126. First Half of the Autobiography

Luben’s apartment was small and sparsely decorated, with bare white walls where not even a single poster could be seen. The most striking items in the entire room were a bed covered with a thin blue blanket and a desk with a chair beside it.

Dean found a framed photograph of a man and a woman on the bedside table.

The man wore a black overcoat, standing tall and straight with a stern expression. He vaguely resembled a younger Marco. The woman had long flaxen hair, a stunning face, a beauty mark at the corner of her lips, and a curvaceous figure draped in a red dress.

"Who is the woman in the photo?"

"This is a photo of Mary and me, back before she gave birth to Luben," Marco said, a look of nostalgia flashing in his eyes.

Dean memorized the woman's face and then turned to examine the desk.

Books were piled into chaotic little mountains on the desk. There were tales praising indomitable spirit like *The Old Man and the Sea*, and fantasies like *Alice in Wonderland*. But by far the most numerous were romance novels such as *The Great Gatsby* and *Jane Eyre*.

Dean casually flipped open a copy of *Character Shaping for Villains*. Every page was creased and covered in notes written in neat, graceful handwriting.

"Well, even if Luben lacked raw talent for writing, he worked diligently to hone his craft." Dean put the book down. His perspective swept underneath the bed and through the wardrobe, but unfortunately, there was nothing there except ordinary clothing and similar mundane items.

"Wasn't there a typewriter in the house?"

"I bought Luben one, but he sold it. He believed that pure handwritten composition brought him inspiration more easily," Marco explained.

"Then where are the handwritten drafts? He spent all day holed up in his apartment writing. Logically speaking, the manuscripts and drafts he produced should have piled up into a mountain by now," Dean asked again.

"Unfortunately, according to Luben's good friend Jero, about a week before he went missing, Luben threw all of his manuscripts into the Truckee River." Marco glanced around the room, a trace of sorrow flitting across his eyes.

"Why would he do that?"

Dean found it unimaginable. What level of despair must an author reach to ruthlessly destroy years of painstaking work? This era was unlike later generations with the internet and USB drives, where everything could be backed up and recorded. Once it was gone, it was gone.

"His works, refined through six years of dedicated writing, were rejected by multiple publishing houses yet again," Marco said expressionlessly. "He couldn't accept reality and made a breakdown decision."

Dean's expression grew a bit heavier. When a person suffers severe psychological trauma, they might act on impulse and do something irreversible.

The probability of Luben having fallen into the river increased once more.

However, to prevent Marco from suffering a heart attack out of anger, he temporarily kept this possibility to himself.

"What was his new work actually about?" Dean rubbed his sore eyes and picked up another book to inspect it.

"I only remember it was a boring and melodramatic romance story set in Reno," Marco evaluated succinctly.

Though understatement personified, this single sentence caused Dean's investigation progress to jump by one percent, bringing it to twenty-one percent.

"Can you tell me the specifics?"

"Sorry, I only glanced through it casually back then, and at my age, my memory isn't good. I really can't remember. My only impression was that it was extremely tedious, filled with the naive fantasies of a middle-aged loser." The old man changed the subject. "Let's not talk about that boring book. Have you made any new discoveries?"

"Do you actually want to find your son or not?" Dean crossed his arms and warned the old man. "If you keep holding things back like this, don't blame me if I can't find him."

"I don't understand what an unpublished work has to do with a missing persons case! It's just a worthless book! Nothing more!" The old man furrowed his orange-peel-like face, inexplicably showing a hint of indignation.

"On the contrary, regardless of whether a work is commercially successful or publishable, it carries the ideals and passions of its author. Perhaps we can use it to catch a glimpse of Luben's inner thoughts."

Dean stared at the stubborn old man for a full half minute.

The other man's face shifted between pale and flushed before he finally conceded.

"Before Luben went missing, he frequently communicated with his only friend, Jero Catton. Perhaps he has read it." The old man pulled a pager from his briefcase and pushed open the front door. "Wait a moment, I'll make a call."

Five minutes later, Marco returned with neither good nor bad news.

"Jero is currently away on a business trip and won't be back in Reno until tomorrow morning. I've arranged for you to meet him at Bibow Coffee on Virginia Street."

"Then I'll go pay him a visit when the time comes. You're getting up in years, head back and rest first. I'm going to keep working."

Marco left with a weary expression.

Dean sat down in the chair, pulled a copy of *Divorce City: Reno* from the stack of books, and began to read. He intended to read through every single book to see if he could glean any clues from the marginalia.

***

Early the next morning.

Dean woke from his red dragon meditation. When he opened his eyes, yesterday's fatigue was entirely gone, and he felt supremely energetic.

He hopped off the bed, twisted his joints to loosen up his muscles, and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

Flashbacks of last night's experience flickered through his mind.

Those notes totaled over a million words. Judging by the margins, Luben was someone cold on the outside yet intensely warm on the inside, possessing an extraordinarily rich imagination. For every expression of a character in his stories—a blink of an eye, a touch of the hair—he would annotate a lengthy, meticulous psychological analysis supplemented by his own wildly imaginative inner monologues.

For instance, he had managed to turn a restaurant waiter's polite, routine smile toward the protagonist into an elaborate backstory of unrequited love lasting several years.

***

Furthermore, Luben was just as stubborn as his father, Marco.

In various notes, he boldly wrote about his intense yearning for a lifelong romance.

Whenever he encountered a muse that struck him at first sight, he would willingly sacrifice his life.

Consequently, he had scattered over a hundred varied, cliché-ridden plots of heroes saving damsels in distress throughout his notes—battling villains, transplanting bone marrow to save a terminally ill lover...

It made Dean's head throb slightly.

Yet the investigation progress also rose from twenty-one percent to thirty percent.

From this, Dean marked down his newest clue:
4. Luben was utterly obsessed with romantic fantasies and unable to extricate himself.

***

Nine in the morning.

The morning light was lazy. The small town of Reno was still slumbering within the lingering dreams of the previous night, peaceful and leisurely.

As agreed upon the night before, Dean met Jero Catton at a café in the center of Virginia Street.

Jero wore a black wool coat and carried a black briefcase. He was of medium build, with fair skin, neatly parted short hair, and carefully groomed facial hair. Behind his eyeglass lenses, his gaze was gentle, giving him a refined and handsome appearance.

"You must be the new detective Marco hired. Truly young and promising."

"Dean Lu, from Las Vegas." Dean reached out to shake his hand lightly, then ordered a black coffee and a caviar sandwich. "Marco told me you were Luben's best friend, so there are some related matters I'd like to consult you about."

"Luben was my university classmate and a brother for life. As long as I can help, just ask." Jero nodded solemnly, appearing very enthusiastic.

Dean weighed the other man's demeanor.

"So you're an editor at a publishing house?"

"Yes, working for a local Reno publisher."

"Did Luben ever submit his manuscripts to your publishing house?"

"I recommended his work to the higher-ups many times, but unfortunately," Jero dropped a sugar cube into his coffee and sighed regretfully, "my position isn't high, and my voice carries no weight. The publishing house always maintained that Luben's work lacked commercial value and refused to accept it."

"Then what is your opinion? How was Luben's work, really?"

"To be honest, his writing style was superb and his imagination rich, but his plots were a bit cliché," Jero shook his head with regret. "If he had listened to my advice, refined his prose, and trimmed some of the romance content, he certainly would have had potential."

"And what about Luben as a person?" Dean grabbed the caviar sandwich, took a large bite, chewed it a few times, and swallowed.

"Stubborn, bad at communicating with strangers, liked thinking quietly by himself, sensitive, and emotionally unstable." The black eyes behind Jero's thick lenses flashed with the light of memory. "But his virtues were greater. He was eager to help friends, and several times he borrowed money to help me through tough times. He was genuinely sincere and almost never lied or deceived."

"Moreover, he was focused and passionate about his work. Once he chose the path of writing, he poured his whole heart into it, undisturbed by external influences. I've only ever seen such precious qualities in biographies of historical figures," Jero said earnestly. "I always believed that as long as Luben kept that focus, in ten or twenty years, he would sooner or later create the miracle of becoming famous with a single book."

Dean couldn't help feeling surprised; this was a remarkably high evaluation.

"That's not what Marco said."

"Marco is a strict father. He placed high hopes on Luben, so naturally, his demands were higher," Jero sipped his coffee and continued, "Besides, Marco is bad at expressing himself. Even though he cares deeply about Luben, apart from putting on a fatherly air, he doesn't know how to offer soft words of comfort."

"A very apt assessment." Dean wiped the bread crumbs from his hands, recalling Marco's sharp tongue and soft heart, and his mind wandered to his own father from his past life, as well as countless fathers in the Heavenly Empire.

They were similarly silent, busy with work, bearing the heavy burdens of family and life.

They simply didn't know how to communicate with their children, nor did they wish to try.

The estrangement between father and child grew deeper and deeper, leaving little to say even when they met face-to-face.

***

"Marco told me that after Luben was rejected by the publishers once more, he threw all his previous manuscripts into the Truckee River," Dean asked. "Have you read these works?"

"As his best friend, I was fortunate enough to read most of them." Jero took a final sip of his coffee to moisten his throat. "Most of his works described romance stories set in Reno's history, infused with some special fantasies."

"What kind of fantasies?"

"For instance, legendary vampires, werewolves, and various mythical monsters attacking a single woman on the street beneath the charming night lights of the small town, while the protagonist swoops in out of nowhere to play the hero saving the damsel, leading the two into a romantic love story."

"An active imagination." Dean forced himself to swallow the melodrama and offered a strained compliment. "What about Luben's latest work?"

"His latest work was the product of his blood, sweat, and tears," Jero's expression darkened as he shook his head with a sense of injustice. "It was the culmination of his thoughts and writing style, the final stubborn defiance of an author. It fully reached publication standards. What a pity that my colleagues rejected this masterpiece."

"The book is called *Luben Van Helsing*, and it's autobiographical in nature. Well, whether famous or unknown, every writer's ultimate defiance is to write an autobiography."

Dean wiped the bread crumbs off his hands. "But Luben is only in his thirties, with no wife or children, and hasn't even lived through the second half of his life. What kind of autobiography is that?"

"That's why he added a heavy dose of fantasy to flesh it out," Jero explained, stirring his coffee. "In the book, Luben portrays the first half of his life growing up in Reno from a first-person perspective, detailing his devotion to writing and the history of his hometown Reno, alongside his longing for a perfect love."

"Regrettably, the protagonist in the book fails to get his work published, dragging it out until his thirties to become a poor and lonely freelance writer."

"But God does not always deal out misfortune."

"One day, Luben's luck finally turns, and he meets the romance he has longed for."

Jero spoke word by word, turning his head to look behind them. "Do you see that bridge over the Truckee River?"

"Of course, the Virginia Street Bridge." Dean raised an eyebrow, somewhat unaccustomed to the other man's abrupt change of topic.

"Then do you know the significance of the Virginia Street Bridge in the history of this small town?" Jero asked.

"Women who have successfully divorced will stand on the bridge and remove their wedding rings, tossing them into the flowing waters of the Truckee River. It signifies the end of a marriage," Dean replied, recalling Marco's earlier explanation.

"And then, they encounter a handsome cowboy near the divorce tents or the Silver State Cabins? And begin a wonderful, brand-new romance?" Jero picked up the thread, his tone shifting as he shook his head with a trace of irony.

"Farewell to the past, embrace the future—how lovely, how glorious. Unfortunately, this beautiful fantasy is merely a gimmick used by the Reno government to attract tourists."

"Not every woman can happily and carefree begin a new relationship after tossing away her wedding ring. Some women remain mired in the past, deeply feeling that their sincere hearts were met with ruthlessness, wasting a great deal of youth. These complex emotions breed suicidal thoughts; they climb over the railing of the Virginia Street Bridge and—jump."

"Plop!"

Jero gazed at the bridge, the five fingers of his right hand clenching like splashing water before parting again.

Dean's heart skipped a beat along with the gesture.

"The story in Luben's book begins right here."

"Late one night, this frustrated writer leaves a lovers' bar, slightly drunk. On his way back to his apartment via the bridge, he accidentally spots a woman sitting on the railing preparing to end her life. Even just a view of her back in a red dress reveals her curvaceous figure and fair skin."

The bright morning sunlight suddenly dimmed for a moment, and a cold gust of wind howled down Virginia Street.

Brushing past the back of Dean's neck, it sent a shiver through his entire body.

The pitch-black midnight, a slightly drunk Luben, a woman in a red dress sitting by the bridge ready to jump into the river.

This atmosphere felt somewhat off.

He interrupted Jero, his expression turning solemn.

"Mr. Jero, is what you just told me a story, or was it an actual experience from Luben's life?"

"If it were reality, Luben would have shared it with me. So this is one hundred percent a fictional story," Jero said, noticing the solemn expression of his listener, and continued.

"Under the influence of alcohol and feminine beauty, Luben burst out with unprecedented courage. Taking advantage of the woman's lack of attention, he rushed to the bridge in one breath, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her off the railing, and dragged her back from the abyss of death."

"And when Luben saw her face, his soul left his body, making him forget everything else."

Jero's gaze drifted into the distance, as if he were witnessing the scene himself.

"That face—wasn't it precisely the muse he had dreamed of day and night?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. The beauty mark at the corner of the lip—he remembered that.

"Luben fell in love with the woman at first sight on the spot, gently comforting her and asking the reason behind her suicidal thoughts. Stirred by the night breeze, the woman also snapped out of her earlier impulse and felt immensely grateful to her savior."

"With complex emotions in their hearts, the two sat leaning against the dwarf trees by the bridge, pouring their hearts out to one another... As they learned of each other's past life experiences, the conversation flowed easier and easier."

"Beside the Virginia Street Bridge, under the cozy night scenery."

"Two battered souls slowly drew closer, licking each other's wounds."

"A beautiful romance began right there."

The narrative came to an abrupt halt.

"Go on," Dean urged. "Did they end up together? Where did they go next?"

"Sorry, that is the entirety of the first half of *Luben Van Helsing*, and I've only read the first half," Jero said regretfully, shaking his head. "Luben intended to let me read the second half after it passed publisher review."

"Unfortunately, he didn't live to see that day. Because of the rejections, he threw all the manuscripts into the Truckee River beneath the bridge, and then he disappeared."

"No copies?" Dean asked.

"I don't have any."

"Then do you think the editors Luben approached still remember the contents of the book?"

Jero shook his head with absolute certainty. "Reviewing manuscripts doesn't require reading the whole book. Besides, half a year has passed, and editors have to review a huge volume of other submissions every day. How could they possibly remember rejected trash?"

Hoo... ha...

Dean suppressed his sense of frustration and glanced at the system interface.

Following Jero's half-told story, the investigation progress jumped from thirty percent to forty percent.

Luben's disappearance was undeniably connected to the plot of his autobiography!

***

"I've told you everything I know." Jero glanced at the wall clock inside the café, noticing that the time had unconsciously reached eleven in the morning.

"I need to get back to work." He handed Dean a business card and left money for the coffee. "If you have any further questions, feel free to call me or page me."

Jero stared fixedly into Dean's eyes and nodded solemnly.

"As long as we can find Luben, I will give it my all."

"Mm."

***

Watching Jero's retreating figure.

Dean rubbed his temples and began backtracking through the clues he had gathered over the past two days.

1. Luben Van Helsing was a destitute, struggling writer living off the financial support of his father, Marco.
2. Reno was the "Divorce Capital of the World," possessing a long history of bitter romance, and the Virginia Street Bridge held profound significance in that history.
3. Luben had always aspired to find a girlfriend as perfect as his mother, the deceased Mary Van Helsing.
4. Luben was obsessed with romantic fantasies and unable to extricate himself.
5. Luben had written an autobiography for himself, in which he rescued a beautiful woman attempting suicide on the Virginia Street Bridge and fell in love with her at first sight.

***

Dean checked these clues over and over again several times.

An idea sparked in his mind, but it remained elusive, like a cloud in the sky—visible yet untouchable.

"We still lack a crucial clue. I need to find a copy of Luben's autobiography, or at least a copy of the first half."

The image of that stubborn old man's face surfaced in his mind once more, along with his extreme aversion toward Luben's autobiography.

"Marco definitely knows something inside information. I have to make him talk!"