[Prologue: Dark green surprise, and a heart that refuses to lie flat] My name is Tang Xin. The name sounds like a piece of fruit candy, sweet, but my life? Oh, don't mention it, it's even lighter than tea leaves that have been brewed three times. I'm 30 years old, single, and a librarian by profession - don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of literary person in the movies who wears gold-rimmed glasses and falls in love with mysterious manuscripts in an ancient library. I live in a community art center in our area. The name sounds elegant, but inside, hehe, I'm so poor that I can hear echoes. My daily life is basically a protracted tug-of-war with the dust on expired magazines, the oil stains on the library card that can never be cleaned, and the eternal soul-torturing question of readers - "Hey, where is the toilet?". My life is so... comfortable. As comfortable as the water slowly heating up in a pot, I am the frog in it that is slow to realize it. It is comfortable, but it can't make any waves. What is the biggest dream in life? Very humble: save enough for the down payment. In this city where people want to build buildings to the sky, I want to build a small nest that can accommodate me and my future (in my imagination, it must be a big orange, it doesn't matter if it's a little fat, it can be used!), and then, quickly, say goodbye to the weird roommate who can accurately locate and destroy the last piece of tiramisu in my refrigerator when sleepwalking in the middle of the night! As for the little thing called love...tsk. When I was a teenager, who hasn't held my face and fantasized about the prince charming? Now, I'm almost 30 years old, and I'm no longer in the age of dreaming. In addition, the balance of my bank card has always been below the safety line of "just enough to make a living"... Be realistic, Tang Xin! Can love be eaten as food? Can it help you pay off your credit card? Can't do both? Well, then, be a Buddhist, lie down, go with the flow, Amitabha. Make money! Get rich! This is the awareness that adults should have! I am determined to run all the way on the broad road of "awakeness in the world" and never look back. Until...that Tuesday afternoon. The sun lazily poured in, illuminating the dust in the air, and even time seemed to slow down. On that day, I, Tang Xin, touched the dark green notebook with the noble aura of "Keep Out" under the sofa. Then, bang - my Buddhist heart, which had been cultivated for many years and thought to have "emptied the four elements", seemed to have been forcibly implanted with a bug program called "heartbeat" by an unscrupulous programmer, and began to uncontrollably... garbled.
[One: Lost property and peeping, the weight of secrets]
It was an ordinary Tuesday. 3:15 pm, the standard "biological clock sleepy time". The art center was so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat, and occasionally the vague noise of traffic in the distant streets further contrasted the isolation of this place. I just finished a tough battle - the opponent was "The Little Prince" which was cruelly attacked by the "Impressionist" painter. Poor fox, a pattern similar to a QR code was drawn on its face by crayons. It took me a full half an hour, using an eraser and patience, to barely restore it to a three-point "fox" look.
I slumped in the old swivel chair behind the service desk that "creaked" in protest when it turned, and my chin was about to hit the keyboard. In front of me, the damn circular loading icon on the computer screen was like a gyroscope with a perpetual motion machine patent, spinning tirelessly. The last work report! You are the only one missing! Ancestor! I almost stretched out my finger to poke the screen and use my mind to inject a little "struggle" power into it.
My eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. Just as my consciousness was about to slip into the edge of chaos, the corner of my eye - the only organ in my body that was still working - caught a glimpse of an unusual color.
In the corner. Under the single sofa by the window with frayed edges on the fabric - that was usually my "lunch break seat", although I usually just lay directly on the service desk - there was a... object lying quietly.
Dark green. Hard shell. Square.
It was not a brochure discarded by a reader, nor was it a scribble exercise book left by a student. The color was deep, like moss in the forest after rain. The texture seemed to be able to feel a low-key, unignorable... "I am expensive and tasteful" aura even from a few meters away.
Curiosity, this little goblin, began to use its invisible, furry tail to sweep my heart one by one.
Never mind. Go over and take a look. What if it was an important document left behind by some old man with presbyopia? I have professional ethics (probably).
While I was finding a plausible excuse for myself, I slowly struggled out of the "comfortable place" of the swivel chair. My old waist "clicked" in protest. I pounded it with a grimace and walked towards the secluded corner. The light under the sofa was not very good, so I leaned over and squinted to take a closer look.
Then, my fingertips touched it.
It was slightly cool to the touch. The delicate, living leather texture ironed the fingertips with a reassuring, just-right resistance. The hard cover was extremely simple, without any extra decorations or text. Only in the lower right corner, with an imperceptible embossing process, there was an abstract logo made of the letters "S" and "M" intertwined, deformed, and finally fused into one. It was full of design.
My heart "clicked" without warning.
This book... this logo...
Why... it looks a little familiar? !
The fragments of memory began to spin and splice rapidly in my mind. With a "ding" sound, the picture freezes! Last month! That's right! Last month! Didn't the center co-organize a lecture with that Design Association? The theme seemed to be... "Urban Memory and Architectural Rebirth"? A bunch of industry elites wearing high-end custom suits, combing their hair meticulously, speaking slowly and with their own BGM were invited. At that time, the one sitting in the middle of the first row... was said to be a genius architect who has been in the limelight in the circle in the past two years... His last name was Shen? His name was... Shen Mochen? Yes! That's him!
I remember it clearly! When he was listening to the lecture, he had such a dark green notebook on his knees! I secretly glanced at him a few more times because it was a different era, and there were still people taking notes in such a... um... classical and pretentious... bah! Advanced and sophisticated way! After all, doesn't everyone have a tablet now, and they can just poke and click with their fingers?
So... this notebook that exudes the aura of "I'm expensive", "I'm particular", "My owner is probably super rich, tasteful and a bit obsessive-compulsive" was actually dropped by the architect Shen Mochen who looks as cold as an iceberg? !
Old swan!
"Uh... Hello? Did anyone drop something——?" I held the notebook that suddenly became a little hot, subconsciously raised the volume, and shouted towards the empty reading area. The sound was particularly abrupt in the quiet space.
The only response came from the "tick, tick" sound of the wall clock and the occasional bird calls outside the window. The old man who was still lingering with the "Health Guide" didn't even raise his head this time. Obviously, he had already entered the realm of "turning a deaf ear to the outside world and reading the sages' books (health version) with one heart".
OK. Confirmed. The owner, Mr. Shen Mochen, has definitely left. Moreover, it seems that he has been gone for a long time.
I stood there, holding this dark green "time bomb", and fell into deep entanglement.
According to the regulations, if you pick up lost items, register them, and lock them in the dusty lost and found cabinet at the front desk. Simple. Clear. Clear responsibilities.
But...
This is Shen Mochen's notebook! The legendary genius architect whose design fee is calculated by the second, who is rarely seen in person, and who even the mayor has to make an appointment with... personal belongings!
What if...
My fingers once again uncontrollably stroked the smooth and cold cover, and the unique concave and convex feeling of the logo left a clear mark on my fingertips. An idea that was extremely inconsistent with my "salty fish" personality grew like a vine: What if... there is his contact information in it? Hand it directly to the front desk? The girls who just graduated at the front desk can even lose their meal cards eight hundred times! If I hand such an important notebook to them, what if... what if I can't find it when I turn around? Or, worse, it was taken away by someone with bad intentions... Shen Mochen... wouldn't be so anxious? ! Lost design drafts? Business secrets? Who will compensate for the loss? Me? ! (I can't afford it!)
And… (Okay, okay, I admit that this is the most real and darkest little trick in my heart…) What is written in this thing that an architect of Shen Mochen's level cherishes so much and even uses such an expensive retro notebook to record? Will it be… some earth-shattering design inspiration? Or… simply… his personal diary? !
(Stop! Tang Xin! Have some professional ethics! It's shameful to pry into other people's privacy!)
The little angel in my heart is wearing a white robe and wielding a moral stick. The little devil in my heart is wearing… well, maybe nothing, winking at me, holding a small golden key that symbolizes "curiosity" in his hand.
The angel and the devil fought… for about 0.5 seconds.
The devil K.O. the angel.
The reason? Of course… to return the lost property to the owner more efficiently and responsibly! Yes! Avoid any mistakes that may occur in the middle link! I am... responsible for the owner! Responsible for the art center! Responsible for my own... ahem, conscience!
I took a deep breath, trying to maintain the sacred glory of "serving the people" on my face, and the little gossip in my heart was about to spread. Like an underground worker with a big secret, I looked around vigilantly - good, there was still no one, and the camera was only facing the door. I tiptoed back to the back of the service desk, hid myself under the counter, and then, as if performing some mysterious ritual, with slightly trembling fingers, held my breath, and carefully opened the dark green notebook... that seemed to condense the secrets of the whole world.
The first page.