Fantasy Novel: “The Paradise Inn”
[Chapter One] First Arrival at Lake Lucerne

1
A deep blue SUV slowly stopped by the shore of Lake Lucerne, sunlight scattering tiny patterns across the car windows. Lin Xiaoyang pushed open the car door and set a foot on the ground covered with fallen leaves; the soles of his shoes lightly pressed over several withered yellow leaves, producing a faint rustling sound.

He looked around. The lake glittered with waves, reflecting the distant, continuous snow-capped mountains and the colorful wooden houses neatly arranged along the lakeside. A few swans glided leisurely across the water, their white feathers sparkling in the sunlight. On the benches by the lake, some people were holding thick books, reading attentively, while other tourists leaned on each other, enjoying the view of the lake and mountains.

Lin Xiaoyang walked to the bulletin board, his eyes scanning over the myriad advertisements until a pale yellow slip of paper caught his attention—“Paradise Inn, a self-service hotel for artists, quiet surroundings, reasonable rates, twenty Swiss francs per week…”

He read it quietly, a slight smile curling his lips: “Only twenty francs a week? Much cheaper than staying at a motel…”

He reached out and tore off a phone slip. His fingertips accidentally brushed the edge of another advertisement nearby, making it sway slightly. He stared at the slip for a few seconds, confirmed the address, and then turned back to the car.

The SUV moved along the lakeside road. On both sides, maple trees blazed like fire, swaying gently in the breeze. Between the shadows of the trees, rectangular flower beds bloomed with flowers of every color—red, yellow, and purple intermingled like a painting.

Pedestrians strolled leisurely by the roadside, some walking side by side, speaking in low voices; some walking their dogs along the lakeside paths. Young men and women on bicycles weaved among them, the silver bells on their bikes chiming intermittently.

Under a shaded area, a family sat on a picnic blanket; the parents were slicing cheese and French bread, while the children chased a fluffy golden puppy nearby, their laughter clear and bell-like. On a nearby hammock, an elderly silver-haired man half-closed his eyes, gently swaying the rattan hammock, enjoying the lakeside breeze and the tranquility of the afternoon.

2
Lin Xiaoyang drove slowly along the lakeside road. In the distance, Lake Lucerne shimmered, sunlight dancing on the water like silk sprinkled with gold dust. Towering mahogany trees lined the shore, their branches intertwining to cast mottled shadows. Following a subtle side road marked by a sign, he turned onto a downhill path.

On both sides of the road stood old trees, trunks thick as if witnesses of history, likely over two hundred years old. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves; sunlight filtered through the branches, scattering mottled patches of light and shadow across the car.

“This…,” he slowed down, murmuring to himself, “should be the estate of the nobility back then, right?”

As the car slid down to the lakeside, a small wooden pier appeared on the left, with three or four yachts quietly docked; white sails swayed gently in the wind. On the right, a castle-like inn hid among the shaded trees, red brick walls overgrown with green vines. Several Gothic pointed-arch windows reflected the lake and mountains, appearing classical and mysterious.

Lin Xiaoyang parked in the small lot in front of the inn. After turning off the engine, he opened the car door, stepping onto the gravel path with a faint crunch. He went around to the passenger side, retrieved his suitcase, and walked slowly toward the inn entrance.

An ornate wrought-iron archway welcomed visitors. Inside was a colorful garden, with violets, roses, and lavender blooming together, filling the air with a faint fragrance. Scattered throughout the garden were more than a dozen marble statues, each carved lifelike, as if time itself had frozen into art.

He quickened his pace, walking along the garden path, pushing open the heavy mahogany door, and entering the inn’s lofty lobby.

On the right side of the lobby was the front desk; on the left, an open café area faced the lake through floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a view over much of Lake Lucerne. At this moment, the café had only two or three white tourists chatting quietly, their low murmurs mixed with the hum of the coffee machine extracting espresso.

The front desk was a thick mahogany counter, warm in color, the corners bearing marks of age and polishing. Behind the counter stood an elderly man with full silver hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, leafing through a book with a yellowed cover.

Lin Xiaoyang stepped forward, placed his luggage down, and cleared his throat: “I would like to rent a room.”

The elderly man looked up, smiled faintly, closed the book, and pushed a registration form toward Lin Xiaoyang: “Please fill out this form.”

Lin Xiaoyang took a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and bent over the counter, quickly filling in his name, passport number, and length of stay. When done, he handed the form back to the elderly man.

The man took the form, looked it over, nodded in acknowledgment, then took an antique bronze-colored key from a drawer and handed it to Lin Xiaoyang: “This is your room key, Room 504.”

“Thank you.” Lin Xiaoyang smiled faintly, took the key, picked up his luggage, and headed for the stairs.

The inn’s spiral staircase featured exquisite European design. The carved handrails gleamed with a warm wooden luster, and with each step, the red carpet underfoot emitted a slight rebound sound.

When he reached the fifth floor and found Room 504, the sky was tinged with yellow. He inserted the key, turned it gently, and the lock clicked open. As he pushed the door, the motion-sensor light inside switched on automatically, casting a soft warm yellow glow throughout the room.

At that moment, a gentle violin melody flowed out slowly. The tune was graceful; familiar notes lightly tugged at his heartstrings—it was Mozart’s violin concerto. For a moment, he felt as if he were in an 18th-century Viennese music salon.

He exhaled softly and stepped into the room. It was spacious and elegant, with a large oil painting hanging on the wall. The painting depicted an outdoor concert: three or four well-dressed noble ladies sat on wooden chairs, surrounded by several impeccably dressed gentlemen. The orchestra, consisting of six or seven musicians in tailcoats, played against a backdrop of fountains and an outdoor music platform in the square.

Lin Xiaoyang approached, his gaze landing on the signature in the lower right corner of the painting, eyes narrowing slightly—“Huang Lihua.” He frowned, murmuring to himself: “This name… Chinese?”

He raised his head and looked out the window. Through the light brown floor-to-ceiling window, he could overlook the inn’s courtyard. The building formed a square around the central plaza, paved with red bricks. At the center stood an open-air music platform, beside a fountain with clear water columns shimmering in soft golden light under the setting sun.

The first floor was a long corridor, with flower beds surrounding the plaza. Green vines climbed along the corridor, spiraling upward, perfectly blending with the view outside the windows.

Lin Xiaoyang leaned against the window, his gaze resting on the lake. In the distance, Lake Lucerne was lightly shrouded in mist, like a dream.

He spoke softly, “This really is a place suitable for writing.”

After speaking, he slowly sat down in the armchair by the window, leaning against the chair back, his eyes gradually emptying as they followed the undulations of the lake.

A faint scent of lilies lingered in the air.

In the corner of the study, a black grand piano stood quietly. On its music stand, a vase of freshly replaced lilies bloomed brightly. The inn’s music continued to flow softly.

Lin Xiaoyang closed his eyes, briefly sinking into memories… In the backyard of Lin Xiaoyang’s home, Xiaoyang had an argument with his girlfriend, Xie Huijun.

Xie Huijun, emotionally agitated, said, “Heaven and Earth as my witness, my parents have never complained about your family background. They wanted you to take over my father’s business, not to marry into our family. Why do you always think the worst?”

Lin Xiaoyang, displeased, said, “I don’t like anyone arranging my life. If I had known you were a wealthy daughter, I would have quietly left.”

Xie Huijun, angry, said, “You are really unreasonable! Do you think I would harm you? In my family, it’s just my sister and me. My father hopes that the future son-in-law can take over his business. That’s only natural!”

Lin Xiaoyang, stubborn, said, “Anyway, I don’t like this kind of marriage with conditions attached.”

Xie Huijun said, “Why have you become so willful, so hard to communicate with? Fine! I’ll go to Europe to clear my mind. When you’ve thought it through, write me an email.”

Xie Huijun grabbed her handbag and left without looking back…

Lin Xiaoyang returned his gaze to his laptop, opened the screen, and muttered to himself while staring at it, “Huijun, where exactly are you?”

3
Lin Xiaoyang rode a bicycle, his waist bag containing a phone and a digital camera, slowly moving along the bike path beside the lakeside road. The lake surface sparkled under the afternoon sunlight, and occasionally a swan glided leisurely, leaving ripples behind. The plane trees on both sides of the road cast mottled shadows, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of lake water.

He rode to a dock and stopped. There, several elegant white yachts were moored, their masts flying small Swiss and French flags. Behind them was a row of magnificent hotel buildings, with classical European facades decorated with carved balconies and bronze wall lamps, exuding a sense of quiet through the passage of time.

In the center of the dock, a blond young man stood beside a black piano case, playing a melodious violin piece. The music was light as the breeze over the lake, attracting more than a dozen tourists who stopped to listen. The young man’s playing was smooth, carrying a faint melancholy, drawing listeners into its emotion. When the melody ended, the observing tourists dropped small bills into the hat at his feet. Lin Xiaoyang also took out a one-euro note and placed it in the hat.

Just as he turned to leave, the young man suddenly called to him in French with a French accent:

“Sir, please wait for me a moment.”

Lin Xiaoyang froze for a moment and instinctively turned back, pointing at himself: “Are you speaking to me? How can I help you?”

The young man put away his violin, the corners of his mouth curling into a mysterious smile, his eyes carrying a deliberate sense of testing.

“Yes. Someone asked me to wait for you here.”

Lin Xiaoyang frowned, becoming alert: “Who asked you to wait for me?”

The young man shrugged, smiling mysteriously.

“I don’t know him, but he said: ‘This man will be your boss in the future.’”

Lin Xiaoyang was slightly taken aback, an alarm ringing in his mind.

“May I know your name?”

The blond young man extended his hand, a playful light glinting in his eyes.

“My name is Wilson, sir. I come from the south of France, the Côte d’Azur. Have you been there?”

Lin Xiaoyang shook his hand, offering a polite smile.

“Yes, I have been there. It’s a beautiful place.”

Wilson raised his eyebrows and asked, “You are staying at Paradise Inn, right?”

Lin Xiaoyang was slightly startled, a trace of surprise crossing his expression: “Yes, but how do you know?”

Wilson chuckled softly, lowering his head to adjust his bow, as if he had anticipated the reaction.

“Huang Lihua told me.”

“Huang Lihua? The artist? Are you sure?”

Hearing the name, Lin Xiaoyang’s brows furrowed more tightly. He immediately recalled the painting in his room, whose author was Huang Lihua.

Wilson nodded firmly: “Yes, he said you would be here this weekend.”

Lin Xiaoyang’s confusion deepened, almost blurting out: “But I have never met him.”

Wilson looked at him meaningfully, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“You will see him very soon.”

Lin Xiaoyang stared at him half-believing, a strange unease rising in his heart.

“This is really a strange matter.”

Wilson patted the piano case, smiling relaxedly: “In any case, nice to meet you. I will find you later. Take care of yourself.”

Having said that, he bent down to pack his instrument and music stand, seemingly unwilling to say more. Lin Xiaoyang stood in place, watching Wilson’s departing figure, his mind filled with doubts.

Xiaoyang lowered his eyes to the lake. The sunset dyed the water red and also reflected on his face. Deep down, he had a vague feeling—
he seemed to have already been noticed by certain people. But who exactly were they? And why were they doing this?