Thriller Paradise

Chapter 315 Invasion of the Brain Cell 23

Reichenbach Falls were located in the Bernese Oberland region of Switzerland. The coal-like valley stood on both side of the falls. At the mouth of the valley was a giant crack, and the river flew in from there. The crack grew narrower near the edge, and milky white water as if boiling rushed down into the bottomless abyss. Endless emerald waves rebounded like thunder, and the thick and swaying curtain of water had a life of its own. The water rushed for ten thousand miles, and the splash itself could be as high as a skyscraper. It billowed up like smoke from a chimney. The rush of water and the sound were enough to flood a person’s sense. The waves slapped at the back rocks, creating beast-like roars.

Feng Bujue had always thought this was a cursed place. In real life, Conan Doyle had the idea of killing Sherlock Holmes at this location, and in the virtual world, the criminal lord of the century and the god of detectives both died here. Of course, Sherlock eventually came back to life under the author’s pen, but Professor Moriarty was last seen here.

"What is it that I am here to see?" Feng Bujue stared at the rushing water and then lowered his head to look down into the dark abyss. He felt like he was about to get sucked into it. The light of the match burned longer than he expected. If the girl with the match really had a match like this, she would not have died from freezing. She could have survived through the night with the warmth.

"Oh, they’re coming..." In Feng Bujue’s gaze, two figures walked onto the narrow path.

One of them was the famous detective Holmes. He was about 1.9 meters tall and had a thin physique. His face had been blurred out, so Feng Bujue could not see his features clearly. However, he confirmed that this was Holmes because the other man next to him was obviously older than him, over the age of fifty to be precise. Holmes was born in 1854; in this last case, he should be around forty. The other man about fifty was thus naturally Professor Moriarty. The two conversed on the narrow path, and the content was obscured by the sound of water. Looking from afar, the two treated each other like valued guests.

Feng Bujue was impressed by the two’s magnanimity and tolerance. After all, by then, Sherlock Holmes knew about Moriarty’s intention and knew that he was going to be put in a dangerous situation. And Moriarty, in the face of an enemy who had ruined everything he had built, managing to maintain his gentlemanly behavior before his revenge was equally impressive. The conversation continued for several minutes. Then, with the approval of Moriarty, Holmes took out a piece of paper from his chest pocket and started writing. This was his parting letter for Watson. Holmes did not take long to finish this latter. He left the letter, his cigar box, and his cane on the narrow path. Then, the two moved forward.

When Feng Bujue first read this part, he read between the lines that the professor was armed. The original description was, ’He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw his long arms around me.’ There was a pistol in his pocket, or else Holmes would not have walked toward the falls. But Mr. Conan Doyle did not in his writing say that Moriarty had pulled out a gun. From here, one realized that the author had a mastery of his characterization.

If this happened in a crime flick in the eighties, it would be like this instead...

A cursing villain pointed his gun at a buff main character who walked forward with a grimace on his face. The villain had already shown his gun, but he had to do a lot more to have the main character listen to his orders.

The two characters in this book would not act so ungentlemanly.

As two gentlemen with educated backgrounds, there was no need to say everything, and they did not need to openly show hostility. Since Holmes knew that Moriarty had a gun in his pocket, and Moriarty knew that Holmes also had one, they had a polite and peaceful conversation, and whatever happened would happen.

"So far, it is no different from the book..." Feng Bujue watched this cinematic-like event unfold. "But according to this game... something different to the source material will happen after this."

And the man was not wrong.

Soon, Holmes and Moriarty reached the edges of the falls. The latter suddenly ambushed and attacked. The fire of vengeance burned in Moriarty’s eyes. The criminal empire that he had built over decades had been swept away by Scotland Yard, and this detective before him was responsible for it. Holmes expected the attack, and he used his expert fighting skills to start defending himself. The fight was not that amazing; it did not have the amusement of a wuxia fight and did not have the special effects of explosions and guns. Most of the time, it was more like a wrestle of strength. But this kind of fight was the most realistic. In real life, most fights would end up with just exchanging punches.

"Urgh!" With a groaning roar, Professor Moriarty dropped down the falls.

And Holmes fell with him.

"What the f*ck?" Feng Bujue could not help but curse. At the same time, the flame on the match had reached his finger. The small burn pulled his attention back and the illusion disappeared. In the dark living room, a wisp of white smoke rose, announcing the end of the match’s effect. Feng Bujue put the end of the match on the table and then got up to turn the light on.

"He’s dead..." Feng Bujue slumped back down the sofa and frowned in thought. "That’s right. He’s dead."

It suddenly hit him.

"When he was writing The Final Problem, Conan Doyle indeed wished to wrap up the story of Sherlock Holmes, and the ending was the deaths of both the main protagonist and antagonist."

Information swirled in his brain.

"In that virtual world, before the completion of The Return of Sherlock Holmes, Holmes is a dead man, a man who died alongside Moriarty who fell down the waterfall..."

The fourth message crossed his mind. Irrational things are not necessarily the most obvious. ????????????????eα????. ????????m

"The description between 599 to 602 were written by the author to revive this famous detective." Feng Bujue turned to the book. "There was no climbing on walls, no ambushers, no third person; there was no one there."

He tore out the two pages from the book. "Is that what you wish to tell me? Moriarty."

"No, what I wish to tell you is more than that," a deep and mysterious voice replied. The voice was like a curse. In just a second, the surroundings changed, and like waking up from a dream, Feng Bujue came to another place.

"Oh... am I the first one?" Feng Bujue looked around and realized that he was inside a hexagonal room with all white walls that were radiating a soft white light. Before him was a round, wooden table, four meters in diameter. There were six chairs around him. He was sitting on one of them, and Moriarty was sitting across from him.

"And perhaps the last one," Moriarty answered. His appearance was similar to the one in the illusion earlier. But at this moment, his face was shown clearly to Feng Bujue. The professor looked to be in his fifties, and there were many wrinkles on his face. There was a scholar’s presence about him, but beneath that, there was a nature that was cold, cruel, and unsympathetic.

"You mean... they will die in their memory?" Feng Bujue asked.

"Not necessarily. I just said perhaps," Moriarty answered. His tone was calm and reserved. "They are all clever individuals, but you... are unique."

"Ha... I believe, Professor, you would have asked the magic mirror who the handsomest person in the word was, right?" Feng Bujue replied with a smile. "Sigh... guilty as charged."

"See, this is where you are unique from others." Moriarty smiled, but there was no smile in his eyes. The gray eyes were like those of a predator stalking its prey as he held Feng Bujue in his gaze. He seemed to look into his soul. "You are an expert at using this kind of unique humor to test others. At the same time, it is your form of self-defense mechanism, used to cover up your real thoughts."

"Oh? Is that your conclusion?" Feng Bujue said. "Hmm... But have you considered the other two possibilities? First, I could just like to run my mouth; two, I might be mad."

Moriarty smirked. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and interlinked his fingers under his chin. "Then, I wish to ask you, do you think... I’m mad?’

"You? Haha..." Feng Bujue laughed while he raised his arms and one finger in each hand. "This is madness, and this is you."

He pulled his arms apart, distancing the two fingers.

"You and madness are like two parallel lines, as far from each other as can be. In my eyes, you are so rational that it reaches the level of boring."

"Then how successful do you think this act of madness will be before me?" Moriarty asked.

Feng Bujue shrugged. "Well, I have nothing to lose by trying."

"Humph..."

"Hehe..."

"Hehehe..."

"Hahahaha..."

The two-stared at each other across the table and started to laugh. The laughter got louder and louder like two crazy men.

It was Moriarty who first stopped laughing. "Welcome to the Detective Club, Feng Bujue."

"Now, can you please invite your partner out?" Feng Bujue turned his right palm upward and signaled at the chair next to Moriarty.

A billow of smoke later.

"I’ve been here," another voice said.

A thin, tall man with a pipe puffed out smoke rings and strode out with a lazy gait from Feng Bujue’s blind spot behind him.