News from the New Continent

Closing the door, the room returned to silence.

Ye Yan walked to the desk and tore open the letter Watson had handed him.

Unexpectedly, what slid out of the envelope was not the expected stationery, but a thin sheet of metal coated in wax and covered in spiral grooves.

The moment it touched the air, with a sharp "click," the metal sheet suddenly curled up on its own.

In the blink of an eye, it formed an intricate cylinder.

Immediately following, a mechanical noise filled with the weight of age emanated from the cylinder: "Please... ignite... me..."

Ye Yan's eyes flickered.

This was... a wax cylinder from a phonograph?

He took a box of matches from the drawer, struck the phosphorus head against the sandpaper, and ignited a small, orange-red flame.

Ye Yan brought the flame close to the wax cylinder, and the wax coating on the metal surface immediately began to burn along the spiral grooves like a fuse, emitting a strange hissing sound.

A wisp of white smoke curled upward.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore came from the cylinder, followed by an elderly yet powerful male voice:

"I have never longed to see someone so much..." The voice paused, the sound of the waves growing louder: "The last time I felt such urgency was because of that gentleman."

The flame burned slowly along the grooves, revealing the copper base where the wax layer melted. The voice in the recording continued: "Please forgive my rudeness. Although it was unintentional, I did indeed steal your knowledge."

There was a sound of furniture being shifted.

"Seven days from now, I should have come to apologize in person..."

Suddenly, a dull thud came from the recording, and the old man's voice rose sharply: "But they dared to detain my gift! Right there at Peter Cape Port!"

Another loud crash followed, accompanied by the harsh sound of metal hitting the ground: "I should crack open the skulls of those fellows and take a good look to see if they're stuffed with moldy dung!"

In the background, faint groans of pain and pleas for mercy could be heard; the old man seemed to take a deep breath.

"Please forgive my lack of composure. A letter truly cannot express my apologies and my anger, so I recorded this to ensure you do not mistake me for both a despicable thief and a coward intentionally making excuses."

As the last wax trail burned out, the copper cylinder snapped open, turning into ash that scattered across the desktop.

The room returned to silence.

Yet, Ye Yan could hear his own heart pounding like a drum.

Although the letter had no header and the recording didn't explicitly state his name, Ye Yan had an intuition that the person coming to see him was Fabre.

This was Fabre!

The Homer of the insect world, the Virgil of entomology!

Downstairs, Jules was hunched over, dusting the high shelves, his feather duster sweeping across rows of books.

Without warning, a cheer that was almost a roar erupted from the second floor, startling him so much that his entire body shuddered and the duster fell to the floor with a "plop."

He nearly tumbled from his three-meter-high perch, grabbing the swaying ladder in a panic.

After steadying himself, Jules climbed down.

Just as he looked toward the stairwell, he saw his nephew—who was usually so composed that one would forget he was still just a boy—rushing down the stairs, dancing and gesticulating like a crazed baboon.

A light of near-madness flickered in Ye Yan's eyes.

He leaped down the last few steps in two strides, lunged into Jules's arms, and gave him a bear hug.

"What happened?"

Jules was knocked back half a step, feeling the boy's body trembling with excitement in his arms.

"That person is coming to see me, Uncle Jules!"

"Who?"

"Fabre!"

Jules struggled to peel the overexcited Ye Yan off himself, pressing his hands onto the boy's shoulders. He stared at his nephew's ecstatic expression, his own face turning strange.

Fabre?

Wasn't that a typical male surname?

His foolish nephew was actually this excited about meeting a man?

Jules loosened one hand.

His gaze drifted toward his own room, where a hunting rifle hung on the wall.

Should he just assassinate that bastard in advance?

No, no.

Jules racked his brain, recalling that he had never seen his nephew in close contact with any "Mr. Fabre."

Although Fabre was usually a male surname, there were actually women who used it as well. Perhaps... perhaps this wasn't some damn Mr. Fabre, but a charming Ms. Fabre?

He turned his thoughts to the women Ye Yan usually interacted with.

Was it that Baroness radiating maternal warmth? Or that witch hiding in the shadows, brewing strange potions?

It had to be either the lady or the witch.

At this thought, Jules couldn't help but shudder.

No, this absolutely would not do!

He roared internally; whether it was an aging noblewoman or a dangerous witch, neither was worthy of his boy!

Jules cleared his throat and asked tentatively, "This Fabre you speak of, is he a man or a woman?"

Ye Yan blinked, somewhat bewildered by this sudden question, but he answered truthfully, "Mr. Fabre is a man, of course."

Jules's vision went black for a moment, as if someone had struck him over the head with that hunting rifle.

He staggered back against the counter, his eyes turning incomparably melancholy, the downward droop of his mouth deepening the gloom on his face. He looked at Ye Yan, wanting to speak but holding back, his Adam's apple bobbing several times before he finally let out a long, heavy sigh.

Ye Yan felt his scalp tingle under Jules's gaze.

He didn't understand why Uncle Jules was suddenly projecting such a sorrowful look; he looked exactly like a lovesick, melancholic poet. Could it be that Uncle Jules had suddenly recalled some past heartbreak from his youth when he was abandoned by a woman?

His intuition told Ye Yan that he had to say something right now, or it would lead to some unexpected consequences.

"Uncle Jules... are you heartbroken?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Ye Yan regretted them; he felt he shouldn't have asked such an insensitive question.

"It's not me who's heartbroken, it's you!" Jules practically roared. "How could you... such a relationship is not accepted in society! What if you're found out..."

Ye Yan finally understood.

Why was Uncle Jules's imagination so wild, and how did he manage to conjure up so much from just a name?

He felt that if he were a comic book character, his forehead would surely be covered in black lines.

"Uncle Jules, don't you know Mr. Fabre? He is a scholar as profound as Archbishop Alvin, an elder I deeply respect."

"Oh... so that's how it is." Jules's expression relaxed instantly, but then he grew tense again. "Then... is there any young lady you like?"

"Not yet." Ye Yan smiled helplessly. "If I meet one, I'll consider it."

"Good, good, good." Jules patted his chest in relief. "As long as it's not one of those messy relationships, it's fine."