Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 114 Witnesses of Miracles

As they chatted, the conversation naturally drifted to the field of publishing and newspapers, which they were both quite familiar with.

"Speaking of which, Dorian, I'm fed up with working for those short-sighted idiots. I don't want to work for anyone anymore. I want to start my own newspaper!" Dickinson's eyes were filled with wonderful dreams for the future.

Dorian was taken aback: "Your own newspaper?"

"Yes." She stood up and paced excitedly around the ward. "Don't be fooled by my current position as editor-in-chief of Bentley Weekly, which seems glamorous and carefree. In fact, I had a falling out with him once before due to differences in our beliefs."

"I'm so short of money right now that I have to go back to working again—" Dickinson began to recount the story of how she and Mr. Bentley parted ways.

Dorian couldn't help but sigh as she listened. Mr. Bentley was quite a nice person; he was even able to offer her the high position of editor-in-chief, despite her being a repeat employee.

In my past life, many of the people on my projects who had worked there two or three times ended up being reassigned from permanent positions to contract workers.

For most ordinary people with neither family wealth nor ability, the result of fleeing towards freedom and grandeur is often neither freedom nor escape; the grandeur only extends to the day they leave their jobs. In the end, they still have to go back to work, and often their jobs are even worse than their previous ones.

Leaving a job or finding a new one, only the first day is truly joyful.

However, Dickinson is clearly no ordinary person.

Her alternate-dimensional counterpart also started her own newspaper after discovering that running a newspaper was far more lucrative than being an author, and in this respect, she was far more successful than Mark Twain; her newspaper was a resounding success.

"I fully support you. Having your own newspaper will make many things much easier. You can publish whatever you want." Dorian sat up straight and said seriously, "So, have you thought of a name for the newspaper?"

Not yet —

Dorian recalled some books he had read before; the newspaper Dickens started back then was called—

"How about calling it 'The Four Seasons'?" Dorian suggested.

The four seasons—spring, autumn, winter, and summer—alternate between cold and warm, symbolizing the passage of time, the changes in the world, and a sense of vigorous vitality growing upwards.

"Great! That's a good name, let's call it 'The Four Seasons'!" Dickinson was very satisfied with the name Dorian suggested, feeling it perfectly suited her taste. "When this newspaper is up and running, don't forget to submit your articles to me!"

"Of course," Dorian nodded in agreement.

Although Britannia's publishing industry is booming right now, starting a newspaper still presents significant challenges.

Firstly, there's the issue of funding, which is something that Dickinson can't solve right now.

After all, she is still working to pay off her father's debts.

Secondly, running a newspaper requires a market and customers. Unlike online literature in later generations, where no one reads it and there's no real loss except wasting one's time, if no one reads or buys a newspaper, all the printed copies will go to waste. Printing presses, typesetting machines, paper, and ink—these are all heavy assets.

However, neither of these problems was a big deal for Dickinson. With her abilities, paying off her family's debts and saving enough money was only a matter of time.

Her works are exceptionally good, and even with her current fame, they are not without a market.

Besides, I'm still here, aren't I?

Dorian secretly felt a surge of pride.

I'm slowly starting to save money again, thanks to both my ongoing serialized novel, "Foolish Wilson," and "The Million Pound Note."

His standalone books are now generating a steady income for him, and he may soon have the start-up capital.

The two fantasized for a while about the specifics of starting a newspaper, and when they realized that a long time had passed without them noticing, Dickinson finally said goodbye to Dorian with reluctance.

"I feel happy whenever I talk to you." Dikins's healthy wheat-colored skin was slightly flushed, making her look radiant.

"Me too, Miss Dickinson. I even sometimes regret that we only just met—"

After a short period of rest and medical examination, Dorian was found to be in good health and was discharged from the hospital a few days later to go to Scotland Yard to cooperate with the investigation.

Judging from the woman's behavior that day, the cult may have really taken notice of him.

He now desperately wanted to know what was going on beneath the surface of that chaotic battle that night.

As soon as Dorian stepped into the police station lobby, he saw a familiar figure.

Lily was leaning against a bench in the corridor, still wearing that black formal gown with gold embroidery, a tall silk hat, and an indifferent expression.

There was absolutely no trace of the fierce battle that took place that day.

Dorian still has several scratches on his arm, and the scabs haven't even faded yet.

It seems she wasn't just putting on a brave face; the "Book of Werewolves" really can reset status and remove debuffs.

"Here you are." Lily's voice remained concise, but a subtle hint of tenderness seemed to flicker in her indifferent eyes.

"Detective Richie is inside, taking a statement."

It's been several days already, and they're still taking statements?

It seems there might not be much progress.

Dorian followed Lily into the interrogation room, where Inspector Richie and several other officers were sitting behind a large oak table with a pile of documents spread out on it. Opposite them were several people who had been temporarily detained and were being questioned.

Upon seeing Dorian, the group instantly became excited.

"Good heavens, it's Mr. Dorian!"

Suddenly someone shouted this, and the interrogation room erupted in chaos.

These once respectable people, who were gloomy and depressed because of their imprisonment, now rushed to the iron bars as if they had seen a savior.

Dorian recognized several familiar faces among them; they were all guests who had attended the literary salon that day.

"Mr. Dorian! I'm so glad you're alright!"

"My God, I never expected to see you here. Now I feel like these past few days in detention were worth it."

"Thank you for letting me hear such a great poem with my own ears that day! We are all witnesses to a miracle!"

"Yes, we were all witnesses to that miraculous night! I dare say that night will be the most legendary night in the history of Britannian literature!"

"Mr. Dorian, could you please sign your autograph?"

Inspector Richie hadn't expected Dorian to be so popular with these people. Watching this group of gentlemen, who should have been respectable, scramble to get to the railing, he couldn't even carry out his normal questioning.

"Quiet down, quiet down! Please cooperate with Scotland Yard's investigation! None of you are criminals. Just cooperate with their questioning and tell them the truth about what you saw that day!" Dorian looked at the gentlemen behind the iron bars, surprised that they had become his ardent fans.

After dealing with the group of enthusiastic "fans" for a while, Inspector Richie handed the place over to the other officers around him, and then gave Lily and Dorian a look, signaling them to find another place to talk.