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Chapter 323: Invading Brain Cells (23)
Chapter 323: Invading Brain Cells (23)
Reichenbach Falls, nestled within the Swiss Alps near Meiringen.
The waterfall’s banks rose like jagged cliffs of black coal, framing a colossal crevice where the river plunged downward. Below, the chasm narrowed, and the milk-white torrents roared into an unfathomable abyss, their surging spray cascading like thunderous waves. The relentless cascade churned with a deafening rumble, its dense, trembling veil of water crashing endlessly.
The falls thundered into a bottomless pit, their mist soaring like smoke from a burning house. The deafening chaos made one’s head spin, while waves slamming against the black rocks erupted in growls like furious beasts.
Feng Bu Jue had always felt this place reeked of ill omen. In reality, Conan Doyle had conceived Sherlock Holmes’s demise here. In fiction, the criminal mastermind and the detective god had annihilated each other at this very spot.
Of course, Sherlock Holmes had later risen from the dead through the author’s pen, while Professor Moriarty had perished here forever.
“What exactly am I supposed to see here…?” Feng Bu Jue stared at the cascading water, gazing into the shadowy abyss below as if it might swallow him whole.
The burning time of the matchstick felt far longer than imagined. If the little match girl had possessed a whole box like this, she might have survived the night without freezing to death.
“Oh, here they come…” Feng Bu Jue’s eyes locked onto two figures ascending the narrow path.
One was the legendary detective, Sherlock Holmes. Standing nearly six feet tall, his lean frame was unmistakable. His face was blurred, but Feng Bu Jue had no doubt—this was Holmes. The other man, clearly over fifty years old, confirmed it. (Holmes was born in 1854, making him around forty during his final case.)
The older man, naturally, was Professor Moriarty himself.
The two exchanged words on the narrow path, their conversation drowned out by the waterfall’s roar. Their gestures, however, remained impeccably polite.
Feng Bu Jue truly admired their composure. Holmes knew Moriarty’s intentions and the deadly struggle awaiting him, yet faced death with calm resolve. Moriarty, confronting the man who had destroyed his empire, maintained his dignity even in his vengeful final moments.
After several minutes of discussion, Moriarty nodded. Holmes retrieved a letter from his coat—the final words for Watson. Soon, the letter, his cigarette case, and cane lay abandoned on the narrow path.
Then, the two walked forward together.
As a child, Feng Bu Jue had deduced from the text that Moriarty carried a weapon. (The original passage described Moriarty attacking Holmes with: “He did not draw his weapon, only rushing at me suddenly.”) There was a 100% chance a handgun lurked in his pocket—otherwise, Holmes would never have approached the falls.
Yet Conan Doyle never explicitly wrote of Moriarty drawing his gun. This subtle characterization revealed the author’s mastery.
In an 80s American detective film, this scene would have featured a foul-mouthed villain prodding a perpetually grim hero down the narrow path, gun in hand, shoving and kicking him forward.
But these characters would never stoop to such theatrics.
As two brilliant, refined gentlemen—albeit twisted ones—there was no need for drawn swords or dramatic posturing. Since both knew the gun existed in the other’s pocket, they could simply converse politely before proceeding as fate demanded.
“So far, this matches the book(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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