346 Chapter 68,?

Chapter 34668,

For a long time thereafter, Hoffa did not appear in front of anyone again, and after a friendly parting with Miller in London, he disappeared in England with Aglaia without a trace.

After their first day together, life fell into simple travel mode. They ate breakfast at the street market, the stall's cement table was as smooth as polished marble, and after eating they read the newspaper by the stall, amidst the mix of sweet orange and weak tea, the sun was very warm.

They went to the beach in the morning to swim and play in the water until the sun drove them back to the cool room of the hotel, where they fell asleep under the slowly rotating wooden ceiling fan.

In the afternoons they explore the maze of narrow alleyways that line the city's boulevards, or go hiking in the mountains. Lying on the beach at sunset, calling each other's names. At night, they had dinner at the restaurant facing the beach, and drank in the courtyard of the White Wall Hotel, with the moonlight lingering on the edge of the waves.

Sometimes Hoffa would open his mouth, making long speeches without a theme, babbling like an old woman. Aglaia, on the other hand, said very little. She always hugged him and listened to him. But Hoffa has learned to value the few words she utters.

There are fewer and fewer people in the world who can speak. Many times, those foreign cities seem to be asleep. Although they are still operating as usual, sometimes they will not meet a single person who talks for a day.

The whole world was as quiet as if they were the only two people who could talk.

But there's nothing wrong with that either.

They sat in an empty concert hall in Vienna, looked at a stage where there was no performance, tried every instrument they had seen or never seen, and made all kinds of noises with them.

They go to the Louvre in France, and Aglaia will paint two little tortoises on the marble chest of Venus, put the head of the Sphinx on the head of the Victory, or give Mona Draw circles on Lisa's face.

One afternoon, he took a camera and took her to the largest clothing center in Milan, Italy, and watched her change every piece of clothing in the window, literary, intellectual, pure, sexy, fashionable, retro... one piece after another. One piece was changed, and Hoffa also took pictures one by one, making a whole album.

They ended up developing them in an underground photo lab in Berlin without taking them with them.

A week passed, then another week, then another week. They traveled all over Europe and finally returned to England.

One morning, Hoffa suggested going for a walk.

So they walked along the Thames to the subway line, where there was a coffee shop that was open until now.

On the concrete arch of the coffee shop, a few capitalized words in childlike handwriting are spelled out with shells——Romanticism

"romanticism."

Aglaia looked at the sign of the coffee shop, suddenly smiled and asked, "Do you drink coffee?"

"OK."

Hoffa nodded and took Aglaia's arm into the cafe.

In the cafe in the early morning, the cashier was quietly cleaning the white porcelain cups, and the radio under the spider plant was playing quiet music, the sound was only three degrees. The song was familiar to Hoffa, but he couldn’t name it, but he didn’t care up.

Aglaia offered Hoffa a seat by the window, sat down, put his hands in his hands, and asked with concern: "Last night, you almost drank a bottle of Horseshoe Tequila by yourself. What's on your mind?"

Hoffa nodded. Her hand was in his, warm and dry. He looked at her palms, the pink glaze on the nails was as transparent as glass.

"Can you talk to me?"

Aglaia held the back of his hand with her palm down.

At this time, the waiter brought the menu and interrupted Aglaia's inquiry.

Aglaia let go of her hand and looked down at the menu. The early morning sun shone into the cafe from between the hardwood panes, painting her slender arms a few shades of gold.

Hoffa looked at the girl across the table without blinking. The various faces he saw during his adventures in the world were like the logo of God.

The faces of those men and women are identical and lonely, facing nothingness naked in front of him, meaningless. But this face is different.

He can clearly feel what meaning he has to connect with him.

Meaning, and name, and identity.

After Aglaia ordered coffee.

Hoffa slowly sat up straight, and said seriously, "Aglaia, let me tell you a story."

"Have you learned how to tell stories?"

The silver-haired girl held her chin, and tenderly tapped his chest with her finger.

Hoffa smiled and pointed to his head, "It's here, can you listen?"

"Okay, tell me. What story?"

The silver-haired girl rested her chin and looked at him, as if nothing was enough.

Hoffa tilted his head and thought for a while: "I think, this story is called——The Arrow of Time."

"The Arrow of Time?"

Aglaia was curious: "What is that?"

"The Arrow of Time"

Hoffa tilted his head, fiddled with the glass in front of him, and looked out the window, where the coffee shop's wooden shutters were unglazed, held together by green plastic cords. Looking out between the hardwood slats, there are dry fountains, flower-patterned tiles and a Volkswagen Mini Beetle in the morning sun.

"A long time ago, when I was still in Paris, one day, I felt that someone was watching me from behind"

Sitting in the coffee shop, he slowly narrated his adventures through time and space—whether he sold arms in confusion, or he met a magical nun, or crazy dreams, cold-blooded officers, blood-sucking cities , and her father who fell into the abyss and couldn't extricate herself, and the terrifying opponent in the dark.

The sun gradually rises, the sky is cloudy and foggy, and the shadows of the two gradually elongate.

Hoffe's tone didn't fluctuate much, and Aglaia remained calm at first, but gradually, she was attracted by the story, and she couldn't cry at the end.

After Hoffa finished speaking slowly, he took a sip of the coffee on the table and waited quietly.

"Is the past irreversible?" She asked in a low voice choked with sobs.

"I'm sorry, Aglaia, I can't save Fatil, his soul was swallowed by the mistletoe." Hoffa said lightly.

"I don't blame you," Aglaia sobbed, covering her face, "I'm just me, I can't help you."

Hoffa stretched out his hand to hold her palm, and didn't let go, nor did he speak comforting words, but just sat calmly, like a Buddha statue. When she was choked with sobs, he began to narrate steadily again.

He spoke of the merciless time flare, of the death of old Hoffa. Talking about cooperation with Voldemort, talking about my compromise, talking about Grindelwald's plan, talking about my doomed fate at Hogwarts, talking about my six thousand reincarnations in the underworld, talking about Batty and his son His death talked about his resistance to fate.

Until outside the window of the cafe, a subway rumbled towards, Hoffa kept silent, and the story came to an abrupt end.

After listening to the second half of the story, Aglaia wiped her eyes and couldn't help showing an excited smile, "You haven't told me the end of this story yet?"

"Then leave it to others to guess."

Hoffa stretched and stood up: "However, I don't think this story is over yet."

Aglaia stared blankly at Hoffa who stood up, paying attention to the approaching subway in the distance, and suddenly understood everything, her face suddenly lost all blood, all those beautiful, sweet, and gentle things Gone like a bubble, her voice trembled slightly.

"Did you bring me here because you intend to bid farewell to me?"

"ah."

Hoffa sighed softly, as if spitting out his own soul, "Yes."

"Back in time? Fifty years ago?

"yes."

Hoffa shrugged, slid his fingertips across the table, and said with a smile: "I still have a few small problems left, which are left in the past, waiting for me to solve them."

Aglaia clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was extremely bleak, "But do you know your definite destiny? What if you don't come back? If your life stays in these fifty years forever What will happen?"

Hoffa said calmly, and he had already thought about the answer: "That's like a normal person, continue to live. Eat, study, and sleep."

"What about us, what about us?"

Aglaia held onto the table in despair and stood up, "Are you tired?"

Hoffa shook his head. "I love you, Aglaia, more than anyone else."

"Why?"

She stood up and hugged Hoffa abruptly, clasping his waist tightly with her palms like steel bars.

"Why can't you stay in this time and space!? We are together, go shopping together, eat ice cream together, watch movies together, and do fun things together." As she spoke, she was already choked up: "Why must it be you, let Can others go?"

Hoffa wiped her tears lovingly, there was not much expression on his face, only sunlight flowing in his obsidian pupils, like a galaxy.

"When I was in the third grade, I once asked you what life is. At that time, I didn't understand anything, but now, I understand. Life is a game for the brave and a tragedy for the cowardly.

There are too many original sins in this world, too many original sins in human beings, ugliness, poverty, loneliness, insufficiency, death, how much courage is needed to face this cold original sin, maybe few people can do it, but I think I can, because This is what I exist for. "

"Then take me with you."

Aglea grabbed his arm, her fingers almost digging into his flesh.

Hoffa shook his head: "I can't do it, can you understand me?"

"I can understand you, but I can't accept it. If this is the case, why do you need to save me, why do you need to go to the underworld to find me. Why do you need to leave me in an empty and strange time and space."

“There are many beautiful things”

"Don't reason with me, I only want you."

"I am, always have been."

"Are you coming back?"

"meeting."

"Can you guarantee it?"

Looking at her red eyes, Hoffa thought of the past, the future, his former self, his mysterious smile, the past, the strange life, the future, the unpredictable fate.

Finally, he lowered his head and kissed Aglaia on the lips.

"I promise."

Aglaia burst into tears, wrapped her arms around Hoffa's neck, and hugged him.

The subway heading towards the unknown came from far to near, and stopped briefly.

Hoffa let go of the girl in his arms, and the car door opened in front of him. Like an ordinary office worker, Hoffa followed the bustling crowd, walked into the crowd, and merged with them.

He looked back one last time before the doors closed and saw Aglaia standing at the station, waving to herself through tears, her waist-length silver hair floating in the air, bleached by the sun, as it had been when they first met.

And he calmly waved at her.

The doors close and the subway starts moving.

The carriage swayed, and the people around him went up and down, coming and going from Hoffa. He found a seat by the window.

The subway went underground and fell into darkness, only occasionally one or two bright lights, or road signs waiting for maintenance, and his own face was reflected in the dark glass, facing each other. Before he could see his appearance clearly, the darkness disappeared again, and what he was given was endless bright sunshine.

On the wide and flat asphalt road, a red double-decker bus gallops by, pedestrians chat leisurely, colorful balloons are flying in the air, there are glamorous brand-name shops on the side of the road, and a teenager slides down the steps on a skateboard. Couple kissing on the street.

The scenery outside the window is imprinted on Hoffa's face through the subway window, whether it is a deep and dark underground passage, or a sunny urban city park. He watched quietly.

Unknowingly, he has been crying quietly.

Those intense and surging emotions turned into relief, and the unforgettable loneliness turned into affection. He knew that it was the calmness of facing fate alone, and it was the most extreme romance bestowed on him by God.

"Why are you crying?"

There was a soft and curious question beside him. It was an ignorant little boy who handed Hoffa a piece of paper.

"Because I'm happy."

Hoffa took the paper with a sob.

"Why do you cry when you're happy?" the little boy asked him.

"Then how about being happy?"

"Laugh when you're happy." The little boy comforted him.

"Is it."

Hoffa wiped away his tears and smiled slightly, "Take me away."

When the train arrived at the station, countless well-dressed men and women with briefcases flocked to enter the subway. Some of their expressions were numb, and some had empty eyes, as if they were sleepwalking.

But among them was a teenager and a middle-aged man who seemed out of place with the crowd around them.

The boy has messy hair, round glasses, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. He looks a little sad and disturbed. The middle-aged man was wearing thin trousers and an old short jacket, touching the rings on the subway curiously.

"Mr. Weasley, if I'm convicted, will I be imprisoned in Azkaban?" The bespectacled teenager asked anxiously.

"What are you thinking?" The middle-aged man couldn't help laughing, "How can the wizarding society be so lawless?"

"What's the worst possible outcome?"

"Well, it might be expelled from Hogwarts. This is the worst possible outcome." Arthur Weasley thought for a while, and comforted him, "Don't worry, that won't happen."

But Harry still couldn't help turning his head away. Arthur's words didn't comfort him. It was a trial by the Ministry of Magic. How many people have experienced it, and how many people can really bear it, he doesn't think Arthur can really understand own current mood.

But at this moment, in the crowd, Harry felt someone watching him again, so he turned his head away. Seeing the slightly older boy with his head leaning against the glass in the corner, under the sun, the boy nodded at him, smiled slightly, quiet and easy-going.

Harry froze. That boy looked very ordinary, but his smile seemed to have a strange healing power, so that those who saw it couldn't help but feel good. Those bright black eyes are like birds flying across the sky - free and unfettered. It seemed that just looking at him made the subsequent trial less scary.

"Look, Mr. Weasley."

Harry tugged at the clothes of the middle-aged man beside him, wanting him to take a look at the strange boy.

But when he looked again, the seat was empty. The strange boy has disappeared.

(End of the arrow of time)