252: Chapter 252 The Deep Blue Social Currency – Bonus Chapter of <Unseen You>

The screen showed no superfluous text, only data charts with red backgrounds and white text.

The lines on the charts rose at such a steep angle that they looked like they would pierce the screen.

Immediately after, a sixty-second voice message array was sent.

Lin Que tapped it open.

Even without speakerphone, Wang De'an's voice seemed to explode from the receiver.

In the background, there was also the sizzling sound of a printer furiously spitting out paper—the sound of money flowing.

"Teacher Jian Shen! The European market is about to explode!"

"Inventory in Frankfurt just cleared out. Dealers almost got into a fight at the warehouse entrance trying to snatch goods!"

"Now, all three machines at the printing factory are running non-stop; one just overheated and went on strike, and workers are splashing water to cool it down!"

"This fire is burning too fiercely!"

Lin Que moved his phone further away to prevent his eardrums from being shattered by Wang De'an's roar.

He picked up a piece of chestnut cake he had bought on the way and put it into his mouth.

Viennese desserts were always cloyingly sweet.

But paired with these crazy figures, it was just enough to balance it out.

...

This fire spread faster than anyone could have imagined.

If the rain in Vienna was the prelude,

then a photo that went viral on the second morning was the spark thrown into a barrel of dynamite.

It was a candid shot.

It wasn't retouched, and the noise was even a bit high.

But that texture was something even top photographers couldn't achieve.

The background was a messy array of instrument cases backstage, with blurry figures bustling about, the sense of commotion almost overflowing the frame.

Yet, in this chaotic scene,

a beam of side light shone down.

It landed perfectly on the Eastern girl in the dark green gown.

She held a book, her head bowed.

The surrounding chaos seemed to be isolated by an invisible barrier.

The cool, deep blue book cover created a strong visual contrast with her fair, slender fingers.

That tranquility, that sense of sophistication, that personification of "the beauty of one's character comes from the books one reads."

The caption was short, but highly provocative:

[The Muse is reading.]

This photo instantly exploded on foreign social media.

What was originally a discussion in literary circles instantly broke boundaries and stormed into the most snobbish fashion world.

Countless European girls looked at the breathtakingly beautiful Eastern girl in the photo.

Then they looked at the book in her hand, and an urge called "following the trend" burned in their blood.

"So beautiful! What book is this? I want to take a similar photo!"

"Is this the mysterious power of the East?"

"I feel like my whole being glows when I read this book!"

Overnight, that deep blue book cover became the most frequently photographed accessory on Instagram.

It appeared on round tables in Left Bank Cafes, in socialites' picnic baskets.

It was even tucked into Hermès Birkin bags, a corner of its deep blue spine peeking out.

As long as one held the ferryman,

it was as if they possessed a certain privilege that showcased the depth of their soul.

You were cultured.

You were sophisticated.

...

A thousand kilometers away.

Paris's Left Bank.

This was an old independent bookstore called "Shakespeare and Company," (Translator's note: The original Chinese name is Shakespeare's Afternoon, which means "Shakespeare's Afternoon". However, given the location and context, it is highly likely referring to the famous Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris, which is often translated as Shakespeare and Company. To maintain cultural accuracy and avoid confusion, I've used the established English name.)

At its entrance hung an obscure slogan that only literary youths would understand, exuding an air of "buy it or don't, I don't care" aloofness.

The owner, Pierre, was arranging Sartre's complete works in the display window.

Unlike Hans's classical literary faction, he was a firm adherent of existentialism and disdained all popular literature.

He casually shoved several deep blue copies of the ferryman into the most inconspicuous gap in the counter, using them to prop up a wobbly coffee machine.

"Such philosophically shallow stuff only deserves to stay in dark corners," he muttered.

He muttered.

However.

What he didn't realize was that it would be a group of young girls who would shatter his existentialism.

Three o'clock in the afternoon.

The Parisian sun lazily spilled onto the banks of the Seine.

The bookstore's doorbell suddenly rang with a sharp, crisp sound, breaking the afternoon's tranquility.

Pierre was holding a cup of espresso, preparing to savor a philosophical discourse on absurdity.

But when he looked up, he saw a group of well-dressed young girls pouring in.

Leading them were several socialites wearing the latest Chanel collection, followed by several international students carrying drawing boards.

"Welcome." Pierre put down his coffee cup, a French, slightly reserved smile on his face.

"I wish you a pleasant afternoon. Today's book recommendation is Sartre's..."

"No, we want that blue book!"

A girl wearing a beret interrupted him, her tone urgent:

"That Eastern magic!"

Pierre froze, the hand holding his coffee cup suspended in mid-air.

"What? Magic?" He suspected he had misheard.

"Miss, this is a bookstore, not a circus."

"It's the ferryman!" another student-like girl added.

"It's gone viral on Facebook! We've searched three streets, and your website says you still have some in stock!"

Pierre's hand, holding the coffee cup, trembled.

"Ladies." Pierre put down the cup, trying to salvage the situation with a philosophical tone.

"Although this book is very popular recently, from a literary structure perspective, it might not be as good as..."

"Look, over there!"

The sharp-eyed girl in the beret pointed to a glimpse of deep blue peeking out from the counter's crevice, exclaiming:

In an instant.

Those Parisian socialites, who were originally elegant and reserved, swarmed the counter like they had spotted a limited-edition handbag.

"I want one!"

"Me too! I'll pay double!"

"I saw it first! Get out of the way!"

Pierre was startled by the commotion.

He watched helplessly as those books he considered trash instantly became highly coveted items.

The last copy even sparked a small auction.

"Fifty euros! I'll pay fifty euros!"

A noblewoman in a trench coat waved her banknotes.

"Sixty euros! I'm buying it for my mentor, please let me have it!" The student was not to be outdone.

Pierre's proudly held existentialist principles didn't last three seconds under the socialites' euro offensive.

He had to awkwardly duck under the counter, butt in the air,

reaching his hand into the dusty counter gap, laboriously pulling out books.

When he handed the book to the highest-bidding noblewoman, her expression as she held the book was as if she had snatched a global limited-edition Hermès.

After seeing off this wave of frantic customers, Pierre collapsed into his chair.

He looked at the empty counter corner and the lonely Being and Nothingness tossed aside.

After a long silence.

He picked up the phone with trembling hands.

"Hello... is this the distributor?"

Pierre's voice was humble to the dust.

"Um... that Eastern fairy tale book, can you send me two more boxes? No, five boxes! As soon as possible!"

...

Immediately after.

The third wave of attack arrived the next day.

World-renowned piano master Gary made an unexpected move during his BBC interview.

In front of the camera, the elderly man, known for his strictness, held up the ferryman that Ye Xi had given him.

Instead of discussing technique or music theory as usual,

he took off his glasses and wearily rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"If you asked me what the end of music is, I used to say Bach."

"But now, I would advise you to read this story."

Gary put his glasses back on, his voice deep.

"It made me hear the echoes of a soul traversing the wilderness."

This wave of "endorsement by a big shot" from the top art circles completely shattered the so-called elite barrier.

Even Master Gary cried.

Who would dare say this was cheap chicken soup for the soul?

...

Domestically.

With the return of foreign media reports, the domestic internet boiled over.

"Holy cow! Teacher Jian Shen is going crazy abroad! Even Master Gary has become his book fan?"

"That photo of Goddess Ye is amazing!"

"This is true cultural output! Before, we read foreign books, now it's the foreigners reading ours!"

"Master Gary is even promoting it? I'm going to reread it right now!"

The exhilaration brought by this genuine "cultural counterattack" caused countless netizens to flood the New Tide Publishing House's official website.

They wanted to place orders for collection, or simply to take screenshots to witness history.

However, the fragile server had clearly never seen such a spectacle.

In just ten minutes, the official website page turned into a despairing blank,

with a huge "404 Not Found" displayed in the center of the screen.

Inside the New Tide technical department, wails of despair filled the air.

Programmers, with their messy hair, moved their camp beds into the server room overnight, their keyboards sparking as they typed.

"Stop pushing! Stop pushing! I'm here to buy books, not to grab Spring Festival travel tickets!"

"The server crashed again? Is Teacher Jian Shen's popularity a built-in DDoS attack?"

Just as the entire internet was complaining about the website's collapse, Wang De'an posted a Microblogging platform.

The accompanying picture showed a technician collapsed on the server room floor, next to several unfinished boxes of instant noodles.

The caption was extremely infuriating:

[Please stop crowding, spare our little broken website, the server is really smoking. Selling too many books is also a kind of trouble, tonight is another all-nighter fixing bugs. [crying][crying] #Jian Shen #the ferryman]

The caption was extremely infuriating:

As soon as this Microblogging platform was posted, the comment section was instantly flooded with "Versailles literature" and "send razor blades" emojis.

"I've never seen such shameless bragging!"

"President Wang, your smile is almost reaching the back of your head..."

...

The fourth day.

The European book sales chart was updated.

Amidst the siege of various European and American bestsellers, a book with a deep blue cover forcefully broke through.

It impressively ranked thirty-seventh.

Although it hadn't made it into the top ten yet, that red upward arrow was still unreasonably dominant.

Vienna Central Station.

Among the bustling crowd, a figure with a backpack seemed inconspicuous.

Lin Que pulled down his hat brim; his phone vibrated.

A bank deposit notification popped up, the long string of numbers on the screen more tangible than any grand award speech.

That was the fruit of Vienna's rain.

The announcement of a train entering the station came over the broadcast.

Domestic netizens, in search of "Jian Shen," flocked to this ancient European city, eager to turn Vienna upside down, even wealthy individuals offered hefty rewards on Microblogging platform for clues.

Even wealthy individuals offered hefty rewards on Microblogging platform for clues.

But the real person in question was currently standing on the platform, waiting for a train that was about to be delayed.

"Woo—"

A whistle sounded, and a vintage red train slowly entered the station.

Next stop, Sarajevo.

That was an important stop he had specifically chosen for his next magnum opus about "land and suffering."

...

...