Perhaps this is what is meant by the changing fortunes.
During the most glorious era of the Gospel Church several hundred years ago, Florence was a place that everyone yearned for and a dream city in everyone's heart.
Some say that there are devout priests everywhere and prayers are heard day and night. Others say that countless kingdoms worship the church and that the Medici family's treasury contains most of the wealth of the Western world. Others say that there is a gate to heaven, but it is guarded by the Knights Templar.
Countless people have said so, countless stories, countless wishes and greed. It is like the incarnation of God on earth. It seems that as long as you get there, it will satisfy all your wishes.
Lorenzo once did not quite understand people's yearning for extreme places, but when he actually came to Old Dunling, he understood a lot more.
Everyone has certain obsessions, but those obsessions are often difficult to achieve in the end. No matter how hard you try, you are just struggling on the edge of failure.
That was really despairing, powerless despair.
But no one can accept this. They need a goal to hope for. Hundreds of years ago it was Florence, and now it is Old Dunlin. They yearn for this miraculous city, as if in this miracle they can find a way to fulfill their obsession.
Lorenzo couldn't help laughing at the thought. After all, he was also a stowaway. So much time had passed that he could hardly remember how long he had been swimming on the sea. The scorching sun, the wind and rain, perhaps it was too terrible, that memory had become a little fuzzy.
He once thought that he would die at sea, and that the great Captain Holmes would be eaten by a fish before he even began his plundering career.
But perhaps because he was also a man with obsession, Lorenzo survived after all. When he woke up, he was soaking in shallow sea water, and the old Dunling was right in front of him.
“I don’t know if those illegal immigrants will despair after seeing the real old Dunling.”
Press looked at the gray silhouette of Old Dunling, where there was steam technology beyond the comprehension of the world. Incredible behemoths were swimming in the sky, filled with mist, as if it were another world.
There are indeed miracles in Old Dunling, but not everyone can get that miracle. Press also came for that miracle, but in the end he could only be a small detective. All his wishes and ideals became cheap, and now he only has retirement and pension.
This is a ruthless city. It will wear away all your rationality and enthusiasm, and eventually you will lose yourself in its complex gears.
Those illegal immigrants are like pilgrims. They come here with great difficulty, but only see the dazzling miracle, but fail to see the countless bones beneath the prosperity.
"Aren't you going home to bed?" asked Lorenzo.
"Do you think I would trust someone like you to work on a case by yourself?" Price said.
Lorenzo looked at the dark circles under Pres' eyes.
"To be honest, you should trust people more."
"Just you?" Price said as if he had heard some joke.
"Okay, Mr. Holmes, I have to admit that you are indeed... gifted in some ways," said Price. "But forget about trusting you. It feels like letting a criminal go and he says he will come back after having breakfast."