On the morning of Sunday, April 13, inside a clock shop in Kangsidun, Kelai'en Yabolahan sat before a workbench by the window. Using a pair of tweezers, he picked up a gear, submerged it into a small dish filled with cleaning solvent, and took a soft brush to carefully clean away the grime accumulated between its teeth.
After a month of study and work, he had acquired a preliminary grasp of many techniques. Aside from an occasional complaint that he was too slow, the shopkeeper no longer nitpicked his work.
His temporary employer was a middle-aged woman in her forties—a rarity in an era where mechanical manufacturing was almost entirely dominated by men. What was more, she was skilled not only at repairing relatively simple wall clocks and mantle clocks, but also at handling delicate pocket watches and maintaining the intricate machinery of clock towers.
After becoming the female shopkeeper's apprentice, Kelai'en's primary daily duties were cleaning parts and recording customer requests, though he occasionally tried his hand at disassembling and reassembling simple timepieces. His pay was modest, but being able to watch the proprietor repair complex pocket watches right beside the workbench allowed him to learn a wealth of knowledge he could never have accessed in the internet era.
Through this apprenticeship and their occasional casual conversations, he discovered that this world's mechanical technology was not as backward as it appeared on the surface. Yet the most vital driving force of the industrial revolution—the steam engine—had not been invented.
*This might be an opportunity...* Kelai'en made the assessment silently, but was in no rush to try.
His primary focus was not on this for the moment. Working as a clockmaker's apprentice was first to secure a modest yet steady income, and second to increase normal interaction with the outside world, preventing himself from growing reclusive and ignorant of worldly affairs through prolonged solitary living.
And finally, it was for the sake of "acting"...
Kelai'en fitted the cleaned gear back into the pocket watch's movement, tightened the screws according to the steps he had learned, and wound the mainspring. The second hand, long still, began to move once more.
The shopkeeper took the pocket watch, brought it to her ear to listen, and compared it against the most accurate pendulum clock on the wall before nodding in satisfaction.
"Not bad. You just need to work on your speed."
Hearing this recognition, an indescribable sense of comfort welled up in Kelai'en's heart. This feeling did not stem entirely from the joy of successfully repairing the pocket watch; it was more like the power of the potion responding to his actions.
*The notes left by my parents call this phenomenon 'feedback,' a sign of correctly mastering the acting method... Does earnestly learning a craft, acknowledging one's shortcomings, and gradually mastering it under guidance truly align with the meaning behind the name 'Apprentice'?* Kelai'en pondered silently, committing this experience and several previous, similar sensations to memory.
As noon approached, the female proprietor packed away the tools on the workbench one by one, signaling that work for the day was over.
"No need to come in this afternoon. Remember to arrive early tomorrow. The clock tower sent over a set of old gears that were disassembled, and you can assist me."
"Understood, Madam Halingdun."
Kelai'en took off his oil-stained apron and washed his hands. Just as he prepared to leave, the proprietor reached under the counter, pulled out a long loaf of bread wrapped in an old cloth, and handed it to him.
"Left over from this morning. Take it back to eat."
Kelai'en paused, understanding that she took him for a young man struggling with hardship because of the tight financial straits he had deliberately projected.
*When I put on that act back then, I only wanted to make sure you wouldn't turn down my job application...* Kelai'en sighed emotionally in his mind as he accepted the bread, offered his thanks, and stepped out of the shop before glancing down at the old cloth wrapped around it.
According to the common scenes in stories back on Earth, a long loaf like this ought to be wrapped in newspaper... But while similar printed matter existed in this world, it had not achieved widespread circulation, nor was it cheap enough to be casually used for wrapping food.
*Perhaps founding a newspaper could turn me into a media tycoon. But printing equipment, paper costs, and distribution channels aren't things I can solve—I've never studied any of that...* Self-deprecatingly scoffing in silence, he walked along the increasingly bustling street toward his residence.
Passing a grocery shop, Kelai'en bought some salted meat and potatoes, planning to stew a rich soup with both meat and vegetables when he returned. He then casually crossed two streets, but upon reaching an intersection, he turned into an alley stacked with wooden crates.
Glancing back quickly to confirm no one was following him, he placed a hand against the brick wall. As if losing all solidity, he phased through the hard wall and passed through the adjoining building in an instant, emerging from a corner on another street.
He did not stop there. Altering his course twice more and cutting through a dead end, he finally arrived before an ordinary-looking building, climbed up to the second floor, and unlocked the door with a key.
This was not the apartment where he openly lived day to day, but a safe house he had rented in advance, separated from his true residence by several streets. He now alternated nights between the two locations irregularly, keeping a portion of his clothes and necessities at each. Even if someone discovered one of them, he would not immediately lose all avenues of retreat.
*Even though I didn't spot anyone tailing me, I still took such a huge detour. I'm practically an ace secret agent...* Kelai'en muttered inwardly, closed the door, and first inspected the window and several discreet markers left inside the room. Confirming no one had broken in, he placed the cloth bag of groceries on the table.
Such caution was by no means unjustified. The notebooks left by his original body's parents repeatedly mentioned that the Yabolahan family bore a curse that had lasted for generations. Not only did family members frequently perish from accidents or loss of control, but they were also prone to being targeted by Beyonders of unknown identity.
For this reason, the various branches had severed contact of their own accord, scattering across different cities to live in seclusion so as to prevent the entire family from being utterly wiped out in a single mishap.
*A curse...*
Thinking of that word, Kelai'en walked to the window and looked up at the sunlit sky.
The moon, hard to discern by day, and especially the full moon, was precisely one of the things the Yabolahan family had to be most wary of.
Just a month after the original Kelai'en lost control and died from taking the potion, and Zhou Mingrui transmigrated to inherit this body and the power of an "Apprentice," this world had welcomed another full moon, and he too had heard those bizarre ravings.
The voices had seemed to arise directly from the depths of his mind, layered and indistinguishable, yet capable of causing his spirituality to churn uncontrollably and his thoughts to descend into chaos. In that moment, he had finally confirmed the danger of the "moon" described in his parents' notes.
Fortunately, Kelai'en had not simply resigned himself to doom that night.
The moment he realized something was wrong with his condition, he had made use of the four black dots left on the back of his hand from his first fortune-turning ritual. Walking four steps counterclockwise, he had chanted those four incantations from Earth, allowing his spirit body to enter the mysterious space of the gray fog.
The instant he appeared within the palace of "The Fool" that he had created, the madness-inducing ravings were shut out, leaving only a few faint, distant cries. Before Kelai'en could even discern their meaning, the voices had dissipated entirely.
This meant that the Yabolahan family's curse likely had an alternate origin; it was not the moon itself that brought about madness. To uncover the truth, he would need to continue researching the gray fog and gather more information from other Yabolahan members.
And as someone who could resist the ravings and the curse, he might very well be this family's last hope...
With these thoughts in mind, Kelai'en tore his gaze away from the sky, stewed the salted meat and potatoes, and enjoyed a hearty meal with the free loaf of bread. He spent his post-meal hours tidying up the room, and once everything was in order, he retrieved the secondhand pocket watch the shopkeeper had lent him from his pocket and popped open the cover to check the time.
This afternoon, he was scheduled to formally meet with a member from another branch of the Yabolahans. The location was set near a Church of the Evernight Goddess; should any unexpected incident occur, he could charge directly into the church for help.
According to his deduction, those large churches were very likely garrisoned by official Beyonders. Having committed no wrongdoings, even if a rash intrusion resulted in investigation or detention, it would at least be safer than falling into the hands of Beyonders with unknown intentions.
*But first, the gathering above the gray fog must begin.*
Kelai'en checked the door lock once more, drew the curtains, stepped into the center of the room, and chanted in a low voice:
"The Immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.
"The Sky Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.
"The Exalted Thearch of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.
"The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
With each sentence spoken in Mandarin, he took a step counterclockwise. As the final phrase left his lips, his body grew weightless, and his spirit body drifted upward, piercing through the pervasive gray fog to arrive inside an ancient palace.
Massive stone pillars supported the soaring dome, and the ancient bronze table and high-backed chairs remained just as they were at the close of the previous gathering.
Deep within the boundless gray fog drifted numerous crimson stars. Three of them shared a subtle connection with him; based on past tests, actively touching them would pull the spirit bodies of the corresponding individuals into this space. The rest of the stars appeared distant and dormant, impossible to establish a true connection with no matter how he tried.
Yet today, Kelai'en noticed that a distant star, previously silent, was flickering between bright and dim, just like the newly joined member had before.
*Another new member? Did someone else come into contact with an antique mirror from the Solomon era, or a candlestick from the Tudor era, and establish a link with this gray fog?* Pondering this, Kelai'en carefully tapped toward it from afar.
However, the star only trembled faintly before falling unresponsive. Kelai'en, meanwhile, felt his spirituality become slightly unstable, reminiscent of the precursor to the spiritual exhaustion he had suffered after entering the gray fog for the first time and conversing with the other two. Without hesitation, he immediately severed his connection with that star.
*Either their spirituality is far stronger than mine, or with my Sequence 9 abilities, maintaining three outside members simultaneously is already approaching my limit?* Kelai'en rubbed his temples, unable to determine the answer for now, and merely committed the position of that unusual star to memory.
After resting for a moment, he once again replicated the hooded phantom image at the head of the long table, verified that the prerecorded words would reproduce normally, and then sat down in his designated seat before raising a hand to touch the three stars with which he shared the deepest connections.
Beams of deep crimson light rose from the gray fog, materializing upon three high-backed chairs beside the ancient bronze table.
***
At the same time, inside a workshop next to the High Court in Bo'ersi District, Suxite, Moerwan Dulang sat behind his desk, writing furiously.
Suddenly, he stopped his pen and turned toward the shelves beside him that held various tools and several antiquities, his eyes falling upon the inverted brass candlestick from the Fourth Epoch's Tuduo Dynasty.
Rising, he walked over to the shelf and reached out to grasp the cold metal frame of the candlestick.
"Huh?"
Moerwan's grayish-blue eyes narrowed slightly. He looked left and right, then leaned in close to examine the candlestick with care.
A moment later, he set the candlestick back firmly in place, furrowed his brows, and murmured in a low voice:
"Could the Blood Emperor really have left behind some kind of power?"
After contemplating the matter on the spot for a while, he shook his head, returned to his desk, took up his quill, and resumed writing:
"...In this life, he became a scholar in accordance with arrangements made long before, entering a university to study the knowledge he had been interested in during his previous life yet had never had the chance to pursue.
"There, he met a lady whom he loved deeply and who loved him in return. They built a family and had an intelligent, lovely daughter, as though the curse that had plagued his multiple lifetimes was finally willing to spare him.
"Yet misfortune soon struck once more. His beloved and his daughter died one after the other, and every investigation yielded no answers.
"Only when part of his memories returned did he discover that all of this was connected to the ancient, mysterious Fourth Epoch, and to a curse that persisted to this day..."
Chapter 48