The plan was now firmly settled, and Zhou Mingrui instantly found his bearings—his previous anxieties, hesitations, and uncertainties had all been tucked away in the corners.
Only now did he have time to carefully examine the fragments of memory that remained from Klein.
As a habit, Zhou Mingrui stood up, closed off the pipeline valve, watched the wall lamp dim gradually until it went out, then sat back down again. With his hands unconsciously rubbing the brass revolving cylinder of his revolver, and one hand pressed gently against his temple, he quietly absorbed the silence in the now-fiery-red darkness—like a most attentive audience in a cinema hall.
Perhaps affected by the impact of the bullet, Klein’s memory resembled broken glass—disconnected, fragmented, with many gaps. For instance, where had the well-crafted revolver come from? Had it been a suicide or a homicide? What did the inscription on his notebook—"Everyone will die, including me"—mean exactly? Had he participated in any unusual events two days before the incident?
Not only were these specific memories scattered and incomplete—his very knowledge of facts was also hazy. In Zhou Mingrui’s estimation, if Klein returned to university now, he would likely fail to graduate—even though he had only been away from campus for a few days, and had not let himself relax at all.
“Two days from now, I have an interview at the History Department of Tingen University.”
“The Lun Kingdom tradition is that graduates do not stay on at their alma mater—my mentor has recommended both Tingen University and Beckland University.”
While silently observing these details unfold, the red moon slowly dipped toward the west, sinking into the horizon. By then, a golden glow began to rise in the east, staining the skyline with gold.
At this moment, movement came from within the room—the sound of footsteps approached the isolation door.
“Melissa has woken up—she’s as always, perfectly punctual.” Zhou Mingrui smiled softly, feeling an intimacy toward Melissa that reminded him of his own sister.
Yet… I have no actual sister. He murmured to himself, almost reluctantly.
Over just three years, the number of public primary schools had grown significantly, especially after absorbing many church-based institutions. These schools strictly upheld a neutral stance toward religious affiliations—avoiding entanglements between the Church of the Storm Lord, the Night Goddess, and the Church of Steam and Mechanics.
Compared to Sunday schools that charged only one copper penny per week, public primary schools, which demanded three pennies weekly, seemed notably expensive. Yet the Sunday school students learned only once a week, while public school pupils attended six days each week—so the overall cost was justified.
Melissa, unlike most girls, had always been drawn to gears, springs, and bearings from an early age, with aspirations of becoming a steam engineer. Her older brother, Benson—who himself had suffered from cultural disadvantages—had supported both Klein’s university ambitions and Melissa’s dream, recognizing that the Tingen Technical School was a secondary-level institution, no longer requiring accumulation at grammar or public schools.
In July last year, at fifteen, Melissa passed her entrance exam and became one of the students in the Steam and Mechanics program at Tingen Technical School—her weekly tuition increased to nine pennies.
Meanwhile, Benson’s Import-Export Company had suffered substantial losses due to shifting conditions on the Southern Continent—both in profits and business volume—necessitating cuts exceeding one-third of staff. To preserve his job and maintain stability, Benson had accepted heavier workloads, often working overtime or traveling to remote locations with difficult environments—exactly as he was doing these days now.
Klein had thought about helping his brother financially, but coming from a commoner background and having been admitted through a typical grammar school, he immediately felt inadequacies upon entering university—such as the ancient Fusaq language, which served as the foundational tongue of all northern nations. For nobility or affluent families, it was studied from childhood; for Klein, it had only recently surfaced in his university years.
Such challenges were numerous and persistent. Klein often worked late into the night and woke early just to keep pace with peers—and managed to graduate with merely average grades.
Zhou Mingrui’s thoughts kept cycling between memories of his brother and sister—until he suddenly realized, as he turned the handle and opened the door inside the room, that he was still holding a revolver in his hands.
How remarkable! This was a regulated item—surely something that would alarm children!
And then, there was also the wound on his head!
As Melissa approached to step out, Zhou Mingrui quickly pressed against his temple and hurriedly opened the desk drawer, placing the revolver inside with a sharp *thud*.
“What’s happened?” Melissa asked, her expression puzzled.
She was at the peak of youth—though not well-fed, she looked lean and slightly pale; yet her skin still glowed with freshness, radiating the essence of a young girl.
Seeing Melissa’s brown eyes probing him, Zhou Mingrui composed himself, picked up nearby objects, closed the drawer smoothly to conceal the revolver, while feeling certain that his head wound had already healed—the gentle pressure against his temple confirmed it.
From the drawer he pulled out a silver watch with vine and leaf patterns—a cherished heirloom from their father, an officer of the Royal Army. Though secondhand, this piece was always valuable—yet over recent years, its reliability had faltered even after being repaired by watchmakers, frequently causing embarrassment for Benson who often wore it to elevate his status. Eventually, he simply stored it at home.
Undoubtedly, Melissa possessed a genuine aptitude in mechanical matters—after mastering the theoretical knowledge, she began experimenting with tools from Tingen Technical School and recently claimed to have fully restored this very watch!
As Zhou Mingrui watched the watch cover open, he noticed that the seconds hand had stopped—instinctively, he rotated the top gently, hoping to wind it.
But after several turns, no sound of the spring tightening emerged—the second hand remained motionless.
“Seems like it’s broken again,” he said, shifting his gaze toward her with a quiet hesitation.
Melissa glanced at him without expression and then quickly approached, taking the watch from him.
She stood still for a moment, first lifting the top button and turning it several times—then immediately heard a steady *tick-tick-tick* of the seconds hand moving.
Normally, wouldn’t adjusting the time require lifting the crown? Zhou Mingrui’s expression became utterly stunned.
At that very instant, the bell from the distant cathedral rang six times—deep, resonant, and ethereal.
Melissa listened attentively, then raised the top button slightly further and continued turning it several times to set the correct time.
“Done,” she said simply, without any emotion, before pressing the crown back down and returning the watch to Zhou Mingrui.
Zhou Mingrui responded with a polite, somewhat awkward smile.
Then, after one more look at her brother, Melissa turned toward the cabinet, picked up a brush, a towel, and a book bag—her own hand-sewn portfolio for school supplies—and prepared to leave.
Today was not Sunday—she would have an entire day of classes ahead.
It took about fifty minutes on foot from their apartment to Tingen Technical School. Public horses cost one penny per kilometer; within the city, the maximum rate was four pennies, and outside the city center, it was six pennies. To save money, Melissa always left early—walking instead of relying on public transport.
As she just opened the front door, she paused halfway and turned slightly to say:
“Klein, don’t buy too much lamb and peas—Benson might not return until Sunday. And remember, only eight pounds for bread.”
“That’s good,” Zhou Mingrui replied, somewhat resigned.
In his mind, he repeated the word “Sunday” several times over.
In the northern continent, a year is divided into twelve months, ranging from 365 to 366 days annually—seven days per week remain consistent.
The former was an astronomical observation that made Zhou Mingrui suspect they might be in a parallel world; the latter stemmed from religious tradition—the official pantheon of gods consists of seven: The Eternal Radiant Sun, The Storm Lord, The God of Knowledge and Wisdom, The Night Goddess, The Earth Mother, The War God, and The God of Steam and Mechanics.
As he watched his sister close the door behind her, Zhou Mingrui sighed deeply—then immediately shifted his focus to the Transference Ritual.
I’m truly sorry—but I really want to go home…