240: Chapter 24 The soul has no borders, but discrimination does—Bonus Chapter of "I Can't See You"

The night in Vienna was torn open by a sudden burst of laughter.

Hans, the bookstore owner, looked as if he had just heard the most absurd joke of the century.

He clutched his chest exaggeratedly, the coffee cup in his hand nearly wobbling over.

The well-dressed gentlemen around him followed suit, letting out a chorus of low chuckles.

"Loneliness?"

Hans set down his cup, his tone carrying a velvet-textured arrogance:

"Young man, it seems you know nothing about this city."

He stood up and spread his arms wide, as if embracing the entire bookstore,

or rather, embracing the Western civilization he was so proud of.

"Here, as long as you push open a window, you can hear Mozart’s Requiem.

As long as you walk into a museum, you can see Klimt’s 'The Kiss' built with gold leaf.

As long as you open a book, Kant and Wittgenstein are in dialogue with you."

The owner didn't even bother to step out from behind the counter;

he merely sized up Lin Que from across the polished oak board.

"Young man, Vienna doesn't need that kind of thing."

He pointed to his head.

"This place is filled with Mozart and Hegel; it's so crowded that not even a needle could be squeezed in.

Loneliness? That is an excuse for the weak."

As he spoke, he reached out a finger and lightly tapped the folded flyer in Lin Que's hand.

"And in Vienna, we only talk about truth, not... trashy emotions."

The air was thick with a suffocating sense of superiority.

Lin Que did not argue.

He even cooperatively shrank his neck,

revealing a simple, unsophisticated expression of someone who hadn't seen much of the world and was awestruck by this grand narrative.

"So that's how it is..."

Lin Que didn't argue; he only nodded gently, his face showing no particular emotion.

"I stand corrected. I always thought... as long as people are made of flesh and blood, they’ll feel the cold at night."

This posture caused the last trace of vigilance in the owner's eyes to dissipate.

He waved his hand dismissively,

pointing to the stack of the ferryman flyers buried under gardening magazines in the corner, and delivered his final verdict.

"Don't waste your energy.

I bet that this so-called Eastern bestseller won't even get ten pre-orders in my shop. And that's including those who want to use it to prop up a table leg."

Another round of knowing chuckles erupted nearby.

"Ten copies..."

Lin Que looked thoughtful.

The next second, he reached into his pocket.

A purple banknote was placed on the counter without much sound,

but under the dim yellow lights, that splash of purple was exceptionally eye-catching.

In a city accustomed to credit cards and small cash, the visual impact of this big bill was enough to bring the laughter to a screeching halt.

"Since this book is so unique, I'll pre-order ten copies."

Lin Que looked up, his tone flat:

"Since I'm here, I might as well get some local specialty. Just as a souvenir.

I'll come to pick them up first thing tomorrow when it goes on sale."

Hans stared at the bill, the muscles at the corner of his eyes twitching twice.

His merchant instinct made him subconsciously want to reach out,

but the claim he’d just staked made his cheeks feel a bit hot.

"Cough... of course, the customer is God."

Hans gave a dry cough, quickly dropping his philosopher act,

replacing it with a professional fake smile as he reached for the receipt book in the drawer.

Lin Que pointed to the fountain pen on the counter:

"Mind if I borrow the pen? I want to leave a mark."

Hans handed over the pen in confusion.

Lin Que took the pen but did not sign the receipt.

He flattened the corner-bent the ferryman flyer and laid it face down on the counter.

The way he held the pen changed.

No longer the timid tourist from a moment ago, his wrist was suspended and the pen tip touched the paper with fluid grace.

The scratching sound of writing was exceptionally clear in the quiet bookstore.

A few seconds later, Lin Que stopped writing.

He lightly capped the pen, flipped the flyer over,

and pressed it under the heavy copy of 'Critique of Pure Reason' that Hans revered as a golden rule.

Only a white corner was left showing, like a small white flag planted on a fortress.

"Goodnight, gentlemen."

Lin Que tugged down the brim of his hat, not giving another look at the various expressions on their faces, and turned to push the door open.

*Ding—*

The wind chime rang crisply, and the hoodie-wearing figure quickly merged into the thick night of Vienna, walking away cleanly and decisively.

The bookstore was silent for a few seconds.

"Vulgar Eastern nouveau riche."

A customer looked at that five-hundred-euro bill and made a sour comment.

Hans shrugged, and as he put the bill into the cash register,

he casually reached out to pull the flyer from under the book.

"Who would turn their back on money? Although that Easterner..."

His voice suddenly caught.

The flyer was pulled out.

On the back, where a lonely boat was printed, a line of dark blue ink was still wet.

It wasn't the crooked graffiti of a tourist, but a line of exceptionally elegant, fluidly connected German script.

The grammar was rigorous, and the strokes were so powerful they seemed to penetrate the paper,

carrying a flavor that could only be cultivated through long-term immersion in classical literature.

【Die Seele hat keine Grenzen, aber die Diskriminierung schon.】

(Souls have no borders, but discrimination does.)

Hans’s pupils constricted.

An inexplicable irritability and shame shot straight from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

"Pretentious!"

Hans crumpled the flyer into a ball and threw it fiercely into the wastepaper basket by his feet,

as if by doing so, he could throw away the stinging sensation that line of text had brought.

"He just happened to have memorized a maxim, that's all..."

...Back at Hotel Sacher,

Lin Que casually tossed the change onto the entryway cabinet and sank into the soft sofa.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Vienna remained brilliant yet distant.

His phone screen lit up; it was an overseas call from Wang De'an.

"Teacher Jian Shen, I hope I'm not disturbing your rest?"

Wang De'an's voice sounded somewhat anxious, with the noisy clacking of keyboards in the background.

"No, I just got back from a walk."

Lin Que unscrewed a bottle of mineral water, his tone relaxed.

"It should be early morning in China now. Still working overtime?"

"I can't sleep," Wang De'an sighed.

"Distribution through channels in North America and Southeast Asia is going quite smoothly; after all, there's a large Chinese population there and a good audience base.

But here in the EU... especially in the German and French-speaking regions,

the attitude of the major bookstore chains is very ambiguous, and the display spaces they've given us are all in the corners."

Lin Que thought of the scene he had just witnessed in the bookstore and gave a light chuckle:

"As expected. They're used to standing on high ground and looking down; it will take some time to get them to lower their heads to read a book."

"It's not just a problem with the channels." Wang De'an paused, his tone becoming hesitant.

"The domestic forums are also in an uproar.

Many people are saying we're taking too big a step this time, that foreigners can't understand the Eastern view of life and death at all,

and that a story about soul redemption like the ferryman will fail to take root in a place that believes in God.

Some are even saying... we're just seeking our own humiliation."

"Editor-in-Chief Wang."

Lin Que interrupted him, his gaze fixed on the solemn church spire outside the window.

"Do you know what I just did?"

"Ah? Weren't you going for a walk?"

"I went to buy a book. In a self-proclaimed bookstore that sells only truth, the owner thought our story was trash."

"They think that by possessing Kant and Mozart, they have everything and don't need so-called cheap consolation."

There was silence on the other end of the line; even through the signal, Lin Que could feel Wang De'an's frustration.

"But believe me." Lin Que shook the water bottle in his hand.

"The more spiritually affluent a place thinks it is, the larger the void in their hearts.

Arrogance is a wall, but pain and loneliness are universal hammers."

"Ignore what they're saying on the forums; the data will tell the truth."

...