[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-the-ring-of-fate":3,"chapter-the-ring-of-fate-the-ring-of-fate-chapter-115":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","The Ring of Fate",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2298084,4496,"Chapter 115: Guests (Second Update—Requesting Monthly Votes)","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-115",115,"\u003Cp>“You’re really fascinating, so fascinating!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Drunken Charlie slung an arm around Lumian’s shoulders and stumbled out of the tiled bar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, nearly twenty people were singing, gambling, shouting, and wildly venting their emotions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only at moments like these did they seem not to be penniless wage slaves, but masters of their own lives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I thought you’d play Bilibi with them,” Lumian said, placing a hand on Charlie’s back as he smiled toward the stairs leading upstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bilibi was a gambling game popular in Trier; Lumian had only just learned about it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unlike the Trierians’ favorite game, “Fighting Evil,” Bilibi required nothing but a sheet of paper—depending on the number of players, the host drew a grid of 9 to 64 squares, each numbered, and participants chose one to bet on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The host then determined a lucky number by drawing lots, flipping a coin, or rolling dice; whoever picked it won all the stakes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If no one picked the lucky number, the money went entirely to the host.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Patrons of the underground bar at the Golden Rooster Inn were either residents or nearby poor folk, all with empty wallets; they gambled mostly with alcohol rather than money—for example, the winner of each Bilibi round received only a single drink bought collectively by the group.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charlie let out a long, drunken burp:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I haven’t gotten my salary for this week—I can’t go too wild!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He then turned to Lumian with excited enthusiasm:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You know what? I’m now an apprentice waiter at the Swan Hotel, the one on New Street in the hot spring district.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What does that mean? It means I wear a white shirt, a red vest, black formal trousers, and tie a graceful bowtie—and I earn 65 Ferring a month! When I become a full waiter, I’ve heard that during peak season, I can make seven Ferring a day in tips alone!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“When I get rich, I’ll open my own inn—no, a grand hotel—and I’ll make you head waiter. That damn bastard, doing nothing but strutting around in a tailcoat, criticizing us, makes 150 Ferring a month!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An apprentice waiter earns slightly more than a laborer… Lumian smelled of alcohol, but his eyes held no drunkenness; he gave an almost imperceptible nod.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He remembered reading a newspaper article earlier this year, written with delight, claiming Trier’s laborers earned about 700 Ferring annually.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back then, Lumian hadn’t grasped whether that was much or little—he’d wandered only caring if he could find enough food each day or if some kind soul gave him a few Ricks; the villagers of Keldu earned mostly in kind, so he only knew the prices of specific goods and the gold content of different banknotes, lacking any clear sense of the broader picture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, this was also because Aurora earned so much that he barely had to worry about household finances.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>According to Lumian, since Aurora became famous, her income had steadily grown with each book published and each column signed; last year’s total royalties seemed to have approached 130,000 Ferring.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Aurora spent just as much as she earned—magic, materials, and esoteric knowledge were her biggest expenses, and she likely also supported struggling members of the “Curly Baboon Research Society,” making regular donations to government or church-run charities.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet what puzzled Lumian was that when he left Keldu, not a single savings slip could be found at home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew Aurora had always saved diligently—she spent lavishly only after depositing substantial sums in banks like Suxit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For now, Lumian suspected that during the time he and his sister were chosen as sacrifices or vessels and stripped of their freedom, the parish priest Guillaume Béna and his crew had stolen it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as he and Charlie stumbled up the second floor, a piercing scream rang out:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You bastard!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thud! A door slammed shut, silencing the scream, leaving only its echo reverberating down the hallway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A figure in a neat black tailcoat walked toward the staircase from the end of the corridor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was another young man, roughly Charlie’s age, with brownish-yellow hair neatly parted three-seven, dark brown eyes revealing no emotion, thin lips tightly pressed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was decent-looking, holding a black top hat as if attending an upper-class salon—completely out of place in the Golden Rooster Inn’s environment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Accompanying the man was the wailing of a woman, filled with pain and despair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching the man’s back vanish down the stairs to the basement, Charlie, flushed with drink, sneered:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What a bastard.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Do you know him?” Lumian asked. He remained keenly observant of his neighbors—he might be staying here a while, and the more he understood his surroundings, the safer he’d be.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charlie replied with contempt:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“His name is Laurent, son of Mrs. Lacazan in Room 201.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mrs. Lacazan works sixteen hours a day mending socks and doing odd handcrafts just to feed this bastard, while he always wears fancy clothes, spends money on expensive cafés, claiming he’s meeting upper-class people and finding opportunities to get ahead!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Heh, he thinks he’s incredibly talented…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Charlie finished speaking, another room erupted in a heated argument between a man and a woman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They hurled insults at each other.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“A runaway couple on the third floor. Once they’ve spent all their money, they fight like this every day,” Charlie chuckled. “Friend, you’ll get used to it—this is the Market District, the Bad Street, the Golden Rooster Inn. You’ve got sick people, bankrupts, con artists who cheat tourists, foreigners who never leave the inn except to drink, streetwalkers with no money, occasional lunatics who only wake up now and then, unemployed stonemasons, discharged soldiers, old men pretending poverty, wanted criminals…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“They should thank Mr. Ev for being a decent man—except for not allowing rent arrears, he’s incredibly lenient.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Mr. Ev… the innkeeper? The miser Mrs. Fers mentioned?” Lumian asked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charlie burst out laughing:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yes, a kind-hearted miser—he even gives everyone free sulfur!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Burp, I haven’t seen Mr. Ev in days—I’m worried he’ll save money by skipping City Wall Street and Red Princess District, and just pick some random woman on Bad Street, catch a serious illness…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he spoke, Charlie waved his hand:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Xia Er, burp, I’m going to bed. I have to leave at six tomorrow, must reach the hotel by seven.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Burp, if you can’t find work, tell me—I’ll get you a job as a general helper at our hotel. You’ll earn 50 Ferring a month, and if you stay long enough, up to 75—and you get free meals every time, plus a liter of wine every night!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Alright,” Lumian smiled, watching Charlie trudge upstairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the same time, he muttered silently:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Pure provocation doesn’t help much with digesting the potion…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d assembled the “Fool’s Apparatus” in the bar precisely to provoke everyone there—and it worked well—but it hadn’t triggered further digestion of the potion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Earlier, during his journey from Dariji to Trier, Lumian had often provoked others; sometimes he’d felt the potion digesting, but most times, he gained nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he couldn’t find a more correct way to embody the role, he suspected it would take him at least a year to fully digest the “Provoker” potion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On his way back to Room 207, Lumian heard violent coughing from upstairs, a woman cursing her lover as a “lazybones” and a “waste,” and outside, the crack of a gunshot followed by the sound of a crowd chasing past.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the Golden Rooster Inn. This was Bad Street.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>According to Charlie, even police wouldn’t enter alone at night—they needed at least one companion to muster the courage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pulling out his brass-colored key, Lumian opened the door and stepped inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bedbugs, it seemed, had some strange awareness—they hadn’t returned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Breathing in the smell of sulfur, Lumian looked up and saw a letter lying quietly on the wooden table by the window.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stepped closer and picked up the folded square of paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Magician’s reply?” Lumian murmured, unfolding the letter and reading it by the crimson moonlight streaming through the window:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I’m glad you arrived safely in Trier—it proves you’ve mastered the basics of evading pursuit and regained your experience navigating society’s underbelly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This Sunday at 3:30 p.m., at the Mason Café in the Botanical District, Seat D, one of the psychologists will provide you with treatment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“For the next few days, your task is to go near the underground crypts in the Observatory District and find a man named Osta Truel—he often pretends to be a wizard there, swindling money from tourists and citizens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“By any means necessary, gain Osta Truel’s trust, and at the right moment, demonstrate that you too possess extraordinary abilities.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Botanical District and the Observatory District lay west of the Honest Man’s Market District, side by side—the former to the south, the latter to the north, both bordering the Sailunzuo River.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lumian reread the Magician’s reply several times, memorizing the location, time, and name, then struck a match and burned the paper covered in Intis words.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After finishing, he went to the nearest washroom to clean himself, then pulled out the “Fallen Mercury” wrapped in black cloth, removed his coat, and lay on the bed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ceiling, riddled with bedbug trails, filled his vision; coughing, weeping, and arguing echoed quietly in the room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, the runaway couple announced their reconciliation with vigorous movement and unhidden gasps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outside, rough voices sang lewd songs, interrupted by gunshots, followed by curses, the clatter of clubs, and the sound of blades piercing flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to Keldu, the nights here were extremely noisy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>ps: Second update—requesting monthly votes. Bonus chapter at 00:05.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>",1597,"2026-06-20T06:22:34.374Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","372c2309cbde7c1e1ade5b3b51f94f15aa9c0bc41dc7eb4e1fc94e4aa9f2719b","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-116","the-ring-of-fate-chapter-114",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fthe-ring-of-fate-cover.jpg"]