Siles conversed with Dominic for a considerably long period of time regarding his experiences in the Ashless Lands, the truth behind the scenes of the Greyson incident, and those followers of the Old Gods in the Ashless Lands.
Dominic listened in silence, coming to sudden realizations every now and then, until everything finally dissolved into a sigh.
He said, “It seems this is the truth of the matter. I never expected that a single trip to the Ashless Lands would actually allow you to resolve the truth behind the Greyson incident.”
Siles answered in a low voice, “It was merely a coincidence. How is the investigation within the city progressing currently?”
Before Siles left for the Ashless Lands, quite a few investigations had been underway on the Lamifa City side, including the one regarding that mysterious organization, as well as the source of the food in the royal palace.
“Regarding the source of the food: after they obtained that portrait, in order to save time, they utilized corpses from the police station… The Grand Duke was furious over this and thoroughly investigated certain illegal corruption matters within the city, though…”
Dominic shrugged.
“As for the food in the royal palace, judging purely from the procurement list, no issues were discovered. We suspect Elgar added some less-than-legal plant materials into the food… and that point touches upon that mysterious organization.”
Siles asked at an opportune moment, “So, regarding that organization?”
Dominic shook his head regretfully and said, “We found some clues. However, those clues were all concentrated on Elgar. With his death, many matters have been buried in past time as well.”
He let out a slow sigh, seemingly reminded of other things by such words.
Siles couldn’t help but think back to the events that transpired in the kitchen after the banquet. Looking back now, that wave of deaths had overwhelmed everything like a collapsing mountain, upending the lives of countless people in an instant.
Finally, their topic shifted toward Lamifa City’s reaction to the Greyson incident.
“The primary issue is that people suffered from a bit of loss of appetite, though as time passed, the situation improved significantly,” Dominic said. “Furthermore, the food they consumed… seems to have caused the residents’ physical health to deteriorate, particularly for some of the elderly.
“This year’s winter brings bitter cold weather once more… I heard business at Hume Pharmacy has been booming excessively of late. I fear countless people will consider this a grueling winter.”
Siles froze slightly, then let out a sigh as well.
As evening approached, he bade Dominic farewell and left the Church of the Past. Before leaving, he made a point to express his gratitude to Grosvenor for the two Time Traces, the Boots of Nature and the Eyeglass Frame of Akamara.
After all, these two Time Traces had indeed aided him immensely in the Ashless Lands, especially the latter.
To this, Grosvenor merely offered a faint smile and said warmly, “As long as they were of help to you, Professor Noel.”
Siles took a hired carriage back to Lamifa University and went to the dining hall for dinner. In the evening, he continued organizing his paper. This was the night of Tuesday, November 10th. He hoped to finish the paper within ten days—or even five—otherwise he might run out of time.
The good news was that he didn’t need to worry about his paper failing to pass review. The publisher, Benton, was more than willing to help publish his paper; naturally, he would also continue urging Siles to write novels.
The day passed quickly. The next morning, upon stepping out, Siles received a reply from his mother mentioning the cold weather and reminding him to keep warm.
Siles placed the letter back in his room, then headed to the History Society, arriving punctually at Room 177 in the space behind the History Society’s door.
“Good morning, Teacher,” Siles said.
Grenfield was already waiting for him there.
“Good morning, Siles,” Grenfield said. “Lamifa University has started its term; I figured you would come here today.”
Siles couldn’t help but smile slightly. He handed over the souvenir he brought back from the Ashless Lands to Grenfield—a rather unique 3D picture book depicting the terrain and landforms of the Ashless Lands. He felt Grenfield would appreciate such a format.
Grenfield accepted it, offered his thanks, and indeed inspected it with great interest. After observing Siles for a moment, he remarked, “I feel you seem to have grown somewhat gentler. What did you encounter in the Ashless Lands?”
“…A lover,” Siles said.
Grenfield came to a sudden realization, then let out a slight sigh, saying, “You’ve actually found a lover already? That’s quite unbelievable. Whereas I am still single, and as far as the eye can see, I’ll have to remain single.”
Siles: “…”
Was him falling in love really that unbelievable?
Siles looked at his teacher helplessly.
Grenfield merely poked fun at him briefly before speaking seriously: “This is a good thing—to possess a companion in life. Of course, since you are a Revelator… no, wait, since you were in the Ashless Lands…”
“He is a powerful explorer,” Siles said in a low voice.
“That’s wonderful then,” Grenfield remarked with a sigh. “Siles, as you know, I always hope you will continue your research topics. A powerful Revelator can serve as your backing, which is a good thing.”
Siles nodded. From a certain perspective, Chendo’s strength did afford him a sense of security. Naturally, he also hoped he could possess such powerful strength himself. He had no wish to merely hide behind Chendo’s back.
However, speaking of research topics…
Siles weighed his words, then roughly related his experiences in the Ashless Lands. Grenfield clicked his tongue in wonder as he listened, unable to refrain from commenting, “Those followers of the Old Gods are truly a bunch of lunatics. As time marches on, they seem to have reached the end of their rope.”
Siles nodded slowly. He agreed with Grenfield’s statement.
When the notion of the Old Gods’ fall first emerged, these fanatical believers likely wouldn’t have appeared; yet, several hundred years had passed, and the Old Gods had never shown themselves again, which appeared exceptionally strange, forcing them to believe the Old Gods had truly “died.”
Furthermore, among these believers of the Old Gods, there were some exceptionally devout adherents who claimed to have personally witnessed the fall of the Old Gods—such as Madame Debriss, or certain followers of Hoodoka.
The existence of such eyewitnesses would cause some believers to despairingly accept the reality of the Old Gods’ demise over time, while simultaneously prompting another segment of believers to cling to their convictions with even more absurd tenacity—Were they wrong? No, it was the world that was wrong.
“The Old Gods have not fallen; the Old Gods have merely fallen into slumber, and we need to awaken them.” The more obsessively they believed this, the more eager they became to commit acts to demonstrate their steadfast conviction and fulfill their long-cherished wish.
The two groups of followers of the Old Gods Siles had encountered in the past—the masterminds behind the Greyson incident and the House of Hales incident—both held fast to such ideas, sharing the exact same lineage.
As for the ordinary populace, the very existence of these followers of the Old Gods was already a source of distress.
Power. Siles thought. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Siles turned the conversation, saying, “Teacher, my experiences in the Ashless Lands have given rise to a few thoughts.”
Grenfield was taken aback, then asked, “What?”
Siles pondered for a moment, then explained his ideas regarding the surface world and the inner world. He used that metaphor of the “superimposed shadow” once more, which led him to recall Professor Cabel’s unprovoked passion for “shadows.”
Grenfield listened very attentively, and as he listened, he couldn’t help but sigh, “You truly are a scholar.”
Siles maintained his silence.
Grenfield appeared to be contemplating something. After a moment, he said, “However, Siles, I do not believe you should be contemplating these matters at this time.”
Siles was stunned.
“You are still young; you stepped into the domain of Revelators less than half a year ago,” Grenfield said earnestly. “Contemplating the essence of the world and power is a good thing, but you have yet to thoroughly study and understand this power of yours.”
Siles instantly understood Grenfield’s meaning. He was attempting to engage in high-level architectural design when, in truth, he first needed to lay a solid foundation.
“Of course, you are already exceptionally outstanding,” Grenfield pivoted to say. “I heard that the History Society has recently been promoting the ritual of Replicating the Self, and they have restored the honor that belongs to you. That is very good, Siles. I am proud of you.”
Siles touched his nose, feeling a bit abashed.
During the gathering with his companions from the History Society on Saturday, he had heard them mention this. He hadn’t expected Grenfield to praise him with such a serious attitude.
Afterward, Grenfield let out a slightly anxious sigh: “However… precisely because of this, Siles. Precisely because of this. This is the winter following an event-filled autumn. An event-filled winter, if such a phrase exists.”
Siles looked at Grenfield, listening with complete attentiveness.
“Those old men in the upper management of the History Society will think you stumbled upon this crucial ritual by pure chance. They will play dumb and forget the issue regarding the Three Elements of Deities you mentioned. However, Siles, someone will remember,” Grenfield said.
Siles felt a sudden stir in his heart, recalling the incident where his office at the History Society had been broken into.
He didn’t believe that was Clarence’s doing. Clarence was a follower of Brancani, the God of Asceticism and Silence; he abided by the rules, even targeting Siles strictly within the scope of those rules.
That implied that within the History Society, there were still other high-ranking figures hostile toward Siles. They were actually far more reckless than Clarence.
This brought an unbidden sigh from Siles.
He completely understood Grenfield’s point.
On one hand, there was no need for Siles to research overly profound theories at this junction; on the other hand, he couldn’t continue proposing deep theories at this time to provoke the nerves of those influential figures.
Grenfield also let out a sigh, remarking, “The History Society is a rather troublesome place, Siles.”
“I understand, Teacher,” Siles replied, adding, “Perhaps this is a great opportunity for me to enhance my strength.”
He had originally intended to have Chendo teach him how to fight and stay vigilant; he could take advantage of this piece of time.
Grenfield nodded in agreement, then added, “However, simple research topics can still be undertaken. Do you know that Ms. Aston has become the head of the Research Department?”
Bonita Aston. Ms. Aston was originally conducting research related to soul strength; after Clarence forced Siles to withdraw from his research topic on mental pollution, it was this lady who took over Siles’s topic.
Her becoming the new head of the Research Department was good news, as Siles had a very favorable impression of both her and her husband.
Grenfield said, “The ritual of Replicating the Self is currently preparing for wide promotion. As far as I know, Ms. Aston added your name to the final version of the… well, as you scholars call it, paper? That might not be entirely rigorous; perhaps calling it a project report is more appropriate.
“In short, your name appeared in the primary author position on this ‘project report,’ while Ms. Aston’s name did not appear at all. This project report has now been submitted to the Council of Elders and will be released in a few days.
“Of course, this matter won her quite a reputation in the Second Corridor and Third Corridor, but for you, it is ultimately a good thing.”
Siles was quite surprised to learn this. He said sincerely, “It seems I ought to pay a visit to Ms. Aston.”
“Indeed,” Grenfield nodded. “She is a good person… I hope she can remain in the position of Research Department head for a bit longer.
“When you visit her, you can also ask her for a topic to research while you’re at it. Anything will do—sealed artifacts, ritual residues, the principle of equivalence, blasphemous rituals…”
Grenfield reeled off several terms Siles had never heard of in a single breath.
Only then did Siles realize with shame that he had indeed been somewhat eager for quick success lately. He had paid excessive attention to power and the secrets of the world, forgetting that he still needed to live on this world with his feet planted firmly on the ground.
He engaged in a earnest self-reflection and asked Grenfield about the meanings of those terms.
Sealed artifacts—Siles naturally knew of those.
Ritual residues referred to how certain rituals continued to exert long-lasting impacts on living beings or the environment even after concluding.
Siles could comprehend this point. He thought of the food from the Greyson Food Company; after sampling that food, people exhibited an extraordinarily greedy attitude.
“Apart from that, another viewpoint holds that mental pollution—specifically pollution caused by utilizing the power of past protectors—can also be considered part of ritual residue,” Grenfield explained.
Siles nodded thoughtfully.
Grenfield added, “I think you might be interested in this topic. However, Siles, I still advise you not to touch topics related to mental pollution in the short term.” He thought for a moment before adding, “At least not on the surface.”
Helpless, Siles said, “I don’t necessarily wish to continue researching mental pollution anyway.”
Grenfield was taken aback, looked Siles up and down, then clapped his hands: “That’s true enough. It’s already a topic you’ve thoroughly dissected. Tsk, that bunch of conservative old men will never realize what a gem they missed out on.”
Siles: “…”
He felt Teacher Gren’s metaphor was a bit… well, exaggerated. The novelist from Earth found it a bit difficult to digest such flatteries.
Grenfield continued his explanation: “As for the principle of equivalence, that was proposed by some overly nitpicking Revelators. They believe that in the process of replicating the past, one must strictly follow the ‘principle of equivalence,’ perfectly replicating everything that occurred in the past to achieve the best results.”
Understanding dawned upon Siles. He pondered briefly, then remarked with some concern, “Wouldn’t that… cause even more severe mental pollution?”
Grenfield gave him a look, then said, “Which is why I said they are overly nitpicking.”
Siles nodded, understanding the implication.
“However, within the History Society, quite a few Revelators still follow the principle of equivalence. I cannot say to what extent their mental pollution stems from this principle, but their ritual compatibility has indeed increased significantly.”
Siles stated, “Benefits and drawbacks coexist.”
“Perhaps so,” Grenfield said. “As for blasphemous rituals… it’s a bit sickening to speak of. The Time Traces you encountered were mostly objects, right?”
Siles nodded.
Grenfield said, “A blasphemous ritual is likewise a form of ritual, except that the Time Trace for that kind of ritual… is a human corpse.”
Siles froze slightly, unable to refrain from asking, “How does one replicate that?”
“For instance, locating the remains of a past protector and using those remains as a Time Trace… sounds unbelievable, doesn’t it? But they actually succeeded.”
Saying so, Grenfield’s voice gradually deepened.
He remained silent for a moment before stating, “There is an even more terrifying ritual directly dubbed the ‘Rite of Profanation.’ When it was first proposed, that research shocked the Council of Elders and was directly rejected.”
A guess formed in Siles’s mind, though it was somewhat horrifying.
“…Living humans,” Grenfield said. “The Time Trace for the Rite of Profanation is a living human being. Directly replicating a person’s past rather than the power of their ‘objects.’ It was directly denounced as an act of profanity against the gods.”
Siles fell silent for a moment, then said, “That is somewhat… hard to believe.”
Grenfield shrugged, saying, “Indeed. However, over the past few years, a whole mess of bizarre topics truly did emerge within the Research Department.”
Siles thought to himself, wondering how much of that was due to Clarence’s influence.
Pondering for a moment, he said, “In that case, perhaps I ought to research sealed artifacts, Teacher.”
“Sealed artifacts.” Grenfield thought it over. “That is indeed a good choice.”
The topic of sealed artifacts was originally proposed by Clarence. Many within the History Society knew of the conflict between Siles and Clarence. Right now, Siles still needed to maintain a low profile and act with caution, yet he had no desire to blindly yield either.
He also needed to demonstrate his stance.
Having settled this matter, their conversation turned lighter.
Siles inquired about Grenfield’s research, to which Grenfield rolled his eyes annoyance, saying, “Do you think everyone researches as fast as you do?!”
Siles wisely maintained his silence.
Grenfield’s tone softened slightly as he shook his head: “It’s not that there’s no progress. But… the actual effect differs from what I envisioned.” He rubbed his chin in frustration, sinking into thought.
Finally, he said, “I fear this is an exceptionally complex topic.”
Siles then said, “I believe you will succeed.”
“Hopefully,” Grenfield said. “The weather is so cold; I haven’t even felt like mulling over these matters these past few days. With temperatures this low, it feels as though my brain is freezing over.”
Siles couldn’t help but smile slightly.
He soon bade farewell to Grenfield and headed to the Research Department, finding Ms. Aston in the head’s office.
Ms. Aston wore glasses and had been reviewing some documents; she greeted Siles with some surprise, saying, “I heard you went to the Ashless Lands, Professor Noel.”
“Yes, I only returned not long ago,” Siles said. “Congratulations on becoming the department head, Ms. Aston.”
Ms. Aston offered a bitter smile instead. Removing her glasses, she let out a quiet sigh and said, “I would rather stay immersed in experiments than be busy with these administrative affairs. Being the head of the Research Department is an awkward job.”
“Yet you can also correct certain improper practices within the Research Department from the recent past,” Siles noted.
“I hope so,” Ms. Aston said, turning the topic. “Regarding your research topic, I have already submitted the project report under your name. It is an honor you deserve.”
“I have heard of this. I must express my gratitude for your assistance after all.”
“There is no need for pleasantries between us,” Ms. Aston said. “By the way, since you came to see me, do you wish to participate in a new topic?”
Siles nodded, then said, “I intend to research sealed artifacts. However, I have never touched upon this field before, so I wish to study it gradually… perhaps starting from the most basic fundamentals.”
“Sealed artifacts!” Ms. Aston remarked in surprise. She looked at him, then said thoughtfully, “I understand. I will make the arrangements. Perhaps this Saturday morning, you can come here to receive your new topic.”
Siles smiled slightly, thanked Ms. Aston, and bade her farewell.
After leaving the History Society, Siles originally intended to eat nearby, but after a moment’s hesitation, he took a hired carriage to No. 32 Lowell Street. Unsurprisingly, Chendo was indeed inside the house tidying things up.
“You’re here!” Chendo welcomed Siles with immense surprise.
Siles said, “I figured you’d be moving, so I thought I should come over. I have nothing to do this afternoon, so I can help you pack.”
“I know. I know you are always so thoughtful,” Chendo said smugly. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Then let’s go eat first,” Chendo said.
They went to a nearby restaurant. Siles mentioned his upcoming new research topic to Chendo.
“Sealed artifacts…” Chendo repeated the phrase thoughtfully.
Out-of-control Time Traces. Time Traces that gained activity. Siles thought. Those were sealed artifacts.
From a certain perspective, it was like objects obtaining self-awareness… wait. Siles froze abruptly.
Objects obtaining self-awareness?
He almost subconsciously looked at his own hand.
…The dice. With an extraordinary calm, he suddenly realized: wasn’t the dice remarkably similar to a sealed artifact?
And over this recent period, the dice’s behavior had indeed grown increasingly active. In the explanations following checks, the dice’s tone had become noticeably more humanized.
Siles couldn’t help but frown slightly. From this perspective, it was as if the dice had gained activity… yet Siles himself experienced no feeling of losing spirituality.
Chendo seemed about to say something, but noticing Siles’s slightly stern expression, he asked, “What did you think of?”
“We’ll talk back at the house.” Siles wouldn’t mention the checks in a public setting like this. “What about you?”
“Sealed artifacts…” Chendo organized his phrasing. “I was just thinking: you mentioned earlier that sealed artifacts were originally created by followers of the Old Gods, so could they have already made some progress in related research?”
“Such as?”
“Such as… using them to resurrect the Old Gods?”
Siles sank into thought. At this moment, a word naturally surfaced within his mind.
“Container.”
When Brewer Darrow died under his fiancée’s blade, and when Carroll used Words of the Deceased to hold a final conversation with Brewer, they learned that the mastermind behind the scenes was creating a “container” to revive the Old Gods.
They had assumed that container was Brewer himself. Because Brewer was unwilling to comply, he had allowed his fiancée to kill him.
However, looking at it from another angle…
Brewer’s final words back then were: “My family… that is a… container.”
Family? Container?
What exactly was a “container”?
Siles pondered for a moment, finally saying helplessly, “This world truly holds far too many secrets.”
Chendo nodded in agreement.
After finishing lunch and returning to No. 32 Lowell Street, as they tidied up the place, Siles brought up the matter regarding the dice that was weighing on his mind.
Naturally, he didn’t reveal the fact that he was a transmigrator. He merely stated that he was able to perform those “checks” because he possessed a “dice.” To Chendo, that was likely something akin to a Time Trace.
Only then did Chendo realize, saying with great interest, “No wonder your card-shuffling technique is so formidable.”
Siles: “…”
Were those two things even related?
He looked at Chendo in silence.
Chendo laughed, leaned over to kiss him, and then said, “Just a joke, don’t be angry.”
Ignoring his joke, Siles simply asked, “Do you think it’s possible that dice is a sealed artifact?”
Chendo mulled it over for a bit, then said, “It’s hard to say what the true essence of your power is. However, it seems distinct from the power of a Revelator. Therefore, I believe…
“We cannot say this dice is a sealed artifact. It may simply share similarities with sealed artifacts in certain aspects.”
Siles nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with Chendo’s perspective. He didn’t believe the power of the dice possessed any connection with the power of a Revelator either… he meant in terms of “replicating” the past.
However, he suddenly felt his heart beat rapidly over another possibility.
He thought: if he researched sealed artifacts in depth, would it be possible for him to establish a more stable form of communication with the dice?
Currently, his communication with the dice was entirely a one-sided notification from the dice. He couldn’t converse or exchange information with it, and the dice was always vague. But what if Siles understood the essence of the dice more meticulously from another angle?
He was astonished by the fact that he had never considered this question before.
Siles stood there blankly, lost in thought.
Chendo was long accustomed to this habit of his, simply shrugging and continuing to pack items.
After a short while, Siles snapped back to reality, walked over to Chendo’s side, kissed him, and said, “Thank you. You inspired me.”
“It is my honor,” Chendo said.
Siles then brought up another matter: “Those books gifted to me by Professor Calverley will likely have to be placed here. The small study at No. 6 Hayward Street probably won’t hold them all.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Chendo laughed. “I am more than happy to keep your beloved items safe for you.”
Siles scrutinized him with a touch of suspicion, feeling that given Chendo’s style, these words might not be so simple.
Sure enough, Chendo added, “I hope you can also entrust your love to my care.”
Siles froze for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter.
“…What are you laughing at?” Chendo asked discontentedly.
Siles said, “I thought you were going to say, entrust your heart to my care.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter. “That would sound like a horror story.”
Chendo: “…”
Heh, novelists.
Yet seeing Siles laugh so rarely that the corners of his eyes crinkled, Chendo couldn’t help but feel his heart soften, forced to admit he couldn’t summon any anger. Letting out a sigh, he kissed Siles gently on the lips.
Siles spent the entire afternoon at Lowell Street. Chendo didn’t have many items, so packing wasn’t troublesome, but cleaning the house proved somewhat time-consuming after all.
Siles had a public elective in the evening, so around four o’clock, Chendo urged him to return to school. Siles exchanged a kiss with him, bade him farewell, and departed.
A strong wind blew through Lamifa City in the evening. By the time night fell, snowflakes drifted down from the sky. It’s only mid-November, Siles couldn’t help but think.
After his public elective concluded, he wrapped his heavy coat tightly around himself and walked briskly back to No. 6 Hayward Street. It was only after taking a hot bath that Siles felt his stiff body regain its flexibility.
He admitted he had underestimated the bitter cold of Lamifa City’s winter, beginning to consider the matter of getting a stove. However, he also recalled that, in the original body’s memory, Lamifa City had never been cold to this degree.
Scattered bits of Earth’s geographical knowledge flashed through his mind before drifting away. In the freezing winter night, he once again found himself missing Earth’s internet.
Waking up the next morning, Siles sneezed again, realizing his voice was raspy and his head was pounding with a splitting headache.
He sat quietly on the bed for a moment, then let out a sigh.
In his very first winter in an alternate world, he had caught a cold. How could a transmigrator like him exist?
Fortunately, the symptoms were not severe. Checking the time, Siles hurried through washing up and headed straight to the university infirmary.
“Good morning, Chester,” Siles greeted Doctor Chester.
Chester was startled by his raspy voice, then remarked with deep concern, “Professor, you truly must take care of your health.”
“I will,” Siles said softly. “Perhaps you could prescribe me some medication?”
“Of course I can.”
The medicine Chester prescribed for Siles was a concentrated soup broth brewed from herbs, which Siles needed to take back and dilute with warm boiled water himself. Taking a sniff, he caught a familiar spicy ginger scent, which put his mind somewhat at ease.
…It wasn’t that he mistrusted Chester. He simply lacked trust in the medical craft of this era.
This was an era that classified mental illness as “insufficient piety toward the gods.” He had to look out for his own physical health—even if he fell ill during his first winter in an alternate world.
Doctor Chester stated that the medicine needed to be taken for a while, though fortunately Siles was young enough that a minor ailment wouldn’t knock him off his feet.
Saying so, Chester let out a sigh and said, “After returning, I went to visit some friends, among whom were official doctors working in hospitals. They mentioned the grim situation this winter. I fear many elderly people…”
He shook his head.
This was the umpteenth time Siles had heard about this matter. Even so, his mood grew heavy all the same.
Death was a topic everyone would eventually face. He thought.
Chester added, “Winter has only just begun.” He paused briefly. “Professor, sometimes I wonder: between the cruelty of the Ashless Lands and the cruelty of the current climate, which is more troubling?”
“Natural disasters and man-made calamities,” Siles said in a low voice. “Both present difficulties.”
“Indeed,” Chester let out a long sigh.
Both fell silent for a moment.
Speaking of doctors, Siles suddenly remembered something and asked, “By the way, do you know of any doctors in the West City connected to underground gangs?”
Nona Norrison—the granddaughter of the gatekeeper who stole museum artifacts.
In the deep sea dreamland, Mr. Ghost learned that Nona had handed the cast-bronze saffron stolen by her grandfather over to a doctor. Yet that bronze flower ultimately ended up in the hands of underground gang members.
Underground gangs. Doctors. Connecting these two points immediately brought Chester Fitzroy to Siles’s mind.
Back then, the apostate Hamlin had sought out Chester to treat his injuries precisely because he heard Doctor Chester’s reputation among the underground gangs. Siles had always wanted to mention this to Chester, but never found a good opportunity.
Since hospitals and doctors were brought up this time, Siles went ahead and asked.
“Doctors… underground gangs?” Chester repeated with some surprise, then slowly shook his head. “The West City doesn’t really have many doctors to begin with… I mean the kind holding official licenses.
“If you’re referring to ordinary traveling physicians, I know even less. Perhaps you mean Darwin Hospital in the West City?”
Darwin Hospital. Siles was slightly taken aback.
He knew of this hospital, as it wasn’t located solely in the West City; there were two branches in the East City as well. It was a rather reputable hospital, seemingly backed by numerous merchants and nobles; its treatment prices were moderate, and it occasionally provided free checkups and medications for some impoverished citizens.
Of course, for ordinary West City residents, they might prefer buying medicine at Hume Pharmacy rather than seeking treatment at an expensive hospital.
Chester added, “Speaking of doctors, or if there is a severe illness requiring treatment, people in the West City would likely think of Darwin Hospital first. If you have any friends needing treatment in the West City, you can go there as well.
“I believe members of underground gangs wouldn’t dare provoke that hospital either. Of course, I am more than happy to offer my assistance to you as well.”
Chester had likely misunderstood Siles’s intention, assuming Siles had a friend who provoked an underground gang and required a secret physician for treatment.
Siles nodded, then explained, “You misunderstand. The reason I asked is that I know a child who fell ill and became involved with underground gangs, and is now missing. I suspect I might learn of her whereabouts through a doctor.”
Only then did Chester realize he couldn’t offer much help with this matter. However, he remarked, “A child in the West City… that reminds me of what happened on the ‘First Snow’s Light’ train.”
Commoner parents in the West City; a sick child; a bounty from underground gangs; deciding to head to the Ashless Lands to seek money-making opportunities without knowing the truth, after which the father died from an out-of-control Time Trace, leaving the mother plunged into despair.
Siles was slightly taken aback, unable to refrain from saying, “There might be a connection between these matters. However, I have yet to receive a letter from that mother.”
Chester let out a regretful sigh.
Afterward, Siles bade farewell to Chester and went to his office to meet with his two apprentices.
Jules had caught a cold as well, sniffing incessantly. Dorothea wore a rather plain dress, her expression somewhat downcast.
For their first meeting of the term, Siles didn’t intend to discuss overly specialized topics with them. They chatted about the weather, winter break plans, and so forth.
Siles’s requirements for them this semester remained the same as usual: book lists and papers. The two apprentices were not surprised by this either.
However, they simultaneously brought up a matter that caught Siles off guard. They might be unable to continue serving as Siles’s teaching assistants this semester.
Supposedly, at the start of this semester, Professor Mantel, the head of the Literature History major in the School of Humanities and History, suddenly assigned Jules and Dorothea to establish a student club.
Jules and Dorothea apologized to Siles very earnestly regarding this matter, but they truly could not juggle both commitments. Despite saying so, Dorothea’s tone carried a deep underlying meaning.
Siles merely frowned slightly, then said with complete composure, “I understand. I will find another teaching assistant.”
He thought: perhaps Chendo would be a suitable choice? Since Professor Cabel had previously brought Assistant Mervyn into Lamifa University, Siles ought to be able to have Chendo serve as his teaching assistant as well.
Siles possessed ample self-awareness, knowing that his busy schedule absolutely required the help of a teaching assistant.
However… why did Jules and Dorothea suddenly receive this task?
Their conversation proceeded calmly. After more than an hour, noticing the time was approaching eleven o’clock, Siles announced the end of class early.
The two apprentices left one after another. Feeling a lack of appetite, Siles sat in his office for a moment. Retrieving the letter he had once intended to send to Horatio Dwight from his drawer, he felt a wave of deep reflection.
He ultimately kept the letter stored away for the time being. Currently, he still didn’t know how the authorities would handle someone like Horatio, who was indirectly involved in the Greyson incident, and Dominic hadn’t leaked any information on that front either.
A moment later, a knock suddenly sounded at the office door. Snapping back to his senses, Siles said, “Come in.”
The person who entered was Dorothea. She maintained a calm, almost stern expression until she shut the door, upon which she suddenly said indignantly, “Professor, this is terrible! How could Professor Mantel do such a thing!”
Siles couldn’t help but ask, “What happened?”
Dorothea said, “He is intentionally targeting you, Professor! He wanted Jules and me to back down from the difficulty and directly cancel our status as your teaching assistants. Jules didn’t dare tell you directly, but I’m not afraid of that professor!”
Siles frowned slightly.
Professor Mantel. He naturally knew of this professor’s existence.
Professor Mantel was the head of the Literature History major, equivalent to Siles’s direct supervisor. However, Siles didn’t know much about this professor, as the man was advanced in years and no longer active on the frontline of teaching duties.
In fact, according to the original body’s memories, there had been a inclination within the major to let Siles’s former mentor, Professor Bright, take over the position of major head. But Professor Mantel never retired, so the matter fell by the wayside.
Right up until now, when Professor Bright was about to retire, the matter remained unresolved.
There were not many professors in the Literature History major; counting Siles and Professor Bright, there were only three other professors. And those three professors were actually around the same age as Professor Bright.
…In other words, Professor Bright’s previous approach of wanting Siles to substitute classes and paving the way for him was actually in hopes that Siles would eventually take over the position of major head.
Of course, that would likely require many years of accumulation. Regardless, it was at least a future prospect.
…Yet according to Dorothea’s current account, Professor Mantel was actually somewhat dissatisfied with Siles?
Siles felt a headache coming on, unsure if it was due to his cold or these troublesome administrative affairs.
Dorothea took a deep breath, slowly calming down: “Professor, many people know that you write under your real name. That originally wasn’t a big deal, but due to the previous Greyson incident, your novel was also involved, which brought the matter to Professor Mantel’s attention.
“Thus, Professor Mantel seems to think you are neglecting your proper duties, holding quite a grudge against you and wanting to marginalize you… As you know, Professor Mantel is an old-fashioned man. In short, this is far too unfair to you!”
Siles maintained a very composed composure, unprovoked by the situation Dorothea described.
In fact, he even felt Professor Mantel’s actions were somewhat ridiculous. Forcing his teaching assistants to resign? But these two students were his apprentices after all; what purpose did such an action serve?
Or rather, was he attempting to make Siles realize where the problem lay so he would take the initiative to resign? But why target two innocent students?
Siles pondered for a moment, feeling it necessary to pay a visit to Professor Bright. He had just joined the faculty this year and theoretically shouldn’t be targeted like this, even if he wrote novels.
A university professor having a side job was hardly an incomprehensible matter.
Perhaps it was because Professor Mantel felt the romance novels he wrote were far too scandalous?
Siles conversed with Dorothea in a gentle manner, easing her tension. He asked, “In that case, what about your teaching assistant stipends…”
“You don’t need to worry about me. As for Jules, the club we are applying for will also have corresponding funds allocated,” Dorothea said. Pausing briefly, she added, “Professor, I hope you will become the advising teacher for this club.”
