Chapter 214: Death Train

Chapter 214 Death Train

"Mr. Lowe must have told you about it, that strange dream."

Byron looked pale and a bit rattled.

"Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to be a comic artist. I love comics, especially 'Naruto,' 'Inuyasha,' 'Slam Dunk,' and 'Bleach.' The way they capture a moment in time and emotion with those dynamic lines and panels, it's just amazing. It's something words alone can't do."

Byron chuckled and shook his head, looking like he was mocking himself as he slumped over the table.

"People say persistence is wisdom for the talented. For me, it feels like foolishness. I'm twenty-six now, and I've been drawing since I was twelve. Fourteen years of sending my stuff to comic magazines, and it's like they just vanish into thin air."

"Three years ago, after I graduated college, I wanted to give up and get a regular job. I threw all my drawings in the trash. A few days later, when I was taking out the garbage, I noticed my drawings were gone. The trash collection hadn't come yet, so someone must've taken them. I wondered who'd be interested in my discarded work."

Byron's eyes brightened, glistening with tears, as he spoke softly.

"It was the scavengers and homeless people. They carefully preserved my drawings, laying them out neatly. At that moment, I felt respected."

For creators, whether it's comics, novels, or music, the greatest joy isn't how much money their work makes, but knowing someone is engaging with it. That's the ultimate happiness.

"Yeah, my loyal readers are the homeless and scavengers from the suburbs. Later, while reading a book, I came across a story about trading coffee for tales. It struck me that the most genuine lives are among them. Behind their tragic circumstances are untold stories. I found new motivation and started talking to them, listening to their stories."

"I realized something profound. A truly great story isn't just about gaining immense power and defeating all enemies. What readers truly love is..."

Byron paused, then slowly said a word.

"Destiny."

"Great works are about the author's and characters' struggle against fate. It's not just about growing stronger, but about their emotions and experiences. The ending doesn't have to be perfect. Imperfection leaves room for readers to imagine and reflect."

I wholeheartedly agreed. 

Alan and I had discussed this before. In today's fast-paced culture, industrialized storytelling often leads to homogenized content, where everything feels the same.

Homogenization is the death knell for creativity. When profit becomes the main goal, it inevitably leads to the industry's decline.

The change must come from the creators themselves. Byron, this young man before me, had realized this. 

When he was about to give up, the homeless and scavengers brought him hope, leading to a rebirth.

"Two months later, I picked up my pen again and started creating comics. I nervously submitted my work. Those nights, I barely slept, especially the night before the notification. I stayed up all night, watching the dawn break. That day, I got signed. The pay was minimal, but it was recognition, a chance for more people to see my work. It was the luckiest moment of my life."

"After finishing my first work, I began preparing for the second. I wanted to create something even better. I knew I could. I had everything needed to create a great story. I had several ideas but discarded them one by one."

Byron was no longer reserved. He spoke animatedly, his pace varying, like telling a vivid story.

"And then your work, 'The Past of the Ocean Loong Clan,' came out. What was that strange dream?"

I didn't interrupt Byron. I let him speak for a long time, partly to help him calm down and partly to gradually approach the topic. 

The subway kidnapping case was highly confidential, and any abrupt questions could expose it.

Especially since the strange dream had eerie similarities to the kidnapping case. 

I instinctively felt there were no such coincidences. 

Dean's actions were too sudden. Would someone like him act so conspicuously?

"To be honest, the dream wasn't mine."

Byron scratched his head, looking embarrassed, and bowed deeply in apology.

"You've helped me so much, I can't lie to you. At the Zaka building, I claimed the dream was mine because I wanted to seize the opportunity. I didn't want to lose it. To establish myself as a professional creator who relies on sudden inspiration, I boldly said it was my dream."

I frowned but said nothing. 

Byron's journey hadn't been easy. The Zaka building was a business place, where truth and falsehood coexist. It's unfair to demand creators be honest while allowing businesspeople to be deceitful.

"It's okay. Writers need publicity. You don't have to be so modest. Continue with the dream. We're more interested in your creative process."

I reassured Byron warmly, pouring him another cup of coffee.

"It was an old scavenger who inspired me. He dreamt this dream and mentioned it casually while we were chatting. I was curious why he had such a dream. He said it might be because he read my work a lot, and his imagination grew. But he was old and couldn't create anymore, so he shared the dream with me, hoping it would inspire me to create something great."

Byron's eyes brightened again, and he exclaimed, adding quickly.

"It was the old man we saw before getting on the car."

I recalled seeing him from a distance. 

He looked like a scavenger, wearing dirty black and white clothes, with messy hair and barefoot in slippers. I didn't see his face clearly.

"What was the dream?"

"A train bound for a fatal destiny, where everyone chooses to leave this world to escape their fate!"