Chapter 34: Beginning the Ritual

Lein left Tim’s house and walked toward the Second-hand Market.

Before leaving, he asked the mother if he could take a look in Tim’s room.

She didn’t think too much about it—or rather, she was hoping someone would step up at this moment—so she readily agreed.

Tim’s room was very tidy—the bed was made meticulously, and there was no extra furniture.

On the windowsill sat an empty jam jar with a withered, unknown wildflower stuck inside.

Lein searched the room thoroughly: the drawers, under the mattress, the corners of the wardrobe, and even lifted the loose floorboards—but found nothing.

No results.

He had expected as much.

Lein still remembered that before he left, the mother personally saw him to the door.

Her hands were tightly clutching the corner of her apron, and her sunken eyes stared fixedly at Lein’s face, her gaze showing a kind of desperate plea.

“If there’s anything you can do… please, help me find Tim.

He’s just a child… he’s never done anything wrong…” she said, her voice almost shattered.

At that moment, Lein didn’t know what to say.

What could he say?

Tell this woman who was already on the verge of collapse that he would make inquiries around Ash Lane?

Tell her he had some connections to help ask around?

Those words sounded like empty platitudes, just as hollow as what the patrol officers had told her.

But if he didn’t speak, he could only remain silent.

And silence at a time like this was even crueler than any empty words.

In the end, Lein nodded.

He made no promises, just nodded, and then left.

As he turned around, he heard suppressed sobbing from behind that couldn’t stop.

Walking on the road to the Second-hand Market in the Port Area, Lein felt somewhat heavy-hearted.

There were more things to do, he thought.

Tim had been missing for ten days.

Ten days—he knew better than anyone what that meant in Ash Lane.

With every day that passed, the probability of finding him decreased by one percent.

Every year, people went missing in Ash Lane.

Some ran away on their own, some were abducted, some died—their bodies thrown into the sewers or sunk in the mud of the port, never to be known again.

And Coleman’s commission also had a time limit of only a few days.

He couldn’t give up the fifteen-pound reward.

But he couldn’t ignore Tim’s case either.

And above these two matters, an even more pressing issue weighed on him—the Ritual.

Lein had to try it, the sooner the better.

He had an indescribable intuition that the Ritual might bring him some kind of help, some ability he couldn’t yet imagine.

And after that, perhaps he could find Tim.

Perhaps…

Lein pushed these thoughts down and quickened his pace.

The Second-hand Market in the Port Area was right behind the pier warehouses.

A large patch of sheds built from canvas and wooden boards stretched along the coastline, stalls packed tightly together, selling all kinds of things.

Old clothes, old tools, old furniture, old books, unidentified goods—if you could think of it, you could basically find it here.

The air was filled with the smell of sea brine and rotting wood, occasionally mixed with the charred aroma of grilled fish wafting from some stall.

Lein wandered for a while and found a second-hand bookstore.

The owner was a hunchbacked old man wearing a pair of copper-framed glasses with lenses as thick as bottle bottoms.

The shop was piled high with all kinds of old books, from floor to ceiling, and there was a distinct smell of moldy paper and some indescribable musty odor.

After rummaging through the piles for a while, Lein finally selected three books that met the requirements.

The first book was titled Principles of Political Economy and Taxation.

It was a thick volume with a dark blue hardcover, and the characters on the spine had mostly faded.

He leafed through it casually; the pages were filled with discussions about rent, profit, and labor value, densely packed with almost no white space—it was dizzying.

The second book was Research on Ancient City-State Systems by an unknown scholar.

The pages were yellowed but the content was complete.

This book was thinner than the first, but the handwriting was more compact, with every page crammed full of annotations and citations.

The third was an old edition of Natural History, documenting the flora, fauna, and folklore of the Southern Continent.

On the cover was painted a large, unknown tree, with several strangely shaped birds perched in its canopy.

All three books were substantial in content and well-preserved, totaling about fifteen hundred pages.

According to the Ritual’s requirements, he needed to prepare at least the same number of blank sheets for copying.

Lein had to search several more shops before finding one that sold blank paper.

The price of paper was much higher than he had expected—far more than the cost of the three old books.

Since any mistake during the copying process would require starting over, he bought three thousand sheets all at once to ensure he wouldn’t run out, spending a large sum of money.

After that, he visited two more stalls to buy the remaining odds and ends: four bottles of decent black ink, two dip pen handles and a small pack of replacement nibs, and three thick white candles.

Including the books, paper, and these miscellaneous items, the total cost came to twenty-six silver coins.

That wasn’t a small amount, but it was within expectations.

As for whether it was worth it, he wouldn’t know until after the Ritual.

Lein packed his purchases into two coarse cloth bags and headed back toward his rented room.

Though it was noon, the sky over the port had already begun to darken, whether from an approaching rainstorm or the ceaseless coal smoke belched by the factories.

Back in his rented room, Lein closed the door and placed the two bags on the floor.

First, he moved the thin cotton quilt off the narrow bed to one side, freeing up the bed boards to serve as a worktable.

Then he took out the three books, three thousand sheets of paper, ink, pens, and candles, laying them out neatly on the bed boards.

There was no table in the room; the bed boards were the only flat surface he had.

Lein sat down on the floor without minding the dirt, then took out matches from his pocket, struck one, and lit the candle wick.

The flame was very small at first, flickering a few times before steadying, casting a small patch of orange-yellow light in the dim room.

Then he picked up the topmost book, Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, and opened it to the first page.

The dense print glowed faintly in the candlelight, like countless ants arranged in neat rows.

Lein didn’t rush to start.

Instead, he waited a while, waiting for that unknown existence to take over everything.

The process of this Ritual was not complicated—it was actually quite simple—but it severely tested one’s focus, patience, and endurance.

It didn’t even allow for any mistakes.

Lein didn’t think he could complete the Ritual on his own; he hoped to gain the help of that existence.

But a few minutes passed, and nothing happened.

Just as Lein was about to give up and try on his own, his body suddenly stiffened.

It had finally arrived.

Lein breathed a sigh of relief in his heart, feeling exceptionally at ease.