The wind along the Seine River is always cool.
Vivian clutched her collar tightly and quickened her pace to catch up with the black figure in front of her.
“Boss, you really aren’t going to explain this?”
“Explain what?” Cicero didn’t even turn his head, his trench coat fluttering behind him.
“I meant that painting!” Vivian stepped over a puddle, her shoes making a loud splashing sound.
Cicero finally stopped.
He turned around, and his face, which always seemed to say ‘keep away,’ still wore that infuriatingly fake smile.
“Miss Vivian, if I were you, I wouldn’t be discussing portrait rights at this time.” He extended a long, slender finger and pointed to the side. “You should take a look at this.”
Vivian followed his hand and looked over.
Then the words she was about to say were stuck in her throat.
Just now, when they were drinking coffee, the river was only covered with a few dark red bubbles, like the afterglow of a setting sun that hadn’t been wiped clean. But now, the entire Seine has completely changed.
The dark red liquid churned in the riverbed, its splashes against the bank turning into muffled gurgling sounds. It was like a large pot of thick tomato soup, or…
“Blood!!”
I don’t know who shouted it first.
This sound was like stirring up a hornet’s nest. The people who were strolling along the shore instantly erupted into chaos.
“Holy Mother! This is a plague of blood! The Book of Revelation has come!”
“Run! There’s a dead body in the river!”
“Who knocked my baguette down?!”
The crowd scurried about like headless flies. Only Vivian stood still, even moving forward slightly.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t afraid, but mainly… she was very curious.
“Don’t get too close.” Cicero grabbed her by the back of her collar and lifted her back like a chick. “Unless you want to go down and become spice.”
“Boss, what’s going on here…” Vivian pointed at the river, her face full of curiosity.
“Make way! Make way! The police are investigating a case!”
A sharp whistle interrupted Vivian’s curiosity.
A group of police officers in dark blue uniforms pushed through the crowd and rushed over. The fat man leading them was panting heavily, waving a baton in his hand, and his hat was askew.
It was our old friend, Jacques Du Bois.
Inspector Jacques’s complexion was no better than the river water; he had probably been dragged out of his rest time and looked constipated.
“Seal off the scene! You there, stop taking pictures! And you, don’t wash your hands with that!” Jacques yelled until his voice cracked, then turned and saw the two familiar faces, his face twitching noticeably.
“I knew it.” Jacques covered his face in anguish. “Whenever something this anti-scientific happens, you two are guaranteed to be seen within a 50-meter radius. Tell me, was this a marketing ploy you two devised to promote some kind of ‘exorcising holy water’?”
“Inspector, slandering clergy is a crime punishable by death.” Cicero calmly took out his cigarette case, but instead of lighting it, he just twirled it in his hand.
“We were just innocent citizens passing by, taking the opportunity to admire the masterpiece of the municipal drainage system.”
“Okay.” Jacques pointed to the river water, which was reddish-black. “Do you know what happened? The technicians just said that preliminary tests suggest the components are suspected to be… suspected…”
He rolled that word around on his tongue a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Red blood cells?” Vivian kindly added for him.
Jacques glanced at her but didn’t say anything, which was taken as tacit agreement.
Even though it was broad daylight, the air around us felt several degrees colder.
Vivian stared at the river, her brows furrowed deeply.
‘Something’s not right. Something’s really not right.’
If it were blood, this place would have become unbearably smelly by now, instead of just having a metallic, astringent odor.
The “truth-seeking and pragmatism” switch that belongs to modern people in her mind suddenly snapped.
While Jacques and Cicero were still staring at each other, Vivian, as if possessed, squatted down and reached her hand toward the rolling red waves.
“Vivian!” Cicero’s voice carried a rare hint of panic.
But it was too late.
Vivian’s fingers were already stained with a little red liquid.
It’s sticky and doesn’t feel like water; it’s more like oil.
Then, to everyone’s astonishment, she put her finger in her mouth.
“…”
The scene was deathly silent.
Even the gurgling of the river seemed to stop for 1 second.
Inspector Jacques’s eyes widened like saucers. Cicero’s perpetually expressionless face finally cracked, and he froze on the spot, snapping the cigarette in his hand in two.
Vivian smacked her lips twice, savoring the taste.
Then she stood up and looked at the petrified crowd with a serious expression.
“It’s a bit salty.”
Vivian spoke with the professionalism of someone reviewing an appetizer at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
“The rust flavor is very strong, and the taste is a bit like leftover tomato sauce mixed with some iron powder… Hmm, I suggest adding some basil leaves and black pepper, which should be able to suppress the astringency.”
The wind swept across the riverbank.
A crow cawed awkwardly twice.
Inspector Jacques gaped, and after a long pause, he managed to stammer, “…Are you alright?”
The next second, a hand pinched Vivian’s cheek hard.
“Ouch! It hurts!”
Cicero, his face dark, produced a small silver flask from somewhere with his other hand and, regardless of Vivian’s wishes, poured the wine directly into her mouth.
Cicero gritted his teeth, “Are you a stray dog? Putting everything in your mouth? If there’s a curse in this water, you’re in for a world of trouble!”
Vivian coughed, her mouth filled with the pungent taste of mint and strong liquor, “Cough cough! I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to help you identify it! This is called Shennong tasting hundreds of herbs…”
Cicero was so angry he wanted to hit her on the head with a crucifix. “If you dare to eat anything else again, I’ll throw you into a convent and make you eat boiled vegetables for the rest of your life!”
Vivian shrank back, not daring to utter a sound. The oppressive aura of Cicero when he was angry was quite frightening.
But…
That taste.
Vivian licked her lips, the lingering taste of rust spreading on her tongue.
It doesn’t look like blood.
Or rather, it’s not just about blood.
“Besides the smell of rust, have you found anything else?” Cicero was still angry, but his movements were very gentle.
Vivian wiped her hands, her eyes becoming serious.
“This thing…” she whispered, avoiding Inspector Jacques’s eavesdropping ear, “Although it looks like a liquid, it contains countless tiny metal powders suspended in it.”
Cicero narrowed his eyes.
“Metal?”
Just then, a cry of surprise came from below the riverbank.
“Inspector! We’ve got it! We’ve got something!”
A young policeman, holding a long dredging net, laboriously dragged a heavy object from the red river water.
Everyone crowded around.
It was a pile of scrap metal, its original form unrecognizable. But on top of that pile of scrap metal hung half a broken bayonet.
The bayonet was long and straight, with blood grooves and a faded serial number engraved on the handguard. Although it was covered in rust, its origin was still easily recognizable.
That’s the bayonet of the Model 1866 Chaspo rifle.
20 years ago, it was these very bayonets that turned the Seine River red during that bloody week of the Paris Commune.
Inspector Jacques’s face turned deathly pale instantly. As a native Parisian, some historical fears were etched into his very bones.
“This is impossible…” he muttered to himself, “These things were destroyed long ago…”
Cicero stepped forward and gently touched the broken blade through his handkerchief.
Deep within that cold metal lies a rage that has never been extinguished.
That’s an obsession.
It is the people who died on the barricades, at the base of walls, and in the sewers who are forcibly demanding an explanation from the world in this era of collapsing reality.
“It seems our Miss Vivian has a pretty good sense of taste.” Cicero straightened up and looked toward the end of the river.
“This is not blood.”
Cicero’s voice was so soft that it was carried away by the wind.
“This soup is made up of every tear and every broken sword that Paris has shed in the last 100 years.”
“What do we do now?” Inspector Jacques wiped away a cold sweat, looking at Cicero with a blank expression.
Vivian looked at the water level and suddenly said, “Have you noticed that the water level has been rising?”
Everyone was startled.
Indeed, the red water that was just below the steps has now reached the soles of their shoes.
Moreover, something seemed to be taking shape in the water.
As the red waves rolled, more and more metal fragments rose from the bottom of the water…
They collided in the red broth, making a *crackling* sound.
“Retreat.” Cicero made a swift decision, grabbing Vivian’s wrist. “Get your men to higher ground immediately, Jacques!”
“What?”
Before he could finish speaking…
*Splash!*
A loud bang.
The giant red wave crashed against the embankment, sending countless rusty metal fragments crashing down onto the spot where they had just stood.