Finally, the middle-aged man with graying temples took a sip of tea and sighed with a smile:
"Actually, this is much better than before, and better than many people here, for example..."
He pointed out the window at the homeless people curled up in the corners.
Klein and Mike followed his gaze and saw a dirty, sheltered spot filled with curled-up homeless people—men and women, old and young.
In this cold late autumn, they might not wake up again.
At that moment, Klein noticed an elderly woman about sixty years old standing on the street. Her dress was old and ragged, but relatively neat, and her hair was meticulously combed.
This white-haired woman had the usual haggard look of a homeless person, but she still insisted on not crowding with the others, instead walking slowly along the roadside, occasionally gazing deeply into the café with a numb expression.
"She's also a poor soul," said the former homeless man who had just finished his leftover black bread, also noticing the old woman. "I heard she used to live pretty well. Her husband was a grain merchant, and they had a lively child. Unfortunately, they went bankrupt, and her husband and child died soon after. She's different from us, really, you can tell at a glance... Sigh, she won't last much longer unless she can get into the workhouse every time."
As he listened, Mike's expression turned from calm to somber. He slowly exhaled and said:
"I want to interview her. Could you invite her in? She can have something to eat or drink here."
The middle-aged man didn't find the request strange; he just glanced at Klein and Mike, as if to say, "You really are colleagues."
"Alright, I think she'll be happy to," he said, taking a sip of tea, standing up, and walking out of the greasy café.
Before long, the old woman in her old but neat dress followed him in. Her pale face gradually gained some color in the warmth of the café.
She trembled continuously, as if trying to shake off the chill and absorb the relative warmth of the café. Even after sitting down, it took her a full minute to truly calm down.
"Order whatever you like. That's the payment for the interview," Klein said on Mike's behalf.
After Mike nodded, the old woman modestly ordered toast, cheap cream, and coffee, then smiled and said:
"I heard that when you haven't eaten for a long time, you shouldn't eat greasy food."
How polite and restrained, nothing like a vagrant... Klein silently commented.
Before the food arrived, Mike casually asked:
"Could you tell me how you became homeless?"
The old woman looked reminiscent and smiled bitterly:
"My husband was a grain merchant; he mainly bought grain from local farmers. After the Corn Laws were repealed, we quickly went bankrupt."
"He was already quite old, and this blow broke him; his health rapidly declined, and he died soon after."
"My child, he was an outstanding young man, always following his father in business. He couldn't handle the blow, so on a moonless night, he jumped into the Tussok River."
"His first suicide attempt failed, and he was sent to the police court. The police and judges were very impatient, thinking he was wasting their time."
"If you want to kill yourself, please do it quietly and successfully, don't bother us... Well, they probably wanted to say that, but thought it was too direct."
"My child was thrown into prison, and soon after, he succeeded on his second attempt."
The old woman spoke calmly, as if it hadn't happened to her.
But for some reason, Klein felt a deep sadness.
"There is no greater sorrow than a heart dead..." He suddenly recalled a saying from his previous life.
In this world, suicide was not only prohibited by the major churches but also punished by law.
Klein knew the reasons well: first, many suicides chose drowning, and if not discovered in time, they had a certain probability of becoming water ghosts; second, suicides often had unstable emotions, and in that state, ending one's life was akin to "sacrifice," potentially resonating with certain strange and terrifying existences.
Thus, their bodies or surrounding objects could carry strange curses, harming others.
The "Misfortune Doll" behind the Chanis Gate in Tingen likely came about this way.
Therefore, the seven orthodox churches prohibited believers from suicide based on their own doctrines, and the royalty promoted corresponding legislation.
Of course, Klein thought this was rather ridiculous—would someone who wants to die be afraid of the law or punishment?
Mike was scribbling notes, about to say something, when the café owner brought over the food.
"Fill your stomach first, we'll talk later," Mike said, pointing at the toast.
"Okay," the old woman ate in small bites, showing good manners.
She hadn't ordered much, so she finished quickly.
Reluctantly drinking the last sip of coffee, she rubbed her forehead and pleaded:
"Could I sleep a little before we talk? It's too cold outside."
"No problem," Mike replied without hesitation.
The old woman thanked him several times, sat in her chair, curled up, and fell asleep.
Mike turned to the middle-aged man and said:
"You seem very familiar with this place? I'd like to hire you as our guide. How about 3 Soule a day? Sorry, I forgot to ask your name."
The middle-aged man quickly shook his head: "No, no, that's too much. At the docks, many days I only earn 1 Soule."
"You can call me Old Kohler."
"Then, 2 Soule a day, that's what you deserve," Mike concluded.
After witnessing this strange bargaining, Klein snorted some mucus into a paper and intended to get another cup of coffee, but he suddenly sensed something wrong and turned to look at the old woman sleeping curled up in the chair.
Her face, which had become rosy from the coffee, was pale again. Her aura color and emotional color had disappeared.
"..." Klein stood up and instinctively reached out to check the old woman's breathing.