Chapter Six: Correspondence Education

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Stepping out of the house and onto the bustling street, Shade truly entered this world. Compared to the city's clamor, he was as inconspicuous as a drop of water merging into the vast ocean.

He rarely spoke, simply making his way toward his destination—the Nightingale Club. Along the way, he listened and observed, learning about this world, the city, and everything around him.

To put it simply, this world resembled the steam revolution of the nineteenth century in the old world, except that here, steam industry flourished even more prosperously, giving the impression of an unwavering advance along the path of steam power.

While noxious black smoke billowed from factory chimneys, a variety of strange inventions emerged, and the economy soared with the growth of productive forces.

As Shade had suspected, the city he was in was Tobesk, the capital of the northern human kingdom of Drarian. It was the pearl of the northern continent, a hub of human civilization, the essence born of the era.

Naturally, a large city bore the marks of its stature. Although constrained by the era's limitations, stepping off the main street into the alleys inevitably meant encountering piles of filth and garbage. Still, the city’s visage unfolded before Shade's eyes during the brief hour-long journey.

Fortunately, the Nightingale Club was not far from the city center. Had it been across the entire city, Shade might have walked all night and still not arrived. The key point was that Shade had no money to take a carriage.

Along the way, as an observer, he gathered more information about this world. The most crucial was the currency system: at least in this kingdom, the common money consisted of pounds, shillings, and pence, with 1 pound equaling 20 shillings and 1 shilling equaling 12 pence.

Of course, these names resembled British currency not by coincidence but because Shade translated three different currencies from the foreign language into familiar terms, particularly since their conversion values were strikingly similar.

The unfortunate truth was that the ten-unit banknote Shade had found was worth only ten pence. With the current purchasing power, that was not even enough to pay for a carriage ride from his doorstep to the club’s entrance.

But if he lived frugally, using those ten pence to compete with slum children and housewives at the bakery about to close at dusk for the cheapest bread crumbs, at least he could avoid starving for three days.

"At least it’s a peaceful era now. My own Drarian Kingdom, one of the largest human kingdoms, has minor conflicts with the powerful southern Carsonric United Kingdom, but overall, this is a time of peace and development—a time of progress... not bad luck at all."

Shade was good at comforting himself.

This world was temporarily peaceful. The Drarian Kingdom in the north and the Carsonric United Kingdom in the south had nearly divided the world between them. The last full-scale war had ended decades ago. Though undercurrents still stirred, peace prevailed on the surface.

Club culture seemed a unique feature of this era. Shade learned from his investigation report that the investigated mistress, Lady Lasoya, frequented the Nightingale Club every weekend for at least three hours.

Detective Hamilton’s report speculated that this was the meeting place for Lady Lasoya and Mr. Lawrence’s trysts, as the two always appeared together at the club.

The Nightingale Club was a private, membership-based establishment. Shade had no entry permit, so after turning into Valent Walk from the street corner, he stopped to observe from across the club, at the entrance of the Tobesk Evening News office, as the report instructed.

The newspaper office was partly owned by the royal family. Saturdays were the busiest days there, as the weekly king’s speech and parliament report were routine.

Crowds gathered at the newspaper entrance awaiting news; professional reporters had long departed, while those left were hopeful bystanders.

Shade’s plan was to blend in. Though it was already noon, Lady Lasoya rarely appeared at the club before afternoon. If luck favored him, he would soon spot his target.

Recording the time she arrived and left would complete this report.

Completing this task so easily felt unreal, but since Hamilton had nearly finished everything else, this was one of the legacies left by the deceased gentleman.

Shade held one of Hamilton’s heirlooms, a pocket watch. Standing by the mailbox outside the newspaper office, pretending to wait, he scanned the surroundings for a long time until he finally saw the target. He immediately compared her to the black-and-white photo in the report.

At 1:23, Lady Lasoya appeared.

She was fashionably dressed, with lace trimming on her skirt and jeweled hair ornaments that clearly were costly. She arrived directly by carriage at the club’s door, holding a cloth parasol despite the gloomy weather.

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Judging by her age, she was around thirty, of average height but with a full figure. Though her makeup was somewhat heavy, it was clear she was a beauty.

Fearing detection and knowing he was inexperienced in tailing, Shade looked away immediately after confirming her identity.

[Observe her ring.]

“What?”

The woman’s whisper echoed again in Shade’s mind. Though he had no idea what she was, Shade shifted his gaze back to Lady Lasoya.

At that moment, the club's doorman greeted her. As she turned, Shade clearly saw the ring. Strangely, the ring was set not with a gem or diamond, but something resembling a small pebble.

Of course, observing from across the street, with passersby occasionally blocking his view, Shade wasn’t sure if he’d been mistaken. Lady Lasoya soon entered the club, denying Shade the chance for another look.

“What does it mean? Why should I pay attention to that ring?”

He asked the whisper in his mind again, but the voice did not respond further. Frustrated, Shade reminded himself to keep calm—he was not the type to lose his temper easily.

“Sir, what time is it now?”

Lost in thought, Shade suddenly heard a voice nearby. Startled, he worried his lingering by the mailbox, staring at the club entrance across the street, might have drawn attention. But it was merely someone asking the time.

“Sorry, I forgot my watch.”

The man who spoke was a refined, affable gentleman in his forties. He wore a black silk hat and formal attire suitable for a banquet, with a white shirt beneath. His face was somewhat broad, sporting a neatly groomed tuft of mustache on his chin. His blue eyes were strikingly pleasant.

The man smiled at Shade. After a brief hesitation, Shade took out the pocket watch he had just tucked into the right pocket of his jacket.

“1:30.”

He answered, curious about why this well-dressed man was here. The man’s attire didn’t match that of a waiting reporter; Shade’s own notebook and outfit looked more like a journalist’s.

As if reading Shade’s thoughts, the man chuckled:

“Thanks for your time. I have an appointment with the editor-in-chief. Without my watch, I thought I might be late, but it seems I’m just on time.”

He handed Shade his business card, which Shade politely accepted and reciprocated with his own. In reality, it was the late Hamilton’s card, listing the detective agency’s address and services, signed simply as “Hamilton Detective,” without a first name.

Since Shade had adopted the surname Hamilton, he could use these cards freely. He was glad there was no household registration system here; he didn’t even need forged documents.

The man’s name was Bill Schneider, and he ran a private psychological clinic. Unlike Shade’s still-unstable profession, Schneider’s clinic was quite legitimate, and the income from his clinic was evidently more substantial than Shade’s, who was relying on an inheritance for his first investigation. The difference was evident: Shade’s card was modest compared to Schneider’s, whose card had better paper and printing quality.

“If you need anything, you can come here.”

Mr. Schneider spoke kindly, pointing to the clinic’s address on the card—located in Tobesk’s East District.

“My practice covers a wide range.”

He looked at Shade intently, and Shade, inexplicably, felt a chilling sensation, as if those blue eyes could see right through him.

“Including schizophrenia.”

The psychologist said warmly, skilled at communicating with strangers.

“What?”

Shade was taken aback, but before he could ask more, Mr. Schneider quickly changed the subject:

“By the way, detective, have you considered adult education? Correspondence courses.”

“Correspondence courses?”

The sudden topic shift caught Shade off guard.

“I’m not planning to study psychology for now.”

He assumed Schneider was an enthusiastic graduate from some psychology college.

After Shade declined, the doctor did not press further:

“Alright then, goodbye.”

Nodding to the detective, Schneider pocketed the card and turned toward the newspaper office yard.

“Correspondence... now that I think about it, why did Dr. Schneider specifically mention schizophrenia?”

Shade stood silently, pondering, then realized the voice in his mind sounded suspiciously like what’s called “schizophrenia.”

“Don’t laugh in my head. I admit your laughter is charming and delightful. You’re definitely not a product of my schizophrenia.”

Shade spoke to the voice inside his mind.

Though certain his condition was due to contact with the mysterious, and not schizophrenia, he was unsure if the psychologist had seen something.

“I just stepped outside and already encountered someone possibly connected to supernatural forces. Bad luck? Or is the density of extraordinary beings in this world greater than I imagined? Or maybe Dr. Schneider just mentioned it casually, and I’m overthinking?”

Shade thought as he carefully put away Schneider’s card. Regardless, his current commission was paramount. Now that he knew the psychologist’s address, he could visit anytime.

At least from this brief encounter, Dr. Schneider seemed harmless. But a short conversation couldn’t reveal true intentions, so Shade decided to learn more about this world before deeper interactions.

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