Chapter 239 Morning Light (Please give me a monthly ticket in the last two days) Dead... Although Lumian was mentally prepared to a certain extent, he still couldn't accept it. When he left the clinic, Ruhl had clearly recovered and escaped the fate of death. How could he die suddenly? Lumian slowly walked into room 307 and cast his eyes towards the bed. Luer was lying there, his skin covered with festering wounds oozing yellowish pus, his face was sallow and pale, and he was motionless. His eyes were wide open and there was a little vomit around his mouth. After looking into those eyes that still contained confusion, pain, and unwillingness for a few seconds, Lumian asked in a deep voice: "When did he die?" Michelle's gray hair seemed to have lost its luster. She shook her head slowly and said: "I was so sleepy that I fell asleep. When I woke up, he was dead..." "Did he go back to 302 before going to bed?" Lumian asked. "No, he just went to the bathroom near 302, and I went there too..." Michelle's voice was very low, but it gave Lumian a very erratic feeling, as if part of her soul was no longer in her body. Both of them had been to that bathroom, one had a relapse of the "strange disease", and the other had nothing wrong... Lumian frowned and decided to go to that bathroom to take a look.
If there is nothing wrong there, then the possibility that Mrs. Michelle has abnormalities is quite high! As Lumian left room 307 and walked along the dimly lit corridor towards the bathroom, Michelle was still kneeling in front of the bed, sobbing softly, and ignoring what others were doing. Thanks to a regular cleaning lady, the bathroom on the third floor is no longer as dirty as before. Although there are inevitably stains and garbage after a day's use, it at least allows civilized people to find a place to stay. Lumian took a look and, with the help of the crimson moonlight shining in from the window, he saw the toilet and the sink, the rusty water pipes and the mirror that reflected his own silhouette. He looked carefully for a while and found a white silk handkerchief draped over the pipe hidden in the corner. Just by looking at it with the naked eye, Lumian believed that it did not belong to most of the current tenants of the Golden Rooster Inn, because its material was excellent and the embroidery was elegant, so it must be very expensive. Is there an outsider? Lumian's first reaction was to pick up the silk handkerchief and do a more detailed inspection, but he immediately thought of the scene of Mr. Rule's body festering when he suddenly fell ill, and forced himself to control himself. As soon as his thoughts raced, he left the bathroom and walked back to Room 307, asking Mrs. Michelle, who was still sobbing: "Do you know whose handkerchief that is in the bathroom?" Michelle was confused and sad, and answered purely on instinct: "It's Ruhl's." Mr. Rule's? Lumian was surprised, but also felt that it was expected. He asked: "Where did it come from?" Mrs. Michel looked at the hideous death of Ruhl and muttered in a dreamy voice: "Among the garbage I picked up tonight, I don't know which gentleman or lady threw it... "It was wrapped in a spit, not damaged, and Ruel washed it and put it on his body, intending to sell it as a second-hand item instead of recycling it as garbage... "After you said there might be something dirty in the garbage, Ruel took it out and hid it in the bathroom. He didn't dare go back to 302..." Phlegm...Lumian felt that he had found the source of the problem. He exhaled slowly and said: "Did Mr. Rule touch the handkerchief again? Did you?"
"I don't know..." Mrs. Michel shook her head slowly, "He went to the bathroom by himself. I didn't touch it..." As expected... Lumian took out his gloves and put them on, then went to the bathroom again. He used "Corrupted Mercury" to pick up the white silk handkerchief, put it into the white paper he carried with him, and folded them up. During the whole process, he was careful not to touch the handkerchief directly. After doing this, Lumian wiped the blade of "Corrupted Mercury" with another piece of white paper, threw the paper ball into the toilet, and waited until it softened from soaking before flushing it away. As soon as he walked out of the bathroom, he saw Mrs. Michelle standing quietly at the door of Room 307, like a ghost wandering in the darkness. Seeing Lumian approaching her, the white-haired old lady showed a pleading expression: "It's almost dawn, Mr. Charles, can you help me carry Ruel back to 302?" Her voice still sounded like a dream. Lumian was stunned for a moment, and was silent for five or six seconds before he said: "it is good." He then entered room 307, wrapped Mr. Rule in the bed sheet, and carried him on his back. It was just a few steps away when Lumian placed the body on the bed in room 302. Mrs. Michelle, who squeezed out from the garbage heap, thanked her repeatedly, then staggered to the wooden table like a sleepwalker and opened the curtains. It was almost six o'clock in the morning, and a ray of morning light appeared in the sky, diluting the crimson moonlight. Michelle listened to the hawkers' cries coming from the other side of the hotel and stared deeply at Ruhr. Lumian left room 302 and returned to the corridor where the light could not reach. He stood with his back against the wall, silently, without disturbing the quiet scene. A few minutes passed, and Mrs. Michelle suddenly moved. She found more bills and coins from all over the room, then rushed out of the room and down the stairs. Lumian did not follow. He raised his right foot, stepped back on the wall, and leaned his body against the wall that was sleeping in the darkness. Time passed by minute by minute, and Mrs. Michelle came back with a lot of things. There was red wine in a bottle, a baked haddock, bacon, meatloaf, hummus, hot sauce, and apples. Mrs. Michelle walked into room 302 without even looking at Lumian, sat down on the floor beside the bed, and placed all the food next to the festering corpse. She thought about it, stood up again, and lit the calcium carbide lamp on the wooden table, filling the room with light. Mrs. Michel sat down again, picked up the meat pie, put it to Ruhl's mouth, and said with a smile: "Have you been craving for meat pie lately? I'll buy it for you today." After the corpse's lips were stained with oil, Mrs. Michelle also took a bite of the meat pie and said with her eyes closed: "It's delicious. How long has it been since we last had it? Two weeks, right?" After taking a few bites of the meat pie, Mrs. Michelle grabbed the bottle of red wine and took a sip. She said vaguely: "Old man, our grape vines have borne fruit and have turned into red wine. We don't have to worry about what to do in the future!" While she was talking to Ruhl's body, she was drinking wine and eating various foods.
Lumian stood outside the door in the darkness, with his back against the wall, staring quietly inside, neither leaving nor going in. Soon, Mrs. Michelle, who had been a barmaid, became drunk and began to sing: "Trier, covered with gold, “A dance that lasts till dawn; "A roast chicken dripping with fat, “Like a castle cake; "Waiters in bow ties shuttled among the guests. "Dancing happily. "My beloved, you are among them, “It’s among them. "This is the city of joy, this is eternal Trier!" At this point in the song, Mrs. Michel stood up, staggered to the wooden table, and held the pile of banknotes in front of the calcium carbide lamp. In an instant, all the cash was ignited and fell onto the table, emitting a bright yellowish light. Mrs. Michel opened her arms and cried out: "This is the city of joy, this is eternal Trier!" She then took the rope used to tie the sacks, climbed onto the wooden table, tied the rope to the window frame, and tied a knot. In the firelight, Mrs. Michel turned around, facing Rule on the bed, put her neck into the knot, and then bent her legs. The knot weighed down, and Mrs. Michelle's eyes bulged a little. The sky outside the window had become brighter, and one-third of the corridor was tinged with dim light. Lumian leaned against the wall that was still shrouded in darkness, his hands in his pockets, his right foot propped up, and stared expressionlessly at Mrs. Michel hanging on the window frame, watching her mouth gradually open, her expression become painful, and her bent legs not lowered until she died. The body swayed gently in the morning light. ………… 6:35 am, 3 White Coat Street, Apartment 601. Franka was awakened by the knock on the door and rubbed her messy flaxen hair with a look of pain on her face: "I only slept for three hours, three hours!" "Help me check if there's anything wrong with the stuff in here." Lumian took out the handkerchief wrapped in white paper as if he hadn't heard Franca's accusation. "Be careful, it might spread disease." "Disease?" Franka suddenly woke up, returned to the room, and put on a pair of translucent light yellow rubber gloves. She very carefully opened the outer layer of paper, took out the silk handkerchief inside, and placed it on the glass coffee table. After tapping the teeth a few times and observing carefully for a while, Franka said with a serious expression: “There is a problem. There are still many tiny but active spirits of the same kind remaining on it. "I suspect it's a pathogen that's transmitted through skin contact or even blood exchange. According to your description, it's not highly contagious." Lumian didn't understand what pathogens meant, but he could roughly understand what Franka meant. He was silent for a moment and said: "Can you find out who this handkerchief belongs to?"
"No problem. There is a powerful medium here. As long as he doesn't do counter-divination, or his level of counter-divination is not high enough, I can find him." As she spoke, a layer of black flame emerged from Franka's rubber gloves. After finishing the "cleaning", she took off her gloves, took out a makeup mirror, placed her left palm on top of the handkerchief, and gently stroked the mirror with her right hand. She whispered a few spells, and her eyes became deep. She began to repeat the divination phrase: “The owner of this handkerchief. "The owner of this handkerchief..." After repeating this several times, the mirror began to gleam with the light of water, and a human figure was reflected in the darkness. He was a thin young man with a pale face and seemed unhealthy. He had dark blond curly hair and brown eyes that revealed undisguised indifference. He was wearing a black tuxedo and holding a white silk handkerchief. He coughed twice and spat into the handkerchief. Lumian tried hard to remember the man's appearance, and suddenly felt that he looked familiar, as if he had seen him somewhere. After a brief recollection, he remembered. This is a member of Hugues Artois' campaign team, standing behind the red-haired woman! PS: I’m asking for monthly tickets in the last two days (End of this chapter)