Klein endeavored to maintain a demeanor of composure, his curiosity genuine as he inquired:
"What abilities does the 'Diviner' possess?"
"Your question lacks precision. It should be, 'What abilities does one gain by consuming the 'Diviner' potion?'" Dun Smith shook his head with a smile, his gray eyes and face shrouded in the shadows cast by the crimson moon. "Astrology, tarot divination, pendulum, clairvoyance, and many similar things. Of course, merely ingesting the potion won't immediately grant you understanding and mastery of them. The potion simply gives you the qualification and capability to learn."
"Due to the lack of direct offensive means, ah, you should be able to imagine that ritual magic requires too much preparation and is fundamentally unsuitable for combat. Therefore, correspondingly, in terms of occult knowledge, the 'Diviner' will be more knowledgeable and professional than the 'Watcher.'"
That sounds quite fitting for my requirements... However, the lack of direct offensive means is somewhat concerning... Moreover, the probability that the Night Goddess Church possesses the subsequent 'Sequence' is low... The 'Cathedral' probably refers to the headquarters of the church, the Tranquil Cathedral... Direct offensive means of low sequences may not be comparable to firearms... Klein fell into silence, his mind oscillating between the 'Watcher' and the 'Diviner,' while the 'Gravedigger' was no longer under consideration.
Observing Klein's reaction, Dun Smith smiled and said:
"Don't rush your decision. Inform me of your answer by Monday morning. Whether you choose one, or decide to abstain, there will be no additional judgments within our Night Watchers."
"Stay calm, inquire within your soul."
With that, he removed his hat, gave a slight bow, and gracefully crossed past Klein towards the staircase.
Klein remained silent, refraining from immediately providing an answer, silently reciprocating the gesture of courtesy and watching Dun depart.
Though he had always hoped to become extraordinary, when the opportunity truly presented itself, he found himself filled with hesitation: the absence of the subsequent 'Sequences,' the myriad perils of becoming extraordinary, the credibility of Emperor Roselle's diary, the maddening and seductive whispers of illusion—these amalgamated into a swamp obstructing his path.
He drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
"It's akin to the ambivalence of a student filling out college applications for an uncertain future..." Klein chuckled self-deprecatingly, reining in his wandering thoughts, quietly opened the door, and returned home, lying down on his bed.
He lay there, eyes open, silently gazing at the faintly crimson-tinted underside of the upper bunk.
Outside the window, a drunken man staggered by, while in the distance, a carriage sped along the deserted street. These various noises did not disrupt the tranquility of the night; instead, they rendered it more distant and profound.
Klein's emotions settled as he recalled the myriad experiences of Earth: memories of his father, who enjoyed exercising and spoke in a booming voice, his mother, who suffered from a chronic illness yet busied herself with household chores, childhood friends who grew up playing football, basketball, and later, video games and mahjong, and the faintly remembered object of his failed confession... These memories flowed like a calm river, causing minimal ripples, evoking little sadness, yet silently engulfing his soul.
Perhaps it's only through loss that one learns to cherish. As the crimson fades, the golden hues emerge on the horizon, Klein has made his choice.
---
He rose and made his way to the communal washroom to freshen up, invigorating himself. Then, armed with a sovereign bill, he went to Mrs. Wendy's to purchase an 8-pound loaf of rye bread for nine pence and six sous, replenishing the staple that had been consumed the previous night.
"The price of bread seems to have stabilized..." Benson remarked as he changed his clothes.
Today being Sunday, he and Melissa finally had the opportunity to rest.
Klein, already dressed in formal attire, sat in a chair, perusing yesterday's expired newspapers. Much to his surprise, he remarked:
"Here's an advertisement for rental properties: 3 Wender Street, North District, a detached house with two floors, six rooms upstairs, three bathrooms, two large balconies, a dining room downstairs, a living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms, two guest rooms, and a basement storage room... Beyond the house, there's a 2-acre private lawn to the front and a small garden at the back. Available for rent for one, two, or three years, at a weekly rent of one pound six sous. Interested parties please inquire at 16 Champagne Street, Mr. Guscave."
"This is our future target," Benson remarked with a smile as he adjusted his black half-high hat. "The rental prices in the newspaper are generally high, but the 'Tingen Housing Improvement Company' offers cheaper alternatives without compromising much in quality."
"Why not approach the 'Tingen Labor Class Housing Improvement Association'?" Melissa, donning her well-patched but still presentable grayish-white lightweight dress, emerged from the cubicle.
She exuded a quiet grace, yet couldn't conceal the aura of youth.
Benson chuckled and replied:
"Where did you hear about the 'Tingen Labor Class Housing Improvement Association'? From Jenny? Mrs. Rochelle? Or perhaps your good friend Selena?"
Melissa glanced at her companions before softly answering:
"Mrs. Rochelle... I happened to run into her while preparing for bed last night. She inquired about Klein's interview, and I mentioned some details. She then suggested looking into the 'Tingen Labor Class Housing Improvement Association.'"
Seeing Klein's puzzled expression, Benson smiled and continued:
"It's geared towards the
poor, ah, to be more precise, towards the lower classes' housing needs. Their houses are mostly communal washroom types, offering only three options: one-bedroom, two-bedroom, and three-bedroom. Do you wish to continue living in a similar place?"
"The 'Tingen Housing Improvement Company' operates similarly but offers opportunities for the middle and lower classes. To be honest, we're slightly better off than the lower-middle class now, but a bit worse off than the true middle class. It's not a matter of wages, mainly due to the lack of time for accumulation."
Klein understood, folding the newspaper and donning his hat as he stood up:
"Then let's go."
"I recall the 'Tingen Housing Improvement Company' is on Narcissus Street." Benson opened the door as he spoke. "Like the 'Tingen Labor Class Housing Improvement Association,' they're dubbed 'Five Percent Charity.' Do you know why?"
"I don't." Klein picked up his cane, walking alongside Melissa with her sleek black hair cascading down to her vest.
The girl with soft, flowing hair trailing down to her waist nodded along.
Benson took a step outside:
"These housing improvement associations and companies were established under the influence of Backlund over there. Their funding comes from three channels: fundraising from charitable foundations, obtaining high-quality loans with only four percent annual interest rates through applications to government loan commissioners for public affairs, and accepting commercial investments. By charging a certain rent, they provide a five percent return to the investors annually, hence the name 'Five Percent Charity.'"
Descending the stairs with measured steps, the trio made their way to Narcissus Street, intending to inspect the properties before approaching the current landlord, Mr. Frank, to avoid the situation where they were unable to move in yet had to vacate from their current residence.
"I've heard from Selena that there are also purely charitable housing improvement companies?" Melissa mused.
Benson chuckled:
"Yes, the 'Deville Trust Company' established by Sir Deville is one such entity. They construct apartments for the laboring class and provide dedicated property management, yet charge extremely low rents. However, their requirements are quite stringent."
"It seems like you're not very fond of them?" Klein keenly observed, smiling inquisitively.
"No, I respect Sir Deville a great deal, but I doubt he truly understands the lives of the real poor. The entry requirements for his apartments are akin to the hopes given by priests—far from realistic. For instance, one must be vaccinated, take turns cleaning the communal washrooms, cannot sublet or use the house for commercial purposes, cannot litter, and cannot allow children to play in the corridors. Goddess, does he want to turn everyone into gentlemen and ladies?" Benson replied in his usual manner.
Klein furrowed his brow in confusion:
"Those requirements sound perfectly fine to me."
"Hmm." Melissa nodded in agreement.
Benson turned his head to glance at them, chuckling softly:
"Perhaps I've shielded you too well, never truly exposing you to the lives of the poor. Do you think they have the money to get vaccinated? Free charity medical organizations have a queue of three months. Do you think their jobs are stable, not temporary? If they can't share the rent by subletting, and encounter unemployment, what then? Moreover, many ladies mend clothes and assemble matchboxes at home to make ends meet; isn't this a commercial application? Should they be evicted?" Benson described without many adjectives, leaving Klein somewhat unnerved.
Is this the life of the lower class? Beside him, Melissa also fell into silence, only speaking in a distant tone after a long while:
"After moving to the lower street, Jenny no longer wants me to visit her home..."
"Hopefully, her father can recover from his injuries and find stable work again, but I've seen too many drunkards who numb themselves with alcohol..." Benson scoffed heavily, his tone laden with gravity.
Klein didn't know what to say, and Melissa seemed to be in the same state. The three siblings walked in silence to Narcissus Street, finding the 'Tingen Housing Improvement Company.'
They were greeted by a genial middle-aged man named Scott, who wore no formal attire or hat, just a white shirt and a black waistcoat.
"You can call me Scott. What kind of housing are you looking for?" he asked, his smile growing warmer as he glanced at Klein's silver-capped cane.
Klein looked to Benson, who was adept at conversing, indicating for him to respond.
Benson answered straightforwardly:
"Row houses."
Scott flipped through his files and documents, a slight smirk playing at his lips:
"We have five currently available, mostly tailored for those truly in need of housing—six, eight, or even twelve and twelve in a room, along with their children. There aren't many row houses available. One is at 2 Narcissus Street, one in the North District, and one in the East District... The weekly rent ranges from twelve to sixteen sous. You can take a look at the specifics."
He pushed the documents towards Benson, Klein, and Melissa.
After a brief perusal, the three exchanged glances and simultaneously pointed to a spot on the paper.
"We'll take a look at 2 Narcissus Street first." Benson spoke up, with Klein and Melissa nodding in agreement.
This area was somewhat familiar to them, after all.