Chapter 82 story

Paris, January 1903 The story has changed, my dear boy, said the man in the gray suit, with almost imperceptible sorrow in his tone, there is no bitter battle between good and evil, no monsters to slay, no maidens to rescue.In my experience, most teenage girls are capable of saving themselves, at least the worthwhile ones anyway.There are no more simple stories about long marches, wild beasts, and happy endings.In current stories, the adventure of the Long March lacks a clear goal and route; beasts come in different forms, making it difficult to recognize their real appearance; and there is no real ending, whether happy or otherwise.Things go on and on, overlapping and ambiguous, your story being part of your sister's story and part of many other stories, with no way of seeing where those stories are going.Compared with the princess and the fire dragon, compared with Ohnoro and Little Red Riding Hood, good and evil are much more complicated.Isn't Fire Dragon the hero of his own story?Isn't the behavior of the big bad wolf out of wolf nature?However, it is perhaps a rare and peculiar wolf that would go to such lengths to pretend to be a granny to tease its prey.

Weggy sipped his glass of wine and considered the words before answering. However, doesn't that mean that there has never been a simple story?he asks. The man in the gray suit shrugged, lifted the bottle from the table, and filled his glass. This kind of thing is complicated.The core of the story and the idea behind it are pure, and time will change and condense the subtleties, making them surpass ordinary stories, making them more brilliant than the sum of the parts; but that takes time.The most authentic stories need time and familiarity to become what they are later. The waiter stopped by their table for a brief chat with Wage, completely oblivious to the man in the gray suit.How many languages ​​do you speak?After the waiter left, the man asked.

I never stopped to count, says Wage: Once I've heard enough and got the basics down, I can say anything. sharp. A little bit of east and west will naturally learn.Celia taught me how to find patterns and how to combine sounds in groups. I hope she can teach better than her father. From what I knew of her father, they were quite different.For example, she never forced Bobby or me to play complicated games. Do you know what the challenge you just alluded to is?the man in the gray suit asked. And you?Wage asks: It's not clear from my point of view. Few things in this world are definite.A long time ago I guess you could say once upon a time, if you wanted it to sound more brilliant than it actually was. One of my earliest students and I disagreed about the way the world works, about eternity and permanence and time.He thought my system was outdated and developed his own method that he thought was superior.My thinking was that only methods worth studying were those that could be taught to others, so he started teaching as well.We pitted our students against each other. It started out as a simple experiment, but over time it became more and more complicated.Their very nature has always been a challenge of chaos and control to see which technique is more powerful.It's one thing to put two competitors on the same field and wait for one to go down.It's another thing to watch how they progress when the field has other factors besides them and every action has side effects.This last challenge was particularly interesting.I admit that Miss Bowen found a very clever exit, but I do regret that I lost a student in the process.He takes a sip of his wine.He is probably one of the best students I have ever taught.

Do you think he is dead?Wedgie asked. The man puts down his glass. You think he's not dead?After a meaningful pause, he asked back. I know he's not dead.Like I know Celia's father isn't dead, he's standing by that window.Weggie held up his glass and tilted it toward the darkened window by the door. The image in the glass could be a gray-haired man in a well-tailored coat, or it could be an amalgamation of reflections (customers, waiters, refracted and broken light from the street), rippling slightly before becoming completely indistinguishable. Neither of them died, Wage went on: But it wasn't like that either.He nodded towards the window.They are in a circus, they are a circus.You can hear his footsteps in the maze, and you can smell her perfume in the cloud maze, which is wonderful.

Do you think it's wonderful to be imprisoned? That's a matter of perspective, Wage said: They own each other.They are confined within an amazing space, and that space around them can and will grow and change.In a way, they have the whole world, a world bound only by his own imagination.Marco has been teaching me his tricks of illusion, but I haven't mastered them yet.So yeah, I think it's wonderful.He sees you as a father, you know that? Did he tell you?the man in the gray suit asked. Not directly speaking to me, Wage said: He asked me to read him.I can see people's past, and if that person trusts me, sometimes I can get detailed information.Because Celia trusted me, so did he.I think he doesn't blame you anymore.Because of you, he got her.

I chose him to compare with her, but also to complement her.Maybe I picked too well.The man in the gray suit leaned over the table as if preparing to whisper conspiratorially, but did not change the volume.That's where the mistake is, you see.They are too matched and too obsessed with each other to be competitive.It's a shame that they can never be separated again now. I think you are not a romantic person.Wage said, picking up the bottle and refilling himself a glass. When I was young, it was a long, long time ago. I can tell.Wage said, putting the bottle back on the table.The past of the man in the gray suit stretches back to ancient times.Longer than anyone Wedge had ever known.He could only read a few parts, many of which were worn and faded.The parts connected with the circus were the clearest and the easiest for him to understand.

do i look that old You have no shadow. The man in the gray suit smiled, which was the only noticeable change in his expression throughout the night. You're perceptive, he said: Not one person in a hundred, maybe even a thousand, notices that much.Yes, I am really old.I have seen many things in my time, some I would rather forget.At the end of the day, that affects people negatively.In a way, everything will.Like everything fades with age.I'm no exception, I can't escape that law. Will you end up at his level?Wage nodded to the window. I certainly hope not.I am willing to open up to the inevitable, even if I have ways to put it off.Immortality was what he was looking for, and it sucks to be after that.That is not the same as pursuing anything, but wanting to avoid the unavoidable.If he doesn't despise his own state now, he will gradually feel that way in the future.I hope my students are luckier than your teachers.

You mean you want them to die? I just mean, if they can, I hope they find darkness or heaven without fear, he added after a pause: I hope you and your mates do too. Thanks. Wage said, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to feel that way. When you and your sister were born, I gave you a cradle to welcome you into the world, so the least I can do is to wish you a happy death too, because I suspect I won't be there in person Saying goodbye to you.In fact, I hope I don't. Isn't magic enough to make you live for it?Wedgie asked. Magic, the man in the gray suit repeats, turning the word into a laugh, isn't magic.It's the way the world works, it's just that very few people take the time to stop and notice it.Look around you, he said, waving your hands around the tables, they have no idea what's possible in this world.Worse, even if you tried to wake them up, no one would listen.What they want to believe is that magic is just a brilliant deception, because if it were real they would have trouble sleeping at night, terrified of their own existence.

But some people can be awakened.Wage said. Indeed, such things can be taught.For younger minds than these, it is easier to learn.Of course there are tricks too.Not the kind of shenanigans that conjure bunnies out of hats, but a way to make this universe more accessible.Few, very few people are willing to take the time to learn those things anymore; unfortunately, even fewer are gifted.You and your sister have it, it was the result of the opening of the circus, it was unexpected.What are you going to do with that talent?What function do you want to play? Wage thought carefully before answering.There didn't seem to be much use for this sort of thing outside the confines of the circus, but maybe that was what the man was talking about.I tell stories.He said.That was his sincere answer.

You tell stories?The man asked, the appearance of being aroused was clearly visible. Tales, legends, legends told by bards, Wage said: call it what you will.It's the stuff that we discussed earlier that is more complicated than before.I combined the fragments of the past I saw and strung them into narratives.It's not that important, that's not why I'm here That's important, interrupts the man in the gray suit: Someone has to tell those stories.When a battle is fought, won and lost; when pirates discover treasure; when a fire dragon swallows an enemy for breakfast, accompanied by a cup of Lapsang Souchong black tea, someone needs to tell these fragments in overlapping narratives.There is magic in that.The magic is in the listener, and the story sounds different to each ear, affecting the listener in forever unpredictable ways, from the mundane to the profound.The stories you tell may live in someone's soul, becoming their blood and self and purpose.That story will move and motivate them, and who knows what that story and your words will move them to do.That is your role, your talent.Your sister may see the future, but you can shape it yourself.Kid, don't forget that.

He took another sip of his wine.After all, there are many kinds of magic. Weggie paused, thinking about the change in the way the man in the gray suit looked at him.He wondered to himself, whether the man's hype about the story earlier was no longer as good as the previous remarks, whether it was just pretending, and he didn't really believe it. The man, who had previously been indifferent and uninterested in Wage, now looked at Wage the way a child looks at a new toy, or a wolf glances at a particularly interesting prey, no matter whether he is wearing a red cloak or something. You are trying to distract me.Wage said. The man in the gray suit just sipped his drink, eyeing Weggy over the rim of his glass. Is that contest over?Wedgie asked. Either way, the man continued after putting down the cup: Technically speaking, it has fallen into an unexpected loophole and has not ended properly. What about the circus? I think that's why you want to talk to me? Wedgie nodded.Pele has inherited the place from your competitor.My sister has settled business matters with Chandrash.With the documents as proof, in principle we already own and are responsible for the operation of the circus.I volunteered to handle the remainder of the transition period. Although I don't like procrastination, I'm afraid things are not that simple. I don't mean to think things are easy.Wage said. During the next pause, there was a burst of laughter from several tables, which rippling slightly in the air and then settled down, disappearing into the low and steady hum of conversation and the crisp sound of glasses clinking. You don't know what you're getting yourself into, kid, the man in the gray suit said quietly: You don't know how fragile that whole business is and how uncertain the consequences are.What would Bailey have become if he hadn't been adopted into your circus?He's just a daydreamer, longing for things he doesn't even understand. I guess there's nothing wrong with being a dreamer. Yes, but dreams can sometimes turn into nightmares.I doubt that Monsieur Lefevre knows a thing or two about that.You'd better let the whole thing die, let it become a myth and be forgotten.All empires die eventually, that's the way it is, and maybe it's time to let it go. I'm afraid I don't want to.Wage said. You are still very young. Even though Bailey, my sister and I are, like you said, very young.But if I calculate the ages of everyone behind this proposal, the sum may exceed your age, and I will use the combined age of everyone as a bet. Maybe. I don't know what rules your game follows, but I guess you owe us exactly that too, and we've been risked for your bets. The man in the gray suit sighed.He glanced briefly at the window, but he couldn't see Hector.Shadow of Bowen. If Prospero, the master of magic, had a problem with this matter, it seems that he chose to keep it secret. I think that argument is valid, the man in the gray suit said after a moment's consideration: But I owe you nothing, young man. Then why did you come here?Wedgie asked. The man smiled but said nothing. What I want to negotiate is essentially a used arena, Wedge continued: There is no further use for you, but it means a lot to me.You can't persuade me to quit, just ask for a price. The man in the gray suit smiled brighter. I want to hear a story.He said. story? I want this story, your story, to be the story that finally brought us to this place, to sit in these chairs and drink this bottle of wine.I don't want to hear the story you created out of here by tapping his finger on the temple, I want to hear the story here.He let his hand linger in front of his heart for a moment before leaning back in his chair.Wage considered the offer for a moment. If I told you this story, would you give me the circus?he asks. I'll hand over to you what little control I have of the circus.By the time we leave this table, I will have nothing to say about your circus, I will cut off all ties to it.When that bottle is emptied, the challenge that began before you were born will end and officially end in a dead heat.That should be enough.Have we reached an agreement, Mr. Murray? Agreement reached.Wage said. The man in gray poured out the last drink.The candlelight reflected and refracted on the empty wine bottle as he put it back on the table. Weggie swirls the wine in his glass.Wine is poetry in a bottle, he thought.He had first heard it from Mr. Dyson, but he knew it was spoken by another writer, though he could not now remember who it was. There are so many things to think about where to start, there are so many elements to consider. He wondered whether the poetry of the circus might also be bottled. Weggy took a sip of his wine and put the glass down on the table.He sat back in his chair, and met the gaze that was aimed at him.He is not in a hurry, as if he owns the whole world and the time of the universe. From the time when stories are more important than now (but it is hard to say which day the story may be more meaningful than now), he took a breath and released The words were tangled in his heart, so the words fell from his lips effortlessly. The circus came quietly.