Richenbach Falls, located in the mountains of Meiringen, Switzerland.

On both sides of the waterfall, black coal-like rocks stand tall. At the entrance of the valley, there is a huge fissure through which the river flows.

The fissure below gradually narrows, and the milky white, boiling water plunges straight into the bottomless abyss, gushing and splashing out a torrent from the opening. The continuous green waves roar like thunder, and the dense, swaying curtain of water sounds incessantly.

The torrent pours into the abyss, and the spray splashes high, like smoke rising from a burning house. The turbulence and noise are dizzying. The waves beating against the black rocks also make a rumbling sound like an angry roar.

Feng Bujue always felt that this was a very unlucky place. In the real world, it was here that Conan Doyle conceived the idea of killing Sherlock Holmes. And in the virtual world, a generation of criminal giants and the god of detectives perished together in this place.

Of course, Holmes was later resurrected by the author, while Professor Moriarty was forever buried here.

"What exactly do they want me to see..." Feng Bujue stared at the flowing water of the waterfall, overlooking the dark abyss, as if he was about to be sucked in.

The match burned for much longer than he had imagined. If the little girl selling matches had a box of matches like this, she probably wouldn't have frozen to death; she could have made it through the night without a problem.

"Oh, here it comes..." In Feng Bujue's sight, two figures walked onto the narrow path.

One of them was the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. He was nearly six foot three, with a slightly thin build. His face was blurred, making it difficult to see his exact features, but Feng Bujue was still certain that this was Holmes, because the other man next to him was clearly over fifty years old (Holmes was set to be born in 1854, and in *The Final Problem*, he was about forty years old).

And the man in his fifties was naturally Professor Moriarty.

The two of them had some conversation on the narrow path, the content of which was completely drowned out by the sound of the waterfall. Judging from the gestures of the two men during the conversation, they seemed quite polite.

Feng Bujue really admired the demeanor of these two. You see, Holmes was very aware of Moriarty's intentions at this moment, and he also understood that he would soon face a life-or-death struggle. And Moriarty, facing an opponent who had ruined everything for him, could still maintain his composure in the last moments before revenge, which was equally admirable.

The conversation lasted for a few minutes. Then, with Moriarty's consent, Holmes took a piece of paper from his pocket and began to write on it. This was the farewell letter he left for Watson. Before long, Holmes had finished writing the short message and left the letter, cigarette case, and walking stick on the narrow path.

Then, the two continued to walk forward.

When Feng Bujue read this part as a child, he deduced between the lines that the professor had a weapon on him (the original text describes Moriarty's attack on Holmes as "He did not take out a weapon, but suddenly rushed at me"). He definitely had a pistol in his pocket, otherwise Holmes wouldn't have headed towards the waterfall.

But Mr. Conan Doyle never wrote about Moriarty drawing a gun from beginning to end. From this, it can also be seen that his grasp of the characters' personalities was extremely profound.

If this plot were in an American detective film from the 1980s, it would basically be... a foul-mouthed villain pointing a gun at a tough protagonist with an eternally stiff face, forcing him to walk forward on the narrow path. Even though the villain had already drawn his gun, he would still have to push and shove to make the protagonist obediently move forward.

But the two characters in this book would never be so undignified.

As two highly intelligent, well-educated gentlemen, there was no need to say everything out loud, nor was it necessary to adopt a confrontational stance. Since I know you have a gun in your pocket, and you know you have a gun in your pocket, let's have a calm, polite conversation, and then do what needs to be done.

"So far, it's no different from what's described in the book..." Feng Bujue muttered while watching this CG-like scene, "But according to the style of this script... there will definitely be some situations that contradict the original work."

His prediction was very accurate...

Before long, Holmes and Moriarty reached the end of the narrow path. The latter suddenly turned violent and launched an attack.

In Moriarty's eyes, the fire of hatred was burning. His criminal empire, which he had built up over many years, had been destroyed by Scotland Yard, and this detective was to blame for it all.

Holmes had also anticipated this development and immediately used his skilled fighting techniques to grapple with his opponent.

The fight wasn't very pretty. There were no beautiful movements of punches and kicks like in a wuxia movie, nor were there bullet-time and dazzling special effects like in a postmodern action film. Most of the time, the two of them were just wrestling.

But this kind of fight was the most realistic. In real life, people wrestle with both hands when they fight; nothing is more practical.

"Ugh—"

Accompanied by a low roar, Professor Moriarty fell into the waterfall.

And Holmes, surprisingly, fell with him...

"WTF..." Feng Bujue couldn't help but utter a classic swear word.

At the same time, the flame on the match finally burned Feng Bujue's finger. The slight burning pain brought him back to his senses, and the illusion in front of him disappeared.

In the dark living room, a wisp of white smoke rose faintly, announcing that the match had lost its effect.

Feng Bujue threw the small stub of the burnt match on the coffee table and got up to turn on the light.

"He died..." Feng Bujue sat back on the sofa, frowning in thought, "That's right, he died!"

Jue-ge suddenly realized: "When writing *The Final Problem*, Conan Doyle really wanted to end the story of Sherlock Holmes, and the ending was a mutual death." The information in his mind swirled rapidly like a vortex, "In that virtual world, before *The Empty House* was written, Holmes was a dead man, a dead man who was buried in the waterfall with Moriarty..."

[Unreasonable things are not necessarily obvious.]

The fourth message flashed through his mind.

"The narration on pages 599-602 was written years later by the author in order to 'revive' this detective." Feng Bujue looked at the book again, "There was no climbing of cliffs, no attackers, no 'three men', no one at all." As he said that, he tore the two pages from the book, "What you want to tell me is this, right? Moriarty."

"No, what I want to tell you is far more than that," a deep, mysterious voice responded.

The voice was like a spell.

In an instant, the scenery in front of Feng Bujue's eyes changed abruptly, and he came to another place as if he had woken up from a dream.

"Oh... am I the first one?" Feng Bujue took a closer look and found himself in a room with six white walls, all emitting a soft, even white light.

In front of him was a wooden round table about four meters in diameter, surrounded by six chairs. He was sitting in one of the chairs, and Moriarty was sitting across from him.

"Or perhaps the last," Moriarty replied. His appearance was consistent with the illusion he had just seen. At this moment, his face was clearly displayed in front of Feng Bujue's eyes.

The professor looked to be in his fifties, and his face was full of wrinkles. Between his eyebrows, in addition to the temperament of a scholar, there was also something else: a cold, evil, and cruel quality.

"You mean... they will die in their own memories?" Feng Bujue said.

"Not necessarily, I'm just saying it's possible," Moriarty replied, his tone giving a sense of composure and restraint, "They are all smart people, but you... are more unique."

"Ha... I'm sure you, Professor, have also asked the magic mirror who is the most handsome person in the world," Feng Bujue replied with a smile, "Alas... I'm not worthy."

"See, this is one of the interesting things about you," Moriarty said with a smile, but there was no smile in his eyes. His gray eyes stared at Feng Bujue's eyes like a beast staring at its prey, seeming to be able to pierce through his soul. "You are very good at using this unique sense of humor to test others. At the same time, it's also a kind of protection for yourself, which can conceal your true thoughts."

"Oh? Is that your judgment?" Feng Bujue said, "Hmph... but have you considered two other hypotheses?" He raised two fingers, saying, "First, I'm just being a smart ass; second, I'm a madman."

Moriarty sneered. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and placed his crossed fingers in front of his chin: "May I ask, what do you think... is the likelihood of me being a madman?"

"You? Hehe..." Feng Bujue replied with a smile. He raised both hands, each with one finger extended. "This is madness, this is you." As he said that, he stretched out his arms, pulling the distance between the two fingers very far apart. "You and madness are like the two ends of a straight line, as far apart as possible. In my opinion, you are simply too rational to be interesting."

"Then what do you think..." Moriarty said again, "What is the success rate of pretending to be crazy in front of me?"

Feng Bujue spread his hands: "It doesn't cost anything to try."

"Hmph..."

"Hehe..."

"Hehehe..."

"Hahahahaha..."

The two guys stared at each other across the table and inexplicably began to laugh, louder and louder, like two lunatics.

Moriarty was the first to restrain his laughter: "Welcome to the Deduction Club, Crazy Not Awakened." (Feng Bujue literally translates to "Not Awake")

"Can you invite your partner out?" Feng Bujue raised his right hand, gesturing towards the chair next to Moriarty.

"Whew—" A wisp of white smoke rose, "I'm already here," another voice said.

A tall, thin man holding a pipe, exhaling smoke rings, walked out from the blind spot behind Feng Bujue with a lazy gait.