The Versatile Master Artist

The security conditions in London are not bad.

Nor are they particularly good.

Police resources are limited, and this kind of assistance in maintaining order is something only popular shops get, like at celebrity book signing events!

"These cops from the precinct follow orders like robots. If someone really wanted to shoplift, they'd skip the Hermes and Burberry next door and come to snatch fairy tale books from the bookstore? What for, to cultivate their literary taste by reading them?"

Imagining a group of thieves raiding the bookstore and each taking a stack of books to read made her friend burst out laughing.

She mumbled a couple of sentences: "If you ask me, despite the crowd here, they might all be hired by the publishing company to make a scene. If the book signing on Oxford Street goes unattended, it would be too embarrassing. Those publishing groups do anything for marketing!"

Perhaps it was anger over a good chance to drink beer and watch handsome guys being messed up by Kelly.

It might also be a deep-seated, unspoken jealousy over her inexplicably popular roommate's advertisement.

The round-faced friend just had some displeasure and prejudice against that Detective Cat.

Kelly chuckled.

"Hey, sister, are you here to buy 'The Little Prince' too?" she asked, patting the girl in front who was wearing a plaid dress with pink earrings, looking very much like a literary youth.

The girl nodded.

"I'm a devoted reader of Mr. Charlie Hawke. He is a great master of translation. His translations of 'Notre-Dame Cathedral' and 'The Three Musketeers' were classics. That's why I came here when I heard he was holding a book signing event."

"So this is a book signing for 'The Little Prince'?"

The young Black guy who was holding a Starbucks, with a backpack and looking like a programmer, raised an eyebrow in surprise at Kelly's inquiry.

"You didn't know? What are you here for if not to buy books?" the friend asked suspiciously.

"This is my first time hanging out on Oxford Street in London with friends from Royal Holloway, University of London. The train back to the suburbs leaves late, and I can't afford luxury goods. Seeing everyone queuing up in front of a bookstore, I figured I'd join since I have nothing better to do."

The young guy, feeling very at ease, also smiled, "I think I might have seen the news about a new edition of 'The Little Prince' online these past couple of days."

"But buying the book? Probably not. I'm just browsing without spending. I'm not really an arts fan. Books in the UK are so expensive, even just the cost of textbooks nearly leaves me starving."

Kelly spread her hands to her friend, with a gleaming smile that said, "See?"

With nearly half a billion visitors annually on Oxford Street, you could run into anyone.

Yet this honest answer surely didn't sound like someone who was hired to boost the crowd.

"One wouldn't buy the book, and the other is here for Dean Hawke, none of which has a penny to do with your beloved Detective Cat."

The friend scoffed.

She couldn't stand Kelly's "my Detective Cat is so amazing" silly expression.

What's there to be proud of,

you're not making a penny from it, girl.

"I attended the market research meeting for the new 'The Little Prince'. I can only say the illustrations are amazing this time. Detective Cat produced some of the finest illustrations I've ever seen, and I'm sure you'll love them."

Detective Cat seemed to be becoming a new idol for Kelly, who was an illustration enthusiast.

"The paperback costs only as much as a serving of fish and chips, and the hardcover just as much as a 12-inch pizza. Trust me, buying it will definitely make you feel you got more than your money's worth," she enthusiastically marketed for the African sister to the other people in line.

"Honestly, I'd rather buy a version with Dean Hawke and Saint-Exupéry's original illustrations because those best capture the story's essence. No matter how good subsequent art is, it fails to convey the same mood. Also, Detective Cat is merely a controversial social media illustrator."

The literary girl shook her head with determination: "Unfortunately, the rights to the original illustrations belong to Thomson Man Publishing House, a major competitor of the Scholastic Group, and they can't get them."

The young Black man grinned, revealing bright white teeth: "I don't get illustration. But I once grabbed a trendy Amida creative painted T-shirt. Apparently, the painter was also a famous artist. But wearing it felt just like any AJ or Yeezy. If given the choice, I'd definitely opt for the 12-inch pizza. Fairy tale books are for kids, but a pizza can make my whole day."

"That's because you haven't personally seen Detective Cat's work. Detective Cat's style is completely different from Van Doorn's."

Kelly stubbornly shook her head: "Anyone who isn't too slow will be moved by that kind of beauty."

The blonde girl looked at her friend, who seemed to be biting her tongue to stop herself from burst out commenting.

"You too, Maca. When you step into the bookstore and see the Little Prince drawn by Detective Cat on the shelf, you won't be able to resist owning it."

Kelly spoke like a prophet making a prediction.

"As if it has some magical effect like marijuana, making it unforgettable the moment you see it?"

Maca wasn't buying it!

She crinkled her nose: "If I don't feel an urge to buy it, then, Kelly, dare to take on all the manual work of pattern cutting and sewing for our design group's assignments this semester?"

The fashion design department also consists of art students.

But course assignments require more than art design and drawing skills; they often involve threading needles on sewing machines.

These tough tasks are jokingly referred to by students from the Royal Academy of Arts as "seamstress work."

"And what if you want to buy it? Then it's all on you."

Maca was half annoyed, half amused.

"Want to buy? If Detective Cat is really that enticing, not only will I handle all the work, but um—"

She whispered beside Kelly, "Humph, and I won't even sleep with my boyfriend until the end of next month."

When girls chat among themselves, their jokes can make boys uncomfortable.

Cracking a risqué joke or two is second nature.

For Maca to say such a thing, it meant she was actually serious.

"You said it yourself."

Kelly pinched Maca's round face, flashing a mischievous yet sympathetic, mysterious smile.

Maca puffed her cheeks, about to retort wittily.

At this moment, she suddenly sensed something was amiss.

Hmm?

She tilted her head and stood on tiptoes to look ahead.

Maca vaguely felt that the atmosphere at the front of the crowd suddenly turned peculiar, becoming... unexpectedly quiet.

A few seconds later, she realized it wasn't her imagination.

The line in front of the bookstore was voluntarily formed by people, and originally it was a bit noisy and chaotic.

Everyone was chatting idly out of boredom while waiting, eating hotdogs from street vendors, the noise echoing around.

Then, all of a sudden, it was like someone pressed the mute button.

The noisy sounds just vanished.

Maca could hear the DJ music from a distant department store, see people bustling and chatting on other parts of Oxford Street.

Couples were quarreling, kids with helium balloons were running around laughing, and, in the far-off square, an Indian guy was performing flying bread for onlookers while shouting.

Everything on Oxford Street seemed normal.

Only around Waterstones, it was as if some indescribable force had sliced it away from the lively commercial street.

From the very front of the queue, a peaceful feeling began to transmit backward, spreading contagiously.

"How strange…"

Maca began to speak but then abruptly stopped.

The round-faced girl saw a staff member from Waterstones carrying a framed promotional poster stepping out of the store's entrance.

It was a piece that, for a moment, she couldn't find words to describe.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!