Back in his room, Zhou Mingrui hears the distant cathedral bells chime seven times before rising to get dressed. He chooses a black vest with a matching suit, tight trousers, and a halved top hat, momentarily feeling like he's in a Victorian English drama. He wryly reminds himself he's just buying ritual ingredients, not going for an interview. Klein's ingrained concern for the upcoming interview had almost made him instinctively wear his best clothes.
He changes into a brownish-yellow coat and a matching rounded felt hat. By the bed, he lifts a square cushion, reaches into a hidden hole, and retrieves a roll of faded dark green notes – Benson's current savings, including the next three days' living expenses. There are two five-soli notes and several one-soli notes. In the Loen currency system, a soli is twelve copper pence, and a gold pound is twenty soli.
Zhou Mingrui spreads a note, inhaling the faint, unique ink scent. He feels an unexpected fondness for the money, admiring its design featuring George III and its intricate watermark and anti-counterfeit label. After a minute, he takes two one-soli notes, returns the rest to the cushion's hiding place, and smooths the cloth. He folds the two notes neatly into his jacket's left pocket, separating them from the few pence in his trouser pocket. He puts a key in his right pocket, grabs a dark brownish paper bag, and heads out.
His brisk pace slows to a halt at the door. Klein's peculiar suicide makes Zhou Mingrui uneasy about simply leaving. After a moment's thought, he returns to his desk, opens the drawer, and takes out the brass revolver – his only viable defense. Though untrained, the sight of it would likely deter anyone. He caresses the cold metal before stuffing it into the pocket with the notes, concealing it with the money in his palm, his fingers on the handle. Feeling more secure, a new worry arises: misfiring. He quickly ejects the cylinder, aligns the empty "suicide" chamber with the hammer, and closes it. This way, any accidental discharge would be harmless. He puts the revolver back in his pocket, keeping his left hand inside. With his right hand pressing down his hat, he opens the door and leaves.
The corridor is dim, with limited sunlight from the end window. Zhou Mingrui descends the stairs and steps out into the bright, warm sun. Despite it being almost July, Tingen's northern location keeps the summer relatively mild. However, the streets are dirty and cluttered, a common sight in low-income areas despite sewers, due to the dense population and struggle for survival.
Hawkers line the streets, shouting about roasted fish, oyster soup, fresh fish, muffins, eel soup, conch, and farm-fresh vegetables, trying to attract the hurried pedestrians. Some stop to haggle, others rush by, still seeking work. Zhou Mingrui inhales the mix of foul and fragrant smells, clutching the revolver and notes in his left hand, his right hand holding his hat, as he walks through the busy street, slightly slouched to appear less conspicuous to potential thieves and desperate individuals.
Reaching a less crowded area, he straightens up and looks down the street. A vagrant accordionist plays, his melodies shifting between pleasant and fervent. Beside him, malnourished children in ragged clothes dance joyfully to the music, their faces radiant despite their poverty. A deadpan woman with a dirty skirt and dull skin passes by, a faint glimmer appearing in her eyes as she looks at the children, a reflection of her younger self.
Zhou Mingrui overtakes her and turns into another street, stopping at Smyrin Bakery, owned by the elderly, always smiling Wendy Smyrin, who has been selling bread and pastries since Klein's earliest memories. He remembers her delicious Tingen biscuits and lemon cakes.
"Mrs. Smyrin, eight pounds of rye bread," Zhou Mingrui says, a smile on his face.
"Oh. Dear Klein, where's Benson? Is he not back?" Wendy asks kindly.
"In a few more days," Zhou Mingrui replies vaguely.
As Wendy gets the bread, she sighs, "He sure is a hardworking lad. He will have a good wife." She then playfully adds, "All is good now. You have already graduated. You are a history graduate of our Khoy University~ Oh, you will soon be able to earn money. You should not be staying in the apartment you are currently living in. At the very least, you should have a bathroom you can call your own."
"Mrs. Smyrin, you seem to be a young and energetic woman today," Zhou Mingrui responds with a dry smile, feeling the weight of her expectations. If Klein passes his interview, their family's status will drastically improve. He recalls Klein's past fantasies of a suburban bungalow with multiple rooms and bathrooms, a dream that would be within reach with a Tingen University lecturer's salary. Even a probationary lecturer earns two gold pounds a week, far more than Benson's current wage.
This is the difference between earning three to four thousand yuan and earning fourteen to fifteen thousand yuan a month... Zhou Mingrui thinks. However, this depends on passing the interview, and history graduates have limited job opportunities without connections. Knowing Klein's knowledge is fragmented, Zhou Mingrui feels awkward about Mrs. Smyrin's hopes.
"No, I have always been this young," Wendy replies humorously, packing sixteen half-pound rye breads into Zhou Mingrui's paper bag. "Nine pence," she says, extending her hand.
"Nine pence? Wasn't it eleven pence two days ago?" Zhou Mingrui asks subconsciously, remembering the price had been fifteen pence the month before last.
"You have to thank the people who protested on the streets for the repeal of the Grain Act," Wendy explains with a shrug.
Zhou Mingrui nods vaguely, Klein's memories of the Grain Act being incomplete. He only recalls its purpose was to protect domestic agricultural prices by stopping grain imports when prices rose. He wonders why people would protest it.
Afraid of accidentally revealing the revolver, Zhou Mingrui carefully takes out a one-soli note and hands it to Mrs. Smyrin, receiving three copper pence in change. He puts the change in his trouser pocket, takes the bag of bread, and heads for the 'Lettuce and Meat' market across the street, determined to get the ingredients for Melissa's mutton stew with peas.
At the intersection of Iron Cross Street and Daffodil Street, he sees a municipal square filled with tents and clowns distributing fliers. "There's a circus performance tomorrow night?" Zhou Mingrui reads the fliers, thinking Melissa would enjoy it, but wondering about the entrance fee.
He approaches a clown with red and yellow face paint to ask, but a hoarse woman's voice beside him interrupts, "Would you like to try a divination?"
Zhou Mingrui turns to see a woman in a pointed hat and long black dress standing in front of a small tent. Her face is smeared with red and yellow paint, and her eyes are a profound grayish-blue. "No," Zhou Mingrui replies, not wanting to spend his limited money on divination.
The woman laughs, "My tarot divination is very accurate."
"Tarot..." Zhou Mingrui is instantly surprised. The pronunciation is almost identical to the tarot cards from his Earth. He recalls that tarot in this world wasn't ancient or divinely inspired but created by Roselle Gusta, the former Consul and self-proclaimed 'Emperor Caesar' of the Intis Republic, over 170 years ago. Roselle also invented the steam engine, improved sailing boats, overthrew the Intis Kingdom, was recognized by the God of Craftsmanship (later the God of Steam and Machinery), and invented many card games familiar to Zhou Mingrui. He also initiated the era of colonialism by discovering a sea route to the Southern Continent. Unfortunately, he was assassinated in his old age.
Could this be a transmigration senior? Intrigued, Zhou Mingrui wants to see what the tarot cards look like. He nods at the woman and says, "If the... well... price is reasonable, I'll give it a try."
The woman laughs, "Sir, you are the first one here today, so it's on the house."