After resting for half an hour, Zhou Mingrui had finally recovered to his own satisfaction. During this time, he noticed four dark spots appearing on the back of his right hand, precisely forming a small square. These spots gradually faded from deep to light and then disappeared, yet Zhou was certain they remained within him, waiting to be awakened. "Four spots, forming a square—could this correspond to the four corners representing four portions of staple food? Then perhaps I no longer need to prepare staple meals; I can simply proceed with steps and incantations?" Zhou quietly formed a hypothesis. It seemed promising, but the presence of something unusual and mysterious on his body always evoked a sense of unease, especially among those who were unfamiliar with it. Thinking again about how seemingly arbitrary arts and practices could produce tangible effects on Earth, recalling his own strange, dream-like journey of sudden transference, envisioning the mysterious, ethereal, and enigmatic gray mist world, and hearing the persistent, whispering murmurs that circled around him during the rituals—so intense they drove anyone near to madness—Klein could not help but shiver, a shiver that stood out vividly against the summer heat of late June. He had once heard a saying: "The most ancient and profound emotion of humanity is fear, and the most ancient and intense form of that fear is fear of the unknown." Now, he deeply felt that fear born of the unknown. For the first time, an overwhelming, irresistible impulse surged within him—desiring to engage with the mysterious, to learn more, to unravel the unknown—while at the same time, a quiet desire to bury his head and pretend nothing had happened arose. Outside, the sunlight was bright and golden, casting a layer of "gold dust" upon his desk. Klein gazed at it, as though he had touched a thread of warmth and hope. He relaxed slightly, and immediately felt a surging wave of exhaustion washing over him. The sleeplessness from last night, the strain of just now, made his eyelids heavy as lead, drooping uncontrollably. Shaking his head, Caine reached out to brace himself against the edge of the table, neglecting to tidy the rye bread placed at the corners, and staggered toward the bed with varying heights. As soon as he lay down and touched the pillow, he fell asleep instantly. Gurgle! Gurgle! Hunger awakened Caine. He opened his eyes, feeling refreshed and revitalized. "Only a bit of headache, besides," he rubbed his temple, then turned over and sat up, feeling as though he could easily eat an entire cow. While smoothing out the creases in his clothes, he returned to the desk and picked up the silver-white watch engraved with vine patterns. Click! The lid opened, and the seconds hand ticked steadily. "Half past twelve, three hours asleep..." Caine swallowed, then tucked the watch into the pocket of his linen shirt. On the Northern Continent, a day is also divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into sixty minutes, and each minute into sixty seconds. As for the exact length of a second and whether it matches that of the Earth, Klein has no idea. [As I write this, I hope the reader will remember our domain name????????????.??????] To him, at this very moment, words like mysticism, rituals, and the Grey Mist World simply fail to enter his mind. Right now, the most pressing matter is food—food! Only after he has eaten can he think, can he act. Without hesitation, Klein retrieved the four loaves of black wheat bread from the corners, shook them gently to dislodge a few dust particles, and intended to use one of them as his midday meal. Back home, there is a tradition of sharing the offerings after a ritual feast, and these four loaves appear unchanged. With only five half-pence left in his pocket, he feels that modesty and frugality are still essential virtues. Of course, there were subtle influences from the original owner's memory fragments and daily habits. Since gas was so expensive—even using it for lighting felt like a strain—he had removed the stove, added some coal, and paced back and forth, waiting for the water to boil. That rye bread was simply too dry to eat without choking! "Hey, is it really going to be black bread for breakfast, black bread for lunch, and only meat for dinner?... No, if it weren't for Melissa thinking ahead about my upcoming interviews, I'd barely get meat twice a week!" Clain, idle and hungry, couldn't focus on serious matters, constantly glancing around. Thinking of that pound of lamb, his eyes seemed to grow a bit green as he stared at the pantry. "No, no, I must wait until Melissa joins me for dinner." Clain shook his head firmly, rejecting the idea of slicing half the lamb now and preparing it immediately. As a single, city-dwelling professional who relied mostly on takeout, he had still honed his basic cooking skills—though not particularly refined, they were certainly sufficient. Turning his body, Caine decided to simply avoid the sight—then suddenly remembered that in the morning, besides buying meat, he had also bought young peas and potatoes! Potatoes! Inspiration struck him instantly. He spun back like a whirlwind, rushing to the cabinet and pulling out two of the few potatoes available. First, he went to the public restroom to thoroughly wash the skins of the potatoes, then immediately placed them into the pot and brought them to boil with the water. After a while, he retrieved the seasoning box from the cabinet, opened it, and sprinkled a small amount of yellow, coarse salt into the pot. Patiently waiting another few minutes, Caine lifted the pot, poured the liquid—not quite soup—into several cups and a large bowl, and finally placed the two potatoes on the table. Ah! As he peeled a bit of skin and blew on it, the aroma of the cooked potatoes gradually filled the air, enticing the appetite. Saliva flowed freely. Caine didn’t care that only half of each potato had been peeled or that they were still slightly warm; he picked them up and took a hearty bite. Delicious! Fragrant! A hint of sweetness lingers on the aftertaste! Klein was instantly moved to tears, devoured two potatoes with great enthusiasm, even nibbling on the skins. Only then did he lift the large bowl and savor his "soup" deeply, the subtle saltiness washing away the dryness in his mouth. "This was my favorite way to eat it as a child..." Klein mused silently, padding his stomach, while breaking off pieces of rye bread and soaking them in the soup. Perhaps the earlier "ritual" had drained him, so he ate two full loaves, totaling a pound. After drinking the soup, clearing his plate, Klein felt completely revived—re-experiencing the joy of being human, relishing the brilliance of the sunlight. He sat back down at his desk, beginning to ponder what he should do next. "I can't avoid it anymore. I must find a way to engage with the mysterious realm and become the extraordinary being spoken of by 'Justice' and 'The Hangman.' I must overcome my fear of the unknown." "The only way forward is to wait for the next 'gathering' and hope to overhear the recipe for the 'audience' potion or some other mysterious knowledge. There are still four days until Monday—before then, they must confront the original owner's own issues: why did he commit suicide? What had happened to him?" Unable to go back and simply walk away, Caine picked up the open notebook, intending to flip through it for any clues that might help piece together the fragmented memories. It was clear that the original owner had a habit of taking notes and enjoyed keeping a daily journal. Caine knew well that the cabinet standing as the desk's right leg was filled to the brim with finished notebooks. This one had been in use since May 10th, and its early pages were mostly devoted to school life, mentors, and academic topics: "May 12: Mr. Azk mentioned that the common language of the southern continent, the Baryan Empire, also originated from the ancient Fosk language, a branch of the Giant language." Why is it like this? Could it be that all spiritually aware beings once shared the same language? No, that must be wrong. Even in the records of the Book of the Night Revelation and the Book of the Storm, in times older than ancient times, giants were not the only continental rulers—there were also elves, other beings, and great dragons. Well, perhaps all of that is merely legend, mere myth. ... May 16: Professor Cohen and Mr. Azké discussed the inevitability of the steam age. Mr. Azké argued that it was more a matter of chance; without the sudden emergence of Emperor Roscel, perhaps the northern continent would have remained as cold-weapon-bound as the southern continent. The mentor believed Mr. Azké overemphasized the role of individuals. He maintained that as time progressed, even without Emperor Roscel or Emperor Robert, the steam age would inevitably arrive, though perhaps delayed. Regarding their arguments, I only felt they lacked meaning. I preferred discovering new things, uncovering history veiled in mist—perhaps I shouldn’t have studied history; I should have pursued archaeology instead. …… "On May 29th, Welch found me with a set of notes from the Fourth Age. My goddess, notes from the Fourth Age! He didn’t want to approach his archaeology classmates—he specifically asked me and Naya to help interpret the contents. How could I possibly refuse? Of course, it had to be scheduled after my graduation defense, as I couldn’t afford to be distracted at that time." Upon reading this, Klein felt a surge of renewed energy. Compared to the earlier reading notes and conceptual debates, these newly emerging Fourth Age notes were far more likely to lead to the original owner’s suicide. The Fourth Age preceded the current "Age of Iron," and its history is shrouded in mystery, with many gaps. Even the tombs, ancient cities, and surviving documents are scarce. Historians and archaeologists can only piece together a faint outline of the era—its original character—through the vague, faith-centered theological texts of the Seven Churches, learning of the existence of the Solomon Empire, the Tudor Dynasty, and the Tronsthorpe Empire. Universities are still rare, and the majority of students come from noble or affluent families. While commoners may face discrimination and be excluded from certain social circles, as long as they are not exceptionally disadvantaged, they can still build valuable networks through group discussions and collective activities—indeed, an exceptionally precious network of connections! For instance, Welch McGowan is the son of a banker from Konstanz, a city in the coastal region of Roon Kingdom. He is generous and handsomely inclined, and due to long-standing collaboration with Kline and Naya in the same study groups, he has developed the habit of routinely asking them for assistance. Without much creative thinking, Kline continues reading through his notes: "June 18—graduated. Goodbye, my Hoey University!" "On June 19, I came across the notebook. After comparing its structure and word roots, I realized it was a variant of Old Fuscian—more precisely, Old Fuscian has been undergoing subtle evolution throughout its over thousand-year history." "On June 20, we deciphered the content of the first page, and the author was a member of a family known as 'Antigonus'." "On June 21, he mentioned 'Black Emperor,' which directly contradicts the timeline inferred from earlier content. Is the mentor mistaken? Is 'Black Emperor' actually a common title shared by every emperor of the Solomon Empire?" "On June 22, the family named 'Antigonus' appears to have held a distinguished position within the Solomon Empire. The notebook's owner noted that he was engaged in a secret transaction with someone named 'Tudor.' Tudor? The Tudor dynasty?" "On June 23rd, I made a point of not thinking about that notebook, not going to Welch— I had to prepare for the interview! This was absolutely crucial." "On June 24th, Naya told me they had new findings. I thought it was time I went and saw for myself." "On June 25th, based on the newly interpreted content, the notebook's owner had been assigned a mission to visit the 'Land of Night' at the summit of the 'Hornachis' Mountains—the nation located at the peak. The main peak of the Hornachis Mountains exceeds six kilometers in height—how could a nation possibly exist there? How do they survive?" "On June 26th, are all these strange things truly real?" That was the end of the notebook. Zhou Mingrui arrived in the present world at dawn on June 28th. "So, the notebook entry from June 27th actually existed—specifically, that sentence: 'Everyone will die, including me.'" Klein turned to the very first page he had seen, and felt a deep sense of unease as he reached that conclusion. He felt that to unravel the mystery of the original owner's suicide, he should visit Welch and examine the old notes. Yet, with his rich experience in novels, films, and television dramas, he sensed that if he went—and if the matter truly was connected—he would likely face unforeseen dangers. After all, those very people who knew the castle was haunted yet still chose to make a dramatic last stand were the very warnings! But he couldn't stay away—he knew that avoidance would never resolve the issue; it would only make things grow more burdensome, until eventually, everything would overflow and completely overwhelm him. Could he really call for help and say, "I'm having a suicide"?