lurched to the side from the weight.

He hissed through his teeth and patted the suitcase half-jokingly:

“Whoa, young man, this is no light weight. Did you move all the gold bars from your house here?”

“Something like that.”

Lin Que sat in the back seat of the taxi and gave a self-deprecating smile.

“A life-saving straw more important than gold.”

The taxi sped along the highway toward the city center.

The uncle was a typical social butterfly, sizing Lin Que up through the rearview mirror while speaking English with a thick German accent.

“Are you here for sightseeing? Or to attend that music festival?”

“Just wandering around.”

“Oh, I understand.”

The uncle chuckled and began to talk incessantly.

“You Chinese people are very wealthy nowadays; I often see you emptying out luxury stores on Kärntner Straße.

I like China too—Jackie Chan! And those round pandas, very cool!”

Lin Que leaned against the window, watching the classical European architecture flash by, and asked casually:

“Then besides Kung Fu and pandas, have you read any Chinese books? Or literary works?”

The uncle's hand on the steering wheel paused, a look of blankness appearing on his face before he let out a hearty laugh:

“Chinese books? Oh, of course! My wife loves Chinese food; we have several cookbooks at home that teach how to make Kung Pao Chicken.”

“Anything else?”

“As for literary works...”

The uncle shrugged with a natural sense of superiority in his tone:

“Young man, you must know, the real stories are in Vienna.

Every brick here is more exciting than a story. Eastern books... perhaps they are better off staying on your own bookshelves.”

Lin Que watched the Baroque buildings receding rapidly outside the window and didn't respond.

This deep-seated stereotype was like an invisible bulletproof glass,

blocking the view and the truth.

They recognize your money, your pandas, and even your cooking skills, but they don't recognize your soul.

But it didn't matter.

At times like this, the sound of walls being torn down would be even crisper.

The taxi stopped in front of Hotel Sacher.

This century-old landmark exuded royal elegance and old-fashioned arrogance everywhere.

A bellhop in a red uniform took the suitcase, and Lin Que entered the lobby.

The receptionist maintained a standard professional fake smile,

her gaze lingering for two seconds on Lin Que's simple athletic hoodie,

then scanning his overly young face. She swallowed the German greeting she had prepared and switched to fluent English.

“Mr. Lin, your reserved suite is ready. Here is your room card.

Would you like me to book tickets for the nearby Opera House for you?

Our hotel has VIP seats in partnership with the theater for only 500 Euros.”

“Thank you, not for now.”

Lin Que took the room card, turned around, and his gaze stopped at the cultural event display area in a corner of the lobby.

There stood a row of massive solid wood promotional racks. In the most central and conspicuous position,

was an artistic solo poster.

The girl on the poster wore a dark green backless gown,

sitting slightly sideways at a Steinway. Amidst the play of light and shadow, the outline of her profile was sharp and clean.

Below, in ornate German and English script, it read:

【Xi Ye - Piano Solo Recital】.

It was Ye Xi.

Even in Vienna, a city teeming with artistic talent,

this name was crowned with the title of “Genius Girl from the East.”

Lin Que looked away. Beside that giant poster, he finally saw what he was looking for.

On a wooden shelf in the furthest corner, almost covered by several expired travel brochures, lay a stack of dark blue pamphlets.

The cover was low-key, even somewhat desolate, featuring only a solitary boat drifting on ink-colored water.

the ferryman.

That line, printed in both German and English in a pitifully small subtitle in the corner, read:

“If fate is a lonely river, who will be your soul ferryman?”

Lin Que walked over and had just reached out to pick up a pamphlet,

when he heard two guests in suits behind him talking in low voices.

“Look at that, a literary work from China?”

“Oh, what's it called... Jian Shen?”

One of the men let out a disdainful snort:

“Eastern magical realism again? They probably have some misunderstanding of the term.

Maybe it's about how to command ghosts with Qigong? Or some ancient Eastern curse?

Haha, books like this only belong in a Chinatown grocery store.”

“Let's go, that kind of thing is just a waste of paper.

Tonight, we should go listen to that little girl named Xi; at least she plays Mozart, which is our language.”

The laughter of the two men gradually faded as they disappeared into the elevator.

Lin Que stood in place, his fingers gently tracing the texture of the solitary boat on the pamphlet.

He wasn't in a hurry.

In twenty-some hours, this book they deemed a “waste of paper”

would become a resounding slap across the face of this arrogant world.

Lin Que folded the flyer in his hand into a delicate paper airplane, tucked it casually into his pocket, and went upstairs.

Back in his room, he pushed open the French windows.

The night was falling over Vienna,

and the spire of St. Stephen's Cathedral in the distance looked solemn and grand in the twilight.

Lin Que took out his phone and opened the chat window for 【Fugitive Beethoven】.

He didn't mention that he had already landed, but simply typed a line:

【Mu Xia】: How's the preparation going? I heard the pigeons in Vienna are quite aggressive; don't let them steal your sandwich.

The other side replied almost instantly.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: [A selfie of her gnawing on a cold sandwich in a lounge.jpg]

【Fugitive Beethoven】: [Crying][Crying][Crying] Don't even mention it! I feel like my heart rate is at least 120 now.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: Lin Que, I feel like I'm about to drown in Mozart's scores.

The way people here look at me always feels like they're looking at a country girl who forced her way into a ball.

Lin Que looked at the dark circles under the girl's eyes in the photo, and his fingertips paused on the screen.

【Mu Xia】: What are you afraid of? You're a warrior who has eaten spicy chili crisp.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: [Confused][Confused][Confused]

【Mu Xia】: Just act as if the people sitting below aren't a bunch of critical ears, but a flock of pigeons waiting for you to feed them.

【Mu Xia】: If you play well, it's a blessing, give them some breadcrumbs. If you don't, just consider it playing the lute to a cow; anyway, they won't understand the Eastern passion you've realized from that spoonful of chili sauce.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: [Pfft] You, you really made my tears retreat.

【Fugitive Beethoven】: Thanks for the kind words. Coincidentally, I only found out the day before yesterday that Teacher Jian Shen's book "the ferryman" is also being published globally tomorrow. I really hope it shatters the logic of those readers.

Lin Que saw the words "shatters the logic," and a hint of mischievous amusement flashed in his eyes.

【Mu Xia】: Logic? That book doesn't need logic.

【Mu Xia】: It only needs to let them know that there is a kind of pain that is universal worldwide.

After ending the chat, Lin Que put away his phone.

His stomach let out a dissatisfied rumble, and he flipped through the room service menu.

Schnitzel, fried sausages, mashed potatoes... Lin Que closed the menu; these things were practically a slow suicide for his current appetite.

He needed something with some fire.

He put on his coat and walked out the door,

preparing to conduct a field inspection of this city's cultural value.

And to see if, in this city full of classical music and stone, there was any alley hiding the spiciness he craved.

There were 18 hours left until the global launch of "the ferryman."

The entire city hadn't realized yet that a tsunami of "ferrying" had quietly arrived on the banks of the Danube.

Lin Que stopped at a street corner and saw a new book preview scrolling on a newsstand screen.

And at the end of that long list, he finally saw that translated name.

【the ferryman — Shen Jian】

Lin Que straightened his collar and walked into the night.

Since Vienna didn't believe in stories, he would personally create one for it...