Chapter 35

35. "Maybe you should eat a little more"

The storm raging inside me was enough to swallow my reason whole.

I could even feel my nerves making my fingertips tremble.

Professor Moriarty was so calm and composed that I began to suspect he had been pretending to sleep.

His eyes were completely clear and alert.

He did not even pretend to be confused to ease the cold, stilted atmosphere between us.

I plucked up my courage and made an attempt. At first, only my fingertips touched his face, but under his gaze, I quickly switched to my palm, moving it past his line of sight to cover his forehead. At that, Moriarty's expression shifted slightly.

I seized the initiative and said in a natural, calm voice, "Professor, I saw how pale your face was and thought something had happened to you."

To support my story, I had been about to cite a whole list of cases where people died from overwork or suddenly passed away without their families noticing. But disbelief had already flashed unmistakably across Professor Moriarty's eyes. He did not call me out, though. Instead, he asked, "Then why did you touch my forehead?"

I tried to keep my entire face expressionless and composed, as though everything was under my control, so that any doubts he had would seem like him making a fuss over nothing.

I continued, "Where I come from, we usually use our hands to check other people's temperatures and see if they have a fever or something. When you woke up, I wondered if you were feeling unwell somewhere, and that was why you were so pale."

In my heart, though, I knew he was naturally pale and never had much color in his face. But all of that could serve as my excuse.

Professor Moriarty's expression changed slightly, but he did not seem to have fully accepted my explanation.

Still, the cultural differences between East and West were my most powerful weapon.

There really was such a custom, although it could never be used on a stranger. There was no need to explain that part.

Even if he looked it up, I could always say, "Customs change every ten miles, traditions every hundred." If he could trace the old customs all the way back to the remote backwater and forgotten corner where I grew up, I would take his surname, Moriarty.

I made my excuse more thorough. "Of course, there's no such custom here. I'm very sorry. I didn't think it through in the heat of the moment. You just looked unwell, as if you were unconscious and wouldn't wake up, so I was worried something might be wrong with your health. I hope you won't be angry with me."

He said nothing, and I continued calmly, "Besides, the heating isn't turned up very high in here. If you sleep without a blanket like this, you could easily catch a chill. Wait, I'll go find you a blanket."

Moriarty neither stopped me nor said he did not want to sleep anymore. He simply watched as I got up again and searched everywhere for a blanket for him. I made a wide circuit and found only cushions on the second floor, so I thought I would take off my down jacket and cover him with it as a temporary blanket, then go outside and find him a proper one, cementing the fact that "he would catch a chill if he just lay there and slept like that."

But the moment I loosened my jacket, a red warning alarm immediately sounded in my rational mind, vibrating rapidly and frantically trying to stop me. What I was doing was not quite right.

I barely knew him, and he was not a child. There was no need for me to take off my own jacket for him to wear. But I had already loosened it. Would it not be too strange to pull it back on?

My whole brain was about to explode. I had no idea where things had started going wrong.

But now I was riding a tiger and could not get off. All I could think was that someone needed to stop me quickly and keep me from taking off my jacket.

This fierce internal struggle lasted only a few seconds. I did not know whether Moriarty was stunned by the cultural difference or thought he was watching a rare specimen of a weirdo perform, but he did not say a word the whole time and only watched. Only when I had actually covered him with my jacket and was about to leave did he stop sleeping and sit up, pinning my jacket beneath his hand.

"How did you get here?"

I stared at the jacket under his hand, wondering how to get it back, while explaining the whole story of how I had come to collect the study materials.

Professor Moriarty looked very surprised to hear that I had been waiting for an hour. I explained that I had been waiting in the living room, where Mr. Albert had received me.

Professor Moriarty said, "You should have come straight over and woken me."

I really should not have come at all, I sighed inwardly.

It was all because I had wanted to save the price of a few cups of coffee.

After getting used to drinking the London fog Mrs. Hudson made at the apartment, I had wanted to drink it at school too. Since I had taken on classes at school and earned a little money, I had started spending a little on coffee. But when I went back and recorded my expenses, I realized that money could have gone toward nicer Christmas presents, and felt I had been too wasteful.

While I was wavering over it, I heard someone was offering the materials for free, so I agreed.

In the end, I had only myself to blame.

Professor Moriarty's expression grew a little apologetic. He seemed to have taken the forehead touching from earlier—a cultural activity beyond his understanding—entirely to heart. He continued, "I've been staying up late and I'm exhausted. I haven't started yet. Would you mind waiting for me?"

"..."

Can I go home and wait?

Just as I was about to ask, Professor Moriarty asked, "What classes do you have tomorrow?"

"Discussion classes for two subjects."

Professor Moriarty liked to come up with his own questions, so he had a heavy workload. I had heard other discussion-class instructors say that old materials were enough for basic courses like these.

Making a new set of study materials and answers, from choosing questions and formatting them to writing the answers and analyzing the key and difficult points, took at least an hour and a half per class.

I figured that would take three hours in all.

I still had to go home for dinner. I could not wait that long.

"Why don't you skip making the questions today, Professor, and get some proper rest? I can just tell the other students to review the exercises from class."

I thought that was what we should have done in the first place. Who on earth had been so eager to seek help from a teacher in the office and call the professor at home for materials?

As soon as I said that, Professor Moriarty smiled gently. "Lanny, you don't need to worry about me. I can handle it."

"..."

I probably can't say I'm not worried... can I?

I did not know how to respond either.

But I did not know what "silence is the original sin" meant either.

Professor Moriarty thought I really was worried and reassured me again. "It's all right."

When those words came out, I felt his mental state must be very poor.

The soft part of his heart had come out along with his gentle tone.

I thought he needed some medicine.

That was what was truly worrying.

Moriarty checked his phone and said, "It's five in the afternoon now. Give me a hand, and we'll try to finish within two hours." After saying that, he stood up. As he rose, he swayed slightly. His figure looked very slender, as though he could barely bear the strain.

I felt he really could drop dead at any moment.

I had never been the sort of person who could tell whether someone looked healthy, but today I really could see that Professor Moriarty's face was deathly pale and exhausted.

I could not bring myself to refuse, so I nodded in agreement.

Professor Moriarty used the computer in the middle of the study and asked me to bring him several books. They were all very useful reference books I had seen in the university library. Professor Moriarty had recommended them at school as well, but I had noticed during discussion classes that hardly anyone read them, which I thought was a great pity.

Besides helping carry the books, I was also responsible for writing out the answers, since writing by hand was a little faster than typing them on the computer. Perhaps because he was afraid I would get bored, Professor Moriarty asked why I had chosen mathematics as my major while he flipped through the books and came up with questions.

"Because mathematics has a wide range of applications. Mathematics graduates can find employment in all sorts of industries and fields. Whether it's science, economics, statistics, engineering, computer science, finance, or even education, they can go into any of them."

In short, I did not know what I wanted to do in the future either. Someone had recommended studying mathematics because it would give me more possibilities, so that was what I had chosen.

Professor Moriarty said, "It seems you're a pragmatist."

That was giving me a little too much credit.

I simply had no dream, so I had tried to move toward whatever I was capable of doing.

"Then why did you choose mathematics, Professor Moriarty?"

"I like mathematics. To me, it has a unique beauty and logical structure. I love every field of it. Arranging variables and operators to create a rigorous, precise logical structure is no less beautiful than painting or music."

Hearing that moved me a little. He was a romantic too.

Perhaps because he had become absorbed in the conversation, Professor Moriarty added, "Actually, I've been writing a book lately."

I immediately jolted.

People often told me I worked hard, but compared with Professor Moriarty, I was trash. While he was plotting crimes, handling consultations, and controlling London's criminal network, he could actually teach, grade papers, and even write a book?

He was simply the god of time management.

"What are you writing?"

"Asteroid Mechanics."

The title made it a little hard for me to imagine what was in it.

The range of fields he dabbled in was rather broad.

Judging by the name, it should have been in astrophysics, aerospace engineering, or astronomy. Was he switching fields?

Apparently noticing that I was thinking of other disciplines, Professor Moriarty explained, "It's in the field of pure mathematics."

I was just about to ask whether it had something to do with mathematical modeling when Professor Moriarty said, "When I first entered university, I once used a method from mechanics to prove Pascal's theorem. So I thought I would build on that and take it further."

As soon as he said that, I was stunned.

First, a little background: Pascal's theorem was part of advanced geometry, not something one could learn in the first or second year of university. Moreover, it was a purely mathematical concept. Many people used projective geometry, conjugate angles, or duality to prove that "in a special hexagon, the three points of intersection on the diagonals are collinear." Simply put, it involved verifying a problem about an inverted triangle.

If I used purely mathematical theory to prove it, I could actually do it too.

I believed that if some first-year students were given a direction, they could solve it quickly as well.

However, proving this advanced geometry theorem using mechanics, which "studies the motion of objects and the forces acting on them," was very complicated. The tedious calculations and derivations involved would be a bit much even for a mathematics doctoral student.

"You're amazing. The mathematics community is lucky to have a talent like you."

As soon as I said that, Professor Moriarty laughed.

That really was not an exaggeration.

I could not figure it out. "What's so funny about that?"

It also made me wonder why he worked as a criminal consultant.

He could clearly enjoy himself so much doing mathematics too.

I could not possibly ask him that, though.

Naturally, Professor Moriarty did not know what I was thinking. He said, "You can be very direct sometimes. You always take me by surprise."

I had never seen him taken aback by me, so I could not help asking in puzzlement, "When?"

"For example, when we first met, you suddenly called me 'William.'"

I was immediately at a loss for words.

It was mainly because I had thought we were all students at the time. If he had given me his surname, I would not have called him by his first name. I definitely would have called him mister.

"For another example, you skipped my classes, and we hadn't seen each other for four weeks or exchanged a single word, and then you suddenly told me you believed in me."

"..."

I had been pretty abrupt. But it made perfect sense too. At the time, he really was the only person I knew in the whole school. It had nothing to do with whether I had spoken to him in the meantime.

"And for another example, you suddenly touched my face just now."

...Is he sure he isn't listing all my embarrassing moments?

I could not stay silent any longer. "I'm sorry. If you really felt uncomfortable, you can criticize me directly."

"No, I really was just startled, that's all," Professor Moriarty said with a smile.

I could not tell what he meant, so I could only mumble, "...All right." I could only accept that answer.

After a moment of silence, Professor Moriarty spoke. "By the way, I have a question for you."

I looked into his eyes and asked in confusion, "What is it?"

"I noticed you kept looking at the photograph on the table. Were you thinking about something?"

Had I been looking at it all along?

I had not noticed that at all.

It was only later, on my way home, that I began to realize he had actually been probing to see whether I had recognized Louis. At the time, however, I was immersed in our ordinary, everyday conversation, so I explained frankly, "I didn't realize I'd looked at it so many times, but—"

I turned to look at the picture frame, then con

tinued, "I was just thinking that you all look very close, and you even have a photograph together."

As soon as I said that, Professor Moriarty pressed on. "Don't you have any photographs with your family?"

His question startled me, and the backs of my ears began to heat up of their own accord. For some reason, I felt embarrassed.

I did not really want to answer, but I was worried that if I avoided a direct answer, it would seem as though there was some major problem. I did not want other people to think too much about these things, so I said reluctantly, "No one in my family likes taking pictures. We all look very serious in photographs, so maybe everyone feels that doesn't look very good? That's why we don't take group photos. Also, everyone is busy. My parents are busy, and I'm busy too, so there's no time for that kind of thing."

Moriarty said, "Even your siblings don't like taking pictures? I mean, if you have siblings. I can tell you do rather want a photograph together, so could you bring up the idea with them?"

"There's a pretty big age gap between us. There might already be a generation gap." I explained with a wry smile, "So they don't really like taking pictures with me either."

I was already old enough to be called uncle whenever I went outside, even though it had been less than a year since I graduated from high school.

Speaking of which, I remembered being called uncle by a three-year-old once and being stunned for quite a while.

It was both reasonable and absurd.

As soon as I finished saying that, I noticed Professor Moriarty gazing at me, as though he could see the turmoil in my heart.

In fact, his questions really had touched on the part I found hardest to talk about, making me want to fall silent despite myself.

I forced myself to maintain my expression and conceal the complicated emotions inside me. But, stirred up by his words, my thoughts kept wandering between past and present, like waves surging in with the tide, each one fiercer than the last, trying to drag me back into the water to drown after I had escaped onto the shore.

After a moment, I finally found my voice. "Family... We aren't very close. It's all my fault. I'm not very good at dealing with the problems in my family."

"If you want to have a good relationship with someone, spending time together is necessary, isn't it?" Professor Moriarty offered his advice earnestly. "Even once a week would be fine."

I felt increasingly uncomfortable and wondered when this topic would finally end. "Yes, I've been rather busy. They hardly get to see me, and I feel very sorry about that too."

Professor Moriarty smiled. "Then they must be very disappointed. After all, you're so outstanding. They must be very proud to have a son and older brother like you. And you want a photograph with them. If you convey that wish to them, there will surely be a response."

"You're right."

It was just that I was not someone so worthy of esteem. For someone like me to express a wish like that would only make others uncomfortable, as if I were morally coercing them.

Just thinking about it made me feel disgusting and hateful.

After saying that, I looked back at the questions on the paper and quickly counted them. "Professor, I just realized we've finished enough for the discussion classes. Shall I take a picture and send it to the other students first? Then we can print it at school tomorrow, and everyone can take it to the classroom."

Professor Moriarty sensed the change of subject and did not press further. He merely nodded.

It was only when I went to take the photograph that I noticed my hand trembling uncontrollably. While he had not

noticed, I squeezed my palm and tried to regain my composure. After taking the photograph, I stole a glance at Professor Moriarty and saw that he was reading a paper intently. Only then did I feel a little more at ease.

I had a feeling these things might give me another string of baseless nightmares that night.

Just thinking about it made me feel so oppressed I could hardly breathe.

While my thoughts drifted, a knock came from outside the door. "Brother, dinner is ready."

Professor Moriarty and I both looked at the time—it was already seven thirty in the evening.

My first reaction was that I had to go back, but Professor Moriarty wanted to invite me to dinner. I hurriedly refused.

My refusal really was not entirely because he was a criminal consultant who could kill without leaving a trace.

It was just that I really did not know him well.

I did not like eating in front of people I was not close to. Although I was willing to go along with it when necessary, when I had a choice, I stuck to my own habits.

So I came up with a few excuses.

"All right, then." Professor Moriarty did not insist.

As he said that, we had already walked to the door of the library.

Then I saw Professor Moriarty twist it with one hand, and the door opened effortlessly. My head was instantly full of question marks.

I could hardly believe it myself. Had it opened that easily?

After he opened it, I tried turning the doorknob myself, but the knob still would not budge.

Perhaps noticing me fiddling with the doorknob, Professor Moriarty seemed a little puzzled and asked, "Is something wrong?"

Unable to turn the knob, I could only admit it frankly and take the opportunity to ask, "Is there a trick to opening this door?"

After hearing that, Professor Moriarty seemed a little surprised and turned the doorknob again.

I could see the door's double-hook latch retract smoothly and easily as he turned it. I waited eagerly for his answer.

Moriarty smiled at my expectant gaze and said, "Maybe the trick is that you should eat a little more?"

Me: "..."

My emotions had gone through such ups and downs at Moriarty's house that I forgot to take my coat when I left.

That experience really left a deep impression on me!