Zhou Mingrui settled back into his chair, listening to the distant church bells toll seven times. Finally, he rose, moved to the wardrobe, and selected his outfit.
He pulled on a black vest, a matching formal jacket, slightly tapered trousers, and a half-height top hat. The scholarly aura of his reflection in the mirror made him feel as though he were stepping into the world of a Victorian drama.
"I'm not going to an interview—I'm just heading out to buy some groceries and gather materials for the luck-changing ritual…" he muttered, shaking his head with a smile.
Klein's preoccupation with the upcoming interview had embedded itself so deeply that when Zhou Mingrui's focus slipped, he'd instinctively donned his only set of respectable clothes.
Sighing, he removed the formal attire and vest, replacing them with a worn brownish-yellow coat and a felt hat of the same color.
Once he was ready, he walked over to the bunk bed, lifted the mattress, and reached into a discreet tear underneath. After a bit of fumbling, his fingers found the hidden pocket.
When his hand emerged, he held a roll of banknotes—seven or eight bills, their greenish color faded.
This was Benson's entire savings, including three days' worth of living expenses. Only two bills were of the five-sou level; the rest were single-sou notes.
In the Loen Kingdom's currency system, the sou occupied the second tier, derived from ancient silver coins. Each sou was worth twelve copper pennies, with denominations of one and five sou.
At the top was the gold pound, a paper currency backed by gold, with denominations of one, five, and ten. One gold pound equaled twenty sou.
Zhou Mingrui unrolled the notes, catching a faint scent of special ink.
The smell of money.
Whether it was due to Klein's memories or his own unchanging desire for wealth, Zhou Mingrui found himself momentarily captivated by the sight of these little bills.
Look at them—the designs were intricate, making even the severe, mustachioed visage of King George III appear endearing.
The watermarks, visible in sunlight, were alluring, the anti-counterfeit markers setting them apart from any cheap, gaudy imitation.
After admiring them for several seconds, Zhou Mingrui withdrew two one-sou bills, carefully rolled the remaining bills, and stashed them back in the hidden pocket under the mattress.
He smoothed the fabric near the tear, neatly folded the two one-sou bills, and slipped them into the left pocket of his brown coat, separate from the copper pennies in his trousers.
With everything in order, he tucked his keys into his right pocket, picked up a large, dark brown paper bag, and walked toward the door.
*Tap, tap, tap.* His footsteps slowed, finally coming to a stop.
Standing by the door, Zhou Mingrui realized his brow had furrowed, though he couldn't pinpoint when it had started.
Klein's supposed suicide was shrouded in mystery. Walking out just like this—could it lead to some "accident"?
After a brief pause, Zhou Mingrui returned to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out the brass-revolver. It was the only weapon he could think of for self-defense—and a powerful one at that.
Though he'd never trained with firearms, simply brandishing a revolver would surely intimidate anyone.
He ran his fingers over the cold, metallic cylinder, feeling the weight of it before slipping the gun into the same pocket as his banknotes, his palm clutching the bills and fingers firmly pressing against the handle, keeping it concealed.
A wave of security washed over him, but then, as a self-proclaimed "know-it-all," a sudden worry popped into his mind:
*Could it accidentally discharge?*
The thought made him reconsider. He pulled the revolver out, flipped the cylinder to the left, and rotated it so that the empty chamber from the "suicide" attempt aligned with the firing pin. Then he snapped the cylinder back in place.
Now, even if it misfired, it would be an "empty shot."
With the gun securely stowed, Zhou Mingrui left his left hand in his pocket, gripping the weapon. He adjusted his hat with his right hand, opened the door, and stepped out.
The hallway remained dim even in daylight; the meager sunlight filtering through the window at the end did little to brighten it. Zhou Mingrui descended the stairs swiftly, leaving the apartment building, where the morning sunlight finally greeted him with warmth and brightness.
Though it was late June and midsummer, Tingen's northern location in the Kingdom of Loen kept the temperatures mild, rarely surpassing 30 degrees Celsius. The early morning was refreshingly cool, though parts of the street were muddy with stagnant water and litter strewn about. In Klein's memories, such scenes were common in the lower-income districts, where even a sewer system couldn't keep up with the crowded population and day-to-day struggles.
"Come get freshly grilled meat fish!"
"Hot and savory oyster stew! One bowl in the morning to keep you energized all day!"
"Fresh fish from the harbor—only five pence each!"
"Small cakes, eel soup with ginger beer!"
"Sea snails, sea snails, sea snails!"
"Freshly harvested vegetables from the farms outside the city—cheap and crisp!"
…
Street vendors selling vegetables, fruit, and ready-to-eat food shouted to the hurried passersby, their calls a mix of persuasive and urgent. Some people stopped to carefully compare prices and make purchases, while others waved them off impatiently, their minds preoccupied with the day's uncertain prospects.
Amid the ebb and flow of foul odors and tantalizing aromas, Zhou Mingrui tightened his grip on the revolver handle in his left pocket, clutching the banknotes, while his right hand pressed down on his felt hat. He walked slightly hunched, head down, through the bustling crowd.
Crowded areas often attracted pickpockets, especially in this neighborhood filled with semi-employed laborers and hungry children desperate enough to be manipulated into petty theft.
Once the density of people thinned, Zhou Mingrui straightened his back, raised his head, and took in the scene ahead.
There, a wandering accordionist played, his melody shifting between gentle and spirited. Beside him gathered a group of ragged children with sallow faces from malnutrition. They listened intently, swaying and dancing to the rhythm in their own makeshift style, faces beaming with joy as though they were little princes and angels.
A woman with a dull expression passed by, her skirt soiled, her skin dull. Her gaze was vacant, almost lifeless, but as her eyes fell on the children, a flicker of light appeared, as though she glimpsed her own carefree self thirty years ago.
Zhou Mingrui walked past her, turned onto another street, and stopped in front of **Sling's Bakery**.
The bakery's owner, Mrs. Wendy Sling, was a kindly woman in her seventies with a head full of gray hair and a warm smile. She had been selling bread and pastries here since Klein's earliest memories.
Her homemade Tingen pastries and lemon cakes were delicious… Zhou Mingrui swallowed, suppressing a smile, and greeted her, "Mrs. Sling, eight pounds of rye bread, please."
"Oh, young Klein, is Benson still away?" Wendy asked with a cheerful twinkle.
"A few more days," Zhou Mingrui replied vaguely.
As Wendy picked out the rye bread, she sighed with a fond smile. "He's such a hardworking young man. He'll find a good wife, I'm sure of it."
Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, "And now look at you, our Hoy University history graduate! Soon, you'll be earning a living, and you two should be in a better apartment, at least one with your own washroom."
"Mrs. Sling, you're as lively as a young lady today," Zhou Mingrui replied with an awkward smile.
If Klein passed the interview and became a lecturer at Tingen University, it would indeed elevate the entire family's status!
In his fragmented memories, he even fantasized about renting a suburban house with five or six rooms upstairs, two washrooms, a large balcony, two rooms downstairs, a dining room, a living room, a kitchen, a washroom, and a basement storage.
This wasn't a pipe dream. Even during the internship period, a lecturer at Tingen University earned a weekly salary of 2 gold pounds, increasing to 3 gold pounds and 10 sou once confirmed in the position. To put this in perspective, Klein's brother Benson, despite years of hard work, earned only 1 pound and 10 sou per week, while ordinary factory workers barely made a pound or just over. The rent for such a standalone house ranged from 19 sou to 1 pound and 18 sou per week.
"This is the difference between earning three to four thousand a month and fourteen to fifteen thousand," Zhou Mingrui muttered to himself.
But all of that depended on passing the interview at Tingen University or Backlund University.
Without connections, there were no other paths to a stable government position, and for a history major, the job prospects were narrow. Few nobles, bankers, or industrial magnates were in need of private consultants.
Considering that Klein's knowledge was now fragmented and incomplete, Zhou Mingrui felt a mixture of embarrassment and self-doubt in response to Mrs. Sling's high hopes.
"Oh, I've always been this young," Wendy replied humorously.
As she spoke, she packed sixteen loaves of rye bread, each about half a pound, into Zhou Mingrui's large brown paper bag and extended her right hand. "Nine pence."
"Wasn't it eleven pence just a couple of days ago?" Zhou Mingrui asked instinctively.
Last month, it had been fifteen pence.
"Thank the repeal of the Corn Laws and those who marched for it," Wendy said with a smile, spreading her hands.
Zhou Mingrui nodded, somewhat understanding. Klein's memory contained only fragments of knowledge about the Corn Laws. The main point was that they protected the price of local agricultural products by restricting the import of cheaper grains from southern countries like Fenepot, Massey, and Lomburg until domestic prices reached a certain level.
But why had people protested against it?
Without dwelling on it further, Zhou Mingrui carefully took out a banknote, mindful not to reveal the revolver hidden in his pocket, and handed it to Mrs. Sling.
After pocketing the three copper pennies she returned, he hoisted the bag of bread and headed toward the "Lettuce and Meat Market" a street away, determined to gather the lamb and fresh peas Melissa had requested for her stew.
At the intersection of Iron Cross Street and Daffodil Street lay a municipal square, where numerous tents had been set up. A clown in a quirky costume was busy handing out flyers to passersby.
"Circus performance tomorrow night?" Zhou Mingrui murmured, catching a glimpse of the flyer in someone else's hand as he read the headline aloud.
Melissa would surely love it. I wonder how much the tickets are? The thought crossed Zhou Mingrui's mind as he moved closer to inquire.
Just as he was about to approach one of the red-and-yellow-clad clowns, a raspy female voice sounded beside him.
"Care for a divination?"
Instinctively, Zhou Mingrui turned his head and saw a woman standing in front of a low tent. She wore a pointed hat and a long black dress, her face painted with red and yellow makeup, and her deep gray-blue eyes seemed to hold an enigmatic depth.
"No," Zhou Mingrui replied, shaking his head. He hardly had spare money for a fortune-telling.
The woman smiled and said, "My Tarot reading is quite accurate."
*Tarot…* Zhou Mingrui froze, the pronunciation strikingly similar to the Tarot cards on Earth.
On Earth, Tarot was a form of fortune-telling, using a deck with symbolic illustrations on each card.
Wait… He suddenly remembered the origin of Tarot in this world.
Here, Tarot didn't originate from the seven orthodox deities, nor was it an ancient relic. Rather, it was invented over 170 years ago by Russell Gustav, the then-governor of the Republic of Intis.
This Mr. Russell was a visionary who invented the steam engine, improved sailing ships, and led the revolution that overthrew the Intis monarchy. Recognized by the Church of the "God of Craftsmen," he became the republic's first governor.
During his rule, Russell waged wars across the continent, bringing countries like Lomburg under his protection, forcing powerful northern nations such as the Loen Kingdom, Fenepot, and the Fusac Empire to yield. Eventually, he transformed the republic into an empire, declaring himself "Caesar."
It was under Russell's reign that the Church of the God of Craftsmen received its first divine oracle of the Fifth Epoch, renaming the deity to the "God of Steam and Machinery."
Russell had also invented Tarot divination and laid the foundation for modern card games—many of which were familiar to Zhou Mingrui, like upgrades, poker, Texas Hold'em, and Gwent…
Additionally, he dispatched fleets to brave storms and turbulent currents to discover a passage to the southern continent, igniting the age of colonization.
Unfortunately, in his later years, Russell suffered betrayal and was assassinated in White Maple Palace in Fifth Epoch 1198, with the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, the Intis royal Soren family, and other nobles conspiring against him.
…Remembering these historical facts, Zhou Mingrui felt a strange ache in his teeth.
Could this Russell have been a fellow transmigrant?
Curiosity sparked, Zhou Mingrui wanted to see what the Tarot cards here looked like, so he nodded at the woman with the pointed hat and face paint.
"If the, uh… price is reasonable, I'll give it a try."
The woman grinned and replied, "Sir, you're my first client today, so it's free."