48 Hours a Day

Zhang Heng opened his eyes and found himself in a slightly dark alley.

At the end of the road was a small brick building that was two sides high and looked to be some years old, and Zhang Heng could only barely deduce from the building materials and style that it was a post-nineteenth century building.

He didn't rush inside, but instead took another look around, seeing the pedestrians hurrying past the alleyway, the cigarette vendor and the grocery store across the street, and just as he wanted to keep looking, there was a sudden thunderclap in the sky, indicating that there would soon be a rainstorm.

So Zhang Heng didn't stop where he was and finally made his way to the small brick building again.

The small building was much quieter than Zhang Heng had imagined, and the only thing coming through the door was the orange light, with no noise.

Zhang Heng knocked on the door.

A moment later, a middle-aged man who looked like a butler poked his head out from the doorway, "What can I do for you?"

"I received an invitation to come here to the salon." Zhang Heng paused at this point, his eyes fell around the butler-looking middle-aged man to the living room behind him and found that it was so empty that there were no guests.

"I'm sorry, did I come early?"

"No." The butler-looking middle-aged man smiled, "The salon has started, but it's not here, may I see your token of admission?"

"A token of initiation?" Zhang Heng frowned slightly, he had already checked the pockets on his body on the way here, he didn't find anything extra besides the props he had brought, but Zhang Heng quickly thought of something and took out the Conan Doyle fountain pen.

The butler-looking middle-aged man received the pen, put on his glasses, and scrutinized it once before respectfully handing it back to Zhang Heng with two hands, "Welcome to the House of Geniuses, please follow me."

Zhang Heng followed the butler-looking middle-aged man into the house, then they walked through the living room and into the courtyard, the butler-looking middle-aged man opened an eerie cellar that looked very much like the kind of cellar that a homicidal villain in a horror movie would use to imprison the hero, after which he made a gesture of invitation.

"Seriously?" Zhang Heng raised his eyebrows.

"Don't look at me, bluffing and dramatic treatment has always been a favorite of authors." The butler-looking middle-aged man shrugged his shoulders, "To be honest, I've never quite understood this kind of bad taste either."

Zhang Heng sniffed and looked again at the large iron lock at his feet, which still had some red on it that looked like bloodstains.

"Don't worry, the ochre mixes up the pigment."

"It's very impressive," Zhang Heng commented.

Afterwards but no longer hesitating, he sauntered in.

It had to be said that although the atmosphere in front of the cellar door was created to be terrifying, the environment inside was actually quite good, only slightly damp, but the air was clear and there was no odor other than some foul odor from the earth.

Couldn't ask for more for a tunnel anymore.

After they had walked for about five minutes, the terrain began to rise again, and then the middle-aged man, who looked like a butler, stopped in front of a pair of iron ladders and temporarily handed over the oil lamp in his hand to Zhang Heng for safekeeping while he pushed open the cover of the well above his head.

There were already raindrops falling from the sky, and the two of them rejoined the street from underground, while just after climbing out, Zhang Heng saw a carriage on the side of the road.

The middle-aged man who looked like a butler took the oil lamp back from Zhang Heng's hand, "This is all I can do with you, Martin will take you to the salon next."

"Martin? Is this a synopsis from Adventures in Goose Riding, and what about you, I haven't asked your name before."

"Conseil." The butler-looking middle-aged man smiled, before bowing again, "I sincerely wish you a daily flow of literary thoughts."

"Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, it is indeed apt, thank you."

After bidding each other goodbye with Consel Zhang Heng boarded the carriage, and when he closed the door, Martin, the driver, also grabbed the reins in his hands.

Once Zhang Heng boarded the carriage after smelling the fragrance of jasmine, his entire body became drowsy afterwards, but this kind of drowsiness was different from when he inhaled a large amount of anesthetic, Zhang Heng knew that he could wake up at any time, it was more like a pastime prepared by worrying that his journey was too boring.

So Zhang Heng also relaxed his body, rested his head on the carriage and took a short nap.

I don't know exactly how long it took, but the carriage stopped again.

This time it stopped on a piece of lawn, Martin opened the door for Zhang Heng, in front of Zhang Heng was a huge mansion, this mansion is built in the middle of the mountain, the area is quite astonishing.

Zhang Heng just a brief glance, just what he saw was another garden courtyard, swimming pool, woods and even a golf course.

This time, standing in front of the gate to greet him was a female housekeeper, but she was exceptionally short, less than four feet tall, petite, with pointy ears, but has a pair of big feet, when walking around almost did not make any sound.

A name immediately surfaced in Zhang Heng's head.

--The Hobbit.

It was a fantasy race created by the English writer and poet Tolkien in his own novel, The Lord of the Rings.

"It seems that you have recognized my history, most noble guest," the female hobbit steward spoke up, "I just don't know how I should address you."

Without waiting for Zhang Heng to open his mouth, she immediately added, "There's no need to give your real name, everyone here calls each other by their pen names or the names of the characters within their respective books."

"Zhang Heng."

The female hobbit steward had a somewhat surprised expression on her face at the news.

"I'm actually working on a novel, and that's the name of the hero of my new novel." Zhang Heng said indifferently.

"Then I'm sure you'll find plenty of inspiration here." The female hobbit housekeeper said as she opened the door behind her.

This time, before even entering the door, Zhang Heng heard a garbled voice coming from inside.

"If you ask me, all popular novels, one of them counts, are shit! The authors of popular fiction, on the other hand, are the dog that produces the shit, and the only thing they'll do is wag their tails and bottomlessly pander to the public's awful aesthetic and monstrous appreciation of it! It's because of them that the bar for this line of work has been infinitely lowered." A high-pitched male voice.

"I disagree, Mr. Bastard, we don't write to make enemies of the public, and I don't deny that a portion of the best works of the era beyond were severely undervalued at the time, but you can't hate the authors who did make money just because you didn't make any during your lifetime." A strong female voice.

"Don't doubt it, I'm talking about you, Professor McGrath, and you and what you wrote just proves what I'm saying!"