The Cycle of Fate

Chapter 171: "The Black Cat"

Opera House District, Lombard Street.

This street is famous for selling candy, with colorful sweets visible everywhere.

The Mechanical Café is located at the end of Lombard Street, adjacent to a small candy factory.

Its exterior is unremarkable. Even looking through the row of glass windows, one wouldn't associate it with anything mechanical. The only thing hinting at "mechanics" is the black triangular sacred emblem on the heavy wooden door.

Lumian pushed against the dark brown door, but it didn't budge, as if it was locked from the inside.

After a brief observation, he pulled the doorbell hanging from the side window.

As the chiming sounds echoed, Lumian heard a faint metallic clink and saw the door slowly push open.

Attached to the back of the door was a mechanical arm, extending all the way to the bar counter, more like a decorative piece.

As Lumian surveyed the surroundings, he approached a corner of the café, where two pedestal tables were gathered, with five or six people seated around them.

The most eye-catching of them was a middle-aged man with a full head of red hair. His skin was powdered pale, and a black line around his eyes made his brown-red pupils look even deeper.

He was clean-shaven, wearing a brown velvet coat that was left open over a red shirt without a tie—both refined and casual.

This was the man Lumian had come to find: Count Pouiffer of the Soren family, once part of the former Intis royal family.

He had inherited a large fortune from his father. He didn't enter politics, join the military, or become a businessman, but lived as a literary critic, mingling in various artistic circles. He was most frequently seen at the gatherings of the "Black Cat."

Lumian walked over and asked with a smile, "Are you Count Pouiffer?"

Pouiffer Soren looked up at him and casually replied, "Are you the friend Martin mentioned?"

"Yes, Charles Dubois," Lumian said without reservation as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

Pouiffer sized him up with a satisfied smile and asked, "So, what do you like most? Literature, oil painting, sculpture, poetry, or music?"

"Poetry," Lumian answered without hesitation.

Pouiffer stretched and pointed to a stout middle-aged man sitting diagonally across, saying, "This is Arnoli, the most literary writer in recent years."

Isn't he the one who forgot his purpose and started writing erotic novels? Lumian recalled Aurore's evaluation of this writer.

In his early works, he used love to reveal human nature. Later, he became increasingly obsessed with the former. If not for government regulation, Aurore believed he would have written something similar to *The Monk Who Chases Dogs*, a full-blown erotic novel.

Of course, Lumian didn't care about human nature; he just enjoyed the spicy details.

"Your novels helped me grow," he said sincerely to Arnoli.

The black-haired, blue-eyed Arnoli, puffing on his pipe, replied, "At least you didn't say you liked *The Death of the Pioneer*."

*The Death of the Pioneer*... Isn't that Adrien's work? Ah, yes, Aurore mentioned how their names are often confused... Lumian realized and asked with a smile:

"You mean that Adrien who's being paid thousands annually by the government, but only produces piles of trash?"

Arnoli burst into laughter. "That's worth a glass of absinthe!"