by Feng Yue
“The most common school for the church is the School of Choir. They focus on the source of all life. That is why they are talented in healing. But do not forget that there is a branch of the School of Choir that researches the nature of death. So if you don’t want to die from a strange illness or have your organs fail randomly, please do not anger these seemingly harmless ‘musician doctors.’
“The School of Revelations works to unveil the future. They are skilled in analyzing, researching, and exploring. They can decipher and read ancient texts and music scores. They are also known as the School of Scholars. Almost all explorers who venture into the Dark World come from this school, including yours truly. The majority of developments in Dark Age research were found by Revelations musicians digging in the ruins.
“The two schools that are feared because of their appearance are… Illusions and Mind…”
—
Here, she slowed down, as if distracted by something in the crowd. Finally, she stopped. Brows furrowing, she looked to the back of the classroom. Her expression changed when she saw the youth who was stuffing his face with food. “That student, yes, the one with white hair…the student who’s eating! I’m sorry, but are you listening?”
117 Would You Like Some?
Ye Qingxuan sat in the very center of the very last row. The only other person in the empty row was Bai Xi, who was asleep beside him.
For some reason, the classroom was jam packed, but no one was willing to sit near Ye Qingxuan. It was understandable in the case of the elites. Most of them had servants save seats for them so they did not have to come early to get a seat, but the commoner students stood to the side and listened quietly. Seeing Ye Qingxuan writing something, they did not come over to bother him. When they passed by, they nodded to greet him, but seemed to be hesitant and scared of getting too close.
“It’s probably their teachers,” Bai Xi snickered as she rested her head on the table. “The principal isn’t here, so all the professors are won over by the school board. All the professors and school board hate us and wish they could just expel us all. They’re scared that if someone sees them get too close, they’ll get in trouble.” She continued, “It’s freezing now but they’d rather stand where the draft is, instead of taking a little risk to support those who spoke up for them. These people deserve to be peasants…”
“Bai Xi,” Ye Qingxuan knocked the side of her head, “don’t say things like that.”
“But it’s the truth! Did you know that there was a commoner genius a few years back? He was seriously a good person, and did so much for the students that were bullied, but he was forced to leave. The people he had helped just watched him kneel outside the door, crying. Thankfully you’re not stupid enough to try to help them achieve something. Otherwise, you’d also get ruined by them.”
“Don’t overgeneralize. There were a lot of people who protested and quit school to accompany him.”
“Maybe there were a few,” Bai Xi huffed and went back to sleep. She was exhausted after staying up all night then coming to this lecture with Ye Qingxuan in the morning.
On the other hand, Ye Qingxuan was totally awake. He held the leather notebook Bai Xi had stolen, searching through them carefully. After reading two pages, he started writing on the letterhead at the front.
The letterhead was made of high quality paper. It was a luxury item that costed ten pounds for a quire. He had bought it this morning, and now a stack of paper filled with writing was by Ye Qingxuan’s right hand, under the ink well.
Ye Qingxuan had used the most fashionable elite handwriting for the letter. This script came from the sacred city. The priests who wrote in the church script when writing the lingua franca had also preserved a bit of their own handwriting. This style later spread and became a unique script. It was clean and crisp while still solemn, and was therefore favored by the elites.
Ye Qingxuan had spent months practicing this script as a scribe and had been praised by the priest. He had become skilled at it. That was what had made the priest want to train him to be part of the clergy. But now, for some reason, Ye Qingxuan wore a pair of thin gloves when writing. Even his wrists and forearms were covered. Not an inch of skin had touched the paper since he had bought it.
Curious, Bai Xi glanced over, but just one line was enough to make her head spin. He was using purple prose, and the structure of some sort of poem to write about boring content. Graceful yet considerate, he caringly asked about the health of a senior. Then he humbly, but not fawningly, expressed his gratitude toward the other’s care. Finally, he mentioned how they had met last month at a banquet and could not bear to part.
From Bai Xi’s perspective, it was complete bullsh*t. If someone wrote a letter like that to her, she would definitely find the guy and beat him up.
At the end of the letter, Ye Qingxuan wrote the name that he made up last night: Your loyal friend—Sherlock Holmes.
“What is this?” Curious, Bai Xi reached over to take the letterhead but Ye Qingxuan flicked her finger away, “Don’t touch.”
Taken aback, Bai Xi retracted her hand sadly.
Ye Qingxuan explained, “You’ll leave behind fingerprints and other evidence. It’s best to not touch this without wearing gloves.”
“What exactly are you doing?” Bai Xi rolled her eyes.
“Writing a letter.” Ye Qingxuan shook the notebook at her. “It’s for those who need help.”
Bai Xi glanced at the book but could not understand anything. It was filled with weird symbols and numbers. “And what is this crazy thing?”
“A code,” Ye Qingxuan answered. “More specifically, there are three. The first is a replacement code. The alphabet and word list were switched around according to a specific method and put back together into a new order. The second is a mapping game, and the last uses code words. Deciphering this was fun. It’s not that hard.” He shrugged, “Compared to ancient texts and music notes, this is nothing.”
“What’s in it?”
“The records of everything the Pyramid Scheme had done for others,” Ye Qingxuan replied. “Sam is tricky. He’s scared that he’ll get killed for knowing too much, so he has to leave something behind to save himself.”
“If he’s scared of getting killed, he shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
“If you can think of ‘in the first place’ for everything, then the world wouldn’t be so cruel,” Ye Qingxuan replied lightly, shrugging his shoulders. He folded the letter, carefully put it in the envelope with a pair of tweezers, and sealed it with glue. Finally, he put the letter and the rest of the letterhead into a small box, and put it back into his bag. He was finally done.
After finishing, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, suddenly becoming drowsy. He had not slept at all since yesterday. Now that he was relaxed, he felt exhausted, but he just could not fall asleep. He was hungry.
The sleeping Bai Xi heard something like thunder beside her. She raised her head in confusion to see Ye Qingxuan sprawled on the desk, looking like death. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m hungry,” Ye Qingxuan moaned quietly.
Bai Xi gazed at him judgingly before sighing, “Idiot.”
Despite her words, she pushed her extra breakfast over. Ye Qingxuan snatched the bag, but his expression fell after he opened it. “Cousin, your breakfast is a bit too greasy.”
“Then give it back if you don’t want it!”
“I’ll eat, I’ll eat…” Ye Qingxuan quickly lowered his head and began stuffing his face.
But as he ate, he felt that the atmosphere gradually turned…uncomfortable, as if the entire world stopped. Raising his head, he saw everyone staring at him as if he had just killed a puppy. He did not know when the lecturer had singled him out.
“That student, the student who’s eating, yes, that’s right, you…”
Ye Qingxuan flinched, sensing something bad happening. Many faces flashed past his eyes, but for some reason, it stopped on his stupid senior.
>
And so, as everyone watched, he awkwardly put down his breakfast and wiped his mouth. Clearing his throat, he put on a humble yet warm smile, and pulled a drumstick from the bag, and passed it to the front. “Would you like some?” his action said.
In the deadly silence, Lola’s facial muscles twitched. She shook her head slowly.
Ye Qingxuan was taken aback. The trick did not work! Did it only work for Charles?
As the crowd fell into extreme awkwardness, some could not help but laugh. Seeing his confused look, Lola’s brows furrowed, “Are you paying attention to the lecture?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t eat yesterday and I’m starving now. I’m really sorry.” Smiling awkwardly, Ye Qingxuan quickly packed up his breakfast. “I’m actually paying attention though.”
“Oh, really?” Lola said. “I’ve just introduced the School of Illusions and Mind. Why don’t you explain these two schools to everyone?”
“Me?” Ye Qingxuan pointed at himself and shook his head shyly, “I don’t think I can.”
“If you can’t, then I’ll deduct points,” Lola said lightly. “If you can, I’ll let you go with breaking the rules and pass this class.
“Oh, then let me think a bit…” Ye Qingxuan let out a breath in relief. After pretending to think, he replied, “The School of Illusions explores the differences between reality and imitation. They’ve proposed the hypotheses of ‘brain in a vat’ and ‘ship of Theseus.’ They advocate exploring the mutual influences between the world and humanity. In the East, this principle is also known as ‘heavenly correspondence.’
“The School of Mind explores the source of a man’s soul. They are skilled in controlling one’s consciousness and feelings, and advocate self-cultivation and training your spirit. This is why these two schools are the birthplace of many philosophers…”
Hearing Ye Qingxuan’s mature answer, Lola’s expression became a bit gentler. She continued asking, “Then what of the outer appearance of the seven different schools? Try giving some examples.”
“The most obvious is the change in personality. Your personality is compatible with your school.” Ye Qingxuan thought of what Charles had said before. Schools and musicians were actually a mutual choice. The school was not the deciding factor because all seven schools had an unseen requirement for musicians. If they based the decision solely on performance, most musicians would fit the style of a school.
As Charles had said, most musicians of the School of Modifications were irritable; the School of Choir had two extremes—they were either amazingly happy or terribly gloomy; musicians from Summoning looked like a beast; those from Revelations all believed in fatalism; mind musicians were liked by everyone; illusions musicians were moody; those from Abstinence seemed to all have facial muscle paralysis. They were emotionless, like robots. But one could not be so straightforward when speaking.
Hearing Ye Qingxuan’s answer, the upset in Lola’s eyes finally lightened a bit. She shook her head, “It seems that your knowledge of this area is not bad. If you know all this, then you must have some thought about choosing a school, correct?”
Ye Qingxuan did not reply for a long time, his expression turning awkward. “To be honest, this… I’m quite busy and haven’t thought about it yet…”
Lola furrowed her brow. “What is more important than your future?”
Ye Qingxuan chuckled, but did not reply. Compared to one’s future, maybe one’s past was more important.
118 A Letter from a Stranger 1
It was a hot afternoon. Everything burned white-hot under the sun. Evaporated water droplets were blown toward Avalon by the lazy ocean breeze, adding to the suffocating humidity. As everyone sweated in the humid climate, the entire city smelled like burnt stew.
But the library of an exquisite mansion uptown was filled with cool air. A steady stream of air conditioning blew in from the pipes, making it possible to be comfortable even in the summer heat. An aged man sat behind the table. He wore a monocle and was entirely focused on cleaning his beloved pipe. Panicked footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. He looked up, furrowing his brow, to see his old housekeeper push the door open hurriedly.
The housekeeper was drenched in sweat, and he looked shocked. He looked at his master in fear, unable to speak. He panted as if he had run all the way from the gate. He was shaken, as if he had been running for his life, and gripped a letter in his hands.
“M-master Spencer,” he rushed over and placed the opened letter on the table, “I was getting the mail, please look at this.”
“Who is it from? Didn’t I say that you could reply for me if it was insignificant?” Furrowing his brow, Spencer opened the folded paper. Skimming the content, it seemed unimportant. It looked like a letter from a junior. The sender asked about his health, thanked him for his care, and said they they felt lucky to receive his advice at a wedding last month…last month? He froze, a bad feeling overcame him, “Did I attend a wedding on the seventh of last month?”
“No, Master.” Cullen, who knew Spencer’s schedule well, and shook his head, “The seventh of the last month…that was when they came for the goods.”
“They? Goods?” Spencer’s mind went blank and he froze. He looked down at the letter and read it again. The seemingly plain lines seemed to hint at the exchange that no one was supposed to know about. The amount of goods, the time they had left the pier, the distribution channels. The shipment of cargo that no one was supposed to know about, the illegal arms that should have been hidden in the darkness, the secrets that were never to be revealed were all known by whoever sent the letter!
Six hundred heavy armor suits, seventy new watcher crossbows, and most importantly… five archangel armor suits—the new assassin weapon created by the Royal Institute of Research. These secrets should have gone soundlessly into the Dark World, unknown by anyone. They should have been, they should have been…they f*cking should have been! But now someone had seen through it all. He had even left his name at the end of the letter, arrogant and mocking—Sherlock Holmes! That was what the man had written at the bottom of the letter.
Reading the last line, Spencer’s face grew pale and he fell into a daze.
“The goods have been…discovered, Master.” Housekeeper Cullen’s voice was hoarse.
“Impossible!” Spencer was furious, but seeing the old housekeeper’s panicking eyes, he did not know where to direct his anger! “F*ck, f*ck…” Gritting his teeth, he crumpled up the letter, threw it on the ground and furiously stomped on it. When he finally calmed down, he turned and asked, “Who delivered the letter?”
“A beggar threw it into the mailbox. He escaped before we could catch him.” The housekeeper wiped at his sweat, “Master, should we…”
“Keep calm!” Spencer squeezed out from between his teeth, “It is not completely out of control. We can still handle this.” Trying to ignore his trembling lungs, Spencer muttered to himself as if trying to comfort himself, “We can still push it down. No one will know. No one…”
“Master, Master!” A servant knocked on the door. When he entered, he was met by the room’s suffocating atmosphere and two gloomy gazes. “What happened?”
Spencer’s eyes were murderous, “Do I allow servants to disturb me when I am in the library?”
“Th-there are two guests. They want to see you.”
“Can’t you see that I’m busy?!” Furious, Spencer slammed the pipe down, forgetting that it was his beloved possession. Venting his anger, he roared, “Tell them to get the f*ck out! I don’t want to see anyone! Do you understand?!”
“Th-they said…” The servant gulped, “they said they’re from the Fifth Division. They want to consult you about something.”
Spencer froze. Old housekeeper Cullen turned stiffly, his eyes dazed, “The Fifth Division from…the army?” The servant nodded.
Cullen stumbled back and fell onto the ground. He had almost stopped breathing. The confident housekeeper could no longer keep up his proud statu
re. He suddenly seemed old, like someone with epilepsy. He gazed at Spencer, his eyes full of despair. “Master…”
The Fifth Division, the Hound Division, the crazy dog den, the executioner family, the cremation center, the nightmare division, were all of its nicknames.
As all knew, the military only had four divisions. There was no fifth division, yet it existed. It had been established in secret after the Dragon Riders had been banned. They were responsible for monitoring, intelligence, assassinations, and getting rid of anything that could not see the light. It was not a part of any group. They were wild dogs loyal only to the Royal family. The man in charge was an old guy who had experienced three kings, the hated lunatic—Maxwell. Under his lead, they had become Anglo’s nightmare. Everyone knew that this group of executioners only came if they had a reason…
“Master, Master… go, Master…” the servant frantically called his dazed master. He reached out but Spencer shrieked. Slapping the servant’s hand away, Spencer stumbled back, practically pressing himself against the wall.
“I won’t go!” Expression terrified, Spencer curled up in the corner, screaming like a lunatic, “I’m not going anywhere! The Rossis are noble men. They won’t do this to me!”
“Master, they’ve gone,” the servant reported again, head lowered, “They’ve left.”
Spencer froze, unable to believe it, “They left?”
“Yes.” The servant nodded, “They said that you seemed to be busy, so they left an invitation. You’re welcome to visit them any time. They can also come take you there if you need them to.”
Spencer collapsed into his chair, and stared blankly out the window. Under the blazing sun outside, two men clad in black entered the carriage and left soundlessly. They left. Did those crazy dogs really leave?
After a long time, Spencer finally recovered and commanded, “Out! Get out! I need to be alone…”
