Evelyn's Dream

Rogers stood on the steps and scanned the street, his lips pressed tightly together.

From the station to the Imperial Capital's West District, where the Ashford estate was located, the straight-line distance was about four miles (6.5km).

Walking there would take at least an hour or more.

He looked at his family's attire: his and his son's three-piece suits, Margaret's dress, and his daughter's pair of pinching leather shoes.

Walking four miles, to say nothing of whether his wife and daughter could endure such a distance, they would likely be soaked in sweat by the time they arrived.

With leather shoes covered in a layer of dust and clothes sticking to their backs, arriving at a dinner party drenched in sweat was out of the question.

Decency was completely off the table.

The father observed for a moment before reaching out to hail a carriage.

The carriage was a small Hansom cab with two seats facing each other, featuring a black-lacquered body and brass handles.

It was much simpler than those luxurious four-wheeled carriages, but at least it could shield them from the wind and dust.

A thin, tall middle-aged man sat in the driver's seat, which was perched high above the rear of the roof, looking down at them from above.

"Where to?"

"West District, 13 Chelsea Road," the father stated the address.

"Chelsea Road?" The driver tipped the brim of his hat. "Two shillings."

The father felt around in his pocket. "Would one shilling and sixpence do?"

"Sir, look at the distance. At one shilling and sixpence, I wouldn't even earn enough for the horse's fodder."

"How about one shilling and eightpence?"

The driver looked at the attire of the family of four, then at the old suitcase placed by their feet.

"Alright, one shilling and eightpence it is. Get in."

The small carriage carried the family of four into the flow of traffic in the Imperial Capital.

The street scene outside the window changed constantly.

Emerging from the commercial district near the station, they passed several busy intersections where the sound of hooves and hawking mingled together.

As they traveled further west, the building density noticeably decreased, the space between buildings widened, and there were more trees.

Row shops gave way to detached mansions, and occasionally, one could see stone fountains and gravel driveways.

"It would be nice to live in a place like this someday," Evelyn said, leaning against the carriage window with her nose almost pressed against the glass.

Richard looked up from his shorthand notebook. "What, you want to live in the Imperial Capital too?"

"I do, who wouldn't? But it's just a thought." The girl pulled back, being quite pragmatic.

"Dad's salary is enough in Briston, but if we moved to the Imperial Capital, we probably couldn't even afford the rent."

She spoke in a very low voice, afraid that her parents in the front might hear.

"Evelyn, have you ever thought about what you want to do in the future?" Richard asked.

"Hmm?"

"After you graduate."

Evelyn tilted her head and thought for a while. "You know my grades are average; I'm not very good at Latin or those science subjects."

She didn't sound discouraged when she said she wasn't "very good."

"But I'm decent at home economics. My teacher says I have a bit of a talent for baking bread and making pastries."

"So, you want to do baking in the future?"

"It's not 'doing baking,' it's wanting to open my own bakery." She corrected his phrasing, becoming serious.

"Selling bread, scones, cookies, fruit tarts... the kind that are freshly baked every morning."

When she mentioned "fruit tarts," she unconsciously licked the corner of her mouth.

"The storefront doesn't need to be big, just a small shop on a street corner would do. With all kinds of pastries in the display window, people passing by would be able to smell the aroma."

"Then Mom wouldn't have to be so frugal in the kitchen every day."

Her voice softened significantly on this last sentence.

"She could cut the butter as thick as she likes, and add as many eggs as she wants."

Richard looked at his sister's expression as she spoke and felt that she might not actually love baking that much.

The point of the bakery Evelyn described had nothing to do with baking itself.

The butter, cream, eggs, and various afternoon tea pastries she listed were all scarce items that required careful budgeting in their home.

Evelyn had watched this since she was a child, for over a dozen years.

So-called "opening a bakery" was less of a career dream and more of a simple, humble longing: she just wanted to eat whatever she wanted.

Richard didn't point it out.

"That's fine," he said.

"Don't you think it's unrealistic?"

"Why would it be unrealistic?"

"Because it takes a lot of money." The little girl finally realized the problem herself.

"We'll worry about the money later; focus on mastering the craft first."

Richard closed his notebook and expanded on the topic: "But have you ever thought about something more ambitious?"

"More ambitious?"

"Yes, like becoming the head chef of a star-rated restaurant."

Evelyn turned her head, her braid swaying on her shoulder: "What?"

"The kind of high-end restaurant in the Imperial Capital; you must have seen them in magazines." Richard rested his hand on the window frame:

"The head chef decides exactly what ingredients to use, writes their own menu, and deals with steak, lobster, and foie gras all day long."

"When the guests finish eating, they even stand up and applaud, saying, 'Please tell the chef this dish was magnificent.'"

He was just making it up as he went along.

But his sister's eyes lit up instantly, clearly painting that beautiful picture in her mind.

However, she quickly pulled herself back.

The girl leaned hard against the seat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and put on a dismissive expression.

"Brother, do you take me for a fool? The head chefs at high-end restaurants are all trained from a young age."

"I didn't say right now."

"Besides, lobster is so expensive, I've never even seen a live one."

"Just tell me, do you want to or not?"

Evelyn's lips moved, as if she were struggling with herself.

After a moment of silence, she whispered: "...I do."

As soon as she finished, she immediately added: "But there's no point in thinking about impossible things. I'm not like you, with a brain that suddenly clicked and can learn anything."

"So you're finally admitting your brain hasn't clicked?"

"You..." Evelyn reached out to pinch his arm, but Richard dodged.

She pinched at thin air, huffed, and turned her face back toward the window, muttering:

"If I could be a head chef just by wanting to, I'd say I want to be the Prime Minister."

Richard smiled and didn't respond.

He reopened his notebook, his gaze falling on the page, but his mind was not on Latin at all.

His sister wanted to open a bakery just so she could eat the pastries she loved;

His mother subconsciously calculated the remaining butter before every meal;

And there was his father haggling with the carriage driver over those two pennies just a moment ago.

For the past month, he had poured almost all his focus into the world behind The Veil.

Breathing Technique, classical Scholarship, deciphering codes, observing seals, gaining points... every step pointed toward a further and deeper supernatural realm; the general direction was correct.

The power behind The Veil was certainly worth pursuing; it was the foundation for survival.

But his mother's illness, his sister's aspirations, his father working overtime to the point of not coming home just to accompany them to the Imperial Capital...

These small and large events over the past few days made him realize repeatedly: he was not Walking alone.

The carriage turned onto a quiet street, and the driver let out a "whoa" from above.

"We're here."