As Grenfield said, Ms. Antonia Carmin was a renowned contemporary detective novelist.
The book he gave Siles was Antonia Carmin’s most famous work, titled “Truth That Flows with the Clock Hands.” For Siles, who had once been influenced by Earth’s internet age culture, the solution to this work didn’t seem so puzzling.
But for readers of this era, it would probably be earth-shattering.
This immediately made Siles’s thoughts active. It seemed he really could make money by writing novels. Plagiarizing other works from Earth would, of course, be immoral, but transplanting his own original ideas to this world should be fine, right?
He had to solve this money-making problem as soon as possible.
If he really planned to do this, he would probably need to research this era’s novel market.
Siles thought about tomorrow’s schedule—tomorrow was Wednesday, and he had to go to the Historical Society in the afternoon. Originally, he planned to continue writing lesson plans in the morning, but now the lesson plan progress was good, so perhaps he could free up tomorrow morning to go to a bookstore in the East District.
He also needed to go to a bookstore or library to find suitable textbooks and a reading list for students anyway.
…So tonight he’d have to work hard.
Siles took a light breath, stood up, and went to the washroom to splash water on his face to wake himself up. Then he ate a couple bites of bread with jam and continued immersing himself in work.
Until late at night, he finally organized the teaching outline for one public elective course fairly well.
Siles leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes with slight fatigue. Light passed through his eyelids, carrying a warm yellow, comforting quality.
In this silent, deep night, Siles felt somewhat complex emotions spreading. He had been in this world for three days. His actions seemed hurried and rushed. Although he remained calm and composed on the surface, deep down, he ultimately retained a sense of confusion.
Whether investigating the world’s truth or seeking a way home, some heavy force continually pushed him forward, never allowing him to rest.
He didn’t dare rest. Once he rested, he would think of family and friends on Earth. Everything he missed, everything he yearned for. All of it pulled at him, making him realize countless times that he had never belonged to this world.
Siles sighed lightly. When he opened his eyes, his pitch-black pupils seemed to have never shown that confusion and suffering. He stood up—bathing, brushing teeth, changing clothes, washing clothes.
The consecutive rainy days meant his previously washed clothes still weren’t dry. If it didn’t clear up soon, he’d probably have to buy two new outfits to wear.
But… speaking of which, it seemed he really did need to buy a new outfit. After all, he was about to step onto the podium and face countless students’ eyes.
…Siles’s figure washing clothes unconsciously stiffened for a moment.
He sighed again.
The next morning, Siles woke up, dressed, brought essential items, and once again went to Logan Market to catch the public carriage. This time, he didn’t encounter Mrs. Fenn at the door and left Milford Street alone with his long-handled umbrella.
He had to go to the Historical Society this afternoon. In his memory, near Atherton Central Square, south of the Historical Society, there was a large bookstore.
Siles recalled several times with some uncertainty before remembering that bookstore’s exact location.
Between Lafami City’s West and East Districts flowed a winding river called the Kanra River. The urban areas of roughly equal size on both sides of the river accommodated a total population of nearly ten million residents.
As the capital of the Duchy of Constance, Lafami City was undeniably a giant city.
Therefore, even though Siles had lived in this city for a long time, he couldn’t possibly know every area of Lafami City. This world didn’t have things like electronic maps.
Siles privately thought he should buy a map of Lafami City.
Perhaps the bookstore would sell maps? Though bookstores in this world might not be as categorized and comprehensive as those on Earth. Perhaps there would be specialized map shops.
Another bumpy ride. Because the public carriage traveled in clockwise order, Siles had to spend nearly three hours before finally reaching the Historical Society.
When he got off the public carriage, his complexion was quite pale—partly from the uncomfortable jostling, partly from the excessively long journey. He thought this was too much of a time waste. Even for saving money, there was no need to expend such effort.
He privately decided that when coming to the Historical Society on Saturday, he’d just hire a rental carriage. It would probably take only an hour.
Then he took out his pocket watch for a glance at the time and found it was already close to ten o’clock. He quickened his pace toward Atherton Central Square.
This was the central location of all Lafami City. Going a bit further south was the Duchy of Constance’s palace. The Grand Duke of Constance and his wife, including many children, all lived in that magnificent and splendid palace.
However, July’s rainy season made the Grand Duke’s family choose to vacation in warmer, drier regions—they shouldn’t be in Lafami City recently.
Siles walked around Atherton Central Square. Although the weather was gloomy, many people were still strolling here. He also noticed someone in the corner of the square holding a canvas and painting.
Looking from afar, it was a slender young man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
Siles didn’t linger here long and soon found the bookstore he remembered. More precisely, this place should be called a book vendors’ market.
This place was lively year-round. Countless book vendors rushed here from all over the duchy, obtained a stall, hoping to sell all their purchased books in a short time.
It was a huge building with a glass-domed roof. If it were a clear, fine day, that glass roof would surely shine brilliantly, but now it only made Siles sigh slightly.
People came and went here, countless people holding several books in their hands—who knew whether they returned with full harvests or disappointed.
Siles walked in and browsed two rounds with some curiosity, also finding many books of interest, obtaining some book titles that could be added to students’ reading lists, as well as books he himself was very interested in.
His heart stirred, but he ultimately restrained his thoughts and went to the popular fiction area.
This place was obviously more lively—men appreciated detective and adventure novels, while women looked at knight and boudoir lament novels.
Siles took several bestselling books that sold fastest, browsed the genres, then suddenly froze, thinking—where were the romance novels?
This type of novel, specifically about love affairs and lovelorn men and women, although always criticized on Earth as “unable to enter elegant halls,” was so popular, especially among women, that any genre could hardly match it.
…This world had no romance novels?
Siles’s eyes immediately brightened. He thought—could he write a popular romance novel?
The more he searched for bestseller types, the more he discovered the scarcity of romance novels, and the more he realized the feasibility of this idea. He stood in place, pondering for a while amidst others’ noisy conversations.
Then he purchased two books close to romance novels—one was an adventure story with heroic themes that seemed very popular with female readers; the other had similar themes, but the protagonist was a young noble lady.
He put these two books in his bag—he had specially brought a bag when going out today, a shoulder bag similar to a messenger bag.
Then Siles went to browse other stalls and shops. This place was mixed with all sorts, but it also let him discover many books of interest. He struggled to recall the pitiful amount in his wallet, suppressing his consumption desire.
Finally, he still stopped before one stall.
This stall was located in a corner. If Siles hadn’t circled the entire interior of the building on a whim, he probably wouldn’t have discovered this stall either.
The stall’s owner was a young man, probably around twenty years old, with disappointment difficult to conceal in his expression. He had probably come with hope but hadn’t sold a single book, so now he was listless.
When Siles stopped in front of his stall, he only squatted there, saying very dejectedly: “Feel free to browse.”
Siles was attracted by a notebook with a parchment cover. Because of his previous experience signing a contract at the Historical Society, he was very sensitive to paper of this material.
This world’s papermaking was very advanced—who knew how much was due to Revelators’ contributions. But the more ancient, handmade things, such as parchment, wooden slips, stone tablets, and such things used to record text, were conversely more expensive and rare.
When Siles researched Age of Silence literature, he noticed that many manuscripts and original books from that time had covers wrapped in materials like parchment and cowhide, rather than just using paper made from wood pulp as now.
So this notebook immediately attracted Siles’s attention.
He was somewhat worried whether this was a temporal trace from before the Age of Mist, but when his gaze fell on this notebook, the stall owner introduced: “This is a travelogue.”
His listless voice couldn’t stop Siles’s interest in this notebook.
“Travelogue?” Siles asked. “A travelogue of what?”
“The Ashless Lands.” The stall owner said. “But I’m not clear about the specific content either. It’s not in the Duchy of Constance’s language.”
Siles froze.
The stall owner explained more carefully: “This travelogue was brought back from the Ashless Lands by a merchant. He said the travelogue’s owner was an explorer who was seriously injured. The merchant took care of him for a while, but he still died. Before dying, he gave this travelogue to the merchant, saying it was payment.
“But that explorer wasn’t from the Duchy of Constance, and the language in the travelogue is also foreign text. The merchant couldn’t find a suitable translator and couldn’t publish it. Finally, this travelogue ended up in my hands.”
Siles asked: “What’s your relationship with that merchant?”
The stall owner’s lips curled: “That’s my father.”
Siles asked rigorously: “If I purchase from you, your father won’t object?”
“Of course not!” the young stall owner said somewhat indignantly. “This travelogue simply can’t be published! There are so many countries outside the Duchy of Constance—who knows where that explorer came from? What language did he used?”
Travelogue. Publish. Siles privately pondered this combination of words.
He asked perceptively: “Your father has publishing channels?”
The young stall owner froze, asking back: “What about it?”
For an instant, Siles hesitated whether it was necessary to mention his desire to write novels. But he ultimately didn’t have the impulse to discuss this with a stranger met only once.
He only said: “In case I accidentally encounter a suitable translator in the future, then we could consider cooperating on publication.”
The young stall owner looked at him suspiciously.
Siles said: “Could you give me contact information?”
The young stall owner hesitated, but finally handed Siles a business card. He said: “This is my father’s business card.”
Siles looked down at the name: Jerome Lanmere.
…Lanmere? Wait, the merchant Lanmere?!
Siles’s pupils suddenly contracted.
In his mind, a rolling dice sound rang out.
