128. The Imitation Game

Dean used the phone in Marco's house to call Tribeca back in Las Vegas.

"Dean, I forgot to mention something to you earlier," the elderly woman's gentle voice came through the phone. "Marco that old man has a bad temper and poor health. If he said anything offensive to you, please bear with him and don't get him too angry."

"Don't worry, we're getting along quite well." Dean turned to look at the old man beside him. "Let's get down to business. I've run into a problem and wanted to ask for your advice."

Dean recounted his discovery and the deductions he had made from it.

"Your intuition is as sharp as ever," Tribeca praised. "Anyone else would rack their brains and never think of such a possibility."

"Could a story from a book actually happen in real life?" Dean asked.

"I haven't experienced it myself, nor have I heard of any firsthand accounts, so I can't give you a definitive answer. I can only share a legendary story for reference."

Dean perked up.

The woman continued, "An ancient and noble king had a dream of a woman of stunning beauty, whose attire and demeanor closely resembled the goddess of harvest, who was deeply respected and loved by the people."

"The king fell in love with her at first sight and searched the world for the most skilled painters to capture the goddess's appearance from his dream, but none of them could satisfy him."

"So he taught himself to paint, honing his skills day and night, pouring his heart and soul into it, even neglecting affairs of state. After more than a decade, he finally recreated the breathtaking beauty of the goddess from his dream with his own hands."

"That very night, the goddess stepped out of the frame, came into reality, and married the king."

...

"This legend is a classic example of fantasy turning into reality. Although it's just a story from inside my book, I can still help you roughly analyze some information," Tribeca summarized thoughtfully. "For an ordinary person under normal circumstances, turning fantasy into reality is utterly impossible."

"It requires at least three key elements."

"What would those be?" Dean held his breath.

"First, the king was of noble status, and his bloodline and background were far from ordinary."

"Secondly, the king possessed an intense obsession that made him willing to endure monotony and boredom, devoutly honing his painting skills day after day for over a decade."

"Thirdly, the subject of the king's painting was not something mortal, but the goddess of harvest, upon whom the faith and spirit of countless people were converged."

...

Dean nodded continuously. Based on this analysis, if the plot in Lubben's book could become reality, it should also meet these three conditions.

Was Lubben's obsession strong?

He had loved writing since childhood, persisted in it for over thirty years, lived in a rundown apartment to focus on his craft, and faced numerous rejections from publishing houses without ever giving up. Such willpower could certainly be called strong.

Secondly, although the people in Lubben's book were characters he created based on his mother as a prototype, the setting of the story took place on the Virginia Street Bridge—a vital historical monument in Reno's divorce history.

In the past, countless divorced couples had thrown their wedding rings off that bridge, imbuing it with their blessings and hopes of bidding farewell to the past and embracing a new beginning, thus containing strong human spiritual intentions.

Dean believed that even ethereal spiritual willpower, when accumulated, could reach a qualitative change.

Just as Taim had once said—human emotions contain a power strong enough to create miracles.

...

Two of the three prerequisites were nearly matched.

The investigation progress jumped to fifty percent!

Dean's heart steadied; that clumsy writer Lubben might really have created a miracle!

Only the last condition remained.

He clutched the receiver and asked, "Tribeca, how much do you know about Marco's family?"

The woman on the other end of the phone fell strangely silent.

Behind him, Marco couldn't help but speak up.

"Do you take me for air? Why bother asking her? In my memory, every generation of our family has been ordinary people, including my father. I've never seen them display any supernatural abilities; they just liked collecting some weird, quirky pieces of junk and antiques related to the occult. But most of those were sold off or lost long ago, leaving only three items."

Dean felt a slight disappointment, but upon second thought, perhaps one of these collection items possessed some kind of magical property?

"Can you take me to see these collections?"

"To be honest with you, the remaining three collection items were all taken away by Lubben under the pretext of seeking inspiration, and then he disappeared along with them," Marco said with regret. "You'll have to find the person first."

As he spoke, Marco snatched the receiver from Dean's hand. "It's me. Cough, cough, tell me the truth, is this detective you recommended actually reliable?"

"..."

Publicly questioned to his face, Dean's expression stiffened for a moment before he comforted himself that geniuses and extraordinary individuals are inevitably misunderstood by ordinary mortals.

...

Hanging up the phone, Marco returned to the living room sofa and looked at Dean with a complex expression. "So, you think the dream goddess from Lubben's book came into the real world and took him away at the Virginia Street Bridge?"

"That's right. Could you stop looking at me with that absurd expression..."

"Fine. But as Lubben's father, I had no idea things he wrote could turn into reality; otherwise, he would have written himself into a billionaire ages ago." Marco shook his head.

"You didn't hear Tribeca's explanation. It's not a matter of getting whatever you write. This ability to turn the illusory into reality has strict conditional limits. And Lubben's autobiography, with its deep historical foundation, the dream goddess, combined with the special plot he constructed, happened to meet all the conditions," Dean replied with an unchanged expression.

"Your words remind me of the time I visited a psychiatric hospital to talk to patients with delusions," Marco said with a concerned look.

"As long as we can find Lubben, what does it matter if I'm crazy?" Dean didn't want to argue anymore. "Besides, you've already asked the police and other detectives to conduct a massive investigation using conventional methods—did it do any good?"

Marco's expression darkened.

"Don't you dare try my way? If this drags on any longer, Lubben might not even be alive."

"A sharp-tongued kid." Marco suppressed his sense of absurdity and sighed. "Then let's assume the plot in the book became reality. How are we supposed to find him?"

"Lubben's destination after disappearing should be written in the second half of his autobiography," Dean analyzed calmly.

Marco shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I truly don't have that book on hand, and no one else could possibly have it either, because it has already fallen into the Truckee River."

That presented a difficult problem.

Neither of them knew anything about the plot of the second half, so they couldn't track down Lubben's whereabouts based on it.

What should be done at a time like this?

...

The hall suddenly grew so quiet that a pin dropping could be heard.

Marco went to pour two cups of hot tea and quietly waited for the young man across from him.

Dean clasped his hands together to support his chin, a glint of contemplation flashing in his eyes.

Thump, thump...

The steady heartbeat was like the ticking pendulum of a clock.

Time ticked by second by second.

At a certain moment, Dean stood up from the sofa, paced around the living room a few times, muttering to himself,

"I am not Lubben, and I could never guess what plot he wrote in the second half of the book."

"I am not him, so I can't figure it out."

"Then what if I were him?" A flash of light appeared in Dean's eyes, as if lightning had torn through the fog in his mind. "If I immerse myself in Lubben, if I become Lubben..."

"Speak up, what did you discover?" Marco rubbed his ears.

Dean placed *Lubben van Helsing* on the coffee table and flipped to a certain passage.

"The plot of Lubben playing the hero to save the damsel in distress takes place at midnight. Have you checked the Virginia Street Bridge at that time?"

"If not ten times in the past six months, then seven or eight times. I've stayed up guarding the bridge all night without closing my eyes once," Marco said regretfully. "But I am one hundred percent certain there is no red-dressed woman jumping off the bridge. Aside from bats, there isn't even a ghost of a shadow."

...

Dean nodded.

Going to the Virginia Street Bridge completely unprepared would yield no results because that did not match the plot in the book.

However, Dean possessed the ability of morphing, which allowed him to perfectly replicate the plot of the first half.

"What if I morph into him, wear Lubben's face, skin, and build, put on the black trench coat, the black straight-leg jeans, and the black leather shoes described in the book, get dead drunk at the Lovers' Bar, and rush to the Virginia Street Bridge at midnight? Wouldn't I be able to see the woman in red and push the story in the book to continue developing?"

"And find the whereabouts of the real Lubben!"

Let's do it!

A flame flashed in Dean's eyes; he had no other choice left!

...

But immediately, a new problem presented itself.

To morph into Lubben, Dean first needed to analyze a sample of Lubben's blood. But Lubben had been missing for half a year—where was he supposed to get blood?

He looked at Marco with a sliver of hope. The old man was looking at him with pity, much like a doctor looking at a terminal patient.

"Do you have any of Lubben's blood on hand?" Dean asked.

"What do you want to use it for?" Marco looked puzzled, failing to keep up with the other's train of thought.

"I have my uses for it. In short, if you want to find your son, you'd better help me."

The old man looked at Dean with that bizarre expression once again, remaining silent for a long time.

"Fine. You're in luck. Lubben was a heavy drinker, and I was worried about his health, but I couldn't convince him to go to the hospital for a check-up. So every once in a while, I would draw blood myself to test him... I probably still have some unused samples frozen in my clinic, though they might have spoiled long ago."

Dean was both surprised and delighted.

"Spoiled is fine. But aren't you a veterinarian?"

"Human and animal medical technologies share certain commonalities."

"Let's go, take me to see!"