“I think so, yes,” Siles said in a low voice.
Jimmy let out a small gasp, then fell silent for a long time.
After a moment, he said, “Even if you say that… we still have to eat.” His voice was very soft. “We have no other choice.”
Siles said, “You work for me, so you can try buying some other food.”
“But we’re in West City,” Jimmy said. “There’s only Greyson in West City.”
Siles frowned slightly. He thought, Did Greyson really monopolize West City in such a short time? He shook his head and didn’t probe further into that matter. These children were the ones actually living in West City; they understood the situation better than he did.
He asked, “Then what else did you find?”
Jimmy said, “There are some girls with us too, but they don’t usually play with us. I asked them about it… and if they can provide useful information, I’ll give them part of the money.”
Siles asked, “And those girls really know something?”
“They look more harmless than we do,” Jimmy said. “So sometimes they can get into the dessert shop’s back kitchen and secretly take some scraps to eat. If we sneak into the back kitchen, we get chased out very quickly, but the girls can stay there for a while and observe carefully.
“One of the girls said she saw…”
Jimmy suddenly swallowed nervously.
“What?”
“She saw a portrait pasted on the ceiling,” Jimmy said in a very low voice. “It was of… a strange man wearing a chef’s hat. She said those eyes seemed to be watching the dessert makers the whole time.”
Siles frowned.
A chef’s portrait? Pasted on the ceiling?
Was this some kind of… ritual? That was Siles’s first instinct.
But what exactly did that ritual symbolize? Was this the source of Greyson food’s strange allure? Or was it meant for supervision — to watch the chefs and make sure they worked properly?
Yet Jimmy had said that the chefs looked unusually happy while making the desserts. Did they even need to be watched?
Siles thought about it for a long time and still couldn’t make sense of it.
Jimmy looked at Siles nervously and asked, “Sir… is this enough information?”
Siles came back to himself, nodded, and took out five hundred-bank notes from his wallet — these were the dividend payments Greyson Food Company had given him at the end of September. He had gone to collect the money in his spare time, and now it was perfect to hand it over to Jimmy.
Of course, the dividend wasn’t limited to that. At the end of October, he received another money order, and this time the amount was even more astonishing: two thousand ducal coins.
You have to know, his novel had only sold thirty thousand copies in total. That was already an “incredible” achievement in the eyes of publisher Benton and other novelists. And yet that had only earned him fifteen hundred ducal coins.
But merely by holding such a tiny share of Greyson Food Company’s profits, he could earn two thousand ducal coins in a single month?
He really didn’t know how far Greyson’s expansion had already gone. The money felt hot in his hands.
He still hadn’t decided how to use that sum. If Greyson really had a problem, then Siles didn’t want to touch money tainted by sin.
Maybe he could use it for the shop in the black market? He could hire this group of young homeless kids.
That was what Siles was thinking. He looked at Jimmy, who was delighted beyond measure, and after some thought said, “If I have other jobs for you later, where can I find you?”
Jimmy came back to himself and looked at Siles a little blankly, then with great joy. “You’re too kind, sir! I really don’t know how to thank you. We usually stay around here.
“If you don’t mind the trouble, then you can find Anthony in the East City, and he’ll pass the message on to us.”
Siles nodded, showing that he understood.
In Jimmy’s eyes a spark ignited — perhaps it could be called hope for the future. For a child in this world, in this place, that was rare and precious.
Siles said goodbye to him, then left the abandoned house.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The sky was still overcast.
Siles opened his pocket watch and saw that it was nearly eleven o’clock. So he went to Ernestine Tavern, planning to eat lunch before continuing his afternoon activities.
As soon as he entered Ernestine’s, Eric noticed him.
“Good afternoon, Siles,” Eric said as he walked over and greeted him in a low voice. “What would you like to eat?”
“Recommend something?” Siles said. “Do you have time to chat?”
About Dawson Street, Eric might know something.
Eric was a little surprised. He first went to the kitchen to confirm Siles’s meal, then came back and sat across from him. “Lucky for you, I’ve got time to talk today.”
Siles couldn’t help smiling.
“What’s that about?” Eric said. “You actually came to the Old City today.”
“Some matters. I’m investigating Greyson,” Siles said.
“Because of the foodie-town matter?”
“Not just that,” Siles said. “I feel Greyson’s expansion speed… is unusual.”
Eric thought about it and said, “It is. But it really is tasty and cheap.”
Siles suddenly thought of something. “Are you using Greyson ingredients here too?”
“No, not all of them,” Eric said. “Desserts are — it’s more convenient to buy the finished products directly. As for the rest…” He lowered his voice. “The underground gangs themselves control some sources of ingredients.
“Because of Greyson’s competition, Ernestine, and some other taverns under underground gang control, have become buyers for those ingredients. Otherwise, that would be hard to explain.”
Siles listened with some surprise.
Eric said, “I think this very likely has to do with the big shot behind the underground gangs.”
Ever since learning that there was a great figure in East City standing behind the West City gangs, Eric couldn’t help thinking deeper about it. Before, he had only noticed that the underground gangs were running wild and tyrannical; now he realized the existence of these chains of interest.
Siles couldn’t help asking, “If that’s the case, hasn’t Greyson and the underground gangs run into conflict?”
Greyson Food Company seemed to have taken away quite a lot of business from the gangs, but the gangs were the local snakes of West City. Would they really have no reaction to the loss of profit?
Eric shook his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know the details in the middle. Maybe… Greyson also has someone big behind it?”
As he said that, Eric himself laughed at the thought.
The underground gangs have a big shot behind them; Greyson does too. Does Lamifa City really have so many big figures to go around?
Siles didn’t probe further on that question either. He said, “I got a clue. A tramp claimed that Greyson’s food has a problem. I’m looking for him. Someone saw his last known location as Dawson Street. Do you know that place?”
“Dawson Street?” Eric repeated instinctively. “I do know it, but…”
The next second, he showed a subtle expression.
An hour later, following Eric’s directions, Siles arrived at the entrance of Dawson Street. Only then did he understand why Eric had made that strange face.
Because Dawson Street was, in the traditional sense, the city’s red-light district.
If Siles hadn’t known the tramp Byrne’s true identity, and if he hadn’t learned from Alfonso that there was a black market here, he would never have stepped foot in this place.
Frowning, his face cold, he walked in.
In the afternoon, the street still seemed not to have awakened. Only a few women stood at the entrances, sleepy-eyed, stretching lazily, and looking at Siles with curiosity.
Siles ignored those looks. Following the business card Alfonso had given him, he came to Dawson Street No. 32.
The door at No. 32 was very small, a black door hidden among the colorful passageways, low-key and inconspicuous. When he pushed it open, a burly man stood inside.
Siles handed the business card to him.
The burly man looked at it for a moment, then returned it and stepped aside in silence, making way for the passage behind the entrance hall.
Behind the entrance hall was a dim room. Siles smelled a fragrance in the air he couldn’t quite describe, faintly floating at the tip of his nose. He walked in, then saw that the fireplace wasn’t burning fire at all, but instead there was a dark stairway.
Only then did he understand that the so-called black market was in an underground passage.
And if it was an underground passage, then it was probably connected to the West City gangs.
Underground gangs. Underground passages. Underground black market. Everything was “underground.” Siles thought. Was the entire underground of West City excavated?
He thought of the dense underground tunnels, like spiderwebs covering the whole of Lamifa West City. The feeling was somewhat unsettling.
He went down the pitch-black staircase. After about a minute or two, the view suddenly brightened. Siles saw a scene similar to the underground trade fair he had visited in early August, except the passageways were wider.
A butler-dressed middle-aged man came over. “Sir, is this your first time here?”
Siles nodded.
The middle-aged man didn’t ask about his identity. He only said, “Then let me introduce it to you. We have three areas here: the private trading area, the public auction area, and the public shop area.
“For your first visit, you can start by browsing the latter two public areas. There may be things you need there — not only the things ordinary people can buy.”
Siles Noel tilted his head and looked at the middle-aged man, feeling that he was perhaps hinting at the supernatural powers of this world.
But this time, Siles wasn’t here to buy anything. He took out a key from his pocket and said, “This is the key to the shop.”
As he said that, he observed the man’s expression.
The man’s face changed. “So you are the owner of the shop.” He didn’t ask where Siles had gotten the key. “Please follow me.”
There were four main passageways in front of Siles, probably corresponding to the three areas the man had mentioned and the manager’s location. They walked along the rightmost passageway for about a hundred meters, then turned right into a small alley.
There wasn’t much light in the underground passage; only the oil lamps on the walls gave off a faint yellow glow. The turbid air made Siles feel a subtle unease, as though everything happening here was unknown to the outside world.
They stopped somewhere in the alley. In front of them was a door. After Siles opened it with the key, inside was an open space of about twenty square meters, covered in dust, pitch-black, with no lights at all.
The man said, “This is your shop,” he said. “It has never operated, and seems to have been vacant for many years.”
Siles nodded and didn’t comment. Instead, he asked, “I intend to make use of this shop. What can be sold here?”
“Anything,” the man said, looking at him with a tone that seemed to hint at something. “You know, this is Dawson Street. Anything can be found here. Of course, if you do something illegal and get discovered, we can’t protect you. You need to understand that.”
Siles thought about it.
In other words: as long as you aren’t found out, there are no taboos.
…That was already outrageous enough.
If the underground black market and the underground gangs were connected, then was the great figure also protecting the black market here? Even illegal or disorderly things?
Siles asked about some precautions.
After confirming that Siles really intended to open for business, the man’s expression became even more cordial and respectful.
He said, “We’ll clean this place up and install lights. If you have any other requests, you can tell us. On the far-left passageway, there is an administrative office and a temporary goods storage area.
“Next time you come here, you can come directly to find me.”
He eagerly handed over another business card.
Siles nodded, then casually asked, “Only people who have your business cards can enter here, is that right?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“And you won’t reveal the clients’ identities either?”
“Of course not,” the man said. “We have black market professional ethics.”
Siles nodded, feeling something between regret and relief. What he regretted was that he probably wouldn’t be able to learn Byrne’s whereabouts here, though he suspected Byrne had definitely come to this place… perhaps even changed identities here?
What he felt relieved about was that he really could try opening a shop here.
He hadn’t yet decided what to sell. That didn’t need to be urgent.
As for Jimmy and the others, five hundred ducal coins would already be enough for them to get through a comfortable winter. Siles hoped he could solve the shop matter during this winter.
He thought about it, then wandered around the black market.
He found that there really were things related to the Revelators here: magic potions of different purities, precious stardust, unknown-origin time-marks, rituals of uncertain authenticity… everything.
The prices were a little lower than the space behind the Historical Society door. But overall, compared with prices from an even earlier period, the goods here had probably also risen.
Because of the winter break, because of the Withered Wasteland development plan, because of the coming rainy season and winter.
Still, Siles didn’t find what he needed, and he didn’t plan to buy anything. After looking around for a while, he left.
When he stepped out of the dim underground space and returned to the bright though rainy street aboveground, Siles felt as if he were waking from a dream. He left Dawson Street, found his direction, and went to Logan Market.
In the southeast corner of Logan Market, he suddenly spotted the map shop he had visited before — Marpa.
Thinking of his plans afterward, he hesitated for a moment, then walked directly toward the map shop.
The owner, Miss Marpa, was still lounging behind the counter, apparently reading a newspaper. When Siles walked in, she looked up, then said, “Oh, sir, you’ve probably been here before.”
“I once bought a map of Lamifa City from you,” Siles said politely.
Miss Marpa thought for a moment, then muttered, “Seems so.” She then asked, “What brings you here this time?”
“I’d like to buy a map of the Ashless Land,” Siles said. “It doesn’t need to be too detailed, but it should be complete enough.”
“You’re interested in the Ashless Land too?” Miss Marpa stood up and helped search a shelf for the kind of map he needed.
Siles hesitated a little, then simply accepted her assumption.
Miss Marpa said, “Everyone is interested in the Ashless Land these days, as if they can really go there and get rich like those merchants. The world isn’t that simple.”
“You’re right,” Siles said.
Miss Marpa handed him a stack of maps. “Here, take this. This is probably what you need. It’s the most complete map of the Ashless Land. The map was drawn by a man named Barnett, one of the first hundred years of the Age of Mist.
“So this version is also called the Barnett version. I’d say it’s the oldest version of the Ashless Land map in circulation. Of course, don’t worry — the content on it has already been improved.”
Siles looked at the map in his hands, then at the shelves piled high with similar maps, and hesitated.
“Are you curious why this map doesn’t sell?” Miss Marpa asked sharply. “Because those explorers are always greedy when they go to the Ashless Land.
“They want the most accurate, most detailed maps, wishing even the hidden treasure sites were marked clearly. Naturally, they don’t want to buy versions like Barnett’s, which are complete but somewhat rough.
“But you’re different. Your requirements are exactly that.”
Miss Marpa’s tone carried a rather impolite, blunt, and biting attitude. It didn’t seem like the way one would normally run a shop, but she apparently had something to rely on.
Siles didn’t care much about that. He nodded and said, “Then I’ll take this one.”
Only then did Miss Marpa show an excited smile. “The Barnett version isn’t expensive, just one ducal coin. Also, I’ll give you a piece of information for free.”
Siles paid and asked with some curiosity, “What is it?”
“The winter market has already started, you know,” Miss Marpa said. “I don’t know when you plan to go to the Ashless Land. But you might as well wait a little.”
“Because explorers will return to Lamifa City during the winter market and sell some of the things they obtained in the Ashless Land. Some of them will sell maps of the Ashless Land too.
“Those are versions they personally experienced in the Ashless Land, so they shouldn’t be off. If you’re interested, you can go see their versions. Though I think they may not be as correct as the Barnett version.”
Siles was slightly stunned.
He suddenly remembered that the last time he came here to buy a map of Lamifa City, he had heard Miss Marpa chatting with a few explorers who wanted to go to the Ashless Land about the winter market — the October market.
A map from explorers? Siles silently kept that information in mind.
“But that also depends on luck, whether you can buy a suitable map or not,” Miss Marpa said. “Many people think the maps of the Ashless Land hide many secrets, but I’ve never really discovered any secrets.”
“You know, I spend all day with these maps, and I’ve already seen enough of them.”
Siles said, “Then don’t you plan to go to the Ashless Land?”
“Me?” Miss Marpa said. “No, I don’t plan to. I’m not the adventurous type. Really, sir, you don’t seem like that type either. You’re such a young gentleman — you should live properly in the city… in any case…”
She thought for a moment.
“In any case, let me give you an example.” She pointed at the map in Siles’s hand. “The Barnett version. That mapmaker studied painting in his early years. He had a wealthy family and a happy life.
“But then, when the mist dispersed, he suddenly developed a strong interest in the Ashless Land. After that, ignoring his wife’s opposition, he went deep into the Ashless Land — and yes, he created the Barnett version of the map. But he also lost his family and ended up with a miserable old age.
“Don’t you think the Ashless Land is a kind of curse?”
Miss Marpa’s tone carried a very personal emotion, as if she herself had also experienced something bad because of the Ashless Land.
Siles said, “The Ashless Land is just the Ashless Land. What matters most is how people choose for themselves.”
Miss Marpa stared blankly at him. After a moment, she said softly, “Maybe you’re the one who’s right.”
Siles had no intention of interfering with other people’s thoughts, so he soon said goodbye to Miss Marpa and left with the Barnett version of the map.
Miss Marpa sat quietly there. After a moment, she murmured, “People’s own choices?” She lowered her eyes to look at her left hand, where a wedding ring should once have been. Now there was nothing there.
She said softly, “So he chose the Ashless Land, and not me.”
Her expression became extremely complicated.
Siles had no idea what effect his words had had on Miss Marpa.
The rain got heavier again. Siles took a hired carriage back to Lamifa University after some time. His hair was soaked and he was shivering from the cold, so he had to take a hot shower at once to avoid catching a chill.
After showering, he walked somewhat troubled to the window, drying his hair with a towel as he thought that he would probably have to buy some heating equipment — in his memory, the kind of heating device used in this era seemed to be a fireplace?
Open flame. Siles felt a little resistant. The earth-born outsider thought heating with an open flame was far too dangerous.
…A world without electricity was terrible, the Earth-dweller sighed.
After a while, Siles finally felt warm again. The drizzly weather made clothes difficult to dry — he missed Earth’s washing machines and dryers even more.
He sat down at his desk and thought quietly.
The Non-existent city. Although he intended to investigate this mystery, he was also self-aware. He hadn’t even been to the Ashless Land, and he didn’t even understand what this mystery was about.
An error on the map, pointing to a city that doesn’t exist. He thought.
Then he suddenly became confused. From one angle, he had broken free of his previous mental constraints and was thinking only about the riddle itself.
One premise of thinking about this riddle is that the city actually exists.
…Then why would it be hidden on the map? If it was because that city concealed a terrible secret, and investigating the past would lead to extremely terrifying consequences, then why would the message of a “mistake on the map” spread at all?
Was it meant to lead people to search, or not?
Those two purposes are completely opposite, yet this contradiction does in fact exist in every rumor related to the “Non-existent city.”
To get to the root of it, was the mistake on the map intentional or unintentional?
After only a moment’s thought, Siles felt a deep sense of helplessness. This was a legend passed down through a long history, spoken of from mouth to mouth. When three people make a tiger, who knows how much the story has changed from the original version?
So when facing this mystery, Siles also felt there was nowhere to begin.
He sighed and put this matter aside for the moment. Perhaps during the October market, he could ask the explorers who came to Lamifa City from the Ashless Land whether the rumors about the “Non-existent city” had developed to this point.
Bertram had once said that this rumor was one of the earliest treasure-related messages in the Ashless Land.
And at this juncture, with the rumors about the Withered Wasteland development plan already spreading throughout the Duchy of Const and other countries, the Ashless Land was probably about to stir up even greater waves.
Siles thought for a moment, then shifted his attention to the translation manuscript that Emmanuel had sent earlier.
He spent several hours reading the manuscript from beginning to end.
Siles had previously read the first third and had gained a shallow understanding of the Ashless Land, including the three regions of Galsworthy, Glaston, and Gainsde.
Now he was learning more about the explorers.
In the travelogue, the author mentioned many daily-life and exploration experiences, including that most of the time they stayed in Glaston, and only occasionally went to Galsworthy when they wanted to relax.
As for Gainsde, that was an area most ordinary explorers didn’t dare set foot in.
Thus, Glaston, which gathered many explorers, often erupted into conflicts.
It was a chaotic place. Merchants, explorers, natives, laborers, and others — some people even had settled lives and families there. It had already become their home.
Galsworthy might still have the reach of various national forces extending there, but Glaston had nothing. It was a lawless place. Death there was the least unusual thing.
The travelogue mentioned a large-scale battle caused by争夺土地 over land.
Explorers who knew each other often formed teams and ventured together. Fully fixed teams were called adventure groups. Some large adventure groups had considerable influence in Glaston.
They would cooperate with different villages, waystations, and tribes, forming a team somewhat like a gang. They would be responsible for the safety of that region, but at the same time they would charge people who came there a portion of fees, or other things used to repay debts.
Later arrivals might feel resentful, and therefore many kinds of conflicts would arise. The most serious were armed clashes.
The battle mentioned in the travelogue caused the deaths of nearly a hundred explorers and injuries to over a thousand. Even the author couldn’t help sighing that after that melee, the Ashless Land seemed to have become much safer and more peaceful.
Of course, from the travelogue, Siles couldn’t tell whether Revelators were involved in these matters. He believed they definitely were, but Emmanuel may have removed some content that wasn’t suitable for publication during the translation process.
Just as he had said, he had deleted all content related to the “Non-existent city.”
On that point, Siles agreed with him.
He relaxed his mindset and treated the travelogue as a true adventure novel. He thought that the adventure novelist Avid Norton would certainly love this travelogue.
When he finished the translation manuscript and looked up, he noticed that it was already night outside. It was Monday. The day after tomorrow he would return to the deep-sea dream.
Twenty-one days had passed. He wondered how Nona was doing. Siles couldn’t help thinking about it.
He stood up, stretched a little, changed his clothes, and went out to eat dinner. It was a bit late, and the cafeteria didn’t have any fresh dishes.
But this wasn’t the first time Siles had forgotten the time because of reading, so he was very prepared and bought two loaves of bread.
Back in the dormitory, he ate the bread, then organized the exam papers.
This week was the first-semester exam week at Lamifa University. Of the three courses Siles was responsible for, the two electives would end this semester, and their grades would be determined by the final essay.
He had asked two apprentices to help grade part of the essays, and he had personally graded part of them as well. The results were already in. When class came, he only needed to announce them and discuss the papers.
As for the specialized elective, it was a two-semester course. But when one semester ended, Siles didn’t intend to let the students forget everything they had learned.
So he simply made up a test paper, planning to bring it to class tomorrow and have the students try it.
If one were to use Earth’s terminology, this would probably count as a midterm exam.
Siles hadn’t told the students about the test paper, and he didn’t intend to include its score in the final grade either. But… no matter what, how well someone has learned can indeed be tested by an exam, can’t it?
For this matter, Siles had even specially asked Benton to have the publisher print the test papers.
Printing them wasn’t troublesome, and Benton agreed very readily — of course, he was also very happy to keep flattering Siles, this money tree, and hinted more than once that it was time to press forward and write a new novel.
“Even a slow serial publication in the newspaper would be fine,” Benton had said.
However, Siles could only temporarily decline that suggestion. At the very least, he would have to wait until after the winter break to think about it.
He sorted the test papers, organized the things he would do afterward, and then went to sleep early. At six o’clock on Tuesday morning, he woke up and, as expected, saw the rain hazy outside the window.
Siles sat there for a moment, then went to wash up.
Around seven, the rain lessened a bit, so Siles went out, ate breakfast in the cafeteria, and then headed to his office.
A letter was placed at the office door. Siles picked it up, opened the door, and walked in. He set down the test papers, sat down, and opened the envelope.
As expected, the letter was from Horatio Dwight.
This social group chairman of the Tourture Study Society had, over the past few weeks, consistently and diligently organized the activities after each meeting and written to Siles for review.
Because of this, Siles had always had a good impression of Horatio.
Of course, he had some objections to this young student and the things his companions were studying. Those feelings were not aimed at Horatio himself, but rather at what he had once heard about the Torture Study Association.
However, since Dominic had told him about the organization’s existence, Siles had never encountered any related incidents, nor heard any related news.
He always felt that the matter was already over… perhaps because of what had happened at the underground trade fair, which made the Torture Study Association rein itself in?
Siles hoped that was the case.
He unfolded the letter and began reading. In it, Horatio summarized the group’s activities for the entire semester.
They had already collected a large amount of behavior by old-god believers in self-restraint and self-discipline, including daily food and clothing, bodily cleanliness, time scheduling, and so on.
Of course, from Horatio’s letter, the believers’ behavior they were studying was only “restraint” in the sense of body and mind, not “torture.” That greatly relieved Siles as well.
Siles had already written to Horatio, suggesting that they could further explore the moral significance, spiritual value, defects, shortcomings, historical evolution, and so on of “self-restraint.”
If the ultimate goal of the Tourture Study Society was to produce a paper, then these parts were indispensable.
Siles knew that Horatio himself was an Enlightener.
And the excessively respectful wording in the young student’s letters, the over-politeness and stiffness — whether this was just Siles’s illusion or not — made him feel that the student himself seemed to be living under a very strict regime of self-restraint.
Of course, he couldn’t say that this kind of self-control was wrong.
He just thought: could a young man really achieve this level?
What kind of family did Horatio come from? What kind of environment was he raised in? What were his parents like, and his elders?
Siles was somewhat curious about this. Perhaps it was the instinctive judgment of a novelist toward a character, or perhaps it was the instinctive probing of a keeper of secrets toward a secret.
He finished reading the letter, then wrote a reply. In it, he repeated his usual view and hoped Horatio could seek out the essential “meaning” within these “behaviors.”
In addition, he also suggested that Horatio could look for some modern forms of “self-restraint” through other channels, rather than limiting the topic and scope only to early history.
He sincerely congratulated Horatio and his friends on their progress, and hoped they could finish the paper and publish it in a sufficiently excellent journal.
After writing the reply, Siles sealed it in an envelope and temporarily put it in the desk drawer, planning to mail it later.
He checked the time. There was still more than an hour before the ten o’clock class, so he took the opportunity to carefully think about his own paper.
This was early October. He probably wouldn’t make the late-October journal issue, so he would have to wait until late November.
The good news was that through Benton, he already had some journal publication channels. In other words, he didn’t need to worry about whether his paper could appear in a journal.
“Wandering poets are followers of Ligadia.” As Professor Bright had said, just this one thing he had found was enough for his paper to achieve a more outstanding result.
Siles’s paper was now at a somewhat awkward stage. He had collected enough information about the wandering poets, and he had already classified their works within the literary field. The content was sufficient.
But he still hadn’t found a truly crucial and direct piece of information — some documgrentary material or classical text, to prove that the wandering poets really were followers of Ligadia’s followers.
Of course, this paper may not actually need to prove it in great detail, but Siles still wanted to manage that if possible.
Thinking of that, he couldn’t help sighing.
He kept an eye on the time, and at 9:45 he left the office and went to the classroom. The students were already there, chatting enthusiastically.
They were probably very happy. Even though the weather was gloomy, winter break was almost here — a full two weeks of vacation!
Siles went up to the podium, placed the test paper on it, and said, “Good morning, everyone. Today we’ll have an exam. On Thursday, I’ll announce the results and go over the paper.”
The atmosphere instantly froze.
Siles watched as the smiles on the students’ faces, brought on by the approaching end of the term, slowly disappeared…
At that moment, he had no doubt whatsoever that his reputation on campus was about to head toward some extreme.
He distributed the papers as if nothing were wrong, and amid the students’ despairing looks, said calmly, “You have ninety minutes to complete this test.”
The classroom was as silent as a grave.
Siles added, “Of course, the score on this paper will not be included in your final course grade.”
The students seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but some of them stared at Siles in disbelief — if it didn’t count toward the grade, why take the exam at all?
Siles said, “After a semester of study, I think you may need an exam to check your learning results.” He glanced at the time. “All right, it’s already ten o’clock. Start answering.”
The classroom remained quiet for a moment, and then the sound of writing slowly began.
An hour and a half later, Siles looked at the students’ grim expressions and felt a subtle sense of confusion. He thought the paper he had set wasn’t difficult — why were the students so troubled?
It was just some multiple-choice questions, some fill-in-the-blanks, some short answers, some reading comprehension… or perhaps, was it that this Earth-specific style and format of questioning had stumped this group of students from another world?
He didn’t think too much about it, collected the test papers, sorted them slowly, and watched the students leave the classroom.
That afternoon, he graded the papers quickly in the office, then fell into thought — the paper… seemed a little difficult?
Only students like Annette Melvin, the good ones, managed excellent results. The others, like Angela Clayton, mostly fell in the range from passing to good.
There were even failing scores, such as Angela’s friend Millicent Austin. That seemingly frail girl got the lowest score in the class.
Should he remind Millicent and tell her not to keep being absent-minded, but to pay attention in class?
…In any case, had he just dealt a heavy blow to this group’s confidence right before the end of the semester?
After thinking for a while, he decided, well, let it be. Keeping them humble was also a good thing.
After grading the papers, Siles organized them neatly and thought that, for the students’ mental health, he’d have to be gentler in Thursday’s class… yes, gentler.
That night, in the elective class, Siles handed back the course essays the students had submitted earlier and discussed several of the better ones. The students looked both relieved and worried, but no one failed, which was good news.
When that class ended, A Literary Overview from the Era of the Divine Birth to the Silent Era was fully complete.
Siles looked at the many familiar faces in the classroom and felt a slight stir of emotion. He thought that this was also the first semester he had spent in this world.
He didn’t dwell on it. It was already late, so he quickly dismissed the class.
Back in the dormitory, Siles thought over tomorrow’s schedule, read for a while, and then went to bed early.
The next morning, before heading to the Historical Society, he first went to Benton’s publishing house and handed Emmanuel’s translation manuscript over to the publisher.
It was too early, and no one was in the office yet, so he left the manuscript with the doorman. The doorman handed him a sheet of paper and asked him to write down the manuscript’s contents and notes.
Siles noticed especially that, perhaps because it came from the publishing house, the sheet of paper was very fine indeed — entirely white, with a flower emblem printed in the lower right corner that he couldn’t identify.
He started writing, thinking that this was the best paper he had used since arriving in this world, very much to the liking of someone like him, who preferred the feel of handwriting.
After all, in the world of Fisher, there were no computers. That novel The Revenge of the Rose had been written by his own hand, word by word. How painful that was could be seen from how much ink he had bought during this time.
Benton happened to arrive at the publishing house at that moment. He greeted Siles warmly and thanked him for bringing the translation manuscript.
So Siles stopped writing, handed the travelogue to Benton, and asked, “When will this travelogue probably be published?”
“We’ll have to proofread it, then do the layout, arrange printing… perhaps next week. Just in time for the Duke’s announcement of the Withered Wasteland development plan.”
Next week. Siles thought. That really was fast. Then again, in this world, there weren’t so many publications, so layout and printing could be done very quickly.
As for the Withered Wasteland development plan… although the Duke of Const had not yet formally announced it, it already seemed to be common knowledge.
Siles nodded, and by the way asked about the source of that paper.
“Oh, this paper,” Benton said. “The printing house seems to be developing a new pulp, and the first batch was sent to us so we could try it out. Since it’s a trial version, they even printed a flower on the paper to distinguish it.
“Do you find it easy to use?”
“I find it very easy to use,” Siles said diplomatically.
Benton immediately understood the implication in his words and laughed at once. “Professor, since you like it, I’ll send a batch to you later. Of course, since it hasn’t officially gone on sale yet, the flower emblem will still be on the paper. I hope you don’t mind.”
Siles thanked him and asked about the price. Benton didn’t want him to pay and only asked once again for him to start writing a new novel sooner. Siles agreed, then bade Benton farewell and went to the Historical Society.
In Room 177, Grenfield was already waiting for him.
