Half an hour later, there was an internal meeting of the school committee.
In the conference room, there were only Ingmar and the old man who had just arrived.
The old lawyer who served many families sat behind the table, crossed his fingers, and looked at the distracted Ingmar quietly with a solemn expression.
"Mr. Ingmar."
He said solemnly: "On behalf of the school committee, I once again inquire about the interpretation of the Voynich manuscript - is the plagiarism alleged by Abraham established?"
Ingmar didn't seem to hear, he just stared blankly at the table in front of him, muttering something in a low voice, lost in thought.
"This is impossible... How could it pass... I obviously... that guy Abraham..."
"Ingmar!"
The old lawyer suddenly slapped the table with a loud bang. Ingmar's shoulders shook, and he slowly raised his head: "Don't passively avoid it! Answer the school committee's inquiry head-on! Did your interpretation plagiarize Abraham's work?" Results?!”
Ingmar looked at his angry face, as if he were seeing the panicked expressions of the noble members of the school committee. His expressions changed, and after a long time, he suddenly laughed softly.
The smile was extremely ironic.
"Now that things have happened, does it still matter to you whether I plagiarized or not?"
The old lawyer's expression became gloomy, he stopped talking, just picked up the documents and left quietly.
Ingmar was the only one left in the silent conference room.
In the silence, Ingmar looked at the empty seats in front of him, and his intermittent laughter sounded again, vicious and hearty.
Until a sigh came from behind him.
A voice he seemed to have heard before sounded in his ears:
"At this point, besides supporting me, do you have any other way out? - Is that what you think?"
At that moment, the laughter stopped abruptly.
Ingmar's expression stiffened, and he turned around with difficulty, only to see a sparrow. The sparrow was also looking at him, as if looking at dust.
The sparrow stood on his shoulder, and its light figure bent his body.
overwhelmed.
Sparrow said: "You feel that the House of Representatives is already riding a tiger, so it will definitely support you at this stage and fight to the end, right?"
Ingmar's fingers trembled, his expression twitched, but he remained silent.
"Congratulations, you guessed it correctly."
Sparrow said calmly: "Even if you are plagiarizing, we will support you. Ten days later, the Musicians Association will publicly conduct appraisal and defense. The House of Representatives will use its connections to let you win. Are you happy?"
Are you happy
Ingmar only felt a chill on his back and no joy at all. It was the chill of all the secrets in my heart being exposed to the sun.
And there was something strange about the House's generosity... their lack of anger
"you… "
Ingmar swallowed his saliva and tried his best to make a sound, but his voice trembled: "What exactly do you want?"
The sparrow sighed, seemingly helpless.
It is lamenting a fool.
"Ingmar, you should understand: the things you are proud of are worthless in our eyes."
It said, "If you want to negotiate a price with us, then you can leave, and the House will not make any deal with you. But you can't leave, can you? You understand better than anyone else: once you walk out of such a door , no one in this world can save you."
Ingmar's shoulders shook.
He seemed to want to stand up and walk out the door, but the sparrow stood on his shoulder. Such a light sparrow, but it bent his back.
He didn't dare to get up... because he knew that once he showed any sign of resistance, it would be all over.
His future, his achievements, everything about him will be buried in darkness.
Along with yourself.
So he lowered his head tamely and was willing to be put on the invisible halter.
"Indeed, the House of Representatives has spent a lot of resources on you over the years. But you must also know that for the House of Representatives, even resonance-level musicians are not impossible to recruit if needed. It just depends on the price. House of Representatives Never be afraid to pay any price, Ingmar, we are never afraid of any price."
Sparrow said softly, "The reason why we value you is because there are not many ancient scholars who are as good at interpretation as you. And we happen to need you to interpret and guide us at certain times and places. You know, there are many, many alternatives... So don't do anything stupid again and don't wear down the House's patience, okay?"
"Guide the way?"
Ingmar was sweating profusely: "What's the way?"
"Didn't you already guess it?"
Sparrow laughed: "It's the bloody road behind this huge city, Ingmar. Now it's time to let you know, but you have already guessed a lot, haven't you?"
Cold sweat fell from his cheeks drop by drop, fell to the ground, and dissipated.
Until finally, he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and made a sound:
"I-I'll help you."
"It's not you who helps us, Ingmar, it's us who help you." The sparrow whispered in his ear: "Now you can open your eyes and come meet your friends."
Ingmar's fingers trembled, he opened his eyes in shock, and then fell into suffocation.
In the silent conference room, many visitors had appeared at some point, and the seats were all packed. Sharp eyes stared at him, and that look was chilling.
There were hundreds of flying birds. The birds came silently and occupied every corner, overlooking him from a high position.
"Welcome to the House, my friend."
The sparrow laughed meaningfully.
“—Welcome to the true heart of this country.”
…
…
Burgundy, in a manor on the outskirts of the capital, a hurried knock on the door sounded.
Outside the study door, the messenger knocked on the door and shouted:
"Master Bartholomew, Master Bartholomew."
After the knocking continued for half an hour, the study door was opened angrily.
The old man behind the door had disheveled hair and disheveled clothes. He was definitely not dressed for a meeting with guests, but he glared at the visitor, as if looking at an intruder who had broken into his domain:
"Stop arguing!"
The study room behind him is filled with old books, but with careful maintenance, there is no strong smell of staleness. Those ancient books are written with obscure cuneiform characters, full of ancient meaning.
But the research was interrupted, so the old man looked particularly annoyed: "My interpretation is at a critical moment. Didn't I tell no one to disturb me! Don't you understand Common Language?!"
He has been studying the "Cuiyulu" passed down by ancient musicians for more than ten years - it is one of the ancient classics that is said to be taught by gods and men and laid the foundation for the theory of the first generation of musicians.
Now, after a long time, I finally found a clue. While I was excitedly exploring, I was interrupted by a sudden guest. Even though I was well-mannered, I couldn't help but feel angry in my heart.
Even if the person who came was an envoy from the Musicians Association, he still scolded the other party. In the end, he stared at him with lingering anger:
"You'd better have a good reason, otherwise even the Musicians Association will never get through my door! Never even think about it!"
"I'm just following my mission. Please be considerate."
The messenger suddenly felt helpless, smiled bitterly, and handed over a letter from the Holy City with both hands. Butler Mi snatched it away angrily, tore open the seal and pulled out the letter.
"Plagiarism?"
Butler was stunned and couldn't help but frown: Of course he knew the interpretation of the "Voynich Manuscript" a few days ago. Although it was not announced, there were quite a few of his former disciples working in the Holy City. Copies It was delivered to him on the third day.
I have to say that although it seems a bit unreasonable, the interpretation of the "Voynich Manuscript" is still an out-and-out masterpiece.
It was part of the ideas that gave him new inspiration for "Cui Yulu", but he never thought that such an outstanding work would be involved in such a thing...
By the time he finished reading the briefing in his hand, his anger had dissipated.
All that's left is confusion and melancholy.
"Ingmar and Abraham? Why bother... why bother doing such a thing?"
Scholars who are obsessed with interpreting ancient history generally stay away from worldly disputes and take fame and fortune lightly. Most people are not complicated, but much simpler.
For them, research is everything, academics and theory are life, and they absolutely hate plagiarism.
That's why he looked so melancholy after hearing such things.
"Pity."
He invited the envoy to enter the study. After serving tea, he was silent for a long time. After taking off his glasses, he sighed: "I already understand the purpose of the association. Do you want me to attend the review meeting as an appraiser?"
"That's right." The messenger nodded.
But Bartholomew's expression became even more sad.
"I chose to become a star scholar because I hated fighting and didn't want to hurt other people, so I advanced to resonance. But I didn't expect that you would now ask me to be an executioner."
The envoy was stunned, "Master, where do you start talking about this?"
"You do not understand."
The old man shook his head bitterly: "For scholars, research is breathing, and results are life. No matter what the final result is, one of the two scholars is bound to 'die'. For scholars, this is more than just a review , and it’s also a place of execution.”
The messenger was silent for a long time and lowered his head:
"I'm just being presumptuous."
"It's not your fault. After all, it's all a matter of academia, and it still needs to be solved in an academic way. Apart from us old guys, who else in this world can be executioners? You also have Sergey. You must have sent out an invitation letter, right? With that guy’s fiery temper, he will definitely agree.”
"Yes."
The messenger nodded, "There are five people invited to conduct the review. In addition to you and Master Sergeal, there is also Miss Laura Kraft from Angel, Master Heisenberg from Rock Iron College, and a The ancient oriental rune masters living in the Holy City will also go there."
"Ancient oriental runes?"
Butler was stunned, "It has been missing for so many years. Is anyone still studying it?"
The messenger answered truthfully: "He is a scholar from the East. He arrived in the Holy City half a year ago, and few people know his identity. I only know his surname is Hu, and the cardinal calls him 'Sun'."
"It's me who is ignorant."
Butler nodded secretly and thought for a moment: "When will we set off?"
When the envoy heard that he was willing to attend, he was immediately overjoyed: "We have prepared the fastest light rail carriage. By land and sea, we can reach Angelou in six days."
The association knew that Butler rarely went out and was not used to flying in an airship, so it urgently arranged the fastest route for him.
Butler nodded secretly and agreed. After the two set a departure time, the servant sent the envoy away.
After the agent of the Musicians Association left, Butler sat in his study and sighed helplessly after a long time.
He had no intention of continuing his research.
"What a pity. The interpretation of "Cui Yulu" is about to reach a breakthrough..." He shook his head, took off his glasses, and wanted to go out for a walk, but he happened to bump into the servant who was returning quickly.
"Sir, I have an urgent letter for you."
The servant delivers the letter just delivered by the postman.
"Letter? Who sent it?"
Barthelmi picked up the envelope, but there was no name on it, and there was only a trace of a paint seal in the place of the sender.
It was a silhouette of a sparrow.