Chapter 167: Imitation

For a moment, Yin Feng actually followed Brimmer's line of thought.

She knew that Dr. Kraft had come from Comfort Port to Westminster specifically for this so-called "academic gathering."

The phrase "free trip with meals and travel expenses covered" doesn't obscure the actual value of this matter; even without understanding its specific meaning, it's easy to see that only something far more important could make someone abandon their focused work and waste precious time on a journey lasting months.

Undoubtedly, the smooth progress of this matter must be guaranteed. The regret is that, at Yin Feng's level—still expanding her vocabulary—she truly couldn't comprehend their world or make any judgment.

This once again made her feel defeated; her efforts were useless in the short term, unlike tangible strength that could directly wield weapons and produce immediate results.

It seemed the best option now was to let this man who claimed he could help take over—there was only one chance. But a strange sense of familiarity kept reminding her that something might be wrong.

This was a clearly suggestive timed multiple-choice question, something she often encountered when her father first fell ill: claims that the illness was severe and required immediate treatment, with the healer or medicine available only for a limited time; in their panic, people easily agreed to the conditions offered.

But they didn't succeed often, because those demanding money couldn't extract anything from a life of hardship, and those chasing clues from the mute were destined to return empty-handed. She soon had to become familiar with this pattern herself.

So is the same thing happening here?

Not certain. The man's clothing fabric was fine, his chest badge of precious metal resembled the one Kraft had brought back, and the gift he presented was exquisitely wrapped—he looked like a person of status.

In her hesitation, her silence may have been mistaken for naivety; Brimmer also felt his earlier explanation had been too difficult for a child to grasp.

"Young Lady, you've surely seen operas, right? Those performances in theaters. We need to know which act is being performed to properly stage it. A small wooden platform can't handle 'The Sacred Wedding.'" To bridge the gap, he chose a classic emotional drama he believed children her age had typically seen, hoping to open the conversation.

Yin Feng blinked. She hadn't seen any, but she understood one thing: this man claimed he wanted to help Kraft with something urgent, and thus wished to borrow something usually not lent out.

"I'm sorry… I can't make that decision." She lifted her face, expression as flat as ever.

She refused—but not truly refused; she watched the black-robed man's reaction. If he showed no reluctance and turned to leave, the chance of deception would be lower.

At that point, she would retract her refusal before Brimmer vanished from sight—after all, no one would hold her accountable, would they?

"Alright." Brimmer straightened his spine and shoved the gift into the girl's hands from above, "Then we'll have to delay Professor Kraft's report. I truly hope he returns soon."

He was meant to appear regretful, but in Yin Feng's eyes, this behavior was more a subtle threat, growing more obvious due to the stalled progress.

She had seen enough of this before; this wasn't even among the more subtle cases. And when dealing with young children, they tended toward stronger expressions—especially with little girls—making their intentions harder to hide.

He turned to leave, one step, then two; Yin Feng guessed he was wondering why the girl hadn't yet panicked and changed her mind to accept his suggestion.

Life is indeed the best teacher: if you throw a person into the ocean of life, as long as they don't drown, they'll learn things with unimaginable efficiency, whether they want to or not—and children are particularly skilled and fond of imitation.

"Mr. Brimmer." When he had walked farther and unconsciously slowed his pace, she called out to stop him.

He seemed to exhale in relief, thinking his small trick had finally worked.

"Don't worry too much. Dr. Kraft said if they don't find what they're looking for, they'll return in about a week." Yin Feng leaned out from the half-open door, counting on her fingers, "So, tomorrow or the day after?"

"Huh?"

She got exactly what she wanted: Brimmer's unnatural emotional shift—from feigned calm as he turned, to a moment of stunned silence, then back to his patient, communicative demeanor. Just as she'd expected.

"That's… wonderful," he said, pressing his hand to his chest as if patting himself to calm his breath. There was no hint of "wonderful" in his tone.

Brimmer forced a smile he thought was kind, quickly recovering: "I'll wait here two more days, but it's best if you let us know Professor Kraft's needs as soon as possible—time waits for no one."

"I understand." Yin Feng nodded, but made no move to open the door, watching him walk out of sight, disappearing around the staircase corner.

This so-called "Professor" didn't seem to want Kraft to return—he was eager to obtain the manuscript before then, and extremely insistent. Yin Feng didn't understand or care why; she only needed to know she had successfully confirmed this was just another routine, no different from the past.

Since it was confirmed, all she needed to do was refuse.

It was almost boring, beyond mere disgust: exploiting someone's cherished person or thing, then creating an unexpected sense of urgency to force them into panic and error, thereby achieving the goal. It seemed no different here.

Thinking this, she placed the exquisitely wrapped box untouched on the table, glanced again at the booklet, but couldn't regain her focus after the interruption, so she decided to visit the workshop during noon, when the fully armored patrol guards were fewer, to check on the progress of what Kraft had requested.

It was a legitimate errand, and she could also listen for new gossip.

Having found a valid reason, and with the hidden thought of rewarding herself, she locked the door and left, following the route she'd memorized to the workshop.

The jeweler still refused to open his door; reportedly, he'd barely managed to roll and fuse thin silver sheets into a hollow tube prototype, but it was still far from meeting craftsmanship standards. Other craftsmen and apprentices, whose tasks didn't require such precision, worked on their tasks while continuing their endless chatter.

Knights and squires unable to bear the midday sun hid under the eaves, joining their conversation.

The lunch menu, who'd eaten something strange; the fat distribution of the new young cook; why the nobleman with a rich private life had no heirs—due to an undisclosed battle injury from years ago; speculation about the identity of the knight's secret lover; and the classic, indispensable ghost stories from every corner.

Upon noticing Yin Feng's presence, the knights deliberately began controlling their topics, pretending they hadn't discussed anything inappropriate for a young lady.

Then they realized that, if they avoided anything below the waist, the topics that interested everyone were extremely limited.

The atmosphere cooled for a moment, until someone finally thought of a brilliant idea: ghost stories.

Same principle as watching horror films: it lured curiosity while showcasing one's bravery and gaining favor.

Cemetery ghosts, headless corpses, shadows wandering corridors. In their tales, this castle and its surrounding hills became a living hell at night—ghosts outnumbered people, all aiming to frighten Yin Feng.

But when they finished their vivid storytelling and looked at the girl, she was merely entranced, her eyes urging them to tell another.

The old rumors had been exhausted; the usual night patrolmen had to dig up horror stories from daily life, like hearing noises when passing through an abandoned storage area.

Oddly, among those who had just been competing to speak and undermining each other, someone actually agreed with this dull, unscary low-quality tale.

It was a knight leaning against the wall; upon hearing the mention, he confirmed its truth, saying he too had heard similar noises during night patrols along the same stretch, initially thinking it was auditory hallucination.

Westminster, as a fortress, had many empty areas when not under wartime mobilization; it was perfectly normal for small animals to take up residence. Someone immediately jeered, mocking them for being scared by rats and never even going inside to check.

But the one who got corroboration insisted it couldn't be rats; after several rounds of debate with no resolution, he finally admitted he'd never actually searched for the source.

"Strange, isn't it? By the way, Miss, aren't you afraid?"

"No, not at all. Could I borrow a lamp? It seems to be getting dark—I need to get back quickly."

"Of course, beautiful Young Lady, happy to serve."