Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 118 Where is that Mr. Hakimi making his fortune now?

"This is...this is too outrageous! It's just a poem—"

"Of course it's true, I have reliable connections, through my friend's brother's brother-in-law's uncle—"

"Alright, the magazine is right there, take it and read it yourself." Manager William quickly interrupted him and began wiping away stains that weren't even there on the bar.

After all, I've been running this shop for so long and I've seen my fair share of weirdos. What else can I do in this situation? I can only go along with it.

More and more people gradually came in, most ordering the cheapest coffee and then searching for Bentley Weekly. Luckily, William had learned from his experience with the necklace and bought quite a few more, otherwise, he really wouldn't have enough to read now.

"The Hall of Foyle Street?" The first person to receive the magazine quickly flipped it open and saw such an incomprehensible title.

"Brilliant, brilliant!" exclaimed a worker wearing a baseball cap, slapping his thigh.

A blacksmith across from him put down his copy of Bentley Weekly and asked, "What's so wonderful about it?"

"His brilliance lies in the fact that, uh, it was written by that Mr. Dorian—" The worker chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

Meanwhile, at another table, a housewife looked melancholy, as if she had thought of something sad, and a crystal tear slid down her cheek.

"This is so well written!"

"Is there anything touching about this poem?" the vendor sitting opposite the housewife asked politely.

Could it be another person who didn't even understand the show before putting on an act?

He read the whole thing and felt it was indeed very well written, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He just had a vague, indescribable feeling about it.

It's like drinking very strong liquor.

"And so I triumphed after passion swept over me, before it left me a withered shell, leaving me with a numb heart and prejudiced eyes—" the housewife murmured, reciting the lines of poetry. "It reminds me of when I was a little girl, when I had boundless passion for love—but isn't that how it is now? A numb heart, prejudiced eyes—"

"So does anyone know what this poem has to do with the title 'The Hall of Foyle Street'?" A bakery owner couldn't help but ask the people in the café after reading the magazine.

"I don't know, I haven't even seen that word in the poem—"

"Yes, so what does this 'hall' mean?"

"I believe this must express the author's homesickness —"

"I have a bold idea: could it be that this name is actually unrelated to the main text? As far as I know, Saint George..."

"How could that be? Do you think great writers are as casual as us? There must be a deeper meaning behind it that we haven't even thought of yet—what's that word again? Metaphor! Yes, metaphor—"

Just then, someone said, "In my opinion, this poem would still be very good even if it were published in the Iris category!"

And look at that Mr. Hakimi, he still doesn't dare to show his true face, and his book "The Million Pound Note" has poisoned the world. Now he's shamelessly fabricating stories about demi-humans.

Immediately, many people in the coffee shop began to echo this sentiment: "Exactly! That Mr. Hakimi is always writing things that smear the empire; he's practically alienating himself from the people! He has absolutely no class!"

"Who does he think he is, being so popular with the masses? The citizens of Lentinion have already taught him the harshest lesson! My brother works at a printing press, and he says that the Lentinion Weekly's print run has been plummeting lately; nobody's even reading that 'Foolish Wilson' thing anymore—"

"Alas, what a pity. Mr. Hakimi was quite interesting at first, at least when he first started writing jokes."

I feel that the quality of Mr. Hakimi's jokes has been declining lately; they've really gone astray.

"Where is Mr. Hakimi making his fortune now? We haven't heard from him at all!"

Admittedly, not everyone shares this view, but as more and more people echo the sentiment of criticizing Mr. Hakimi, those who still enjoy watching it find it difficult to say anything.

Whether people were discussing "The Hall of Foyle Street" or criticizing "Fool Wilson," Manager William didn't care at all.

Since everyone who comes is a customer, even if each person only orders the cheapest cup of coffee, the business can still make a lot of money in a day.

Without realizing it, he began to secretly hope that Dorian would write more.

And so, in the streets and alleys of Lentinion, even the workers, merchants, and housewives who knew little about poetry began to chatter on, brandishing a few lines of verse they had heard from others, as if they could offer their opinions on "The Hall on Foyle Street."

That will prove your taste.

Meanwhile, Mr. Hakimi's "Fool Wilson" remained lukewarm at best.

"—Who in their right mind reads that Mr. Hakimi's books? I didn't read 'The Million Pound Note' back when it was still being serialized. I knew something was off back then!" The man who had mentioned having a younger brother working at a printing factory laughed heartily. "Alright, brothers, I have to go to work this afternoon. I'm off. You guys continue, you guys continue—"

The man left Blue Sun Cafe, but instead of heading to his workplace, he went to a printing factory.

He expertly handed a cigarette to the gatekeeper, who then let him into the factory area. He didn't linger, heading straight for the printing workshop.

"Hey bro, has the latest issue of the 'Lentinion Weekly' been printed yet?" the man asked a man who was adjusting the rollers as he walked into a printing workshop.

"Brother? Didn't I tell you not to come looking for me? The unreleased typeset version is a trade secret and can't be leaked to anyone, not even my brother!"

"Good brother, let me see! I really want to know who that mysterious woman who appeared in the room is!"

"No, if we keep going like this and get caught, we'll all be arrested!" The younger brother pushed away his older brother who was leaning in, and used a wooden board to cover the lead type that had been laid out on the printing table.

"Just one look, just one look! This is all I can think about right now, I'm even distracted and making mistakes!" The man persisted, still trying to get closer. "You've already formatted everything, just let me peek through a crack to see who she is, it won't take up much of your time!"

"No means no, that's the rule!" The younger brother held the wooden board firmly, refusing to budge an inch. "If the editor-in-chief finds out I leaked the plot beforehand, I'll lose my job!"

"How about this, you've already finished typing, you must know the content of this issue." Seeing that his younger brother wouldn't budge, the man changed his approach, "Now you can tell me who that woman in the red dress is."

"I don't know either."

"Um?"

"This episode also features Li Mei discussing this topic."

"What? Damn it, do I have to wait another week?!" The man was annoyed by the answer.

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