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- The BBC reporter stared at the phone in his hand for ten seconds before finally hanging up.
The photographer studied him from the back of the car. "What happened? Who hit me?"
The reporter turned around, looking like a child receiving a Christmas gift but worrying that it wasn¡¯t really for him. "I got news that there is a situation within the Holy See."
¡°That¡¯s called a secret meeting,¡± the photographer said. "What great news."
"No, it's something else." It's a big deal. The reporter did not know whether the information the caller told him was true. He realized that he was praying that the news would be reliable, and he felt ashamed of it. "What would you think if I told you that four cardinals have been kidnapped and will be killed tonight in different churches?"
"I said, it must be someone with ill intentions in the office who is joking to trick you."
¡°What if I told you that we would be told the exact location of the first murder?¡±
"I want to know who you were talking to just now."
"He didn't say."
"Maybe it's because he's talking nonsense?"
The reporter had long expected that the photographer would be sarcastic, but the photographer forgot that the reporter had spent almost ten years dealing with liars and lunatics, and the caller was neither. The man was very calm, lucid and spoke logically. I'll call you a little before eight o'clock, the man said, and I'll tell you where the first man is going to be killed. The scene you record will make you famous. The reporter asked the other party why he told him the news, and the other party's answer was as cold as his Middle Eastern accent. Because, he said, the media is the helper of anarchism.
"He also told me something else." The reporter said.
"What else? Did I tell you that Elvis Presley just became the Pope?"
"How about a dial-up connection to the BBC database?" The reporter felt excited at this time. "I want to see other stories we have done about these guys."
"Which guys?"
"listen to me."
The photographer sighed. Connect the computer to the BBC database. "It'll take a while."
The reporter¡¯s mind is still dizzy. ¡°The caller was anxious to know if I had a photographer.¡±
¡°There are TV videographers.¡±
¡°He also wanted to know if we could do a live broadcast.¡±
"What's going on?" At this time, the sound of "beep" sounded. The database is connected. "Okay, we're in. Who are you looking for?"
The reporter gave her the key words.
The photographer turned to stare at him. "I hope you're kidding."
The interior of Archives No. 10 was not as intuitive as Zhiqiu imagined. The original illustrations did not seem to be placed together with the guy's other similar books. Zhiqiu and Momo were stumped as they could not find the bibliography on the computer and did not have a reference guide.
"Are you sure the diagram is here?" Momo asked.
"It's definitely here. This can be confirmed in many ways."
"Okay, as long as you are sure." She said and walked to the left, while Zhiqiu walked to the right.
Zhiqiu started searching manually. He had to restrain himself from stopping to read every treasure he came across. The collection here is astonishing and there are so many.
Finally, Momo found the treasure at the back of the archives room. She shouted in a deep, resonant voice: "Illustrated Truth!"
Zhiqiu rushed through the crimson mist and came to her side. "Where?"
Momo pointed it out to him, and he immediately understood why they hadn't found the book earlier. The manuscript is in a folder, not on a shelf. File folders are often used when storing unbound books. The label affixed to the front of the folder box is undoubtedly a description of the contents.
Zhiqiu knelt down. My heart was pounding hard. "Illustration." He grinned at her. "Good job. Help me drag this box out."
Momo knelt down beside him, and the two of them pulled hard together. The box was placed on a metal pallet, and the pallet rolled toward them, exposing the top of the box.
"It's not locked?" Momo seemed surprised to see the simple latch.
"It's never locked. Sometimes the information needs to be removed quickly. For example, in the event of a flood or fire."
"Then open it."
Zhiqiu doesn¡¯t need urging at all. His life-long dream was right in front of him now, and with the thin air in the room, he didn't want to wait. He unlocked the latch and lifted the lid. insideAbove, a black canvas bag lay flat on the bottom of the box. The breathability of the bag plays a key role in preserving the contents of the bag. Zhiqiu put both hands in, held the bag flat and took it out of the box.
"I thought I would find a treasure box." Momo said. "This one looks more like a pillowcase."
"Follow me." Zhiqiu said. Holding the bag against his chest like a sacred offering, he walked to the center of the filing room, where his customary glass-topped filing table was. Although the central location minimizes the distance for moving materials, the researcher prefers the privacy created by the surrounding bookshelves. Groundbreaking discoveries are revealed in the world's top data rooms. Most academics don't like their opponents peeking through the glass while they work.
Zhiqiu put the bag on the table and opened it, while Momo stood aside. He rummaged through an archivist's tool tray and found felt-padded pliers, which archivists call finger cymbals¡ªextra-large tweezers with small, flat disks at each end of the grip. Zhiqiu became more and more excited and was really afraid that he would wake up soon. He took a deep breath. Opening the bag, the trembling fingers wearing cotton gloves inserted the pliers into it.
"Don't be nervous." Momo said, "This is paper, not plutonium."
Zhiqiu inserted the pliers next to the edge of the pile of documents, very carefully keeping the force balanced. Then, instead of dragging the documents out, he clamped the documents so that they would not come into contact with the bag, and slowly removed the bag¡ª¡ª This is the archivist's approach to minimizing distortion of data. Zhiqiu held her breath until she took off the bag and turned on the dark detection light under the table before she started breathing.
Under the light from under the glass table, Momo looked like a ghost. "They're little pieces of paper," she said, her voice filled with awe.
Zhiqiu nodded. The stack of documents in front of them looked like a few loose pages taken out of a thin novel. Zhiqiu saw that the top one was a gorgeous and elegant cover written with a quill pen, with the title, date and name written by the guy himself.
At this moment. Zhiqiu forgot about the small and cramped archives room and how exhausted he was. Forgetting the frightening and trembling circumstances that had brought him here. He just stared, dumbfounded. His close contact with history always left him in awe and dumbfounded
This soft yellow papyrus leaves Zhiqiu with no doubt of its age and authenticity. Apart from fading, which is inevitable, the document is quite well preserved. The color is a little whitish, the paper is a little cracked in some places, and a little sticky in other places, but overall it's in excellent condition. He studied the gorgeous handwriting on the cover, his vision a little blurry because of the dry air. Momo remained silent.
"Please pass me a scraper." Zhiqiu pointed to a plate filled with stainless steel filing tools and said to Momo beside him. She handed it over. Zhiqiu held the knife in his hand and thought it was a good knife. He wiped his face with his hands to remove the static electricity. Then more carefully insert the blade against the back of the cover. Then he raised the knife and opened the cover.
The first page of the book is handwritten in a tiny, stylized font that is almost impossible to read. Zhiqiu immediately noticed that there were no graphics or numbers on this page. It was an article.
"Heliocentric theory." Momo translated the title on the first page. She glanced at the article. "It looks like the guy is adamantly denying geocentrism. However, it's in ancient Italian. So I can't guarantee that the translation is accurate."
"Don't worry about it." Zhiqiu said, "We are looking for mathematics, pure language." He turned to the next page with a scraper, and there was another article, with no numerical symbols or graphics. Zhiqiu's gloved hands began to sweat.
"Planetary motion." Momo translated the title.
Zhiqiu frowned. A few days ago, he would have read this article with interest; the orbits of the planets observed by NASA through high-powered telescopes are said to be roughly consistent with the guy's original predictions, which is incredible.
¡°There¡¯s no math,¡± Momo said. ¡°He¡¯s talking about retrograde motion and elliptical orbits or whatever.¡±
? Elliptical orbit. Zhiqiu recalled. A lot of the legal troubles that guy faced started when he traced the motion of the planets as ovals. The Holy See strives to praise the perfection of circular orbits and insists that the trajectory of celestial bodies can only be circular. However, that fellow's bastard also discovered the perfection of the ellipse and was in awe of its mathematical duality of bifocals. To this day, the oval shape of the Kengpai School is still prominently used by modern Kengpai in their tracing boards and the inset footer graphics of their books.
"Next page." Momo said.
Zhiqiu gently opened a page.
"Moon phases and tides," she said, "no numbers, no graphics."??¡±
Zhiqiu turned over another page, but there was nothing there. He turned through almost twelve pages, nothing, nothing, nothing.
"I thought that guy was a mathematician." Momo said. "It's all articles."
Zhiqiu felt that the air he breathed was getting scarcer and thinner, and his hope was getting slimmer and slimmer. The stack of documents grew thinner and thinner.
¡°There¡¯s nothing here,¡± Momo said. ¡°It has nothing to do with math, just some dates, some basic numbers, but nothing that looks like a clue.¡±
Zhiqiu turned to the last page and sighed. Just like the previous ones, it was still an article.
"A thin book." Momo said with a frown.
Zhiqiu nodded.
"Shit, that's what we said."
"That's bullshit," Zhiqiu thought. His shadow in the glass seemed to mock him, just like the shadow that had stared at him from his bay window this morning. An aging ghost. "There's got to be something here," he said, his hoarse voice surprising even himself with the desperation in his voice. "The mark is in here somewhere. I know it!"
"Perhaps you got the D III wrong?"
Zhiqiu turned around and stared at her.
¡°Okay,¡± she agreed, ¡°D III is absolutely fine. But maybe the clue isn¡¯t math-related?¡±
¡°Pure language. What else could it be?¡±
"Could it be art?"
¡°But there are no graphics or pictures in this book.¡±
¡°I only know that pure language refers to something other than Italian. Mathematics seems more reasonable.¡±
"I agree."
Zhiqiu doesn¡¯t want to admit defeat so soon. "The mathematics must be written by hand. The expression of mathematics here must be a text description rather than an equation."
"It will take some time to finish reading this book."
"What we are short of is time, we have to divide the work to complete it." Zhiqiu turned the stack of manuscripts back to the front. "My Italian is enough to read numbers." He used a scraper to separate the pile of information like playing cards, and handed the first six pages to Momo. "Right here, I'm sure."
Momo took it and turned to the first page.
"Use a spatula!" Zhiqiu said, grabbing another spatula from the tray and giving it to her. "Use a spatula."
"I'm wearing gloves." She muttered, "How much damage can it do?"
"Just use it."
Momo picked up the scraper. "How do you think I feel now?"
"nervous?"
"No. It's shortness of breath."
Zhiqiu also felt it for sure. The air was running out faster than he thought. He knew they had to hurry. The mysteries in the archives were nothing new to him, but he often needed a little more time to solve them. Zhiqiu said nothing and started to translate the first page of his pile of information.
Come out, damn it! come out faster!
Somewhere underground in the City of Ten Thousand Cities, the black figure sneaked into the tunnel along a stone slope. Only torches were lit in this ancient passage, the air was hot and the smoke was heavy. From ahead came the frightened cries of adults, their futile screams echoing in the small space.
He turned a corner and saw them. They were still the same as when he left - the four old people. He looked devastated. Locked in a stone house with rusty iron bars.
¡°What do you want?¡± one of them asked him in French.
¡°Please!¡± the other person said in German, ¡°let us go!¡±
"Do you know who we are?" a person asked him in English with a Spanish accent.
"Shut up," the harsh voice ordered, with a decisive tone.
The fourth prisoner was an Italian, calm and composed. Thoughtfully, he looked at the shiny black eyes of their captor, and he must have seen hell. God, save us, he thought.
The killer looked at his watch and stared at the prisoners. "Hey," he said, "Which one of you comes first?"
In File Room No. 10, Zhiqiu glanced at the notes in front of him and counted in Italian. Thousandshundredsone. Two, threefifty. I want a number! Any one will do, damn it!
When he reached the end of the page, he raised the scraper and prepared to turn the page. When he tried to insert the knife into the next page, he lost his hand and could no longer hold the knife firmly. A few minutes later. He looked down and found that he had already turned the page with his hand while still holding the knife. Ouch, he muttered in his heart, vaguely??Feel guilty. Due to lack of oxygen, he couldn't care much anymore. Looks like I'll be languishing in archivist hell from now on.
"It's almost time." Momo said holding her breath when she saw Zhiqiu turning the pages with her hands. She put down the knife and followed his example.
"How about it?"
Momo shook his head. "None of it looked like pure mathematics. I was taking a tour but none of it looked like a clue."
Zhiqiu continued to translate his information, which became increasingly difficult. His Italian was mediocre at best, and the small handwriting and ancient expressions made his progress even slower. Momo forced Zhiqiu to read the last page first, and she looked frustrated after reading her stack. She knelt down and began to examine it more closely.
Zhiqiu finished reading the last page and cursed under his breath. He looked at Momo and saw that she had a sad look on her face and she was squinting her eyes to read something on one of the pages of her pile of information. "What's that?" he asked.
Momo didn¡¯t even raise his head. "Are there any footnotes on those documents of yours?"
"I didn't pay attention. What's wrong?"
¡°There is a footnote on this page, not very obvious, in a crease.¡±
Zhiqiu tried her best to see what she was looking at, but she only recognized the page number in the upper right corner of the manuscript paper, which was page five. He pondered for a moment, looking for coincidences, but even if there were coincidences, the connection was too vague. Page five. Five, Pythagoras, five-pointed star, cheating faction. Zhiqiu wants to know if the cheating faction will choose page five to hide their clues. In the red mist that enveloped them both, Zhiqiu felt a faint glimmer of hope. ¡°Are footnotes related to math?¡±
Momo shook his head. "It's text, only one line, and the font is so small that it's almost unrecognizable."
His hope disappeared again. "It should be math. Pure language."
"Yes, I know." She hesitated, "But I think you need to hear this." Zhiqiu noticed her excited tone.
"Read it quickly."
Momo read this line while looking at the manuscript with squinting eyes. ¡°The road to the light is paved, this is God¡¯s test for you.¡±
Zhiqiu never expected that this would be the case. "What?"
Momo read this sentence again. ¡°The road to the light is paved, this is God¡¯s test for you.¡±
"The road to the light?" Zhiqiu couldn't help but straighten his body.
"That's what it says. The road to the light."
Zhiqiu gradually understood the meaning of this sentence and felt his mind suddenly clearing up. The road to the light is paved, this is God¡¯s test for you. He didn't know how this sentence could help, but he could think of it as a direct reference to the Path of Light. The one that leads to the light, God¡¯s test for you. His brain was like an engine spinning on bad fuel. "Are you sure you read it correctly?"
Momo hesitated, "Actually" She glanced at him with a strange look, "Strictly speaking, this is not called translation. This sentence is written in English." () {Piaotian Literature www .piaotia.net Thank you all book friends for your support. Your support is our biggest motivation} - Didn't finish reading? Add this book to your favoritesI'm a member and bookmarked this chapterCopy the address of this book and recommend it to your friends for pointsChapter error? Click here to report
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