“So what is this, then?” Chendo asked with great interest.
Siles stared at the mound of food in the pan. After a moment of silence, he offered, “Scrambled eggs with tomatoes?”
“Hmm… How many eggs did you put in? Why does this look more like…” Chendo mused for a moment before saying, “A tomato egg pancake?”
Siles fell silent, his gaze slowly shifting toward the trash can.
That afternoon, he had come to 32 Lowell Street intending to make scrambled eggs with tomatoes. He had regretted buying flour the moment he stepped out—the transmigrated novelist from Earth had never made dumplings in his life; he had only ever eaten frozen ones from the fridge, or those hand-wrapped by his mother.
If he had bought pre-made dumpling wrappers, that would have been one thing… but flour?
He had wisely donated the flour bought at the market directly to the street-side charity corner on the spot.
Of course, he felt scrambled eggs with tomatoes was still worth a try. Even if it turned into tomato and egg soup, that would be fine, but…
He thought, add water when there’s too much flour, add flour when there’s too much water; stir-fry tomato with egg, stir-fry egg with tomato.
Tomato egg pancake. Siles silently repeated the phrase, thinking to himself, Chendo, you really are a brutally honest man.
He couldn’t help sighing, setting the spatula down, and turning off the stove before looking back at Chendo. Chendo’s emerald eyes were brimming with amusement—a daring, brazen believer, laughing at his deity’s terrible cooking while the god was in the kitchen.
“So, you don’t want to eat it, Chendo?” Siles asked.
“Of course… I want to,” Chendo stepped forward, speaking with absolute honesty. “After all, you made it.”
“In that case, you eat what I made, and I’ll eat what you make,” Siles said. “A tomato egg pancake. Since you named it, you should finish it.”
Chendo shrugged. “As you wish. However…” He suddenly leaned in close to Siles’s face, amidst the savory aroma of the tomato egg pancake, and whispered softly in Siles’s ear, “Should I eat yours?”
Siles: “…”
He didn’t even understand what Chendo meant at first.
By the time he realized, Chendo had already nonchalantly scooped the “tomato egg pancake” onto a plate and said, “Alright, alright, I should make something you actually enjoy.”
Siles glanced at the excessive amount of eggs in the dish, fell silent for a moment, and suddenly said, “Chendo, Professor Bright recommended a residential area for reference today.”
Chendo replied, “I understand. Perhaps we can move there in a few months.” He suddenly looked at Siles, a touch smug as he said, “It seems you’re almost as anxious as I am.”
Siles was momentarily taken aback, then let out a laugh.
He thought to himself that he wasn’t really that anxious. In the heat of passion, the give-and-take between lovers was always intoxicating, and he was no exception. Yet, realizing how eager Chendo was made his heart soften.
Chendo was like a clingy little animal, desperately scrambling up his pant leg, occasionally patting him gently. How could he not feel moved to reach down and pick this little creature up?
Siles stayed at Chendo’s place for the entire afternoon.
He mentioned the spring break scholarly visit to Chendo, though he didn’t hold out much hope for it.
“Still, Middleton is indeed a very mysterious nation,” Siles said. “They still worship Amois to this day. Is it possible they’ve preserved some related archival materials?”
“There might be,” Chendo said, though he reminded him, “You already have more than enough reading materials to get through as it is.”
Siles paused, then let out a sigh.
Yes, that was true.
Just the legacy gift left by Professor Calverley was vast beyond count, not to mention the materials from the Praia family, academic reference books, and the reading lists prepared for his apprentices and other students.
These readings already filled Siles’s life, yet he was still longing for even more books.
He decisively set the thought aside.
“Besides, if nothing goes wrong, a new batch of Praia family archives should arrive tomorrow,” Chendo said. “A good portion of this batch is in the Kansas script, so I might need to translate them for you.”
“That would be wonderful,” Siles couldn’t help saying. “Previously, when I obtained some materials written in Kansas script, I had to seek help from an international student from Kansas. Having you here makes things much more convenient, Chendo.”
Chendo shrugged, leaned in to kiss him, and then slyly said, “I’m very glad I can do something for you. I hope this makes you like me even more and rendered unable to leave me.”
Siles was momentarily stunned, then smiled faintly.
That was Chendo. Chendo was always like this, blatantly displaying himself in front of Siles, hoping to win Siles’s affection.
Yet, he had already won it long ago.
On Monday evening, Siles returned to 6 Hayward Street, lit the stove, and gradually “thawed” himself out beside the warm flames. Afterward, he went to the washroom to wash up and do his laundry. He was a bit worried the clothes wouldn’t dry in time.
Perhaps he could dry them by the stove. He pondered this, but then cautiously felt that it might just set his clothes on fire.
…He really ought to ask his acquaintances about how things were done in this world, rather than stubbornly clinging to his Earthly notions. But as he thought this, he also realized that he was gradually integrating into the Fisher World.
The background color of his soul. He thought. He was inevitably being stained, depicted, and covered by the colors of this world. Perhaps sooner or later, when others asked about his hometown, he would blurt out the Fisher World without a second thought, rather than… his Earth.
His hopelessly distant Earth.
That thought brought a sliver of sorrow and helplessness in the cold winter.
Yet he reasoned that he already knew a great deal. How much time had even passed? He shouldn’t be so impatient.
With these thoughts, Siles slowly calmed down, gently yet firmly suppressing those sudden overflowing emotions once more. At a time like this, he wished Chendo were by his side.
Unfortunately, this was 6 Hayward Street, not 32 Lowell Street, to which he had gradually grown accustomed lately.
Losing himself in these idle thoughts, time trickled by. At eight in the evening, Siles sat down at his desk and carefully opened a book.
The Life of a Man Named Conan Fremont. He intended to read Volume Seven tonight.
He had already finished the previous volumes, which had given him a deeper understanding of Conan Fremont.
Conan Fremont came from an affluent background and was a follower of Thaddeus, the God of Death and Calamity.
Judging from his autobiography, the young Fremont was a rather arrogant and dissolute man. Because of his good family background and early faith in Thaddeus, he held a disdainful arrogance toward the “living,” believing that death was the coolest thing in existence.
However, life was the best tool for smoothing away a person’s sharp edges.
Around the time he turned thirty, tragedy struck his family, and they went bankrupt overnight. As the only son, he had no choice but to shoulder the responsibilities of the family business.
After finally paying off the debts, getting married, having children, and securing a relatively comfortable life where he could face death with a calm demeanor, Thaddeus suddenly fell.
The blow at that moment was utterly severe and bleak for him.
Before Thaddeus fell, Fremont’s ultimate goal in life was to face aging and death in a more complete state, almost as a way to atone for the rashness of his youth.
Yet, just as he was truly growing old and preparing to take a deep breath to let the icy chill of death seep into his soul, Thaddeus died—what was there to say? Had death itself abandoned him?
The Life of a Man Named Conan Fremont. Excluding the preface, the book comprised twelve volumes in total.
Volumes One to Three covered Fremont’s youth.
Volumes Four to Six recounted how he was forced to take up the heavy burdens of his family, growing from a young boy into a true man.
Volumes Seven to Eleven—a lengthy five volumes—detailed the period after Thaddeus fell, depicting how Fremont gradually transitioned from the identity of a believer to engaging in literary creation, alongside his life up until his death.
Prior to this, the contents of these five volumes had remained lost, hidden behind the mysterious veil of history. For many, this was a matter of great regret.
As for the final twelfth volume, it was a summary that roughly recounted Conan Fremont’s life, as well as the key people and events that had exerted a profound impact on him.
However, whether it was Fremont’s own intention or the result of filtering during later editorial revisions, Fremont’s identity as a “believer” was significantly downplayed in that volume.
It made it seem as though he were just an ordinary man living through the Age of Silence. From birth to growth, aging, and death, it appeared as if the fall of the god had exerted little influence on his life.
Yet in reality, there was a time when Fremont had been so close to Thaddeus.
“…
“Sometimes I feel that Our God was a deity who stayed very close to His followers. He did not like to be too far from people, because death itself is something so near.
“Of course, I am well aware that these words must never be made known to anyone. In my youth, when Our God was still present, I dared not let others know my thoughts; now, there is no need for me to hide them.
“No one will trouble me anyway. After all, I know all of Our God’s believers. I even knew several Revelators. They lived among us like ordinary people, only separating from us when death arrived.
“Death. Death.
“I often wonder what kind of thing death is… an experience? Perhaps that is the word to describe it. There was a time when I wanted to die but couldn’t, a time when I almost died yet failed to rest in Our God’s embrace, and later on, I gritted my teeth, telling myself I could not die.
“And later still, like now, I cannot allow myself to die easily either, because having lived for so long, dying just like this feels somewhat regrettable. Besides, I no longer have the chance to travel to the Moshaque Hills.
“I have indeed heard that some of Our God’s followers are searching for the hills, just like the believers of other fallen deities. They all wish to find the ‘paradise,’ believing that clues and information regarding the god’s fall might reside there.
“I do not quite agree with their views. Perhaps it is because I once cast a distant glance toward the Moshaque Hills. I always think: even if the god has fallen, why must death disturb that ‘paradise’?
“…
“I heard a piece of news today, which I shall note down as a supplementary record. Naturally, I have embellished the account somewhat.
“In short, I heard that a devout believer passed away today. His family, however, got into a quarrel with others because they did not know where to hold the funeral service. Normally, it would be held at the church of the god he believed in, but with the god fallen, the church naturally has no one left.
“Thus, the body remained at home. With the current weather being extremely hot, the neighbors smelled the stench and argued with the family, demanding a swift burial. But—a burial? Where could they possibly bury him?
“This world after the fall of the gods is full of helpless and miserable wails, yet no god remains to answer these words. The world answers everything with silence. This is the Age of Silence.”
The Age of Silence. Siles was slightly taken aback.
He thought that, to some extent, this was indeed an explanation for the name of this era.
The naming of these ages was often spearheaded by the gods and their followers; after all, the world possessed gods, and the gods once held the greatest authority.
The Age of Divine Birth, the Age of Faith, the Age of Empire. As human civilization gradually developed and expanded, the followers of gods also gained certain powers. They were able to offer suggestions to the deities. The Age of Empire had been named under such circumstances.
Human historians believed that the main stage of that era no longer belonged to the gods, but to the empires of humanity. Of course, under the mindset of that era, it was still considered a realm belonging to the gods. The scales had unknowingly tipped.
The Age of Shadows, the Age of Silence, the Age of Mist. It was as if a sudden disaster had struck the world, causing a sharp turn in what had been a thriving realm. Shadows, silence, mist—the true face of the world became covered by a thick veil.
To Siles’s knowledge, the naming of the Age of Shadows and the Age of Silence was decided almost simultaneously, right around the year Elco, the God of Wine and Pleasure, fell.
The vast majority of the deities seemed to have jointly made this decision—the past thousand years were named “Shadows,” and the coming years were named “Silence.” Ordinary people naturally accepted the designation of this age.
It wasn’t that no one had ever wondered about the strangeness of these two names. Given that gods were falling left and right, why was this age called “Silence”? When no one knew what had happened during the Age of Shadows, why was that era specifically termed “Shadows”?
The names seemed to hide some secret. Yet, a name was ultimately just a name. No one dug to the bottom of it, and no one in those chaotic times ever truly got an answer.
Thus, the Age of Shadows remained the Age of Shadows, and the Age of Silence remained the Age of Silence.
As for the Age of Mist, that was a term people gradually adopted after Antinam appeared, simply because the world was indeed shrouded in mist. The Church of the Past eventually acquiesced to this phrasing, and so it slowly became the official term.
Nowadays, people held funerals within the Church of the Past and arranged for their loved ones to be buried under its guidance. In any case, those days of not knowing where to hold a funeral were gone, never to return.
Another detail in the text that piqued Siles’s interest was Fremont’s attitude toward the “paradise of the gods.”
He did not seem to believe that the secrets of the Old Gods’ fall were hidden within their paradises.
This was not impossible, but Fremont’s taken-for-granted tone struck Siles as somewhat odd. Why was Fremont so certain of this? Was it because…
Was it because, even if the Old Gods fell, their power still persisted? Therefore, the paradises of the Old Gods could continue to maintain themselves?
Thinking of the deep-sea dreams and the mysterious farm, Siles had to admit that this was very likely. The paradise of a god seemed to exist relatively independently; even if the “god” was no longer present, the “paradise” remained.
He quietly pondered this concept before suddenly snapping back to reality, realizing it was getting late. He closed the book, took off his glasses, extinguished the stove, and prepared for bed.
Akamara’s power continuously protected him, allowing him to enjoy a restful sleep.
The next morning, when Siles stepped into his elective class, he habitually scanned the students and suddenly felt something amiss—was someone missing?
Angela Clayton stepped forward to help hand over Annette Melvin’s leave request form.
Annette Melvin was the top student in the class and the most hardworking. She was one of the few who had actually read Siles’s paper on Conan Fremont.
Given her diligence and dedication, Siles did not believe she would take leave without a valid reason.
Siles couldn’t help frowning slightly, asking, “What happened to her?”
Angela shook her head. “She only mentioned family matters.”
The classroom was very quiet, the students waiting for Siles to handle the matter.
Siles nodded, placed the leave form into his document folder, and said, “I see. We may begin the lecture.”
During the class, Siles brought up knowledge related to Conan Fremont. The complete set of books gifted by Professor Calverley proved immensely helpful, even prompting him to revise certain aspects of his lesson plan.
However, Siles had no intention of inviting trouble or revealing the fact that he possessed the full set. He merely corrected a few subtle flaws where possible, mostly out of his own distaste for such oversights.
During the lecture, a student asked, “Professor, you mentioned that Fremont was a follower of Thaddeus. Did followers of other Old Gods engage in literature like Fremont did?”
Siles weighed his words before answering, “Of course. From the very beginning, literature possessed a distinction between ‘sacred texts’ and ‘secular texts.’ Believers praised and glorified the gods and their followers, and such works were common in early literature.
“This kind of recording is naturally a form of literature as well. From the Age of Divine Birth to the Age of Mist, sacred texts have always existed, and there have always been those who studied them deeply.
“What makes Fremont unique is that he personally lived through that phase when the Old Gods fell. From faith to broken faith, his transformation, his life experiences, and his writings were all endowed with the profound light of that era.”
The student nodded, seeming to half-understand.
Angela asked, “So, you mean… these writings are essentially connected to the ‘people’ of that era?”
Siles pondered Angela’s phrasing. “Words and the era… indeed. Fictional stories are ultimately built upon the real world.”
Saying this, he suddenly froze.
Fictional… and, real?
For a split second, he felt as if he had grasped a sudden revelation.
However, the students’ questions quickly interrupted his train of thought. Siles didn’t dwell on it further, merely jotting the question down in his notebook.
After class, as the students were leaving one after another, Siles suddenly remembered something and called out to Angela Clayton and Millicent Austin.
He nodded toward Millicent and said, “Miss Austin, I heard that you are quite knowledgeable about plants?”
Millicent nodded in surprise. After the death of Marquess Austin, this timid, introverted girl had slowly emerged from the shadow in her heart after her initial panic and despair, becoming visibly more outgoing.
Of course, being called on by the professor after class still made her a little nervous.
Siles asked, “In that case, I would like to consult you—” His choice of words seemed to make Millicent even more tense, so Siles paused briefly. “Does the rose have any symbolic meanings other than ‘love’?”
“The rose?” Millicent was momentarily taken aback.
Angela eavesdropped with curiosity, muttering, “I only knew that roses symbolize love.”
Millicent thought for a moment, then said, “Roses… if I remember correctly, roses are also connected to human fate. An eight-petaled rose signifies rebirth and renewal, while a seven-petaled rose signifies tolerance, understanding, and order.
“Some also believe roses symbolize balance, commitment, and new hope… um, and others feel the rose symbolizes a sacred goddess… Oh, right, in some ancient texts, people believed brewing tea with roses could induce prophetic dreams.”
“…Prophetic dreams?” Siles was startled.
Angela exclaimed in surprise, “Milly, do you remember? When we were looking up sayings about marigolds before, someone also said marigolds could produce prophetic dreams.”
Millicent gave a slight nod, appearing somewhat constrained in front of the professor. She said softly, “That’s right. However, plants always carry many symbolic meanings, and people’s interpretations vary widely.”
“How fascinating,” Angela couldn’t help exclaiming.
Siles said, “I understand. Thank you for your help, Miss Austin.”
Millicent shook her head nervously. “N-No need to thank me, Professor.”
Shortly after, Angela and Millicent bade Siles farewell and left together.
Once the students had departed, Siles slowly let out a breath—he thought he finally understood why roses appeared in that mysterious farm. The rose was very likely the symbol of Akamara, just as the saffron was the symbol of Personari.
Furthermore, both the rose and the marigold had rumors of inducing prophetic dreams? This seemed to hint at the relationship between Akamara and Lusmi to some extent.
In addition, the subtle connections between the rose and Siles himself felt deeply intriguing.
Did the rose relate to fate? He reflected for a moment.
Jotting these thoughts into his notebook, his eyes naturally drifted to the line he had written during class right beside them:
“Fictional stories are ultimately built upon the real world.”
…Reflecting on what he had just considered, he felt as though he had unconsciously passed a check on Spirituality or Knowledge and received an “insight.”
Angus Keys. He thought. This former Ashless Lands explorer had embarked on a real-world journey of vengeance all because of the fictional story The Revenge of the Rose.
Fiction, reality, fiction. A fictional story drove real-world events, and real-world events turned back to align with the fictional story.
This matter very likely resonated with Akamara’s power, allowing Siles to search deep-sea dreams and uncover the hidden secrets within them.
Previously, Siles had thought this might be a form of “turning fiction into reality.” But now, he felt it wasn’t that simple; the power of a god could not be mastered so easily.
He seemed to have overlooked a more crucial step—allowing this process of “turning fiction into reality” to turn back around and resonate with the god’s power.
…Turning reality into fiction?
The Revenge of the Rose drove Angus Keys’s actions, and Angus Keys’s actions indeed matched Ludwig’s actions in The Revenge of the Rose. It was a two-way arrow.
Fictional stories are ultimately built upon the real world. The power of a story relies on “reality.”
Furthermore… the rose. When he chose the title The Revenge of the Rose, he had merely used the common image of a rose to represent the female protagonist. Yet, he had unconsciously aligned with certain aspects of Akamara’s power.
Could this be called a coincidence? But again, a coincidence?
He remained lost in thought inside the classroom for a long while before snapping back to reality, realizing he ought to leave. Chendo was waiting for him in the office, probably grading assignments and waiting idly for Siles to join him for lunch.
Siles packed up his things, but as he stepped out the door, someone called out to him.
“…Professor Noel!” Professor Hurst appeared around the corner and called Siles’s name.
Siles looked at him in surprise, not expecting Dean Nolan Hurst to appear at the main castle of Lamifa University at this hour. He said, “Good afternoon, Professor Hurst.”
Greeting Professor Hurst, Siles recalled what Professor Bright had said yesterday, instantly forming a guess about what Hurst was about to say.
“Good afternoon,” Professor Hurst said. “I didn’t expect to run into you right here. I read your paper, and it was…”
He carefully weighed his tone.
“Your discovery is truly commendable,” he said. “An Old God, a group of Old God followers. Though it may be something buried under the dust of history, you dug it out, wiped away the dust, and displayed it beautifully before everyone.
“That is a grand endeavor, especially since you are so young with such a bright future ahead, possessing ample time to uncover even more secrets.”
It was clear that Professor Hurst deeply appreciated Siles’s paper on the wandering poets, lavishing praise without restraint, nearly hailing Siles as a top-tier scholar.
Siles, however, possessed self-awareness. He had merely picked an obscure topic and luckily stumbled upon right batches of materials. Chendo’s appearance was an even greater unexpected surprise.
Siles offered a few humble words, though he refrained from appearing overly modest. He had come to understand the unwritten rules of this era: one should accept praise for their achievements with polite composure rather than rejection.
Professor Hurst chatted with him for a few more moments and asked where he was heading next.
“I plan to head to the office to find my assistant,” Siles said. “He should be grading assignments. I have a few matters to go over with him.”
Naturally, this was an excuse. Siles thought.
Perhaps Professor Hurst wanted to grab lunch and chat slowly, but Siles didn’t enjoy discussing matters over a meal with unfamiliar superiors. He preferred standing here, in the empty castle corridor, to hear what Professor Hurst actually wanted to say.
Hence, he deliberately brought up his “assistant.”
“Oh…” Professor Hurst looked slightly surprised. Then, after a brief hesitation, he spoke frankly: “Professor Noel, I heard about what Professor Mantel did to you. I spoke with him, but he was unwilling to apologize to you.
“…I don’t know what has gotten into him. I find his behavior utterly inappropriate. I was unaware of what he had done before, but I know now. I hope you won’t take it too much to heart.
“Regardless, Professor Mantel went far too much out of line this time. I will teach him a proper lesson; that is my duty as the Dean of the School of Literature and History.
“Furthermore… Professor Noel, do you still remember the spring break scholarly visit?”
Siles was slightly taken aback.
He hadn’t expected Professor Bright’s words to come true so quickly. He couldn’t help thinking.
He nodded and said cautiously, “I remember it was mentioned at the end-of-term meeting last semester.”
“That’s the one,” Professor Hurst nodded. “Your academic paper turned out exceptionally well this year, so I have submitted your name. It should be approved without issue. Professor Noel, you can start preparing for your spring break trip.”
Siles was quite surprised; he hadn’t anticipated Dean Hurst acting so swiftly, making the decision already and merely informing him now.
He couldn’t help asking, “May I ask, Professor Hurst, where exactly are we going?”
“Middleton. It is a somewhat distant nation, but the location was decided during the university’s meeting and cannot be altered,” Professor Hurst explained. “We might detour through Galsworthy in the Ashless Lands, as taking the train is faster. Do you know about Galsworthy?”
Siles nodded slowly.
“That’s good then,” Professor Hurst said. “Once everything is finalized, you will receive your travel notice. Professor Noel, I have high hopes for your future.”
“Thank you for your guidance,” Siles said sincerely.
His gratitude was genuine, though he couldn’t help feeling that this spring break scholarly visit seemed to disrupt some of his plans—most importantly, did this mean he couldn’t return home during spring break again?
Siles had been in this world for half a year now. Aside from corresponding with the original body’s mother and sending gifts, he had never visited. The longer this was delayed, the more helpless he felt.
Even if he could truly regard himself as Siles Noel, and indeed gradually accepted this identity… a mother?
That sounded exceedingly awkward. Siles thought.
The transmigrated Earth novelist He Jiayin had his own father and mother. Furthermore, having spent half a year in this alternate world, he hadn’t spent a single day living alongside that mother. Thus, the awkwardness grew increasingly pronounced.
If the original body’s mother had been by his side when he first arrived, he might have naturally fulfilled his filial duties. It was just…
Siles couldn’t help feeling a slight headache.
The spring break scholarly visit was set, and he had no intention of changing it. Soon, he bade farewell to Professor Hurst and returned to his office on the fourth floor. Sure enough, Chendo was sitting behind his desk, propping up his chin, gazing blankly at the door.
When Siles walked in, Chendo said, “Ah, Professor Noel, you’re finally back. Your faithful assistant and lover was starting to think you were going to starve him to death.”
Siles thought to himself that this was just like a house cat grumbling and meowing at its owner, complaining that the bowl was empty.
…He had never kept a cat, yet he could draw such an apt Earth metaphor to describe Chendo. That was probably Chendo’s fault.
He couldn’t help laughing slightly, saying, “I was stopped by Professor Hurst after class, otherwise I would have come to find you earlier.”
“What did he want with you?”
“Still about Professor Mantel,” Siles said. “The spot for the spring break scholarly visit has been finalized.”
Chendo asked with great interest, “Is it really Middleton, as you guessed?”
Siles nodded. “Yes.”
Chendo let out an exclamation of wonder, then said, “You truly are like a croupier of fate. All those cards are within your control, and the tracks of fate seem held right in your hands.”
These words left a subtle emotion in Siles’s heart.
After a moment’s pause, he replied, “Though, in truth, I don’t particularly enjoy… that feeling.”
“What?”
“Controlling fate.” Siles walked to the window, looking out at the scenery outside. A light snow was falling, landing on the ground as if purifying everything.
A trace of confusion flickered in his eyes.
Chendo walked to his side, took his hand, and asked, “Then what do you like?”
Siles closed his eyes, finally saying helplessly, “Perhaps I don’t know either.” He thought for a moment and added, “It’s just that I don’t quite like the feeling of controlling others’ fate, life, death, or future. That should belong to them.”
“I can understand what you mean,” Chendo said. “However, you wouldn’t maliciously manipulate their fates either. In that regard, if there truly is a so-called ‘fate,’ I would rather you hold it than anyone else—or any other god.”
So, was there truly a so-called “fate”?
Siles remained silent, realizing that perhaps… it truly existed.
As he pondered, a warm sensation touched his lips. Chendo kissed him. Returning to his senses, Siles looked at Chendo in confusion, asking, “What is it?”
Chendo looked at him, his emerald eyes flashing with a playful yet knowing smile, as if aware that Siles wouldn’t maintain his guard at that moment—nor did he want Siles to keep his guard up.
He merely said, “Besides, don’t you want to master me?”
Siles fell silent for a moment, then said, “So that’s what you hope I’ll do, Chendo?”
“Mm… of course.”
Siles let out a low laugh and said, “I understand.”
“…What do you understand?” Chendo looked at him with doubt.
“The positions,” Siles said. “Alright, Chendo, we should go eat. Aren’t you hungry?”
Chendo: “…”
What positions?
Chendo froze for a moment, then quickly caught up to Siles’s footsteps. He looked at Siles with a mix of suspicion and flustered surprise. Finally, he said, “Well, I am starving, Professor Noel.”
It seemed as though the matter had passed casually just like that, but Siles knew Chendo would never leave it at that. Chendo would surely find a time to carefully probe Siles’s meaning.
Sure enough, after they finished lunch and planned to return to 32 Lowell Street together—since the materials from the Praia family had arrived, Siles intended to spend the afternoon reading there—Chendo spoke up.
“So, have you been considering how to do it when the time comes?” he asked, his phrasing extremely cautious and tactful, as if he would smoothly go along with whatever Siles said if Siles pretended not to understand.
Siles, however, felt like a hunter waiting by a tree stump, while the silly “foolish rabbit” actually bumped right into it.
He said, “Yes, Chendo. I have been considering it. You know my personality,” he said. “I like making plans, I like having everything properly arranged—including you.”
“Oh… um, I mean…”
Chendo looked entirely unprepared for this answer, his tone ending up somewhat stiff as he said, “I… I’m looking forward to it?”
Siles glanced at him with amusement.
“I mean… I really am looking forward to it, it’s just…” Chendo didn’t quite know what to say. “I’m just… flattered?”
Siles burst out laughing and said, “Chendo, saying that makes it sound like you’re unsatisfied with how I usually handle things?”
“Of course not!” Chendo blurted out, then muttered a whole series of soft complaints under his breath that Siles couldn’t even catch clearly.
Soon after, Chendo cleared his throat and said very seriously, “I know what you mean, I just feel… can you imagine that feeling? Something you’ve been looking forward to for so long, and suddenly, it’s so very close to you.”
Siles thought for a moment and said, “I can indeed feel your anticipation, and that makes me look forward to it too. That much is true, Chendo.”
Chendo was stunned for a moment, then chuckled softly. He said, “You are so wonderful. I’m becoming more and more impatient.”
They returned to 32 Lowell Street and went to the study. Siles casually set his bag aside and sat down.
“What are your plans for later?” Chendo asked.
“I have to dine with the Vane family tonight,” Siles said. “I couldn’t go last Saturday, so we rescheduled for this Tuesday. Since the new year is approaching, we plan to eat at a restaurant outside.”
“Oh, what a coincidence,” Chendo said. “I also have to dine with some merchants tonight.”
“Regarding the Praia family?” Siles asked.
During this period, aside from spending time with Siles and handling his assistant duties, Chendo had been constantly busy with the Praia family’s affairs. The backlog of work, documents, and interpersonal relationships made Siles realize more than once just how massive the Praia family’s enterprise truly was.
He could hardly imagine how Chendo had previously managed to wander so freely through the Ashless Lands as an explorer.
…Could it be because he had been playing hands-off the entire time? Given Chendo’s personality, that didn’t seem impossible.
Chendo replied, “Yes. It seems the matter regarding the underground railway has been finalized. They hope to negotiate a concrete construction plan before the end of the year, so companies from related industries were invited to confer.
“The Lamifa Chamber of Commerce is leading this. As you know, the Praia family’s industries are substantial enough for me to hold a seat there. It appears they have decided to side with the Grand Duke of Konst.
“I heard some companies have already started planning routes in advance. However, this has drawn protests from some residents, as running a railway through residential areas will inevitably bring noise, pollution, and various other troubles.”
As he spoke, Chendo couldn’t help frowning slightly.
He shifted the topic: “Supposedly, a construction team got into a conflict with a household during negotiations. A fierce argument broke out, leading to physical violence, and someone was sent straight to the hospital.”
Siles let out a sigh. “I’m afraid this won’t be an isolated case.”
“Indeed,” Chendo said. “What a hassle. Some things simply cannot satisfy both sides. Of course, the aggressive attitude of the construction companies is certainly a problem, but those merchants don’t care about the lives of commoners.
“The matter was suppressed; I didn’t even see any related news reports in the papers. I suppose the vast majority of residents are still eagerly looking forward to the opening of the subway.”
“That is true,” Siles said. “Hopefully, everything can be resolved smoothly.”
Chendo agreed with his sentiment.
Afterward, Chendo brought out the archival materials belonging to the Praia family. This batch was even larger, appearing exceedingly old and covered in dust.
Chendo said, “Part of this contains information regarding the Old Gods, which I read as fairy tales when I was little.” He mentioned it as if it were nothing unusual. “The family library still holds another portion, but that will have to wait until winter passes.
“These should be enough for you to read for now… So, what would you like to look at?”
Siles thought for a moment and said, “Is there any material in here that mentions both Personari and Thaddeus?”
Chendo froze.
“Personari has indeed been involved throughout this incident,” Siles said. “However, Nanisal Bryant happens to be a follower of Thaddeus. These two gods represent life and death respectively; I am very curious about the relationship between Them.”
In the small book Gods and Believers in the Shadows, Siles had even read a claim that Personari broke ties with Thaddeus and Lusmi because They had a child together.
Of course, Siles was well aware that Jan Calder’s book was filled with metaphors. He couldn’t say for sure why such a seemingly “jealous” claim existed.
Besides, judging from the actual situation of Chendo, an “Old God’s Scion,” the “child” of an Old God was not as simple as it appeared on the surface.
The Praia family inherited the power of Ligadia, which was why they could be called “Old God’s Scions,” though Siles still didn’t know what “scion” meant in that title.
So what was the deal with Thaddeus and Lusmi? Who was Their child?
Chendo was the only remaining Old God’s Scion in the current era. Did that mean the child of Thaddeus and Lusmi had no remaining descendants?
Regardless, even based on the precedent set during the Greyson incident—where followers of Timiafa and Brancani believed the two gods reached the “same destination through different routes”—Siles felt he ought to conduct a proper study on Personari and Thaddeus.
He explained his thoughts to Chendo.
Chendo understood, then searched through the pile of materials and found a specific stack of papers.
He handed the stack of papers—which appeared to be a manuscript copy—to Siles, saying, “This seems to be information related to those two gods that a follower of Ligadia learned during the Age of Empire.
“Fortunately, this manuscript was translated into Konst script. It appears to have been published in the Duchy of Konst during the early Age of Mist and collected by the Praia family. You can read it later.”
Siles’s gaze had initially landed on the manuscript copy, but hearing Chendo say this, he paused slightly and looked up at him.
Chendo said, “You mentioned the conspiracy surrounding this incident. That made me realize Lamifa City is also very dangerous.” He paused briefly. “It just so happens we have time this afternoon.
“So, don’t you think it’s time to begin your long-delayed combat training?”
