Samsara Bookstore

"You're thinking of opening a bookstore?"

The cleaver in Jules's hand paused over the cutting board, its blade embedded in a half-cut potato.

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

"Yes."

Ye Yan nodded. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains, catching the hopeful glimmer in his eyes. "I've already thought of a name: Samsara Bookstore."

He paused, lightly tapping his fingertips against the table as if making a solemn declaration.

"I plan to renovate the first floor of Apartment 222 and turn it into a bookstore. We can keep the second floor as our living quarters."

Jules sighed and slid the chopped potatoes into the boiling pot. Steam rose at once, forming a hazy cloud before him.

"All right, all right. Wanting your own business is a good thing, but..." He shook his head, his voice sinking. "Bookstores don't make money. They can barely get by selling magazines or newspapers."

Warm sunlight from outside cast an orange-red glow over Jules. He raised a hand, gesturing for Ye Yan to look at the people hurrying along the street.

Most of their clothes were worn, and their steps hurried.

"Those noble gentlemen all have their own clubs. As for the common folk..."

Jules's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "They don't have the energy or the money to waste on something as useless as reading. And besides, quite a number of them can't even read."

He turned to stir the potatoes in the pot. The wooden spoon clinked crisply against its sides.

"And those who need books can always go to the much cheaper public libraries."

The potatoes softened in the boiling water as the aroma of curry filled the kitchen.

Yellow-brown broth bubbled in the pot. Jules watched the bubbles burst and reform, his thoughts drifting away.

"Ten years ago, I made a fortune in overseas trade. I spent a while living it up, but then a storm came along and left me bankrupt."

The spoon clinked against a porcelain plate.

He lifted the spoon, coated in curry sauce, then scooped up another spoonful from the bottom of the pot. He took care to pick out the large chunks of beef and put them on a plate of rice.

"After that, I realized that making money wasn't just about knowing when to set sail. You also had to know how the weather would be along your route. And the route for opening a bookstore barely needs checking. It's nothing but storm clouds."

Jules set the prepared plate in front of Ye Yan.

"Are you sure you want to do this, even though there's a good chance you'll sink?"

"I'm sure!"

Ye Yan answered almost before Jules had finished. He immediately scooped up a big spoonful and shoved it into his mouth.

The scalding food made his eyes fly wide open. He blew on it again and again, but stubbornly kept chewing.

"It's delicious!"

He spoke indistinctly, fanning his tongue with one hand to cool it down, while his other hand was already poised to take another spoonful. "Knowledge is power. Knowledge can change your fate. One day, everyone will realize that."

Ye Yan spoke in grand, lofty phrases, but his thoughts had drifted to the Mysterious Key in his Consciousness Space.

In truth, the renovation plan was just a pretext.

He only wanted an excuse to renovate the building so he could investigate where the hidden door in Apartment 222 was.

He had a plan.

He was worried things might get a little noisy, so he needed the renovation to cover it up.

As for whether he could keep the detective next door in the dark—

He wasn't counting on it.

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

"All right. If this is what you want, then your uncle will support you."

Jules's voice brought Ye Yan back to the present.

A rough hand landed heavily on Ye Yan's shoulder. As Jules looked at the young man, his eyes held unmistakable concern, along with a touch of unaccountable pride and relief.

What young man didn't want to make his mark?

Back in the day, even he, a layabout thug, had dreamed of making something of himself.

"Don't be afraid of sinking. Wherever you end up, your uncle will haul you back to shore."

Jules hadn't even paid off his own debts, yet he still dared to make that promise.

The Administration's field missions were risky, but the pay was very good.

Otherwise, he wouldn't have joined the Administration.

Late that night, four days later.

The workers had stopped coming and going from the apartment at 222 Baker Street, and the renovation noise had given way to the crisp sound of footsteps.

Ye Yan stepped into the half-renovated Bookhouse.

Moonlight spilled through the newly installed windows, casting a long, dark shadow across the floor.

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

According to Dr. Watson, the murder at 3 Lauriston Gardens had first been reported by a Scotland Yard detective named Tobias Gregson.

Ye Yan's memories of most of the original cases were hazy, but he remembered Holmes's first case, "A Study in Scarlet," all too well.

The gears of fate had finally begun to turn.

With Holmes busy investigating the case, this was the perfect opportunity for Ye Yan to explore the hidden door in the Bookhouse.

Ye Yan took out the Shell-Opening Blade.

A storage room had recently been built beneath the staircase.

He stepped inside. Without using the blade's door-opening ability, he simply gave a light poke toward the point indicated by the coordinates.

The instant the tip touched the air,

a crack-like gap slowly appeared, then spread outward like a shattered sheet of ice.

Purple ripples spread in circles, like a lake ruffled by the wind. Wood grain emerged amid the ripples, gradually taking shape as a translucent silhouette.

A door.

Ye Yan held his breath and examined the door before him.

He cautiously reached out to touch it, but his fingers passed through its ghostly image, feeling only cool air.

It seemed he still needed to use the key to open it.

Ye Yan took the Mysterious Key from his Consciousness Space. The brass key gleamed with an antique luster in the moonlight.

He reached forward with it. The space before him began to ripple, like a reflection stirred in water. A door with a keyhole appeared clearly before Ye Yan, and he felt resistance from the key, as if it had touched something solid.

He inserted it into the lock and turned the key.

"Click—"

The sound of the lock turning rang out clearly.

Beyond the door lay a strange road, lined on both sides with statues of all shapes and forms.

A Cup, a moth, a Lamp, a forge, a heart...

Each sculpture was shrouded in a hazy halo, with a door faintly visible behind it. Ye Yan took a deep breath and stepped forward. The moment he crossed the threshold, the illusory door closed behind him.

Ye Yan didn't panic.

The Bookhouse Key had been activated. He could return at any time.

He walked on until he finally stopped before the statue of a Compass.

Ye Yan could clearly see the door behind the statue.

It was "Guidance."

The supernatural path he had embarked upon.

Unable to resist, Ye Yan reached out to touch the door. The sound of pages fluttering filled the air, like countless butterflies beating their wings.

A Travelogue of the Homeless flew out of his Consciousness Space on its own. Its pages turned into purple specks of light and merged with the door.

In an instant, layer upon layer of colors flickered before his eyes like frames of a film, unfolding the stories in the book and projecting one phantom after another of the road he had traveled.

On the silent road, purple candle flames suddenly sprang to life on the empty candelabra. The flames burned without a sound.

It was as if the Ninefold Guidance had opened the way to a new world.

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

There, a Bookhouse built from ancient oak slowly appeared. Esoteric runes and patterns were engraved on its vine-entwined doors. Each glimmered with the cold light of mithril, as though liquid moonlight flowed through them.

An old plaque hung beneath the pointed eaves.

The characters etched upon it belonged to no mortal kingdom. They were mysterious script woven from flowing shadows and starlight, twisting and tangling together like living things.

When Ye Yan's gaze fell upon the characters, their meaning rose in his mind as if by instinct.

Samsara.

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