Chapter 61

"Put some effort into it, move it over here—don't bump into the bottles by the corner." The newcomer directed the delivery workers to avoid the scattered debris at their feet as they carried the heavy crate upstairs; this was already the third trip of the afternoon.

Lu Xiusi sat on a crate against the wall, blowing on a cup of water. It had been handed to him by Kraft, a man famously fastidious about cleanliness who didn't trust the well water on Elm Street and insisted on boiling it before giving it to him.

Even after explaining for half an hour by the well until his throat ached, he could only sip sparingly—hard to say whether he drank more water or blew away more saliva.

Today's task wasn't difficult: a nobleman carrying a sword, vouching with his family's reputation, had enough authority to convince people to switch to two newly dug wells nearby; all they had to do was walk a little farther to fetch water elsewhere.

Added to that, the strange "sleeping sickness" had already spread panic, with rumors swirling everywhere—more pervasive than the salty breeze, more numerous than barnacles clinging to rocks—many of which claimed ties to the well water.

Now, with a noble-born scholar arriving to say the well water was the problem, their fear of the incomprehensible unknown was somewhat eased.

In truth, the people living here had no idea what exactly was wrong with the well water to cause prolonged unconsciousness, nor what the academy studied, nor the distinctions between different noble families.

But at least the people of Wenden Port had all heard of such an academy, and knew this title carried weight—that was enough. Those who still didn't understand could look at the sword; perhaps that would help clarify things.

All Lu Xiusi had to do was take over after Kraft's voice grew hoarse, clearly explain things to newcomers while subtly or explicitly hinting at his status—it wasn't a hard job, at least not nearly as hard as he'd imagined.

He sighed, marveling at how useful certain titles could be, then took another sip; the warm water slid down his esophagus, spreading a comforting warmth through his stomach. In a season still chilled, holding a cup of hot water was indeed pleasant.

They were in a three-story building Kraft had just rented on Elm Street—this three-story count didn't include the attic.

The builder had clearly chosen a poor location, wedged between two old houses on a narrow plot, with both side walls pressed against neighboring structures, forcing the structure to grow upward into a rare, elongated shape. Aside from the stairs, each floor had only one room and a narrow corridor.

The cramped space meant the first and second floors had no side windows at all—only front-facing windows for the rooms, resulting in abysmal lighting; even in broad daylight, one had to feel their way up the stairs.

Also due to space constraints, the stairs were built extremely steep—climbing them required using hands and feet, without needing to bend over.

Combined with these factors and its location right beside the Salt Tide District, the rent had been slashed to a level that made onlookers grieve and listeners weep.

The original owner, leaning on his cane, swore solemnly that in Wenden Port, you couldn't find a cheaper place outside the Salt Tide District—if you could, he'd drop the price even lower than that.

Recalling his own near-fall down the stairs and the owner's appearance, Lu Xiusi had wanted to turn and leave immediately—but Kraft, surprisingly, was delighted with the place and immediately signed a one-month lease. He even suspected Kraft had considered buying it outright.

Knowing Kraft as he did, price wasn't the reason—but he couldn't think of any other justification for choosing a residence that might seriously damage the occupant's upper limbs, lower limbs, skull, ribs, all bones, and their protective soft tissues upon descending.

"Make way, excuse me."

Lu Xiusi pulled his legs in, letting the worker squeeze past. He hadn't seen the list Kraft gave to Li Siton, but this seemed excessive—and nothing like supplies for long-term living.

The fourth group of workers carried crates upward, shoulders sinking slightly under the weight; faint metallic clinks echoed from inside the wooden boxes.

Driven by idle curiosity, Lu Xiusi followed and tapped the crate; a clearer metallic clang rang out. "What's inside?"

The worker clearly mistook him for the overseer, set the crate against the wall, and settled into a chatting posture, happy to rest while answering.

"Some old clamps in storage—nobody buys much, but someone finally wanted a lot, so we sold them all cheap." He wiped sweat from his brow; hauling up a pile of old junk to the buyer's specified spot wasn't easy.

"Clamps?"

The worker's answer exceeded any of Lu Xiusi's guesses—in his mind, the largest clamps were no bigger than a palm; how many could fit in one crate?

"Yes, clamps." He shook the crate, letting Lu Xiusi hear the loud metallic clatter inside. "To be honest, it's not good material—ugly, sure—but it's plentiful."

"Sounds big?"

"Of course. Animal traps can't be small. Heard there are bears in the mountains taller than a man—and these aren't even the largest size."

The worker shouldered the crate and continued upstairs. Lu Xiusi stared, stunned, unable to imagine what Kraft intended to do with these weapons.

Heavy footsteps rang continuously upstairs—more workers were placing various items according to the employer's instructions; at least ten of these large crates had already been carried up.

Faint voices drifted from the attic: "Yes, I ordered this. There should be more… coming soon? No problem, deliver before sunset."

Lu Xiusi could no longer sit still. He opened the crate he'd been sitting on; a greasy odor rose, mixed with saltiness and fishy stench. Neatly arranged small jars lined the interior, sealed with wooden stoppers.

He picked up one jar, pulled the stopper—the intense smell instantly triggered his memory.

An entire crate of fish oil.

Made from the fatty "sunfish," its taste was abysmal due to excessive fat and overpowering fishiness. In Wenden Port, where food wasn't scarce, it became universally loathed—and thus found this use.

In fact, oil from unpalatable fish was equally unwanted—even as lamp oil, its burning smell was deemed too acrid.

Once, he'd accidentally tasted a dish cooked with this oil—it felt like a slimy, stinking membrane had coated his tongue; no amount of rinsing could wash away the revolting sensation.

Its only advantage was that it ignited easily—just a small amount soaked into tinder, and a single spark would set it ablaze. A joke circulated in the port about a ship burning down because sunfish were stored too close to a brazier—though its truth was dubious.

He sealed the crate and prepared to go upstairs and see what kind of project required these things. As he stepped onto the stairs, a faint voice came from behind.

"Is Kraft here?"

"Yes, come right in!"

He turned toward the doorway. A child in durable linen clothes peeked out from behind the door, half his head visible—likely a helper from one of the workers' families. He seemed startled by the impatient tone and shrank back as Lu Xiusi looked over.

Though slightly irritated, Lu Xiusi calmed himself, adjusted his expression as he descended the stairs, ensuring he wouldn't appear frightening to the child.

"That's right—congratulations, you've found the right place. Good job. What's it about?" Lu Xiusi forced a barely passable smile and asked in as gentle a tone as he could.

His experience dealing with children suffering from intussusception with Kraft had taught him a thing or two—like how to communicate effectively with kids.

"Someone gave me this and told me to come here and find someone named Kraft, and tell him to go to a place right away." The child opened his palm, revealing a copper coin. "And he said Kraft would give me one too."

"What place?"

The child looked up at him but said nothing.

"Alright, alright—you're clever." Lu Xiusi pulled out a shiny new copper coin and handed it to him. "See? This good enough? Tell me exactly what the man said."

The child happily took the coin and stuffed it into his pocket. The man's thoughtful gesture won his trust—he even forgot to ask if this was Kraft himself.

"He said go fast to Pelican Street, past the tree, third door. That's all."

The smile faded from Lu Xiusi's face. "Did the man say his name?"

"Oh, right—I almost forgot. He also told me to say it was Li Siton who sent me. That's all." Probably embarrassed for failing to deliver the message properly, the child turned his face away.

"Thank you. You did well."

The message-delivering child ran off cheerfully. Lu Xiusi watched him go, his expression heavy and solemn, murmuring the address: "Pelican Street, past the tree, third door?"

It wasn't because he'd never heard the place—quite the opposite. He knew it too well, familiar enough to never forget—he'd visited several times a year—but now it was the last place he wanted to hear.

Professor Kalman's residence.

He looked up: the dim, steep stairs twisted upward. The noise of moving heavy objects continued, punctuated by hammering and voices. No one seemed to have noticed the brief exchange—everyone was absorbed in their own tasks, too busy to care.

In the attic, Kraft was likely organizing his mysterious purchases and setting up this new base.

Lu Xiusi walked out the front door, shut it behind him, lifted the water cup, and took a sip of the already cold boiled water.

Elmwood Street was not long; looking to one side, one could see the home of the baker Brad, whom they had visited on their last return. Beyond these few houses, not far behind lay the Salt Tide District, a peculiar salty and fishy scent drifting from that direction, imperceptible yet undeniable without even seeing it.

This feeling was strange; separated by just one street, a completely different environment lay unseen right there. Like the drifting salty scent, one could easily overlook it in the mind if not paying attention, yet you knew it truly existed, and so did its residents.

Lu Xiusi drank another mouthful of water, held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing; the cool liquid moistened his lips, tongue, and dry vocal cords. He shouted toward the attic window on the top floor:

"Kraft, urgent matter!"