Ryan took a sheet of paper from his briefcase, wrote on it carefully, and handed it to Irene.
Irene carefully slipped the recommendation letter into her leather folder.
She looked down to read it over, then tucked it away again, as if terrified of creasing it.
For most young people in the East End, a recommendation letter from a government archive clerk was often the first stepping stone to a decent job.
“Thank you so much,”
Irene said earnestly, looking up.
“Once I actually get into the Archive, I'll buy you a drink.”
Ryan smiled.
“Let's wait until you actually pass the exam first.”
Entering the Archive directly required passing an exam.
There was both a written test and an interview.
Otherwise, one could only work in the basement and wait for an opportunity, similar to modern contract-to-hire positions.
Ryan hadn't had the luxury of waiting for an exam before; he would have starved to death long before the results came out.
Irene laughed as well.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she quickly ran downstairs.
“Wait here.”
Ryan stood at the doorway of his attic, slightly puzzled.
Before long, light footsteps echoed up the stairs.
Irene walked back up.
Only this time, she was cradling a wicker basket in her arms.
“This is for you.”
The basket was packed full.
Inside was freshly baked rye bread, still holding a hint of warmth.
A whole block of smoked beef.
Two glass bottles of milk.
There was also a small jar of butter, a few eggs,
and even a bag of ground coffee tucked at the very bottom.
In the East End, these items constituted an incredibly generous gift.
Ryan was taken aback.
“This is too much.”
“It was just a recommendation letter.”
But Irene gently shook her head.
“It's not just that.”
“Mother said you've been helping out at East Port these past few days, so you definitely wouldn't have time to prepare food when you got back.”
“We just bought a lot of groceries today anyway.”
“Consider it a thank-you.”
She smiled again.
“And who knows, we might be colleagues in the future.”
“Think of it as bribing my senior in advance.”
Ryan couldn't help but chuckle.
“The Archive doesn't accept bribes like this.”
“Then you can just accept it on their behalf.”
Irene set the basket down by the door and clapped her hands.
“No refusing.”
With that, she waved and headed back down the stairs.
At the turn of the stairs, she looked back and smiled.
“Get some rest soon.”
“The dark circles under your eyes are getting worse lately.”
Her footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Quiet settled over the hallway once more.
Ryan stood at the door, staring at the heavy basket. After a brief silence, he picked it up and carried it into his room.
The attic was very small.
Aside from a single bed, a desk by the window, and a coal stove in the corner, there was hardly any furniture.
It didn't even have a kitchen.
According to the apartment rules, all tenants had to use the communal kitchen in the first-floor backyard to cook.
But it was already very late.
Ryan didn't feel like going back downstairs.
He pulled a piece of already cold rye bread from the basket.
Then he sliced off a small piece of smoked beef.
He placed them onto an iron plate.
Next, he reached out his hand.
Deep within his left eye,
a speck of warm Lantern's glow slowly kindled.
The coals in the stove, which had nearly died out, suddenly flared with a red glow once more.
Tiny flames danced gently,
as if someone had tossed a fresh handful of coal inside.
The iron plate gradually warmed.
The crust of the bread became crisp again.
The butter melted bit by bit, seeping into the wheaty aroma.
The smoked beef also began to exude a warm, savory fragrance of fat.
The entire process took less than a minute.
Ryan quietly finished his simple dinner.
Silence returned to the room.
He stared at the empty plate on his desk, but his gaze gradually drifted to the drawer.
Inside lay a brown glass bottle.
Laudanum.
The Lantern Principle was making his mind sharper and sharper,
but it also acted like a lamp burning all night long, slowly driving away the darkness meant for sleep.
At first, he could barely manage two or three hours of sleep.
Then it became one.
Over the last few days, he had spent entire nights just lying there, his consciousness suspended in a state between waking and dreaming.
He knew he couldn't go on like this.
Sooner or later, either his body or his mind would collapse.
Finally, Ryan reached out and pulled open the drawer.
The small, brownish-glass bottle rested quietly inside.
Its label had already begun to yellow.
This bottle was different; it bore the pharmacy's name and a handwritten note:
“Drink sparingly, child.”
He smiled faintly but picked up the bottle anyway.
The glass felt ice-cold in his hand.
Some said it was a comfort bestowed by God upon the poor.
Others said it was a slow-acting poison.
Ryan pulled out the stopper.
A complex scent drifted out.
The harshness of strong spirits.
The bitter sweetness of opium.
And the distinct medicinal fragrance of boiled plant roots.
He remained silent for a moment before finally tilting his head back and swallowing half the bottle.
The liquid slid down his throat.
A burning sensation spread all the way down to his stomach.
Soon after, a soothing warmth slowly diffused through him.
Ryan restoppered the bottle and placed it back in the drawer.
The fire in the coal stove gradually dimmed.
He stood up and blew out the kerosene lamp.
The entire attic was instantly plunged into darkness.
Only a faint, pale moonlight filtered in through the window.
Ryan lay back on the bed,
his hands folded over his chest.
He quietly waited for the medicine to take effect.
...
Time passed bit by bit.
He had no idea how long it had been.
The sounds that had been clear to his ears began to drift away.
The whistling of the wind.
The chiming of the clocks.
The creaking of the floorboards next door.
Everything felt as though it were muffled by a thick layer of seawater.
His consciousness began to sink slowly,
like plunging into an endless deep sea.
Then, he opened his eyes once more.
A salty sea breeze blew against his face.
A thick, grayish-white fog still shrouded the sea all year round.
Rows of old wooden piers stretched into the depths of the mist.
Many ancient sailing ships were moored in the port.
Dim kerosene lamps hung from their masts, swaying gently in the fog.
There was no sun here, nor was there a sky in any real sense.
Only an eternal, gloomy grey light.
Ryan felt a bit dazed; he wasn't sure what he was dreaming about.
But there was still a sign that read:
Moth Port.
The original word "harbor" had been crossed out.
“Has it changed this much?”
The changes here were immense, completely different from the streets he had seen last time.
Ryan looked down to adjust his clothes, only to suddenly feel a touch of coldness in his palm.
He slowly opened his right hand.
Resting quietly there, without him realizing when it had arrived, was a copper coin.
The edges of the coin had been worn perfectly smooth.
On the front was a moth about to take flight.
The moth was carved with exquisite detail, its wings covered in layered scales that caught the gloomy light of the dream, casting a strange luster somewhere between copper and silver.
On the back, several rings of ancient, long-unrecognizable patterns were engraved.
Ryan frowned slightly.
He was absolutely certain.
The last time he entered Moth Port, this coin had looked nothing like this.
It had changed.
As he was lost in thought, a familiar voice suddenly echoed from nearby.
“I knew you would come tonight.”
Ryan looked up.
Chris was leaning against a verdigris-covered iron lamppost near the entrance of the port.
He looked exactly the same as always.
A black trench coat.
A worn top hat.
An unlit pipe clenched between his teeth.
He looked as if he had been waiting there for a long time.
Upon seeing Ryan, he slowly straightened up and walked over with a smile.
However, his first glance did not land on Ryan.
Instead, it fell on the moth coin.
“Oh?”
Chris raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Let me see that.”
Ryan didn't refuse.
He handed the coin over.
Chris didn't speak immediately after taking it.
He simply weighed the coin in his palm.
Then, he flipped it to the side with the moth.
His thumb gently traced the patterns on the moth's wings.
His movements were light and careful, like an antique dealer appraising a relic of ancient times.
Next, he flipped the coin over again, staring at the faded lines on the back.
He watched it for a full dozen seconds.
Finally, he even brought the coin to his nose and sniffed it gently.
The smile on his face didn't change in the slightest.
Yet, deep within his eyes, a barely perceptible flicker of emotion flashed and vanished.
He had smelled something that did not belong in a dream.
Rather, it was an incredibly faint trace of...
Reality.
No matter how real things in dreams appeared, they always carried an ephemeral, floating quality.
Like the moon reflected in water.
Like an image in a mirror.
But this coin was different.
It was tainted with a trace left behind by the real world.
The scent was faint, but it could not deceive him.
Chris did not pry further.
He simply placed the coin back into Ryan's hand as if nothing had happened, saying with a smile:
“Keep it safe.”
“This thing is much more interesting than it used to be.”
Ryan looked down at his palm.
“Is there something wrong with it?”
Chris shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“I just feel like it's starting to become something that truly belongs to you.”
He spoke in an extremely casual tone, as if making a passing remark.
Then, he slipped his pipe back into his mouth and gestured toward the depths of the port.
“Let's go.”
“Since you've already finished the experiment for me, you are my guest today.”
“And since you're a guest, don't stand on ceremony with me.”
He turned and walked toward the misty streets, speaking with a chuckle:
“Whatever you need, just ask.”
“Lore, books, materials in dreams, relics, or maybe someone to help you practice the Lantern Principle...”
“As long as I can provide it.”
“Today, it's all on my research budget.”
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