Change one? Lumian didn't expect to receive a reminder from Thermiporos at this time.
Regardless of whether this fateful angel wanted to take the opportunity to set a trap and do something, or simply did not want the seal carrier to have any problems in such a place and at such a time, it was enough to show that this seemingly ordinary and simple King Cake game had great hidden dangers. Once triggered, it would cause everyone present to slide into a dangerous abyss.
When Count Puyfer said that this involved mysticism and that he needed to offer a king cake to the gods he believed in or the ancestors he revered, Lumian felt that there might be some supernatural factors involved, similar to the divination games that many mysticism enthusiasts like to play. Who knew that the problem would be more serious than he expected, making an angel feel that he, a double sequence 7, could not handle it, or that he, a double sequence 7, could be harmed.
As his thoughts raced, Lumian had no idea what Thermipoulos was thinking. He could only cautiously stretch out his arm and pick one of the five remaining king cakes in a very casual manner.
This time, Thermopylae did not stop him.
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After Lumian, Anoli, Maren, Ernst and Ilett each took a piece of the king's cake, leaving only the piece closest to Lumian.
"It looks like it belongs to me." Count Puyver leaned forward, smiled, held the king's cake, put it into his mouth, and gently bit off part of it.
Lumian also made a similar move and found that the pastry had a crispy crust and a sweet filling, leaving a lingering fragrance in his mouth. The quality was quite good.
After eating a few bites, Count Puyver laughed and said, "It seems that I am the king today."
As he spoke, he took a broad bean out of his mouth.
The moment he saw the broad beans, Lumian seemed to smell a faint smell of blood and rust.
At the same time, this corner of the Mechanical Café suddenly became dull and depressing, as if everyone was worried that they would be ordered to do something they could not bear.
Count Puyver stood up, with his back to the street window, blocking the sunlight behind him.
This made his face seem to be covered with a light shadow, and his smile seemed a little dim.
Count Puyver looked at the novelist Arnoli, and the corners of his mouth curled higher and higher: "You go outside the cafe and shout 'I am shit' to passers-by."
Anoli, who was unconsciously nervous, breathed a sigh of relief and responded with a smile: "No problem."
The short and fat man stood up quickly, walked quickly to the door, and pulled down the door handle embedded in the side wall.
With a rustling sound and a slight collision, the mechanical arm suddenly tightened and "dragged" the heavy wooden door backwards.
Arnoli walked out of the cafe, came to the street, and shouted to every passerby on the road: "I am shit!
“I’m a piece of shit raised by a sow!
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"My whole family is shit raised by sows!"
The passers-by looked at him in surprise and then laughed out loud.
After scolding himself, Anoli returned to Lumian and the others in a happy mood.
“You have a really good mentality.” Lumian finally forced himself to change “how shameless you are” into something the other party could accept.
Novelist Arnoli chuckled and said, "Every time I can't write anything, I go to the balcony and scold myself. This is still the lightest."
“You writers have so many quirks.” Lumian thought of his sister who claimed to be a terminal procrastinator.
Anoli took a sip of absinthe, sat down again, and watched Count Puyver, who was always standing with his back to the light, cast his eyes on the pale and handsome painter Maren: "Give Ilete a slap."
Maren relaxed, but without leaving his seat, he leaned forward and slapped the poet Elaite.
Elite, who had rather sparse hair and slightly sagging cheek muscles, was not angry, but just took another puff of his cigarette.
Noticing Lumian's scrutiny, he smiled nonchalantly: "As a poet, you must learn to enjoy the malice around you."
Enjoying malice... What an artistic youth, no, an artistic middle-aged man... Lumian observed the participants of the game and found that except for Count Puifur who ate the broad beans, there was nothing unusual about the others for the time being.
Count Puyver turned his body slightly to the side, and his face still looked a little dark due to the backlight.
He told literary critic An Yong: "Pledge your loyalty to me."
The "Black Cat" gang usually get together and do all kinds of extraordinary things. To use a recently popular term, they are the pioneers of performance art. So, when it came to kneeling on one knee to swear allegiance, Ernst & Young felt no pressure at all and even felt that he had not yet satisfied and thought it was not stimulating or humiliating enough.
Count Puyver looked at the poet Ilete again and said, "Give all the money you have to the homeless man across the street."
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Elite was stunned for a moment, and said distressedly: "Okay.
"You know, I'm a poor guy. The royalties I've earned from poetry in the past five years add up to less than three thousand Felgin. Every day I wonder which friend will organize a party so that I can drink for free."
You are a pretty honest poet... Lumian was thinking about whether he should sponsor this guy to see what he can write.
Poetry, anyway, the "sponsorship fee" was provided by Gardner Martin, if he didn't use it, he couldn't really pretend
On the contrary, only by sponsoring certain artists can he have the opportunity to keep part of it for himself.
Before Count Puyver could respond, Ilett suddenly laughed, fumbled in his pockets, and announced cheerfully: "So, I only took 5 Fergold with me!"
"Five fergins? If you go to the Vichy Café, you can only order half a bottle of natural water and two boiled eggs." Novelist Arnoli muttered as he watched the poet Elaite quickly walk out the door and threw the five fergins to the homeless man opposite.
The Vichy Café is located in an alley on the Boulevard. Many people come and go there, including members of Congress, senior government officials, bankers, industrialists, financiers, famous socialites, and writers, painters, poets, and sculptors who are sought after by the upper class.
At this point, everyone had taken a turn, leaving only Lumian.
Count Puyfer looked at Lumian with deep eyes and said:
"This is your first time attending our 'Black Cat' party. I'll give you a simpler task. Take your King Cake and go to the deepest room in the basement of the cafe and exchange it for a piece of white paper."
This sounds a bit mystical... If anything goes wrong, I'll just set fire to the basement... Lumian muttered as he picked up the king's cake he had already taken a few bites of, and according to the instructions of the novelist Arnold, he found the stairs leading to the basement near the kitchen.
Before entering, he used the mechanical device outside to light the gas wall lamps inside, and walked through the "hall" filled with debris in the slightly dim light, and arrived at the deepest room.
The vermilion wooden door of the room was tightly closed. Lumian listened for a while but heard no movement.
There were no suspicious signs outside the door either.
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Lumian stretched out his right palm, grasped the handle, twisted it gently, and slowly pushed forward.
As the light from the gas wall lamps in the basement "hall" shone into the room, objects were outlined one by one.
They were heads, huddled in the dark shadows, staring at the "visitor" at the door without any emotion.
Lumian's pupils suddenly dilated and he saw several familiar heads.
They are the heads of the novelist Anoly, the painter Maren, the critic Ernst and the poet Ilete!
Just as a fireball was about to form, the experienced and strong-willed Lumian forced himself to calm down and realized the problem:
The heads did not have the paleness of the dead, and the room was not filled with the distinctive smell of preservatives.
Lumian controlled his reaction and observed carefully for a few seconds, and found that they were all wax heads that had been removed.
They are like watermelons, stuffed into different grids of the wooden frame.
Is the purpose of this mission to create a fright? If Thermipolos hadn't reminded me to be highly alert, how could such a prank possibly scare me? Where is the mystical aspect? Lumian pondered for a while, placed the king cake in his hand on one of the wooden racks, and took away the white paper that was holding a wax head.
When he returned to the Mechanical Cafe with the white paper in his hand, he saw Anoli, Elite and others looking at him with a smile, as if trying to find any remaining fear.
Count Puyver nodded with satisfaction: "You have completed the task very well."
What if I don't complete the task well? What will happen? Lumian pretended to be afraid and said:
“Those wax heads were so real, they nearly made my heart stop!”
"Haha." Anoli laughed. "This is the welcome gift the Count gives to every new guest. He likes to collect wax heads the most. Every friend recognized by him can get an invitation from the wax master to turn his head into a work of art and put it in the basement of the Mechanical Cafe."
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It's as if your heads have been given to Count Puif... Lumian looked at the necks of Anoli and the others and found no signs of cutting.
After chatting about various rumors in the writer's circle for a while and donating 2,000 Fel Gold to "Black Cat", Lumian said goodbye.
As he was leaving, his eyes naturally swept over the two one-legged tables.
Suddenly, Lumian's pupils froze.
He saw that there were still unfinished king cakes on the plates of Count Puyver, Arnoli and others, but the white glazed porcelain dessert plate that originally held the king cake was empty.
There should have been a king cake there dedicated to the ancestors of the Soran family!
It's gone!
Lumian didn't hide his confusion and pointed at the dessert plate and said, "I remember there was also a king's cake."
Count Puyver laughed, took a sip of coffee and said, "I ate it."
“I see…” Lumian suddenly realized and smiled back.
He turned around and walked out of the Mechanical Cafe, the smile on his face gradually disappearing.
Count Puyfer took only two bites of his own pie de rois!