Chapter 9: The Notebook

Chapter Nine
The Notebook

After resting for half an hour, Zhou Mingrui—who had already begun to regard himself as Klein—finally recovered.

During that time, he discovered four black dots on the back of his right hand, arranged precisely into a small square.

The four dots faded from dark to pale and soon disappeared, but Klein knew clearly that they were still hidden within his body, waiting to be awakened.

“Four points. A square. Could they correspond to the four portions of staple food placed in the four corners? Does this mean I will not need to prepare staple food in the future and can directly use the steps and incantations?”

Klein formed a vague guess.

This seemed like a good thing, but having some bizarre, poorly understood “thing” of unknown origin inside one’s body was always enough to inspire fear.

Then he thought of the inexplicable ritual art from Earth, which could somehow take effect here. He thought of his strange transmigration during sleep. He thought of the mysterious, dreamlike world of gray fog whose meaning he did not know. He thought of the whispers that had wandered around him during the “ritual,” driving him near madness.

Klein could not stop himself from shivering, even in the hot weather at the end of June.

He had once heard a saying: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” Now, he understood deeply what it meant to fear the unknown.

For the first time, irresistibly, a powerful urge rose in him to touch the mysterious domain, to understand more, to break through the unknown. At the same time, he also wanted to bury his head and pretend that nothing had ever happened.

The sunlight outside was bright, laying a layer of “gold dust” across the desk. Klein stared at it as if he had touched a trace of warmth and hope.

He relaxed slightly, and immediately a tide of exhaustion surged out from within him.

Having gone without sleep the previous night, and having just endured such consumption, his eyelids grew heavy as white lead, sinking uncontrollably.

Klein shook his head and braced one hand against the edge of the desk. He had no energy to tidy away the rye bread placed in the four corners. Staggering to the bunk bed, he had only just lain down and touched the pillow before he fell into a deep sleep.

Gurgle! Gurgle!

Hunger woke Klein.

He opened his eyes and felt refreshed.

“Except that my head still hurts a little.”

He rubbed his temple, turned over, and sat up. He felt as though he could now eat an entire cow.

While smoothing the wrinkles in his clothes, he returned to the desk and picked up the silver-white pocket watch engraved with branching vines.

Snap!

The cover sprang open. The second hand ticked on.

“Twelve-thirty. I slept more than three hours…”

Klein swallowed and placed the pocket watch into the pocket of his linen shirt.

On the Northern Continent, a day was likewise divided into twenty-four hours, each hour into sixty minutes, each minute into sixty seconds. As for whether the length of each second was the same as on Earth, Klein had no way of knowing.

For him, at this moment, words like mysticism, ritual, and world of gray fog could not even enter his mind. The most important thing right now was food.

Food!

Only after eating enough could he think of solutions and get things done.

Without hesitation, Klein retrieved the four pieces of rye bread from the corners of the room and flicked away the small amount of dust that had clung to them. He intended to use one as his staple for lunch.

Because his hometown had the custom of eating offerings after sacrifices, and because these four pieces of rye bread showed no change at all, and because he had only five pence left in his pocket, he felt that a person ought to practice thrift.

Of course, this was also subtly influenced by the original owner’s memory fragments and living habits.

Since gas was too expensive—so expensive that using it even for illumination was painful—Klein brought out the stove and added some coal. Then he paced back and forth, waiting for the water to boil.

That kind of rye bread would choke a person if eaten dry.

“Sigh. Am I really going to live on black bread in the morning, black bread at noon, and meat only at night? No… If Melissa were not thinking of my upcoming interview, we would only be eating meat twice a week…”

Having nothing to do and being too hungry to think about serious matters, Klein looked left and right.

When he thought of that pound of lamb, his eyes seemed to turn faintly green as he looked toward the cabinet.

“No, no. I have to wait and eat it with Melissa.”

Klein shook his head violently, rejecting the idea of first cutting half of it and cooking it now.

As a single dog drifting through a big city, he had mainly lived on takeout, but he had still developed basic cooking skills. He could not claim his cooking was delicious, but it was adequate.

Turning away, Klein intended to put temptation out of sight and mind. At that moment, however, he suddenly remembered that in addition to meat, he had bought tender peas in the morning.

And potatoes.

Potatoes!

In an instant, inspiration struck Klein. He whirled back like a gust of wind, rushed to the cabinet, and took out two potatoes from the small stock.

First, he went to the shared washroom and washed the skins clean. Then he simply placed them into the kettle and boiled them together with the water.

After quite a while, he took the seasoning box from the cabinet, lifted the lid, and sprinkled a tiny amount of yellowish, coarse salt into the water.

He waited patiently for several more minutes. Then Klein lifted the kettle and poured the liquid that could not really be called soup into several cups and a large bowl. Only at the end did he fork out the two potatoes and set them on the table.

Hoo!

He peeled a little skin, blew on his hand, peeled a little more. The aroma of cooked potatoes slowly spread, rousing the appetite.

Saliva flooded his mouth. Klein no longer cared that he had peeled only half the skin, nor that the potato was still a bit hot. He picked it up and took a fierce bite.

Fluffy. Fragrant. Sweet in the aftertaste.

Klein’s heart filled with emotion. He devoured the two potatoes as though he were a starving wolf, even eating some of the skins.

Only then did he pick up the large bowl and drink a mouthful of the “soup” with deep satisfaction. The faint saltiness washed away the dryness in his mouth.

“When I was little, this was my favorite way to eat…”

With his stomach padded, Klein sighed silently, broke apart the rye bread, softened it in the “soup,” and ate it.

Perhaps the previous “ritual” had consumed too much. He ate two whole pieces—an entire pound.

After drinking the “soup” and cleaning up, Klein felt that he had fully come back to life. Once more, he experienced the joy of being human and enjoyed the brightness of the sun.

He sat back down at the desk and began thinking about what he ought to do next.

“I cannot run away. I must find a way to touch the mysterious domain and become one of the Beyonders Justice and the Hanged Man spoke of.

“I have to overcome the fear caused by the unknown.

“The only path at present is to wait for the next gathering and see whether I can overhear the Spectator potion formula, or other mystical knowledge.

“There are still four days until Monday. Before then, I need to face the original owner’s own problems. Why did he kill himself? What happened to him?”

Since he could not simply transmigrate back, dust off his hands, and leave, Klein picked up the open notebook. He planned to look through it for clues and see whether it could fill in his broken memory fragments.

Clearly, the original owner had a habit of taking notes, and also of using those notes as a diary.

Klein knew that the cabinet supporting the right side of the desk was filled with completed notebooks.

This particular notebook had been used since May 10. Its earliest pages mostly concerned school, his tutor, and academic knowledge.

May 12. Mr. Azik mentioned that the common language of the Balam Empire on the Southern Continent also originates from ancient Feysac—in other words, from a branch of Jotun, the language of giants. Why is that? Could all spiritually endowed beings once have used the same language? No, that must be wrong. Even in The Revelation of Evernight and The Book of Storms, the records say that in eras older than ancient, giants were not the only rulers of the continent. There were elves, mutants, and dragons as well. Well, all of that is only legend, only myth.

…

May 16. Senior Associate Professor Cohen and Mr. Azik discussed the inevitability of the steam age. Mr. Azik believes there was an element of contingency. If Emperor Roselle had not suddenly appeared, perhaps the Northern Continent would still be like the Southern Continent, remaining in an age of cold weapons. My tutor thinks he places too much emphasis on the role of the individual. He believes that as the times developed, even without Emperor Roselle, there would have been an Emperor Robert. In short, the steam age may have arrived late, but it would certainly have arrived. As for their debate, I feel it is rather meaningless. I prefer discovering new things and restoring history veiled by fog. Perhaps I should not have studied history. Perhaps I should have studied archaeology.

…

May 29. Welch came to me and said he had obtained a notebook from the Fourth Epoch. My Goddess—a notebook from the Fourth Epoch! He does not wish to ask students from the archaeology department. He wants me and Naya to help interpret the recorded contents. How could I possibly refuse such a thing? Of course, it must wait until after the graduation defense. At this stage, I cannot afford distraction.

Seeing this, Klein’s spirit lifted. Compared with the earlier notes on historical reading and academic debate, the newly mentioned “Fourth Epoch” notebook seemed far more likely to have led to the original owner’s suicide.

The Fourth Epoch was the era before the current “Black Iron Epoch.” Its history was filled with fog and full of gaps. Even excavated tombs, ancient cities, and documents were few and far between. Historians and archaeologists could only rely on the vague theological scriptures of the seven churches—texts primarily intended for religious education—to barely piece together a little of its “original appearance,” learning of the existence of the Solomon Empire, the Tudor Dynasty, and the Trunsoest Empire.

Klein, who had been determined to pierce the fog and restore history, had little interest in the first three epochs, which leaned closer to myth and legend. What he cared about was the Fourth Epoch, also known as the Age of the Gods. One could imagine how excited he had been.

“Heh. Looking at it this way, the original owner really did not need to place so much importance on the interview and worry about future employment…”

Klein could not help sighing.

Universities were still rare at present. Most students were children of nobles or wealthy families. If a commoner managed to enter, even if they suffered discrimination because of their status and were not brought into others’ social circles, as long as they were not extreme in temperament, they could still obtain certain connections through group discussions, collective assignments, and similar activities.

Those connections were precious. Very precious.

For example, Welch McGovern was the son of a banker from Conston City in the Midsea County of the Loen Kingdom. He was generous and free with money. Because he had long been grouped together with Klein and Naya for assignments and reports, he had habitually asked them for help.

Klein did not let his thoughts drift too far. He continued reading the notebook.

June 18. Graduated. Farewell, my Khoy University!

June 19. I saw that notebook. Through comparison of structure, roots, and other features, I discovered that it is a variant of ancient Feysac. More accurately, over the past thousand years or more, ancient Feysac has in fact continued to undergo subtle evolution.

June 20. We interpreted the contents of the first page. The author was a member of a family called Antigonus.

June 21. He mentioned the “Black Emperor.” This completely contradicts the era deduced from the previous content. Could my tutor’s view be wrong? Could the “Black Emperor” actually have been a common title for every emperor of the Solomon Empire?

June 22. This family called Antigonus seems to have held an eminent position in the Solomon Empire. The notebook’s owner mentioned that he was conducting a secret transaction with someone called Tudor. Tudor? The Tudor Dynasty?

June 23. I am forcing myself not to think about that notebook, and not to go to Welch’s place. I must prepare for the interview. This is an extremely important matter!

June 24. Naya told me that they had made new progress. I think I should go and take a look.

June 25. Judging from the newly deciphered contents, the notebook’s owner accepted a mission to go to the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range and visit the Nation of Evernight located at its summit. My Goddess—the main peak of the Hornacis range exceeds six thousand meters. How could a nation exist there? What would they live on?

June 26. Are these strange things real?

There, the notebook ended.

Zhou Mingrui had transmigrated in the early hours of June 28.

“In other words, there actually was an entry for June 27. It was that sentence… Everyone will die, including me…”

Klein turned to the page he had first seen and made the judgment with a slight chill running through him.

He felt that if he wanted to solve the mystery of the original owner’s suicide, he ought to visit Welch and look again at the contents of the ancient notebook. But with his wealth of “experience” from novels, films, and television dramas, he felt that if he went there, and if this matter truly was connected, he would most likely encounter some unknown danger.

Those fools who knew perfectly well that there were ghosts in an old castle and still went inside to court death served as cautionary tales!

But not going would not do either. Running away never solved problems. It would only allow matters to build and build, until the dam broke and the flood came crashing down, drowning him completely.

Call the police?

He could hardly say, I committed suicide, could he?

Knock!

Knock, knock!

A hurried and forceful knocking suddenly sounded at the door.

Klein sat up straight at once and listened closely.

Knock!

Knock, knock!

The sound echoed through the empty, lonely corridor of the floor.