The recording hall in the morning was still suffocatingly busy.
Pens moved incessantly across the pages.
The scratching sound hardly ever stopped.
Beside him, Simon grumbled as he flipped through files:
“Do those useless bastards in the South End not know how to read? These serial numbers look like chicken scratch.”
Someone across from him replied without even looking up:
“What you wrote last month was worse than chicken scratch.”
A few low chuckles echoed in the recording hall.
The atmosphere was not nearly as oppressive as the basement. At least the people in the Formal Hall could chat occasionally.
Ryan lowered his head to organize a population migration file. The more he organized, the more he felt this job resembled being a grassroots civil servant in his previous life. Every day was just a battle against stacks of paper. It was mechanical and repetitive, yet there was absolutely no room for error. Once a mistake was made, the higher-ups would come down to cause trouble.
Around ten in the morning, Alvin came down from upstairs with a new approval document in hand.
“New population registration for the West End. Everything needs to be re-archived.”
The entire recording hall instantly erupted into groans. Simon threw his pen directly onto his desk.
“Have they lost their minds? Didn't we just organize this last month?”
Alvin replied calmly, “The parish boundaries have changed. A new order from City Hall.”
No one spoke further, because this sort of thing was all too common in London. The city was expanding too rapidly, the population was constantly growing, and the archiving system changed frequently. In the end, all the trouble would fall onto the heads of low-level clerks like them.
Ryan silently took the new documents and began to cross-check them again.
He realized that his mental state was indeed much stronger than before. In the past, reading continuously for half an hour would give him a headache, but now, he could work for a long time. Moreover, his memory seemed to have improved as well; he could memorize many serial numbers after just a single glance.
As Ryan looked down and flipped the pages, he could even faintly sense that the thoughts in his head were moving faster. This was likely related to the Glory he had collected last night.
But at the same time, the side effects were still present. Whenever he focused too intensely, his temples would throb with a faint heat, especially when he stared at certain special archives, like the old parish records or the religious registers. Sometimes, he would even see a faint white light flashing at the edges of the pages, like some sort of residual pollution.
Ryan had learned his lesson by now. The moment an abnormality appeared, he would immediately avert his gaze and never look too deeply.
At noon, the recording hall took a brief break, and everyone took out their lunches. Although the salaries of the formal staff weren't high, they could at least afford to eat some hot food. Some brought potato stew, others bought thick soup, and Simon had even snuck in a bottle of cheap beer.
Ryan took out the rye bread he had bought that morning from his document bag and smeared the tiny bit of butter onto it. It was already a decent meal.
Simon glanced over. “Did your meals get an upgrade lately?”
Ryan took a bite. “Perks of the Formal Hall.”
“Ha,” Simon laughed. “By the end of the month, you'll learn what true poverty feels like.”
A middle-aged clerk nearby chimed in, “At least the formal system won't let people starve to death easily.”
Simon nodded. “That's true. A few of those guys in the basement die off every year.”
Ryan didn't join the conversation, because his original self had almost died in that basement.
The lunch break was short. In less than twenty minutes, everyone resumed working.
Throughout the entire afternoon, the recording hall basically maintained the exact same state—flipping pages, writing, and archiving. Occasionally, someone would go to the filing cabinets to look for old records. The light from the kerosene lamps mingled with the greyish-white daylight outside the window, and the air was thick with the scent of ink and old paper.
Ryan even began to develop a strange illusion, as if he had truly become a person of this era. Going to work every day, organizing documents, saving money to pay rent, and then slowly surviving in the thick fog of London.
If not for those dreams, if not for the Glory, and if not for the Lantern, perhaps his life really would have turned out like this—an ordinary clerk, eventually dying of illness in some winter, remembered by no one.
As the afternoon was drawing to a close, Alvin walked over to inspect their work. He flipped through the files Ryan had organized today, and his movements paused noticeably.
“You are very fast.”
Ryan looked up. “It's alright.”
Alvin continued to look through a few more pages. “Your error rate is low as well. Have you done similar work before?”
Ryan replied calmly, “After spending so much time in the basement, I had to memorize things as best as I could.”
Alvin nodded and didn't pry further. He simply placed the files back on the desk.
“Keep it up. If you pass the formal evaluation at the end of the month, your salary will increase slightly.”
With that, he turned and left.
Simon immediately leaned over. “Not bad. Alvin rarely praises anyone.”
Ryan smiled but said nothing. Still, he felt a slight sense of relief in his heart. At least, he had temporarily secured his footing.
When the bell signaling the end of the workday finally rang, almost everyone in the recording hall let out a collective sigh of relief. Some began to clear their desks, while others stretched their aching shoulders.
Simon was the first to stand up. “Tavern?”
Someone nearby immediately responded, “Let's go.”
Ryan, however, shook his head. “I'm heading back.”
Simon glanced at him. “You live like an old man.”
Ryan chuckled. “I'm poor.”
This response actually made Simon laugh. “Fair enough.”
After leaving the archive, the sky outside was completely dark. Thick fog still shrouded London, and the gas lamps cast dim, yellowish halos through the mist.
Ryan was in no hurry to go home. Instead, he walked along the street toward the East End pharmacy, because he had realized that his consumption of laudanum was much faster than he had anticipated.
Two days. Just two days, and that small half-bottle was already nearly empty. Furthermore, if he didn't drink it now, he couldn't sleep at all at night. Especially after coming into contact with the Glory, his mind would become clearer and clearer—clear to the point of irritation.
Ryan knew this wasn't good, but there was nothing he could do. At least for now, he couldn't do without it.
Ten minutes later, he arrived back at the old pharmacy. Behind the dim glass window, medicine bottles were still stacked everywhere.
The bell above the door chimed softly. Harvey, the old pharmacist, looked up, and upon seeing Ryan, he was visibly taken aback.
“Back again?”
Ryan nodded. “I need two more bottles of laudanum.”
The old man frowned. “Young man, you are drinking that far too quickly.”
Ryan fell silent for a couple of seconds. “My cough has been terrible lately.”
Harvey stared at him for a moment before slowly turning around. He retrieved two brown medicine bottles from the cabinet behind him.
“Drink less of it. This stuff isn't good for you.”
Ryan took the bottles. “I know.”
Unfortunately, knowing it was one thing. In this era, many people simply had no choice.
The cold wind outside the pharmacy made his face go numb. Ryan stood on the street side and pulled his collar up.
Nights in the East End were getting colder and colder. The thick fog crept slowly along the streets, and the gas lamps were reduced to mere blurry halos of yellow light in the mist.
In the distance, the sounds of laughter and rowdy shouting from taverns could still be heard. But the moment one left the main street, the entire neighborhood fell completely silent once more.
One belonged to humanity, while the other belonged to the thick fog and the dark night.
Ryan stuffed the two bottles of laudanum into his coat. His lungs began to throb with pain again. Having worked continuously for so long during the day, the moment he stopped, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion instantly rushed over him.
Rate on N.U.
