Lin Jie did not imdiately accept the new mission. Instead, he requested a three-day period of complete freedom and rest for himself.
He needed ti to digest the experience and insights gained from the silent hunt that had taken place deep within the Appalachian Mountains.
Lin Jie also needed ti to truly asure this Southern city, praised as "The Big Easy" and full of contradictions and charm, with his own two feet.
He declined the comfortable suite in the French Quarter's most luxurious hotel arranged for him by Isabella. Instead, he chose a small inn run by locals, located in the Marigny neighborhood.
There were no extravagant decorations here, but it allowed him to hear the heartbeat of this city more authentically.
He strolled alone through the charming, checkerboard-like streets of the French Quarter.
Unlike the oppressive, vertically climbing steel forests of New York, most buildings here were only two or three stories high, yet possessed the refined details of the old world.
Elegant cast-iron lace balconies and ivy-covered mottled walls, along with the ceaseless fountains hidden in deep courtyards, all told the unique history of this city, a fusion of French, Spanish, and Caribbean influences.
The air was forever filled with an enticingly rich aroma.
It wasn't the layered fragrance of European cuisine, dominated by butter and herbs.
Nor was it the llow, warm fragrance of the Eastern cuisines he rembered, which emphasized wok heat and savory sauces.
This was a wild, complex aroma.
Lin Jie's curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
Following the scent, he walked into a seemingly unremarkable local eatery that nevertheless had a long line outside its door.
Unable to understand the scribbles of Creole French written on the chalkboard nu, he could only point to the two most popular-looking dishes that a nearby table of guests were heartily devouring.
Soon, a steaming bowl of gumbo and a large plate of glistening red crawfish étouffée were placed before him.
The gumbo's color was an incredibly rich, chocolate-like dark brown, with a layer of bright red chili oil floating on the surface.
The bowl was packed to the brim, almost overflowing with ingredients—tender shrimp, plump oysters, sliced smoked andouille sausage, and okra stewed to a soft, lting texture.
Lin Jie scooped up a spoonful and put it in his mouth.
A powerful, domineering flavor—a mix of smoky spiciness and complex spices—instantly exploded on his taste buds!
The taste was more intense and rugged than any European stew he had ever eaten.
It reminded him of a certain stew from his hotown mories, which similarly stewed the essence of various ingredients unreservedly into a pot of thick broth.
However, the stew from ho emphasized "llowness" and "lingering sweetness."
The bowl of soup before him, on the other hand, pursued "fervor" and "unrestrained exuberance."
Lin Jie then turned his gaze to the other plate, the crawfish étouffée.
It seed more like a dish from the East.
Shelled crawfish at, coated in a deep red, thick sauce, was generously ladled over a large bowl of snowy white rice.
He took a bite.
The sweet freshness of the crawfish perfectly blended with the unique vegetal sweetness from the onions, celery, and bell peppers in the sauce, and the unapologetic spiciness of cayenne pepper.
"...Isn't this just rice with toppings?"
The thought involuntarily surfaced in Lin Jie's mind.
This seemingly rugged yet life-wise cooking thod, this experience of concentrating flavor into a single plate or bowl for the pure purpose of being "perfect with rice," gave him, a stranger in a distant land, his first strange sense of familiarity in this unfamiliar city on the other side of the world.
After satisfyingly finishing this pleasantly surprising lunch, Lin Jie ordered a cup of the local specialty, French drip coffee mixed with chicory root powder, at an outdoor cafe near Jackson Square.
The coffee's initial taste was an extrely strong, almost choking, burnt bitterness. But after the bitterness, a strange, lingering sweetness erged, resembling nuts and chocolate, slowly spreading at the back of his tongue.
Savoring this uniquely Southern bitterness and aroma while listening to the boisterous sounds of early jazz, embodying improvisation and the spirit of freedom, drifting over from across the street.
It granted Lin Jie's heart, sowhat weary from too much killing and scheming, a mont of peace.
The language, architecture, food, and the generally lazy yet enthusiastic expressions on the residents' faces here all gave him a disorienting sense of temporal dislocation.
He felt as if he were on an exotic island completely cut off from mainstream Arican society, forgotten by ti.
However, it was only when he followed a local guide into the legendary St. Louis Cetery No. 1 that the eerie side hidden beneath the city's lazy facade was truly revealed to him.
Due to the low-lying terrain and high water table, New Orleans ceteries were built upward.
Multiple above-ground tombs, constructed from marble and brick, were stacked closely together, forming a veritable "city of the dead."
Walking among the tombs eroded and mottled by ti, Lin Jie felt as if he had entered a vast maze perated with the aura of death.
The guide told him that each family tomb here could be reused.
When a new deceased needed burial, people would push the remains of the previous occupant to the back of the tomb to make space for the newcor.
Generation after generation of the dead "coexisted" in this strange way within the confined space.
What caught Lin Jie's attention even more were the various symbols drawn on the tombstones in white or red chalk.
"This is a 'Vèvè'," the guide explained to Lin Jie in a tone of reverence. "It's the signature used by believers to summon the 'Loa'."
Loa, in the Voodoo belief system, ans "spirits" or "souls."
They are the bridge between mortals and the supre creator god.
The guide pointed to one complex symbol depicting a coiled serpent and a cross, telling Lin Jie it was used to summon Damballa, the wise serpent spirit.
Then he pointed to another symbol depicting a heart and a dagger, telling him that was the mark of Erzulie, the goddess of love and passion.
"For many of us here," the guide concluded, "death is not the end of life, but rely... the beginning of a journey to another world."
"As long as we rember their 'signature', rember their preferences, and offer them rum, cigars, or a song they loved in life. Those departed souls will still respond to our summons, returning from the other side to help us, or to punish our enemies."
The guide's words opened a new door in Lin Jie's mind.
"Souls... can be summoned? Can interact with the world of the living in such a direct way?"
This unique understanding of souls seed like a practical technique.
A "communication" technique that could be learned, passed down, and used to solve real-world problems.
This gave Lin Jie a new and deeper reflection on his own [Reverberation Touch].
Was it possible that he, too, could actively engage in so form of dialogue with those "souls" slumbering deep within the "reverberation," much like a Voodoo priest?
Night fell once more. Lin Jie declined the guide's invitation to experience an authentic Voodoo ceremony. Instead, he walked alone into Bourbon Street, famous worldwide for its revelry, sin, and freedom.
Bourbon Street at night was where the true soul of New Orleans resided.
The air was filled with an intoxicating blend of alcohol, perfu, and desire.
Deafening jazz and the unrestrained laughter of people poured out from every bar.
The street was packed with sailors from around the world, pleasure-seeking wealthy rchants, and local Creole beauties.
Lin Jie entered a dimly lit, rough-and-tumble underground bar.
A small masquerade ball was being held here, a warm-up for the upcoming "Mardi Gras" carnival.
Catalyzed by alcohol and music, everyone wore various exaggerated and grotesque masks, completely releasing another side of themselves suppressed by social norms.
A banker wearing a raven mask was dancing a passionate cheek-to-cheek dance with a dancer wearing a cat mask.
A cotton plantation owner wearing a skull mask was sharing an expensive bottle of French champagne with a mysterious lady wearing an angel mask.
Masks beca everyone's best protection.
Lin Jie ordered a glass of the most ordinary bourbon and chose an inconspicuous corner to sit.
He didn't wear a mask, quietly observing this floating world painting interwoven with absurdity and vitality.
However, he soon detected a few discordant threads of danger within this sea of joy.
His gaze was drawn to a booth in the corner.
Several n of unusually tall stature and bulging muscles sat there.
They also wore masks, but their masks weren't the common, finely crafted props with European courtly styles.
They were beast skull masks made from roughly processed real animal skulls.
One was a ferocious alligator skull full of sharp teeth.
One was a fierce wild boar skull with two massive tusks.
Another wore a complete specin of a great horned owl's head, feathers still attached.
They sat there quietly, completely out of sync with the surrounding festive atmosphere.
Lin Jie was almost certain these n were the "Swamp Spawn" that "the Baroness" Isabella had specifically warned him about!
Just as he was observing these Swamp Spawn, he saw a man who appeared to be a local gang leader carefully approach their booth with drinks, seemingly engaged in so kind of secret transaction.
He couldn't hear the specific conversation, but from the gang leader's tone—a mix of flattery and fear—and the Swamp Spawn's brief replies, he could tell this was an extrely unequal "transaction."
Just as Lin Jie prepared to investigate further, a young man in waiter's uniform, holding a silver tray, silently arrived at his table.
"Sir, your drink."
The waiter placed a cocktail, the color of a ruby, before him.
Lin Jie's brow furrowed slightly.
"I think you've made a mistake."
"No mistake, sir."
The waiter's face showed a well-trained, respectful smile. "This was specially ordered for you by the Baroness."
As he spoke, he set the glass down. Beneath it was a carefully folded white note.
After doing this, the waiter retreated into the boisterous crowd and disappeared.
Lin Jie's heart tightened.
He picked up the note and unfolded it.
There was no extra verbiage on the note, only a few pieces of cold information written in elegant French script.
An address: "Bourbon Street, No. 121, back alley of the 'Curse of Marie Laveau' souvenir shop."
A na: "Sidney Porter, male, 34, I.A.R.C. Level 7 intelligence informant."
And below the na, drawn with a few rough strokes...
A laughing clown face.
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