In the exclusive room of the Occult Society, the members were enjoying their afternoon tea.
The table was laid with various tea utensils, showing the distinct status and position of each person. There were delicate porcelain teacups, beautiful enamel teapots, bowls, plates, redwood tea canisters, embroidered tablecloths, and tea leaves imported from the far East. To prevent the teacups from breaking, it was customary to first pour in a bit of cold milk before adding the tea.
Of course, afternoon tea wasn't just about the tea. Cucumber sandwiches, handmade pies, exquisite almond cakes, and a glass of sherry all combined to create a perfect afternoon.
"I wonder how Elena is doing," one of the members mused, savoring the delicious food. "Her talent in literature is simply amazing. If she joins us, many of our research projects will make progress."
A scoffing sound followed. A black-haired member shrugged. "I think you're overestimating her talents. I admit she has some cleverness in writing women's novels, but Gothic literature is completely different. She might be scared half to death by a mouse, do you really think her writing can frighten us?" He said, raising an eyebrow, a dismissive smile on his lips.
The elder, Bould, tapped the table. "Please show respect for the lady, young man."
"Of course," the black-haired member replied with a slight bow and a perfunctory smile. "I'm looking forward to seeing her work."
His name was Charles, one of the most capable members of the Occult Society, and he was quite confident in his own works. In fact, his writings were some of the most highly ranked in the society, making him a prominent figure in the group.
Bould shook his head silently, one hand holding the teacup, the other flipping open the new issue of *Lady's Monthly*.
This issue serialized the second chapter of *Helen* and also previewed a new paper doll. The chapter was equally fascinating. At first, Bould had wondered whether Elena's talent was fleeting and if she could sustain it, but after reading the second chapter, all doubts were dispelled.
He had originally thought that the first chapter, where Helen's foster parents treated her cruelly, was enough to stir anger. He couldn't imagine what could make the situation worse. If he had written it, he would have chosen to place the recognition of Helen's true parentage in the final chapter, spending earlier sections contrasting the lives of the two "daughters." But upon reading the second chapter, he realized that there were even more detestable characters.
In the first chapter, Helen's foster parents subjected her to extreme abuse, causing great physical pain. However, in the second chapter, while her biological parents' cruelty was not as intense, their actions caused deeper, longer-lasting emotional harm. Her biological parents destroyed her spirit and mind, while her foster parents tormented her body.
Helen's fiancé, on the other hand, embodied every dark aspect of the aristocracy. He was portrayed as ruthless, despicable, and cold. Meanwhile, Helen herself was portrayed as pure, gentle, sweet, and harmless, making it impossible not to feel sympathy for her.
At this thought, Bould admired Elena's writing talent even more, eagerly anticipating the good news she would bring to the society.
He casually flipped to the back, and when he saw a page on fashion tips, he couldn't help but pause, sitting up straight. The teacup in his hand hovered in mid-air, forgotten.
"Elena really... gave us a big surprise."
In the study of Berkeley Palace, the Duke saw the same column and couldn't help but exclaim, "What did I tell you? Women are much better at discovering beauty."
"Let me see," he opened the letter from the editorial department. "Wow," he said, reclining in his chair, covering his face with one hand, and letting out a low chuckle.
The letter clearly stated that the sales of this month's issue had once again increased, reaching 45,000 copies. This was likely the result of the viral word-of-mouth, as well as the popularity of the paper doll and paper cards.
Elena's talent was now undeniable. If the data from the previous issue was still somewhat sparse, this issue's sales numbers were sufficient proof that it was her *Helen* that had propelled *Lady's Monthly* to its peak sales.
In the letter, the editors praised her keen insight and unique writing style, while also complimenting the Duke's foresight and ability to recognize talent. They suggested inviting Elena to join the editorial team, expressing high hopes that she would bring new vitality and exciting content to the magazine.
However, Elena's current condition made it impossible for her to appear publicly, let alone work in the editorial office. Considering that many editors worked from home, she might be able to work at the club, provided she was willing.
"If she accepts the invitation," the Duke began to consider another issue, "how much salary should we offer her?"
Salary didn't matter much. Elena was no longer the girl who had never seen 200 pounds. With the royalties from *Helen* and the shares from the paper doll, she would not need to worry about money for a long time.
What worried her now was the feedback on the urban legend. After finishing it, she had sent the story to the Occult Society for their reference. Then she started regretting it, wondering if the story would meet the high expectations of the discerning members.
After all, she had written it for a general audience, and the members, used to Gothic stories, might find it too tame.
In reality, her concerns were not misplaced. Among the members of the Occult Society, who had just finished their afternoon tea, the story was received with disappointment, except by Bould.
"I thought we'd see a truly chilling scene," one member said, slightly puzzled. "I mean, something with vivid details that would immerse you. This story is unsettling, but... if it were written by an ordinary person, I'd honestly praise it. But she's Elena, shouldn't she be able to do better?"
Bould calmly added, "She mentioned in her letter that starting with extreme horror elements might make the subsequent development feel dull, so she decided to try something with more relatable situations, ones that would be easier for ordinary people to connect with. I think her reasoning makes sense."
"Is it that she can't write something scary, or is she just covering for herself with that excuse?" Charles scoffed, tapping the manuscript, and repeated, "A family discovers a barrel full of wine in the cellar of their newly bought old house. They drink it all, planning to cut the barrel in half to make flower pots, only to find a soldier's corpse sealed inside from a long time ago. This story just makes me feel sick, what's scary about it?"
In fact, the bodies of fallen officers and soldiers were sometimes shipped back in barrels from the battlefield for burial. A certain nobleman had been transported this way, and it had been reported in several newspapers. Charles strongly suspected that Elena had based her story on that report.
As soon as he finished speaking, the other members silently put down their glasses. One who had been holding a glass of wine couldn't help but tremble and started to wonder whether the taste of the wine had been different from before.
Due to the severe pollution of the Loonton River, people preferred to drink alcohol instead of water because alcohol had disinfecting properties. It was safer than drinking water. Therefore, finding a corpse in a wine barrel was as serious as finding a body in a modern-day water tank—possibly even more alarming than finding a body in a drinking water barrel.
"Let's have some tea," Bould humorously said. "I suspect that after this story is published, many families will be inspecting their wine barrels to see if there are any corpses inside."
"And this one," another member said with a grimace, "this guy Jeff, when he was a child, was bullied by other kids and burned, losing his nose. This drove him insane, and during the day he hides in the wardrobe, but at night he comes out and orders anyone who's awake to go to sleep. If they don't obey, he kills them with a knife."
To accommodate their morning clothes, walking attire, afternoon dresses, evening gowns, and various accessories, middle-class families with a bit of money often had large wardrobes that could fit a person. Home was supposed to be the safest, warmest place, and if a strange man were hiding in the wardrobe, that would be truly terrifying.
"I think I'll open the wardrobe to check every night before I sleep," another member frowned, "This sounds too real. I wonder if such a person really exists."
Charles was dissatisfied. "Although it's written realistically, apart from giving us some minor fear, I don't see what's scary about it."
Bould smiled reassuringly, flipping through the manuscript. "Perhaps the terrifying part lies in the psychological shock, where the places we consider the safest could be hiding unexpected dangers. While there's no bloody description, I think her story will be more easily passed on than ours."
"Why don't we make a bet?" Charles crossed his arms and lifted his head. "By the way, I've finished writing my *Invisible Man*. Let's see if her little story is scarier than my *Invisible Man*."
"That's hard to measure," the mischievous members said eagerly, "What do you have in mind?"
"There are two newspapers in town, *Strand* and *Loonton*, both with circulations around 100,000 copies," Charles replied without hesitation. It was clear he had considered this for some time. "Let's submit my story and hers to both papers. Whichever one has the higher sales, the winner takes it. But," he shrugged, "if neither paper accepts her story, then we have no choice."
He had been writing Gothic literature for a long time, and he was sure that the newspapers would accept his work.
Bould shook his head. "There are too many uncertainties. It's difficult to determine whether the sales increase was because of the story or other factors. And at a level already reaching 100,000 copies, a slight increase or decrease is normal."
He stood up. "But of course, you can compare them in secret."