Sat back down in the chair until the church bell rang seven times, one after another, from afar, only then did Zhou Mingrui rise slowly and make his way to the cabinet, pulling out his clothes. A black vest, a matching suit, slightly tight trousers at the ankles, and a half-high hat—along with a quiet, scholarly air—made Zhou Mingrui feel, upon looking into the mirror, as if he were watching a British period drama set in the Victorian era. "I'm not here for an interview," he murmured softly, shaking his head and smiling slightly. "I'm just here to buy some groceries and gather supplies for the relocation ceremony." Suddenly, he found himself thinking this out loud. For Klein, the upcoming interview had become so deeply ingrained that it had turned into an automatic habit—whenever his attention wavered, he instinctively wore this single, polished outfit. Taking a deep breath, Zhou Mingrui removed his suit and vest, donning instead an older, brown-yellow coat and switching his headwear to a matching round-brimmed felt hat. Once he had settled himself, he walked over to the bed with the varying heights, lifted the top blanket, and inserted his hand through the subtle tear at the base. After a moment of searching, he found the hidden compartment. When his right hand withdrew, it now held a roll of banknotes—about seven or eight in number, with a deep green, slightly pale hue. This was all the savings Bensun currently had, including the expenses for the past three days; among them, only two five-sulah notes, the rest being one-sulah notes. In the monetary system of the Roon Kingdom, the sulah occupied the second tier, derived from ancient silver coins, with denominations of one and five sulah, each equaling twelve copper farthings. At the top of the hierarchy stood the gold pound, also issued as paper currency, backed by gold and directly linked to it, with a value of twenty sulah, available in one, five, and ten sulah denominations. Zhou Mingrui unfolded the banknotes and detected a faint, delicate aroma of special ink—this, he realized, was the scent of money. Perhaps influenced by fragments of Klein's memory, or perhaps simply by his enduring, unchanging yearning for money, at this very moment, Zhou Mingrui felt he had fallen deeply in love with these little things. Look at the exquisite patterns—they make even the dignified, serious George III with his two little beards seem so endearing. Look at the watermark seen through the sunlight—it's so inviting! That carefully designed anti-counterfeiting label sets it apart completely from the flashy, inferior imitations. After admiring them for several seconds, Zhou Mingrui drew out two one-soule notes, rolled the remainder neatly, and tucked them back into the inner fold of the cushion. He smoothed out the fabric near the tear, folded the two notes neatly, and placed them in the pocket on the left side of his brown-yellow coat, keeping them separate from the several pennies in his pants pocket. With everything arranged, he slipped the key into the pocket on his right side, took up the large, deep-brown paper bag, and hurried toward the door. Ticking, ticking—his footsteps began fast, then slowed, and finally came to a stop. Zhou Mingrui stood by the door, his brows already furrowed. There were many mysteries surrounding Kline's suicide—would he encounter some kind of "accident" simply by leaving? After a moment of thoughtful reflection, Zhou returned to his desk, opened the drawer, and retrieved the revolver that gleamed with a warm brass luster. This was his only thoughtfully chosen means of self-defense—and a weapon strong enough to make an impact! Though he had never practiced shooting, merely producing this gun would surely intimidate anyone. He ran his fingers over the cold metal cylinder, then slipped the revolver into the pocket where the bills were, clenching the cash firmly in his palm and pressing his fingers tightly against the gun's grip, perfectly concealing it. A sense of security settled over him. Suddenly, with a growing awareness of the nuances of the situation, he had a new concern: "Would he accidentally fire it?" Thoughts flowed rapidly, and soon he found his way. He reached for the revolver, swung the cylinder to the left, positioning the empty chamber—now vacant due to the 'suicide'—into the ready-to-fire state, then closed it with a decisive snap. Thus, even if the gun goes out, it will only be a 'missed shot'! With the pistol securely reinserted, Zhou Mingrui left his left hand resting in his pocket, never removing it. He pressed his right hand against the hat, then opened the door with a solid clang and stepped out. The corridor remained dimly lit during the day, with only limited sunlight filtering through the end windows. As Zhou Mingrui descended the stairs and left the apartment, he finally felt the brightness and warmth. Though it was now early July, summer season, Tinggen, located in the northern part of the Kingdom of Luon, had a distinct climate—its highest temperature barely exceeded Earth's 30 degrees Celsius, and mornings were particularly cool. Some streets still had stagnant water and scattered debris; in Klein's memory, such scenes were not uncommon in low-income neighborhoods, even where sewer systems existed, due to the sheer population and the rhythm of daily life. "Come on, come on! Try the delicious pan-seared fish!" "Fresh, steaming oyster soup—have a bowl in the morning, and you'll feel energized all day!" "Fresh fish delivered from the port—just five pence per piece!" "Small pine buns with crab beer and eel soup!" "Oysters! Oysters! Oysters!" "Vegetables freshly gathered from the farm outside the city—both affordable and fresh!" ... The mobile vendors selling vegetables, fruits, and cooked meals shouted loudly, calling out to the hurried pedestrians. Some paused to compare and decide, while others grew impatient, waving them off as their day’s work remained unresolved. There was a street musician playing the accordion, his melody at times serene, at others vibrant. Beside him, a group of children dressed in tattered clothes, their faces pale from malnutrition, gathered. They listened to the music, moving with the rhythm, dancing spontaneously, their faces bright with joy—as if they were little princes or little angels. A woman with a lifeless expression passed by, her dress soiled and her skin dull. Her eyes were blank and unresponsive, yet a faint glow of recognition would shine when she looked at the children, as though seeing herself thirty years ago. Zhou Mingrui overtook her, turned down another street, and stopped in front of "Wendislin Bakery." The bakery's owner was a grandmother in her seventies named Wendislin, with completely gray hair and a consistently warm smile. Since Klein's memory began, she has been selling bread and pastries here. Well, her homemade Tingen bread and lemon cake were absolutely delicious... Zhou Mingrui took a gulp of saliva and smiled, saying, "Madam Slin, eight pounds of rye bread, please." "Oh, little Klein—where's Bensun? He hasn't come back yet?" Wendy asked cheerfully. "Another few days," Zhou Mingrui replied vaguely. Wendy picked up a piece of rye bread and remarked, "He truly is a hardworking young man—he'll have a wonderful wife someday." With a slight smile, she added, a touch of playfulness in her tone, "Now that you've graduated, you're off to a great start as a History Department graduate from Hoy University—well, you'll soon be earning a good income. You shouldn't be living in an apartment like this anymore. At least you should have your own bathroom." "Madam Slin, you really seem like a lively, vibrant young lady today," Zhou Mingrui could only manage a dry smile in response. If Klein successfully passed the interview and became a lecturer at Tingen University, the whole family would indeed be on their way to a comfortable middle-class life! In his fragmented memories, even he had imagined renting a detached house in a more suburban area—five or six rooms upstairs, two bathrooms, a large balcony; two rooms downstairs, a dining room, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a basement storage room. This was no dream. A lecturer at Tingen University, even during the internship period, earned 2 gold pounds per week, rising to 3 gold pounds 10 shillings upon full-time appointment. Consider that his brother, Bensin, had worked for years and still earned only 1 gold pound 10 shillings per week. Factory workers typically earned less than 1 gold pound, or just a little above. Yet the rent for such a detached house ranged from 19 shillings to 1 gold pound 18 shillings. "That's the difference between an income of a few thousand and one of over ten thousand," Zhou Mingrui murmured to himself. Yet all of this depended on passing the interview at either Tingen or Beckland University. As for other pathways, someone without a background simply cannot secure a recommendation and become a public official, and those studying history face even narrower employment opportunities—there isn't much demand for private advisors from the nobility, bankers, or industrial magnates. Given that Clarens' knowledge has now become fragmented and incomplete, with many gaps, Zhou Mingrui feels deeply awkward and self-conscious about his expectations toward Mrs. Slin. "No, I've always been this young," Wendy replied with a touch of humor. As she spoke, she placed the sixteen rye loaves, precisely weighed, into the deep brown paper bag that Zhou Mingrui had brought, then spread her hands out. "Nine pence." Each rye loaf weighed approximately half a pound, with slight variations inevitable. "Nine pence? Didn't it cost eleven pence just two days ago?" Zhou Mingrui asked instinctively. It had even been fifteen pence last month. "Thank the repeal of the Grain Act and the people who marched," Wendy said, spreading her hands in a smile. Zhou Mingrui nodded with a mixture of understanding and uncertainty. Klein's memory of the event was somewhat fragmented—he only recalled that the core of the Grain Act was to protect domestic agricultural prices, preventing the importation of grain from southern countries such as Feneport, Massy, and Lunburg until prices reached a certain level. Why would anyone be protesting it? Without further explanation, Zhou Mingrui was afraid of drawing out his revolver and carefully withdrew a few paper bills, handing one to Mrs. Slin. After retrieving three copper halfpence and tucking them into his trousers, he carried the paper bag of bread toward the "Lettuce and Meats" market across the street, striving to fulfill his sister's request for the delicate pea and lamb stew. At the intersection of the Iron Cross Street and the Narcissus Street, there was a municipal square where several tents had been set up, and a whimsical clown, dressed in an odd and amusing manner, was distributing leaflets throughout the area. "A circus performance tomorrow evening?" Zhou Mingrui glanced at the leaflets in others' hands and softly read out the gist of the message. Melissa must have really liked it—how were the tickets being collected? An idea struck, and Zhou Mingrui stepped closer. He was about to ask one of the small clowns in red and yellow when a husky female voice suddenly came from beside him: "Would you like a reading?" Without thinking, Zhou Mingrui turned to see a woman standing before a low tent, wearing a pointed hat and a long black dress. Her face was painted in red and yellow, and her eyes were deep gray-blue. "No," he shook his head. He simply didn’t have the spare cash for a reading. The woman smiled. "My tarot readings are quite accurate." "Tarot…" Zhou Mingrui paused, startled. The pronunciation was so similar to the tarot cards back on Earth! The Earth's tarot cards were a kind of fortune-telling playing card, only with added symbolic picture cards. Wait—then it suddenly came to him: the origin of tarot readings in this world! It did not originate from seven orthodox deities nor stem from ancient traditions, but was invented over 170 years ago by Roscel Gustave, then Governor of the Republic of Intis. Roscel invented the steam engine, improved sailing ships, overthrew the rule of the Kingdom of Intis, and was recognized by the Church of the "God of Craft" as the first Governor of the new Republic. Subsequently, he campaigned across the land, incorporating nations such as Lungen under his protection, compelling the powerful northern states—Rune, Feneport, and the Imperium of Vosak—to yield. He then transformed the Republic into an Empire, styling himself "Emperor Caesar." It was during Roscel's reign that the Church of the "God of Craft" received its first publicly revealed prophecy since the "Fifth Age," and thus adopted the title "God of Steam and Machinery." Rousseau also invented tarot divination and established the current composition and gameplay of playing cards, among which there are several types familiar to Zhou Mingrui—such as upgrading, Didi Zhuang, Texas Hold'em, and Kunte. Additionally, he dispatched fleets that navigated through storms and turbulent waters to discover a route to the southern continent, thereby initiating the era of colonization. Unfortunately, in his later years, he faced betrayal and was assassinated in 1198 of the Fifth Age by the Eternal Scorching Sun Church, the royal house of Thys, the Solon family, and other noble houses, falling at the White Maple Palace. This... recalling these basic facts, Zhou Mingrui suddenly felt a toothache. Could this man be a time-traveling predecessor? With this thought, Zhou Mingrui decided to take a closer look at the actual appearance of the tarot cards here, and thus nodded to the woman wearing a pointed hat and painted face: "Unless, er, the price is reasonable, I'd like to try." The woman immediately smiled. "Sir, you are the first person to come for a reading today—free of charge."