Chapter 5: "And Then There Were None"

Back on Briar Lane, the two of them noticed the note posted on the door.

Lu Shi tore it down and glanced at it.

"It's from the landlord, gas fees, water fees... even handling waste costs money. So many miscellaneous expenses," he remarked, folding the note and putting it away.

Beside him, Soseki rubbed his forehead and said, "I wonder if the London in books is the real London. Like in 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,' the landlady there takes care of the two tenants. But here..."

He trailed off disheartenedly.

Lu Shi explained, "The landlord probably isn't discriminating against us. In the novels, Holmes messes around at home all day, doing chemical experiments, live firing drills, and playing the violin at midnight. How much do you think he'd pay in rent?"

The implication was clear: Holmes wasn't just renting a space; he was also paying for a considerable amount of service.

He continued, "And don't forget Holmes's status. He's the savior of Scotland Yard, a guest of many European royalties. Anyone would like such a tenant."

Soseki nodded, then shook his head. "But that's not right. If Holmes is so capable, why did he choose to share a flat in the first place? Does that make sense?"

As they chatted, they entered the living room.

Lu Shi chuckled. "Look at you. That's how fragile novels are; they're easily criticized and can't stand up to scrutiny. So, don't ask why. It's just for the sake of the plot. Besides, Doyle already forced an explanation. Holmes doesn't care much about money, and his success came later, so sharing a flat isn't that far-fetched."

It was indeed a forced explanation, and Soseki didn't bother to argue.

Having experienced today's meeting with Doyle, he had already realized that novelists would exaggerate anything for the sake of the plot.

However, through their conversation just now, he became more convinced that Lu Shi, as his roommate, could write good prose. After all, he was so familiar with the customs and manners of London, as if he had lived here for a long time, like someone born with that knowledge.

Lu Shi lit the gas lamp and wrote three names on a piece of paper in Chinese:

Matsumoto Seicho, Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie.

These three were the masters of detective fiction.

This term originated from "A Brief History of World Detective Fiction" and was invented by the author Cao Zhengwen, so it was a unique concept in China.

Staring at their names, Lu Shi fell into contemplation.

Soseki was very curious, but when it came to Lu Shi's unpublished works, he naturally avoided asking too much.

After a while, he couldn't help but ask, "Have you decided what to write?"

Lu Shi replied, "Hmm, I'm still considering."

Today's friction with Doyle made him think. If he were to write a detective novel similar to Doyle's masterpiece, it would be best to save up energy and create something comparable to "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes."

This was the reason he listed those three names.

Actually, there was hardly a second choice.

Lu Shi circled Agatha Christie's name, a slightly sinister smile appearing on his lips as he muttered to himself, "I admit that you're very strong, but when I bring out Shapo, how will you respond?"

Soseki didn't understand, but seeing Lu Shi so focused, he didn't want to interrupt.

Lu Shi pondered.

Shapo was a giant figure in literary works, with masterpieces such as "Murder on the Orient Express," "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd," "The ABC Murders," "Death on the Nile," and "And Then There Were None"...

Any of these books was enough to benefit future mystery writers for their entire careers.

Which one should he choose?

Lu Shi frowned.

Beside him, Soseki, who couldn't read a book because of his restless mind, kept lifting his head to glance in Lu Shi's direction.

Lu Shi seemed to enter a state of concentration, writing the opening of "And Then There Were None":

Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine. Nine little Indian boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight. ...

Soseki, illuminated by the gas lamp, shivered involuntarily.

This opening...

This opening was really...

He thought of countless words to describe it in his mind, but he couldn't find the right one. He just felt that Lu Shi was writing something very new, so new that he wasn't qualified to give an evaluation.

In an instant, under the reflection of the gas lamp, Lu Shi's figure seemed much taller.

Soseki quietly left the table, took out a book, and tried to read, but he was restless and couldn't concentrate. Every now and then, he lifted his head to look in Lu Shi's direction.

Lu Shi, on the other hand, seemed to be in a trance, writing effortlessly. He had almost finished the preface and the first chapter in one go, and it had only been three hours since he finished writing the last sentence of the first chapter, just past lunchtime.

He stretched lazily.

"Shosuke, come take a look," he said.

Soseki had been waiting eagerly and hurried over to read attentively.

Strangely, after that amazing opening, the first chapter seemed a bit flat. It wasn't bad, but it just wasn't as good.

"It's good, but not quite good enough," he said.

After giving this evaluation, he felt he had exaggerated a bit and quickly bowed repeatedly.

"I'm really sorry!"

Lu Shi was speechless, with black lines all over his head.

It was a real insight into the traditional arts engraved in the Japanese bones.

He waved his hand.

"Why apologize? You didn't say anything wrong."