Samsara Bookstore

"You want to open a bookstore?"

The kitchen knife in Jules's hand paused on the cutting board, the blade sinking into a half-cut potato.

He turned his head, the wrinkles on his face deepening with confusion.

"Yes."

Ye Yan nodded. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, reflecting the dancing anticipation in his eyes: "I've already thought of the name. Let's call it Samsara Bookstore."

He paused, his fingertips tapping lightly against the tabletop, as if making some solemn declaration.

"I plan to renovate the first floor of Apartment 222 into a bookstore, and just keep the second floor for living."

Jules sighed, sliding the chopped potato chunks into the boiling pot. Steam rose instantly, forming a hazy mist before him.

"Alright, alright. Wanting to have your own business is a good thing, but..." He shook his head, his voice dropping low: "Bookstores don't make money. You can only barely scrape by selling magazines or newspapers."

The warm sun outside the window gilded Jules in a halo of orange light. He raised his hand, gesturing for Ye Yan to look at the pedestrians hurrying along the street.

Most of their clothes were worn, their steps rushed.

"Those noble lords have their own clubs, and as for the commoners below..."

A self-deprecating smile tugged at the corners of Jules's mouth: "They don't have the energy, nor the money, to waste on something as useless as reading. Not to mention, a significant portion of them can't even read."

He turned to stir the potatoes in the pot, the wooden spoon clinking crisply against the sides.

"And those who do have a need for it can simply choose the more cost-effective public libraries."

The potatoes gradually softened in the boiling water, and the aroma of curry swirled through the kitchen.

The brownish broth bubbled in the pot. Jules stared at the bubbles that constantly burst and reformed, his thoughts drifting far away.

"Ten years ago, I made a fortune in maritime trade and lived a life of debauchery for a while, but a single storm soon left me penniless and bankrupt."

The spoon clinked against the porcelain plate.

He lifted the spoon, coated in curry sauce, and dug another scoop from the bottom of the pot, taking care to place the large chunks of beef separately into a plate of rice.

"Ever since then, I've understood that to make money, besides learning to seize the right moment to set sail, you must also learn to read the weather for the route. And the route for opening a bookstore? You don't even need to look closely—it's a sky covered in dark clouds."

Jules placed the prepared plate in front of Ye Yan.

"Are you sure you want to do this, even if there's a high chance you'll capsize in the end?"

"I'm sure!"

Ye Yan practically snatched the answer, immediately picking up his spoon to shovel a large mouthful into his mouth.

The scalding food made his eyes widen sharply. He exhaled repeatedly, yet stubbornly continued to chew.

"Delicious!"

He said indistinctly, using one hand to fan his tongue to cool it down, while his other hand was already poised to scoop another spoonful: "Knowledge is power. Knowledge can change destiny. One day, everyone will realize this."

Ye Yan spoke these high-sounding words, but his mind drifted toward the Mysterious Key in his consciousness space.

In reality, the renovation plan was nothing more than a cover.

He simply wanted to use the excuse of renovating the house to investigate where the hidden door in Apartment 222 was located.

He had an idea.

He was worried that the commotion would be too loud, so he needed to use the renovation as a pretext to mask it.

As for whether he could hide it from the detective next door?

He held no illusions about that.

He only hoped that the sharp-eyed neighbor wouldn't see through his true intentions too early—at the very least, he hoped nothing would go wrong before he found that door.

"Fine, since it's what you want, then your uncle will certainly support you."

Jules's voice pulled Ye Yan back to reality.

A rough, large hand patted Ye Yan heavily on the shoulder. The look in Jules's eyes as he gazed at the young man held both undisguised worry and a trace of inexplicable pride and relief.

What young man didn't want to strike out on his own?

Back in his day, as a hoodlum waiting for death, hadn't he also fantasized about achieving something great?

"Don't be afraid of capsizing. No matter where you fall, your uncle will fish you back onto the shore."

Even though he hadn't paid off his own debts, Jules dared to make such a promise.

Although the field missions for the Administration were risky, the pay was truly substantial.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have chosen to join the Administration.

Late on the fourth night.

There were no more workers entering or leaving 222 Baker Street, and the noise of renovation had been replaced by crisp footsteps.

Ye Yan walked into the bookstore, which was nearly half-finished.

Moonlight spilled through the newly installed glass window, casting a dark, elongated shadow across the floor.

Recently, the detective had been busy with a new case.

According to Dr. Watson, this homicide, which occurred at 3 Lauriston Gardens, was initially reported by a Scotland Yard inspector named Tobias Gregson.

Ye Yan had vague impressions of most cases in the original work, but his memory of Holmes's first case, A Study in Scarlet, was deep and vivid.

The gears of fate had finally begun to turn.

Since Holmes was busy investigating, this was naturally the perfect time for him to explore the hidden door of the bookstore.

Ye Yan took out the Shell-Opening Blade.

A new storage room had been built under the stairwell.

He stepped inside, not using the blade's opening ability, but simply giving a light poke toward the point indicated by the coordinates.

The moment the blade's tip touched the air.

A crack-like fissure slowly emerged, then spread outward like a shattered sheet of ice.

Purple ripples undulated like a lake ruffled by the wind. Wood grain appeared within the ripples, gradually transforming into a translucent phantom.

It was a door.

Ye Yan held his breath, scrutinizing the door before him.

He raised his hand to touch it tentatively, yet his fingers passed through the phantom of the door, feeling only the cool air.

It seemed he still needed to use the key.

Ye Yan retrieved the Mysterious Key from his consciousness space; the brass key glowed with an archaic luster under the moonlight.

He reached forward with the key, and the space before him began to fluctuate, like a reflection on water being stirred. A door with a keyhole appeared clearly before Ye Yan, and he felt the resistance of solid matter as the key touched it.

He inserted it into the hole and turned the key.

"Click—"

The sound of the lock cylinder turning was exceptionally clear.

Behind the door lay a strange path, with statues of various forms standing on both sides.

The Grail, the Moth, the Lantern, the Forge, the Heart...

Each sculpture was shrouded in a hazy halo, with a door looming faintly behind it. Ye Yan took a deep breath and stepped forward; the moment he entered, the illusory door closed.

Ye Yan did not panic.

The bookstore key was activated, and he could return at any time.

He walked forward, eventually stopping in front of a statue of a Compass.

Ye Yan clearly saw the door behind this statue.

It was "Guidance."

The ladder of transcendence he had stepped onto.

Ye Yan couldn't help but reach out to touch that door, and the sound of pages fluttering rang out, like countless butterflies beating their wings.

Travelogue of the Homeless flew out of his consciousness space automatically, its pages turning into purple specks of light that merged with the door.

In an instant, countless overlapping colors shifted before his eyes like a film projection, transforming into the stories from the book as they slowly unfolded, casting phantoms of his past paths.

On the silent road, purple flames suddenly ignited on the previously empty candlesticks, burning without a sound.

It was as if the Ninefold Guidance leading to a new horizon had been opened.

Nine rays of light transformed into guiding arrows, pointing toward the end of the road.

There, a bookstore constructed of ancient oak slowly emerged. Its vine-intertwined door was engraved with arcane runes and patterns, each glowing with the faint light of mithril, as if liquid moonlight were flowing between them.

An old plaque hung beneath the peaked eaves.

The characters etched upon it were not the script of any mortal kingdom, but mysterious inscriptions woven from flowing shadows and starlight, twisting and entangling with each other like living things.

When Ye Yan's gaze fell upon those characters, their meaning surfaced in his heart as if by instinct.

Samsara.

The beginning of the cycle, the end of the cycle.