Absolutely sharp… Kline laughed out loud, drawing on his lifetime of experience to deliver another sharp remark: "In fact, there's no evidence at all that those big shots actually have brains." "Great! Outstanding!" Bensen burst into laughter, raising his thumb in approval. "Kline, you're much more humorous than you used to be." Taking a breath, he continued: "I still have to head to the docks this afternoon, so I won't be able to rest until tomorrow. Then, uh… we'll go together to the 'Tinggen City Housing Improvement Company' to see if they have any affordable, decent row houses available for rent. And, of course, we'll have to visit Mr. Franchi first." "Mr. the landlord?" Kline asked, puzzled. Did the current landlord actually own row houses in a good neighborhood? Bensen glanced at his brother, chuckling. "You wouldn't have forgotten that we had a one-year lease agreement, would you? It's only been six months since then." "Whoa…" Kline gasped, suddenly taking in a sharp breath. He really had completely overlooked that! Although the rent is paid weekly, the lease term runs for a full year. Moving now means breaching the contract, and if taken to court, we’d have to pay a substantial penalty! "You still lack sufficient social experience," Benson remarked, running a hand over the receding black hairline at the back of his head, with a touch of nostalgia. "This was actually a clause I fought hard to secure. Otherwise, Mr. Franchi would have preferred a three-month lease. For the affluent, landlords typically offer one-, two-, or even three-year leases to ensure stability. But for us—back then, and for our neighbors—landlords were constantly worried about unexpected events or rent defaults, and thus preferred shorter, more flexible agreements." "Which means they can adjust prices frequently," added Kline, drawing on fragments of the original tenant's memory and his own rental experiences. Banser sighed, "That's the reality—and the cruelty—of today's society. Don't worry about the lease issue; it's easily resolved. To be honest, if we miss just one week's rent, Mr. Franch will immediately evict us and seize our valuable possessions. After all, his intelligence doesn't quite match that of the ginger baboon—he simply can't grasp anything too complex." Hearing this, Caine suddenly recalled a joke from Sir Humphrey, and shook his head seriously. "No, Banser, you're mistaken." "Why?" Banser looked puzzled. "Mr. Franch's intelligence is actually a bit higher than that of the ginger baboon." Caine replied seriously. Just as Banser smiled with growing understanding, Caine added, "If he's in good form." "Ha! Well, I didn't expect such a reaction," Banser said, visibly surprised. Laughter bubbling, he pointed at Cline and momentarily struggled to find the right words, eventually returning to the main point: "Of course, as gentlemen, we won't resort to anything undignified. We'll speak directly with Mr. Franchi tomorrow. Believe me, he'll be easily convinced—very easily." Cline had no doubt about this; the very existence of the gas pipeline was the strongest proof. The two brothers chatted casually, adding the remaining bits of seared fish from last night to the vegetable stew, and while the stew simmered, they steamed the whole grain bread. With a light dollop of cream on the bread, Cline and Benson managed a simple meal, yet they felt quite satisfied—indeed, the rich milkiness and sweetness lingered long after. Once Bensin had left, Caine also took three soules and a few copper pennies to the "Lettuce and Meat Market," where he spent six pennies on a pound of beef, seven pennies on a large, tender, bone-light Tasok fish, and also purchased potatoes, peas, white radishes, turnips, celery, and cabbage, along with thyme, basil, cumin, and oils. Throughout this process, he still felt as though someone was watching and observing him, though no physical contact had yet occurred. After lingering a while at "Slin Bakeshop," Caine returned home and began strengthening his arms using heavy objects such as stacked books. He had originally intended to practice military boxing to build his strength, but now he had even forgotten the movements of the daily physical exercises, let alone the more recent military drills. As a result, he settled for something as simple as possible. Klein didn't push himself too hard, for that would only lead to fatigue and increase danger. Instead, he paused at the right moments, flipping through the original owner's textbooks and notes, hoping to go over the knowledge related to the Fourth Period once again. Caine rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, carried the fried fish plate, and placed it at the center of the neatly arranged desk. Then he turned back, retrieved two large glasses of ginger beer from the cabinet, and set one for Benson and one for himself. He smiled at Melissa and, with a magician's grace, produced a lemon pudding. "We have beer," he said, "and you have this." "...Thank you," Melissa replied, her voice soft. Benson raised his glass and smiled, speaking warmly. "Here's to Caine finding a solid job." Caine lifted his glass and clinked it against Benson's, then against Melissa's lemon pudding. "Cheers to the goddess!" He took a long swallow, the spicy flavor burning down his throat, leaving a delightful aftertaste. Ginger beer, as its full name suggests, is actually alcohol-free. It combines the spiciness of ginger with the acidity of lemon to create a taste reminiscent of beer—making it a drink that women and children alike can easily enjoy. However, Melissa isn't particularly fond of this flavor. "Beautiful!" Bensen took a sip as well, while Melissa gently bit into a small piece of lemon pudding, chewing it thoughtfully and reluctant to swallow. "Give it a try," said Kline, setting down his cup and picking up his fork. He pointed to the full spread of dishes. Among these, he felt the least confident about the pea soup—something he'd never encountered on Earth himself. He had to rely on fragmented memories from the original owner to reimagine it. As the elder brother, Bensen didn't hesitate. He scooped a generous spoonful of mashed potatoes and took a bite. The potatoes, cooked until almost puree-like, blended with a subtle hint of pork fat and a well-balanced saltiness, prompting him to produce a steady stream of saliva and opening up his appetite. "Not… exactly… quite right." "It's quite good," Bensin remarked vaguely, "much better than the creamy version I had last time at the office." This was certainly my specialty... Cline accepted the praise with grace: "Thanks to Mr. Welch's chef." Melissa turned her attention to the beef broth, where green basil leaves, crisp green celery heads, and white carrot cubes were submerged in a clear, pale broth, gently concealing the tender beef. The dish appeared fresh and fragrant. She took a bite of the beef, chewed thoughtfully, and found it soft yet still retaining a pleasant texture. The subtle saltiness, the mild sweetness of the carrots, and the aromatic touch of basil all enhanced the natural flavor of the beef. "Ah... ah..." she seemed to be praising something, yet couldn't stop speaking. Cline tasted it too, finding it delicious, though somewhat disappointed—it still fell short of his best. Some of the seasonings were missing, and he had had to substitute with others, which inevitably made the dish feel a bit unusual. Of course, even at their best, the meals they prepared themselves were merely adequate. Suddenly, Klein felt pained for Bensen and Melissa, who had never seen much of the world. He took a bite of beef, then picked up a piece of fried tasso fish seasoned with cumin and thyme—crispy on the outside, tender within, golden and delicious, its savory depth mingling with the rich oiliness. Nodding slightly, he tried a serving of braised turmeric, which he found acceptable, helping to cut through the richness of the meat. Finally, with courage, he spooned a ladle of pea soup. It was too sweet, too acidic—Klein furrowed his brow. Yet, seeing Bensen and Melissa's satisfied expressions after tasting it, he began to doubt his own palate and took a swallow of ginger beer to cleanse his tongue. For the meal, all three siblings ended up full and bloated, unable to rise from their chairs for quite some time. "Let us once again praise the goddess!" Bensen lifted his last remaining glass of ginger beer, speaking with satisfaction. "Praise the goddess!" Klein finished off the last sip of his drink in one go. "An excellent goddess," Melissa said, finally savoring the last traces of her lemon pudding, savoring it with careful attention. Noticing this, Klein, slightly tipsy, smiled warmly. "Melissa, you're doing it wrong. You should always eat your favorite dishes first—right when you're most eager—so you can truly experience their peak flavor. If you wait until you're full and your appetite has waned, the taste will inevitably fade." "No," Melissa replied firmly and resolutely. "It's still just as delicious." The three siblings chatted and laughed, enjoying their meal, then together cleared their plates and spoons, returning the oil used to fry the fish to the pot. After a busy period, one reviewed his course materials, one studied accounting on his own, and the other continued going through textbooks and notes, feeling both full and content. At eleven o'clock, the three siblings turned off the gas lamps and went to bathe and retire for the night. ……… The room was dim and hazy, and everything felt blurred and indistinct. Suddenly, in Klein’s vision, Dean Smith appeared—wearing a black knee-length coat and a half-high hat.