Chapter 24: Thrift and Household Management

Chapter Twenty-Four
Thrift and Household Management

Outside the window, the golden afterglow was darkening by degrees. Klein looked into Melissa’s eyes and, for a moment, could not find a single thing to say, because every line he had prepared had become useless.

He coughed twice and made his mind turn quickly.

“Melissa, this is not wasting my salary. In the future, when Benson and my colleagues come to visit, are we going to receive them in a place like this? And later, when Benson and I marry and have wives, will we still be sleeping in a bunk bed?”

“You do not even have fiancées yet. You can wait a little longer and save more money first,” Melissa answered with clear logic.

“No, Melissa. These are the rules of society.”

Klein felt a headache coming and had no choice but to use grand principles.

“If I am receiving a weekly salary of three pounds, then I must have the dignity appropriate to a weekly salary of three pounds.”

To tell the truth, having once squeezed into shared housing himself, Klein was not unfamiliar with the current living conditions. He could adapt perfectly well. But precisely because he had that experience, he understood even more clearly how inconvenient such an environment could be for a young woman. Besides, his goal was to become a Beyonder, study mysticism, and find the “path” home. In the future, he would inevitably need to perform magic rituals at home. In an apartment where too many people came and went, and where mouths were many, problems would easily arise.

Seeing that Melissa still wanted to speak, Klein hurriedly added, “Do not worry. I am not considering a detached house. I plan to look at row houses. In any case, we need our own washroom. Also, I like Mrs. Slin’s bread, Tingen cakes, and lemon cakes too. We can first consider places close to Iron Cross Street and Daffodil Street.”

Melissa pursed her lips lightly. After a moment of silence, she gave a slow nod.

“And I am not in a hurry to move. We have to wait until Benson returns,” Klein said with a smile. “Otherwise, when he opens the door, he will say in complete shock, Where are my family’s things? Where are my younger brother and sister? Where is my home? Is this my home? Did I come to the wrong place? Goddess above, please tell me whether this is a dream! How did I go away for a few days and come back to find even my home gone?”

He imitated Benson’s tone so well that Melissa’s eyes curved unconsciously, revealing the shallow dimples on her cheeks.

“No. Mr. Franky will be waiting at the doorway the entire time, demanding that Benson hand over the apartment key. Benson will never even make it upstairs,” the girl said, taking a jab at their stingy, money-loving landlord.

In the Moretti family, everyone liked making Mr. Franky the protagonist of jokes whenever the occasion allowed. That custom had begun with their elder brother Benson.

“Right. He would never change the lock for the next tenant,” Klein said with a smile. Then he gestured toward the door with a playful air. “Miss Melissa, shall we go to the Silver Crown Restaurant and celebrate?”

Melissa gave a very small sigh.

“Klein, do you remember Selena? My classmate. My good friend.”

Selena?

In Klein’s mind, a girl with wine-red hair and dark-brown eyes immediately appeared. Her parents were both believers of the Evernight Goddess and had blessed her with the name of Saint Selena. She was not yet sixteen, a little less than half a year younger than Melissa, and was cheerful, bright, and outgoing.

“Yes,” Klein said with a nod, indicating that he remembered Selena Wood.

“Her elder brother Chris is a solicitor. He currently earns close to three pounds a week, and his fiancée works part-time as a typist.”

Melissa first described the situation, then continued, “They have been engaged for more than four years. To have a stable, decent life after marriage, they are still saving money even now. They have not entered the church yet, and plan to wait at least another year. According to Selena, people similar to her brother are all like this. They generally cannot marry until they are twenty-eight or older. You need to prepare in advance, save properly, and not waste money.”

It is only a meal at a restaurant. Does it really require so many great principles?

Klein listened, unsure whether to laugh or cry. After thinking for a few seconds, he said, “Melissa, I already have a weekly salary of three pounds now, and it will increase every year. You do not need to worry.”

“But we need to save money against accidents. For example, what if that security company suddenly closes? One of my classmates had to leave school because her father’s company went bankrupt. He could only go to the docks to find temporary work, and their family’s situation worsened instantly.”

Melissa’s expression was serious as she tried to persuade her brother.

…Klein lifted a hand and covered his face.

“That company, that security company, has some connection with the government. Mm, with the government. It will not close so casually.”

“But the government is not stable either. After every election, if the party in power changes, the vast majority of positions are replaced. Everything becomes a mess,” Melissa countered with persistence.

…Little sister, you really do know a lot…

Klein shook his head, both annoyed and amused.

“All right…”

“Then I will stew the ingredients left from yesterday into soup. You go out and buy a pan-fried meat fish, a piece of beef with black-pepper sauce, a small jar of cream, and a cup of ginger beer for me. In short, we can still celebrate a little.”

These were all foods commonly sold by vendors on Iron Cross Street. One pan-fried meat fish cost six to eight pence; a not especially large piece of beef with black-pepper sauce cost five pence; a cup of ginger beer, one penny; a small jar of cream, roughly a quarter pound, cost four pence—whereas buying an entire pound of cream would cost only one soli and three pence.

During holidays, the original owner had been responsible for buying the family’s ingredients, and was not unfamiliar with prices. Klein calculated mentally for a few seconds and arrived at a rough total of one soli and six pence. He directly drew out the two one-soli notes.

“Mm.”

This time, Melissa did not object. She set down the bag containing her stationery and accepted the notes.

Watching his sister take out the small jar for cream and the basin for the other food, then walk lightly toward the door, Klein thought for a moment and called out, “Melissa.”

“Use the remaining money to buy some fruit.”

Quite a few vendors on Iron Cross Street bought poor-quality fruit, or fruit that had been stored too long, from elsewhere. The people here did not get angry about it because the prices were extremely cheap. As long as one cut away the rotten parts after returning home, one could still taste something delicious. It counted as a cheap indulgence.

After saying this, Klein quickly stepped forward, took the copper pennies left in his trouser pocket, and placed them in his sister’s palm.

“Huh?”

Melissa’s brown eyes looked toward her brother, puzzled and faintly lost.

Klein retreated two steps and smiled.

“Remember to go to Mrs. Slin’s and reward yourself with a small piece of lemon cake.”

“…”

Melissa opened her mouth, blinked twice, and finally produced only one word.

“All right.”

She turned swiftly, pulled open the door, and ran toward the stairs, thump, thump, thump.

…

A river ran through the campus. Cypress and maple trees stood on both banks. The air was so fresh that breathing it almost felt like getting drunk.

Having come to resolve the matter of the interview, Klein carried the revolver against his body and held his cane in hand. After stepping down from the public carriage for which he had paid six pence, he followed the cement road toward a three-story brick-and-stone building shaded by greenery. That was the administrative building of Tingen University.

“As expected of one of the two most famous universities in the Loen Kingdom…”

Klein, arriving here for the “first” time, walked while sighing inwardly.

Compared with this place, Khoy University across the river could simply be called crude.

“Hah! Hah!”

Calls drew nearer. Two rowing boats rushed down from the upper reaches of the Khoy River, the wooden oars moving in neat, orderly rhythm.

Rowing was a sport popular at every university in the Loen Kingdom. Even with Klein’s family circumstances, which required scholarship support for him to finish university, he had once joined Khoy University’s rowing club with Welch and the others, and had learned to row rather well.

“How young…”

Klein stopped, looked into the distance, and sighed.

In another week, such sights would no longer remain. The university was about to enter summer break.

Following the tree-lined road, he arrived before the gray three-story building. After registering, he entered smoothly and found, with practiced familiarity, the office that had received him last time.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He bent his fingers and tapped the half-open door.

“Come in,” a male voice sounded from inside.

Seeing Klein push open the door and enter, the middle-aged instructor in a white shirt and black tailcoat frowned slightly.

“The interview is still an hour away.”

“Mr. Stone, do you still remember me? Klein Moretti, student of Senior Associate Professor Cohen. You have seen my recommendation letter.”

Klein smiled as he removed his hat.

Harvin Stone stroked his black beard in confusion.

“Do you need something? I am not responsible for conducting the interview.”

“It is like this. I have already found a job, so I will not be taking part in today’s interview,” Klein said honestly, explaining why he had come.

“Ah, I see…”

Harvin Stone understood. He stood and extended his right hand.

“Congratulations. You are truly a polite young man. I will inform the professor and the senior associate professors.”

Klein shook his hand and was planning to exchange a few pleasantries before taking his leave when a familiar voice suddenly came from behind him.

“Moretti, you have found another job?”

Klein turned and saw an elderly man with a head of silver hair, deeply cut features, and not too many wrinkles. His eyes were sunken and deep blue, and his black tailcoat was impeccably straight.

“Good morning, Tutor. Mr. Azik.”

He hurriedly offered a salute.

“Why are you here?”

The silver-haired elder was Senior Associate Professor Quentin Cohen of Khoy University’s history department—his tutor. Beside Cohen stood a middle-aged gentleman of medium build and bronze complexion. He held a newspaper, wore no beard, and had a formal hat on his head. His hair was black, his eyes brown, his features gentle. His gaze carried an indescribable weight of age and sorrow. Beneath his right ear was a black mole visible only upon close inspection.

Klein recognized him as well: Mr. Azik, an instructor in Khoy University’s history department who had often helped the original owner. He liked arguing with Senior Associate Professor Cohen, and their views frequently conflicted. Yet in truth, the two had a very good private relationship. Otherwise, they would not always have liked gathering to chat.

Cohen nodded. His tone was calm and measured.

“Azik and I are here for an academic conference. What job did you find?”

“A security company that searches for, collects, and protects antiquities. They need a professional consultant. Three pounds a week,” Klein repeated the explanation he had given his sister the day before. Then he added, “You know that what I like is exploring history, not summarizing history.”

Cohen nodded slightly.

“Everyone has their own choices. I am very satisfied that you remembered to come to Tingen University and notify them, rather than simply being absent.”

At that moment, Azik interrupted and asked, “Klein, do you know what happened to Welch and Naya? I saw in the newspaper that they were murdered by robbers who broke into the house.”

The case has been changed to burglary and murder? And it made the papers so quickly?

Klein was startled. After weighing his words, he said, “I do not know the specific situation too well. Earlier, Welch obtained a notebook from the Fourth Epoch, from the Antigonus family of the Solomon Empire, and asked me to help interpret it. I went for several days at first, but later I became busy looking for work. The police came to question me two days ago.”

He deliberately revealed “Solomon Empire” and “Antigonus family,” wanting to see whether the two history instructors might know anything.

“The Fourth Epoch…”

Cohen murmured with a frown.

Azik, bronze-skinned and with eyes full of vicissitudes, was first stunned. Then he inhaled, raised the hand holding the newspaper, and rubbed his temple.

“Antigonus… It feels very familiar… But no matter what, I cannot remember where I heard it before…”