Let me introduce you, this is my girlfriend, the Israeli boxing champion

Page 112

Until that day, my friend Diderot sent me a message like this.

"Brother, help! I'm in now, please get me out! Daddy loves you."

It was a sunny day with no clouds in the sky. At that time, there were advertisements in France that said "Secret recipe handed down from ancestors, specializing in curing XX disease, effective with one injection", but what Rousseau saw that day was not these.

The Dijon Academy's essay contest advertisement read: "Will the revival of art and science help to improve morals?" Twenty years later, Rousseau affectionately called it "It Changed Jean-Jacques."

When his competitors all answered "yes" and listed one, two, three, and four arguments just like Marx's students in the exam, Rousseau chose to take a different approach.

"FNNDP!"

Then he became famous overnight.

His name was known to everyone from Greater Paris to Geneva, and he became a hot topic for a while. He was in charge of the music section of the Encyclopedia, and he also began to promote it in major newspapers and magazines. Opera performances were favored, and he received a grand welcome when he returned to Geneva.

At the same time, the second essay contest of the Dijon Academy began. When everyone thought Rousseau would defend his title, he failed.

For a time, he became the experience book of all French media.

From Dominating the World to Leaving the Stage in Disgrace: A Brief Discussion on How the "Expected" Rousseau Fell from the Altar (Part 1)

Such headlines are common.

This is indeed the case. After the large educational book "Emile" was destroyed in public, in the eyes of that group of aristocrats who were particular about fine clothes, horses, and tilted hats, this outlier who wore long underwear as outerwear while shopping in Wangfujing and Xidan was finally dismissed.

It is worth mentioning that Voltaire was in Geneva and Rousseau was in Paris at the time, and the two men engaged in verbal attacks, verbal battles, and quarrels in each other's hometowns.

They both seemed to have fallen in love with where they lived, but forgot that it was the other's hometown.

Poor Rousseau, his fragile heart suffered serious damage, and coupled with the intimidation and persecution of the authorities, Rousseau's persecution delusion intensified, and he even gave a positive energy speech to a group of British people.

As for how they got to Great Britain, David Hume, who was traveling with them, came to their aid. However, the two of them ended up falling out. This was not the first, nor the last.

Although he emphasized that emotion is more important than reason, he also had no success in friendship. He quarreled with Voltaire, parted ways with Diderot, and was even full of doubts about Hume, who helped him seek asylum in England. In the end, he broke off all ties with him.

Ah, what an ironic life.

After closing his eyes forever, Rousseau expressed his absolute approval of the extremely absurd life of a man named Jean-Jacques.

But it did not end there. In response to the call of this land, he once again set foot on the land of France. At least, that was what he thought before.

"Hey, Rousseau, long time no see."

This was the first scene Rousseau saw after his arrival: it was the dying scene of his old friend, Diderot.

After seeing clearly who he had summoned, he smiled with relief. This was exactly the answer he expected.

"Very good. It seems that using the music chapter of the encyclopedia can really summon you out."

"What's going on?" When he squatted down and held Diderot's hand, he saw a big hole on the left side of his chest.

"There's no time, Rousseau. No matter what conflicts we had in the past, you are the only one who can help me now."

His eyelids blinked, which was a secret signal between them. Rousseau moved closer and listened attentively to the last prayer of this proud man.

"Go to my house, you know where it is, and someone will explain everything to you, and here." He stuffed a book into Rousseau's arms.

"Encyclopedia, it's yours now, please, please...save humanity..."

"And...be careful Hassan"

Rousseau witnessed the departure of his good friend for the first time. The spiritual power that dissipated in front of him turned into light and disappeared in front of him. Only the encyclopedia with blood stains in his arms had a little warmth, proving that someone had existed here.

He really wanted to stay and do something for Diderot, but reason drove him to find "someone" as Diderot mentioned. It was ironic that he, who valued human emotions, would one day bow to his terminally ill reason.

"Sir, I don't like you at all. I am your disciple and ardent supporter, but you have caused me the most painful suffering."

This was the content of the last letter he sent.

"Now, we are actually standing on the same front?"

"It's a shame you're still a lunatic."

This is Voltaire's reply at the time."

"Where are the Diderots?"

"..."

"Yeah, I know."

Sure enough, I am still jealous of him.

When he was able to thrive in this familiar circle under the name of François, he chose to accept Mr. Montesquieu's invitation and become an adviser to those younger generations.

——Although the hostess of the Roland family is not bad either.

This relationship continued until the arrival of Alvin Vasak.

He was undoubtedly an interesting man, and I could see that he was trying to ease the tension between me and Voltaire, and incredibly he succeeded.

Rousseau's curiosity was aroused for the first time in a long time. He tried to search for Alvin's name in the encyclopedia, but the result he got was

Indistinguishable.

"What a pity, what a pity." Hassan with the Cursed Arm squatted down, holding something vibrating in his strange hand, and the expression on the white mask actually changed.

"It's not a wise move to play all your cards at once."

Rousseau struggled hard, grabbing Cursed-Wrist Hassan's feet tightly, and tried to climb up along his body, but Cursed-Wrist Hassan just waved his hand lightly and fell to the ground again.

Rousseau lay helplessly on the ground, with a tiny light appearing beside him. Feeling bored, Hassan the Cursed chose to look towards the other end of the street.

Alvin Vasago just happened to be there, and he looked stunned, or incredulous."

"I'm sorry, Alvin, I'm breaking my contract."

It started to rain.

"Rousseau——"

Ah, it's Alvin, damn, why didn't you come later?

He tried to stand up, but fell to the cold stone floor again.

"Rousseau! Are you okay, Rousseau? What on earth happened!"

"It's raining."

“Heavy rain can delay our arrival, but it cannot stop us from moving forward.”

I had something I wanted to say, but it looks like I won't have the chance now, asshole.

"this is for you."

Rousseau gave the encyclopedia to Alvin.

"The fate of the world and mankind is in your hands."

"Don't forget, you are you, Alvin, and it's up to you to change your destiny!"

I'm sorry, Diderot, but I'm afraid I have to stop here.

But don't follow in my footsteps, Alvin Vasago, a man destined for a tragic fate.

By the way, I haven’t tried any of the cigarettes in the pack he gave me.

What a pity...there are still many things to do...

He closed his eyes again.

Caster, Rousseau, once again faces death.

PS: I don’t want to post pictures today. One reason is that I can’t send them out and it takes half an hour to upload a chapter.

Another thing is, something happened in my family.

Really, art really comes from life.

Chapter 124 Let’s go home

"Mom, what happened to that guy?"

"That's a person who is lost and needs to be saved. Look, isn't he walking towards the church?"

"But why do I feel like he's crying?"

The young child was lying by the window, and the rain was hitting the window. Although his vision was a little blurry, he still saw a person walking in the rain.

However, the window soon became so stained that he could no longer see.

"It's time to eat, Stendhal."

Alvin was holding the Encyclopedia that was passed to him in his arms, and in his hand was the pack of cigarettes that he had given to Rousseau.

Every step he took felt like he was swimming upstream, and this was not an exaggeration. The accumulated water had already spread to his calves. This rainstorm, which had not been seen in France for thirty years, was now pouring down on this extravagant city.

Is today Christmas? he thought.

"Don't be fooled by his appearance of a well-dressed young man. In fact, he has the inherent skill of headache disease."

"Misfortune and exile, long-term persecution by the authorities, led him to suffer from depression,"

"When he smelled the scent of roses, he thought it was poison intended to kill him; coffee merchants, barbers, and hotel owners who went to him were all considered to be people with bad intentions towards him; even when he wanted to use shoe polish, he would suddenly find that the color of the shoe polish had changed, and he would be scared to throw away the shoe polish, fearing that the shoe polish would also harm him."

"Except for the last eight years of his life."

Ah, I remembered that Voltaire once said that his migraines, which occurred from time to time, had no warning signs.

The rain got heavier again, constantly washing away the whole world. The puddles on the road sparkled in the dark night. In the downstream water, there was a man swimming upstream, heading towards the five-arch bridge on the Saint-Louis Island.

Inside the Paris Police Headquarters, the rookie policeman on duty tonight was still rejoicing that the number of people reporting crimes on rainy days would greatly decrease, but he witnessed an act that could be rated as one of the top ten weirdest acts of the year.

"I think this guy has a mental problem. Why is he doing this here instead of going home?"

"Hey! Do you want to hide from the rain?" The young policeman, who still had a conscience, made an invitation, but his voice was too soft and the man did not hear it.

"Looks like we're going to the church on the Ile de la Cité. Good luck, buddy."

Unfortunately, Alvin didn't know all this, but even if he knew, he would decisively refuse.

It was time to close the church on the Île de Cité. The priest looked at the weather outside the window. Although he knew it was impossible for anyone to come, he still chose to ask the nun for permission.

"Although it's not even eight o'clock yet, with such heavy rain, there won't be any believers coming to pray. In my opinion, it's better to..."

The white-haired nun did not hear what he said.

"What a strange nun. Why is she pretending to be so noble? She is just using this as a tool to vent her emotions—" The priest, who was very dissatisfied with overtime work, cursed in a low voice.

"Kill him, Hassan."

"Your will."

"Varied--"

Before he could finish his words, a hand wrapped in black cloth had already pierced his body from behind. The blood flowing from his body was particularly eye-catching on the white marble floor.

"Did you get the encyclopedia?"

"No, it seems to have a designated function. It cannot be obtained if it is not what he specified."

"Really? What a pity." She changed the subject. "What about our great Jean-Jacques Rousseau?"

"It has officially retired."

"Are there any other people present?"

She was even a little nervous, but mostly amused.

I actually had inappropriate emotions for an ordinary human being?

"No."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“But as I was leaving, someone arrived.”

"Did he see something?"

"It should not be seen, but there is no guarantee that the assassinated person will do anything."