When Lionel Sorel re-entered Mrs. Martin's apartment, he was greeted with flattery and awe from everyone.
Petty's mother even called him 'Mr. Sorel'.
"What a pathetic barrier..." Lionel muttered to himself, while mentioning his move to Mrs. Martin.
Mrs. Martin seemed to have anticipated this day, showing no surprise, and coldly settled the rent with Lionel.
Compared to others, she didn't need to show Lionel such reverence.
After all, in Paris, an old widow like her who owned an entire apartment building for rent wouldn't be short on money; for 30 years, she had seen many foreigners rise and fall in the decadent city of desires.
Many of them rose faster and more spectacularly than Lionel, but often within a few years, their obituaries would appear in the newspapers.
When Lionel came to Paris for university, he only brought two suitcases containing clothes, blankets, and books; this time, he also left with only these two suitcases, as well as the pots and pans Petty had bought before she fell ill.
He quickly packed his few belongings, leaving behind some miscellaneous items like a half-burnt candle, soap as thin as paper, and the iron rack used for warming food.
Returning to the first floor, Jacques, the coachman in Mrs. Martin's apartment, eagerly approached him: "Mr. Sorel... Sir, do you need me to take you to your new residence? For just 2 francs, I can take you anywhere in Paris."
The small, one-horse carriage Jacques drove could carry both people and goods; however, the old horse's backside was as thin as two deflated loaves of bread, making it highly questionable whether it could truly take Lionel "anywhere in Paris."
Lionel shook his head: "I've already hired a carriage..."
No sooner had he spoken than everyone heard the crisp sound of hooves outside the door, followed by the 'clanging' of a brass bell—clearly the kind of fine carriage that cost at least 15 francs a day.
Lionel felt no lingering reluctance; he exchanged a few words with Petty's parents, then picked up his luggage and got into the 'Cabriolet' carriage outside, disappearing down Oberkampf Street with the sound of hooves.
The tenants of Mrs. Martin's apartment stood under the eaves of the doorway, discussing for a long time before dispersing.
Lionel first went to the bank to withdraw 500 francs in cash, of which 270 francs were for two months' deposit and this month's rent for the new apartment, and another 50 francs for this month's meal plan; the remainder was for essential purchases and living expenses for the foreseeable future.
Watching his bank balance rapidly drop from four digits to three, Lionel felt a pang of heartache—he truly didn't realize how little money he had until he came to Paris.
Fortunately, he still had a 1500-franc bill of exchange, which theoretically couldn't be cashed for three months, but if he really needed money, he could sell it on the market for a lump sum.
Coupled with the remaining money in his savings account and his weekly column fees from The Clamor, he could afford a decent life in Paris for one to two years.
By evening, Lionel had settled into his residence on the fifth floor of 12 An Tan Street.
The administrator, Enzo Roy, meticulously explained every detail of the room before handing the key to Lionel, saluting him, and then exiting the room.
Lionel finally relaxed, lying on his large bed, enjoying a softness he had never experienced in Mrs. Martin's attic apartment, and couldn't help but begin to imagine his future life.
But an untimely knock came at the apartment door, and Lionel quickly straightened his clothes, going to the front hall to open it.
Standing at the door was an exceptionally handsome man, slightly taller than the already quite tall Lionel, with hair and beard waxed and meticulously combed, so shiny they reflected light.
As soon as he saw Lionel open the door, he broke into an extremely brilliant smile: "Good evening, neighbor. I am Lucian de Pinsay, I live in room 505."
Lionel's room number was 502; room 505 was at the end of the corridor, what would be called a 'corner unit' today, the largest, most spacious, and best-decorated apartment on the fifth floor.
Lionel couldn't immediately grasp the other's intention, but he politely returned the greeting: "Lionel, Lionel Sorel, good evening."
Lucian's smile remained charming: "You were also looking at the apartment today, weren't you? I was right next to you then, hmm, in room 503, and I heard some commotion... If Petty hadn't been clinging to me, I would have come out to greet you sooner!
You know, a woman's thighs in the throes of passion are harder to escape than the chains of the Bastille..."
Lucian spoke of his romantic escapades to Lionel, a stranger he had just met, without any reservation, even with a hint of showing off, which left Lionel somewhat speechless and awkward.
But Lucian didn't care, and said cheerfully: "It's wonderful to have a young man like you move in. This apartment is full of boring businessmen, engineers, and accountants; they aren't even willing to go to the nearby opera house to see one of my performances—
Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, I'm an actor, I work at the opera house, and I'm about to become a lead performer..."
This was Lionel's first time encountering such a self-familiar person in Paris, and watching the other's animated expression, he didn't know how to interrupt for a while.
However, fortunately, footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and a breathless, middle-aged, portly man appeared in the corridor. Lucian immediately turned around and greeted him with equally exaggerated enthusiasm: "Oh, my esteemed Lord Greenhett, good evening! May God bless you!"
The portly Greenhett quickly took off his hat and returned the greeting: "Good evening, Lucian, thank you for your blessing, and may God bless you too."
After a brief exchange of greetings with Lionel, they heard the door to room 503 open, and a sweet female voice from inside the room said: "Darling, welcome home!"
Greenhett's face broke into a smile, and he walked in with outstretched arms, presumably to embrace the woman who greeted him, kicking the door shut with his foot.
Lucian turned back, his expression unchanged, and he genuinely praised: "They are the model couple in this building. Greenhett is a salesman for 'Schneider Electric' and earns 5000 francs a year;
Petty is a good woman; she cooks dinner for her husband every night, hmm, it's delicious..."
Lionel really wanted to ask him if "delicious" referred to Petty's cooking or Petty herself.
Lucian suddenly invited him: "Did you sign up for the meal plan? The time is just right now, we can go to the restaurant on the first floor."
Lionel looked at the 'social butterfly' Lucian in front of him, and an idea suddenly sparked in his mind—
For the past few days, he had been struggling to write a good opening for his novel, "the decadent city"; the original "Jin Ping Mei" started with Wu Song's revenge from "Water Margin", which certainly wouldn't work in France; but this unrestrained, glib opera actor in front of him, wasn't he the perfect entry point for the story?
Thinking this, Lionel also broke into a brilliant smile: "The honor is all mine, Mr. Pinsay."