After sitting back down in his chair, waiting until the distant church bell rang seven times in a row, Zhou Mingrui slowly stood up, walked to the cupboard, and took out his clothes.
A black vest, a formal jacket of the same color, trousers that were slightly tight at the ankles, and a half-top hat, combined with a faint scholarly aura, made Zhou Mingrui see himself in the mirror as if he were watching a British TV drama set in the Victorian era.
"I'm not going for an interview, just buying groceries and preparing materials for the ritual..." he suddenly muttered, shaking his head and laughing wryly.
Klein was so preoccupied with the upcoming interview that it had become a bodily instinct; when his attention wasn't focused, he habitually put on this only decent set of clothes.
Letting out a breath, Zhou Mingrui took off the formal jacket and vest, changed into a worn brown-yellow coat, and replaced his headgear with a round-edged felt hat of the same color.
After tidying himself up, he walked to the high-low bed, lifted the top mattress, reached his hand through an inconspicuous hole at the bottom, fumbled around, and found the hidden compartment.
When his right hand came back, it held a roll of banknotes, about seven or eight bills, greenish-white in color.
This was all of Benson's savings at the moment, even including three days' living expenses. Among them were only two five-Soule bills, the rest were one Soule each.
In the currency system of the Ruen Kingdom, Soule is the second tier, derived from ancient silver coins. One Soule equals twelve copper pence, with denominations of one and five.
At the top of the currency hierarchy is the gold pound, also a banknote, but backed by gold and directly linked. One gold pound equals twenty Soule, with denominations of one, five, and ten.
Zhou Mingrui unfolded the bills and smelled a very faint, special smell of printing ink.
This was the smell of money.
Perhaps influenced by the fragments of Klein's memory, perhaps because of his own unchanging desire for money, at that moment Zhou Mingrui felt he had fallen in love with these little fellows.
Look, their patterns are so exquisite, making the stern and old-fashioned George III, with his two small mustaches, appear so cute...
Look, the watermark seen through sunlight is so enticing, and the carefully designed security thread makes them completely different from those counterfeit coquettish goods!
After admiring for dozens of seconds, Zhou Mingrui took out two one-Soule notes, rolled up the rest, and stuffed them back into the inner compartment of the mattress.
Smoothing the cloth near the hole, he neatly folded the two notes and placed them in the left pocket of his brown-yellow coat, separate from the few pence in his trouser pocket.
Having done all this, he put the key in his right pocket, picked up the dark brown large paper bag, and quickly walked to the door.
Tap-tap, tap, footsteps from fast to slow, finally stopping.
Zhou Mingrui stood by the door, his brows furrowed without him knowing.
Klein's suicide was full of doubts. If he went out like this, would he encounter some "accident"?
After thinking for a moment, he returned to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out the revolver that gleamed with a brass sheen.
This was the only self-defense weapon he could think of, and it was sufficiently powerful!
Although he had never practiced shooting, just drawing this gun would definitely scare people off!
He rubbed the cold metal cylinder, then shoved the revolver into the pocket where the bills were, clenched the money in his palm, and pressed his fingers firmly against the grip to conceal it perfectly.
A sense of security welled up, but he, who knew a little of everything, suddenly worried: "What if it accidentally fires?"
Thoughts came thick and fast, and Zhou Mingrui quickly found a solution. He pulled out the revolver, swung the cylinder to the left, rotated the empty chamber (from the "suicide") to the firing position, then snapped it shut.
This way, even if it accidentally fired, it would just be a "blank"!
He put the revolver back in, and now kept his left hand in the pocket, not taking it out.
He pressed his hat with his right hand, pulled open the door, and went out with a clang.
During the day, the corridor was still dim; the sunlight that could come through the window at the end was quite limited. Zhou Mingrui quickly descended the stairs, left the apartment, and only then felt brightness and warmth.
Although it was nearing July and the height of summer, Tingen was in the north of the Ruen Kingdom, with a unique climate. The highest temperature of the year was less than 30 degrees Celsius on Earth, and early mornings were especially cool. On the streets, dirty water flowed in some places, with garbage littered about. In Klein's memory, in areas where the lower income class lived, even with sewers, such scenes were not uncommon, because there were many people, because of life.
"Come, come, delicious pan-seared meat fish!"
"Hot and fresh oyster soup, drink a bowl in the morning, energetic all day!"
"Fresh fish from the port, only 5 pence each!"
"Small muffins, eel soup with ginger beer!"
"Conch, conch, conch!"
"Freshly picked vegetables from the farm outside the city, cheap and fresh!"
...
Street vendors selling vegetables, fruits, and cooked food shouted loudly, greeting the hurried passersby. Some of them stopped to carefully compare before buying, while others waved impatiently because they hadn't found work today.
Zhou Mingrui, smelling the air where stench and fragrance intermingled, firmly held the gun grip in his left hand, clutched the banknotes, and with his right hand held his round felt hat, slightly bending over, lowering his head to cross this noisy street.
Where there are many people, there are pickpockets, especially in this neighborhood with many semi-unemployed poor people working temporary jobs and hungry children driven by others.
Moving forward, when the surrounding crowd density returned to normal, Zhou Mingrui straightened his back again, raised his head, and looked down the street.
There was a wandering organ grinder playing, the melody sometimes melodious, sometimes passionate.
Around him gathered many children with tattered clothes and sallow faces from malnutrition.
They listened to the music, followed the rhythm, twisted their bodies instinctively, dancing their own dances, their faces full of happiness, as if they were little princes, little angels.
A woman with a numb expression passed by, her skirt dirty, her skin dull.
Her eyes were wooden and vacant, only when she looked at those children did a faint light flash, as if seeing herself thirty years ago.
Zhou Mingrui passed her, turned into another street, and stopped in front of "Slim's Bakery".
The owner of the bakery was a grandmother in her seventies named Wendy Slim, her hair completely gray, her face always wearing a gentle smile. As long as Klein could remember, she had been selling bread and pastries here.
Hmm, her homemade Tingen biscuits and lemon cake are very delicious... Zhou Mingrui swallowed, smiled and said:
"Mrs. Slim, 8 pounds of rye bread."