Letter

At first light, Edward stepped out in his khaki trench coat, a bun still clamped between his teeth. After advancing, he had planned to make himself a lavish breakfast as a reward. But then he remembered yesterday's idea of building a car. One of the materials had to be bought in person, and whether he could get it depended on luck. So he took two beef-and-scallion buns from his Spatial Ring and ate as he walked. He could not help thinking that once a man passed forty, he really did not care much about whether life had a sense of ceremony.

This Spatial Ring really was incredible. There was clearly no air inside, yet it could keep things filled with air from bursting due to internal pressure. The buns had still been hot when he put them in. They were still piping hot when he took them out.

Could it be that time and space truly stopped inside the Spatial Ring, even preventing heat from dissipating?

He could design two experiments. Boil a pot of water and fill it with thermometers, then put them into the Spatial Ring once they all reached one hundred degrees. After that, take one out each day and record how its temperature changed.

Or he could buy two alarm clocks, put one inside and leave the other outside, then compare them after some time.

Or he could put a bacterial Petri Dish inside, take it out later, and count the colonies. Wait, if he wanted to do that, he would have to make a microscope first. What a hassle... Besides, wasn't he only educated to middle school level? Where were all these strange ideas coming from?

As Edward wandered through his thoughts, he finished the buns, left the city through its gates, and arrived on Dock Street, which ran parallel to the coast. The customs office and several major trading houses were all on this street. Passing the Seafood Shop backed against the sea, he saw its entrance piled with fresh fish and shrimp. He could not help stopping.

"That lobster is huge. How much is it, boss? And that Spanish mackerel—must be at least a meter and a half long, right?" Edward was already calculating how many mackerel dumplings he could make if he filleted the fish.

"Thirty copper coins per lobster, no weighing. Five copper coins a pound for the Spanish mackerel."

"What? When I bought it a few days ago, Spanish mackerel was only three copper coins a pound! You can't raise prices that much!"

"You have to look at the size of the fish. It's over five feet long. Do you expect me to sell it at the price of a small fish? What am I, a charity?"

"Fine, fine, I won't haggle. I'll take that fish and these two lobsters."

As he spoke, Edward waved away a Seagull diving down at him. He paid for the fish without hesitation. He was rich now, after all. He did not care about such a small expense. His heart was filled with the happiness of a poor man suddenly becoming wealthy.

The Seafood Shop owner rolled his eyes. My prices are already fair, yet he makes it sound as if I've taken outrageous advantage of him.

"Boss, do you have sea intestines?"

"What did you say? I've never heard of that."

"Forget it, then. Looks like I won't be having stir-fried sea intestines with chives." Edward muttered.

Once he was out of the Seafood Shop owner's sight, the Spanish mackerel vanished into his Spatial Ring in a flash. The two lobsters, however, were still alive. Edward hardened his heart, crushed them to death, and tossed them into the Spatial Ring as well.

A few hundred steps farther on stood a trading house called Rainforest Trade. Though it was early morning, plenty of people were coming and going. Horse-drawn carts waiting to load goods filled the entrance.

Edward sidestepped a porter carrying a huge sack out of the building and entered the trading house. It resembled an enormous warehouse, with a very high roof. Only several horse lamps were lit on the counter along the side facing Dock Street. Morning Glow streamed in through the Glass Window on the opposite wall. Along with the light came the dense shadows of masts and ships. From time to time, people carried goods in from the docks behind the trading house, while others hauled goods out past the counter and loaded them onto the carts outside.

Edward approached the counter. The elderly man who had been doing accounts by the light of a horse lamp looked up. He had curly Gray and White hair, a clean-shaven face, and a prominent hooked nose that made his nasolabial folds and crow's feet seem especially deep whenever he smiled.

"Good morning, Mr. Smith." The old man looked up and recognized an acquaintance.

"Good morning, Mr. Gonzalez." Edward tipped the hat he had bought upon returning to the New Continent. It was neither a cowboy hat nor an Old Continent bowler. Paired with his khaki trench coat, it made him look exactly like a detective from a television drama in his Previous Life.

"It's rare to see a Mage such as yourself up this early. Back in my Hometown, Ilia, those distinguished Mages would probably still be lying atop the bellies of beautiful ladies at this hour..."

The old man laughed heartily. His distinctive rolled accent made one want to snap castanets and strum a guitar.

"You flatter me. Diligence and restraint are the commandments of Casters. Besides, I'm still an Alchemist Appren—ah, Alchemist." Edward swallowed the word "apprentice." It was an aftereffect of his recent advancement. Just like in the first few days of a new year, when he always wrote last year's date while signing his name.

"What are you purchasing this time?"

"Rubber again. Raw Rubber," Edward said.

"Let me see if we have any left. Demand for Raw Rubber on Middle Earth has been growing greater and greater. To keep goods fresh, they often send Steam ships straight across the Storm Ocean from the south. Fewer shipments are being transferred through here instead. And there are only so many trees that produce rubber. It's difficult to develop new forest regions now. I hear some merchants are thinking of buying land to grow rubber trees on a large scale."

Mr. Gonzalez introduced the market situation while flipping through the Account Book.

"Oh, you're in luck. There are still two barrels left." The old man smiled at Smith. "Same price as before. Does that work for you?"

"Fine. I'll take them all."

"Andre! Bring over the two barrels of rubber from Warehouse Number Four!" the old man called over his shoulder.

Edward was about to pay when he suddenly remembered something and said:

"Also, as I mentioned before, if you come across any herbs or ores you can't identify, I'll buy them on an ongoing basis."

The old man thought for a moment, then shook his head.

Edward paid, stored the two barrels of Raw Rubber in his Spatial Ring, and left Rainforest Trade.

When he returned to his doorstep, Edward Pull-ed up the Roller Shutter and prepared to open for business.

The problem was this: if you started a business full of confidence, planning to earn several hundred thousand this year, but became a multimillionaire on the very first day, what then? It felt as though life had reached its peak, but what about the second day?

Edward could not even be bothered to open the shop and earn one or two Silver Coins a day.

"Looks like I need to find a clerk. Being the boss is much more comfortable," Edward muttered to himself. Wasn't it better to spend his days doing experiments and Sleeping In? He had completely forgotten what he had told Gonzalez: diligence and restraint were the commandments of Casters.

Just then, the shop door was pushed open, and a crisp, pleasant bell rang.

"Are you Mr. Edward Smith?" A middle-aged man in a dark blue Blue Uniform, with a bulging leather satchel slung across his shoulder, pushed open the door. His Thin Horse stood outside. Edward had overlooked the hitching post during renovations, though such posts were indispensable in this era. The Thin Horse was not tied up, yet it waited quietly for its Master.

"Yes. Please come in, Mr. Postman."

"Your express mail. Please sign for it here!" The postman pointed to a blank spot on the Letter.

"What is express mail?" Edward asked curiously.

"It is a dedicated route for Casters, used to transmit letters or small, lightweight items between Magic Towers at different Magic Guilds. For example, the mail you just received arrived last night from the Ailande Third Magic Tower at the White Eagle Magic Guild's Magic Tower. The transfer takes only an instant. Through normal postal routes, standard delivery takes a month, while express delivery takes around half a month."

The postman was just about to turn and leave when he suddenly turned back to Edward, who was opening the mail.

"If you want to reply using the dedicated route, please go to the Magic Guild and send it yourself. I only deliver letters. If you want to send an ordinary letter, please go to the post office at the intersection of Flower Cross Street. I am Zebra, the postman for this district."

"I understand, Mr. Zebra. Goodbye."

What a strange surname. It sounded like something he had heard somewhere before.

After seeing off the postman riding the Thin Horse, Edward opened the mail. It came in a large kraft-paper document envelope. The Sealing Wax over the flap bore the emblem of the Ailande Royal Magic Academy.

Inside were a Letter and a journal.

He picked up the journal first. Its cover bore the title Contemporary Alchemist, while its back cover listed the Ailande Royal Magic Press and the Royal Alchemist Committee as Editor-in-Chief.

The first page bore a striking headline: "Shocking! After years of silence, a single achievement shakes the world—Ailande Alchemist solves the mystery of the Millennium Ruins."

The second line read, "Mr. Wilson selected as a candidate for this year's Philosopher's Stone Award."

The third line stated, "Mr. Wilson appointed as an alternate member of the Royal Alchemist Committee."

Edward flipped back to the cover again and saw that the portrait on it was of a middle-aged man with a gleaming bald head. Edward grinned. The painting was too handsome. He had not recognized his Mentor at first glance.

He picked up the Letter. Written on the envelope were the words: To be opened personally by Mr. Edward Smith.

The contents read:

Dear Edward:

By the time you receive this Letter, I trust you will have returned to the White Hawk Duchy. I could not wait to share my good news with you. I will not go into the details here. I have enclosed a copy of Contemporary Alchemist; let us encourage one another.

How are you in the White Hawk Duchy? It is hard to imagine how you are carrying out alchemical research in a place without even Gas Lamps. Still, I understand your love for your Hometown, just as I deeply love my own country.

But alchemy has no borders. I look forward to you producing great achievements in that difficult place. If you encounter any problems in your work or daily life, do not forget your Mentor. I have gained a certain degree of renown in Ailande, especially within academic alchemy circles, and can offer whatever help I can for your life and career. I look forward to your reply.

Additionally: with the Family's help, the Cement Factory you suggested has begun construction. But I have encountered some confusion in the laboratory. If we use Cement alone for structural components, its performance cannot meet the military's requirements. You are an exceptionally gifted student, and I hope you can offer some advice to inspire me.

Sincerely

Your Mentor, Wilson

After reading his Mentor's Letter, Edward could not help smiling from the bottom of his heart. Just when he was getting sleepy, someone had brought him a pillow. It seemed the next Meditation Method was settled.