Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 121 Alya and the Literary Society

"Have you heard 'The Hall of Foyle Street'?" a girl whispered to Evelyn next to her after an ordinary class at King Londinion University.

Evelyn was packing up her textbooks to leave when she heard her classmate's question. She paused, looked up, and smiled, "Of course."

The well-informed Aliya told her to buy a copy the next day.

Although she was Aria's maid, in the tradition here, those who could serve as maids for high-ranking nobles were not ordinary people; they had to be daughters of at least minor nobles. Therefore, even as a maid, it was quite normal for her to go to school with her mistress.

"Then, do you have that magazine? My family won't let me read those vulgar magazines. I told them I wanted to read a good poem published in it, but they didn't believe me—"

As the girl spoke, a look of embarrassment mixed with anticipation appeared on her face. Evelyn thought for a moment, then took out the folded copy of "Bentley Weekly" from her bag and handed it to the girl.

"Take it, I've already finished reading it."

The girl hugged the magazine to her chest as if it were a precious treasure, thanked Evelyn several times, and then hurriedly left with the book in her arms.

Evelyn watched her retreating figure, picked up the last textbook from the table, turned to leave, but heard a sound behind her.

A familiar voice said, "If the college's supervisors see you distributing this kind of vulgar magazine, they might give you trouble again."

Evelyn turned around and saw Alya leaning against the classroom door frame, arms crossed, raising her eyebrows as she looked at her. Her long, golden hair shone brightly in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"It's alright, I'm here for you, aren't I? The supervisor won't dare to cause me any trouble." Evelyn straightened up and accompanied Alia along the corridor toward the stairwell.

"Would you like to participate in the literature club's activities later?" Aliya abruptly changed the subject.

"Me? I'm not a member of the literary society."

"Our literary society welcomes everyone who loves literature, and besides—" Alya grabbed Evelyn's arm and said with a smile, "As my personal maid, isn't it your job to stay by my side at all times?"

Evelyn pushed Alia away from her without expression, "But there's no need to be so close."

Meanwhile, at the end of the corridor behind Alya and Evelyn, a girl holding a magazine was hiding behind a corner, secretly observing the two in front of her.

She was the female classmate who had just asked Evelyn to borrow the magazine.

She borrowed the Bentley Weekly not to read "The Hall of Foyle Street," but to read a novel serialized there about a love affair between a young lady and her maid.

She had secretly bought them to watch without telling her family before, but after it was exposed, she was placed under close surveillance and it became difficult to buy them again.

"Hehehe—I'm so envious of Aliya, having such a cute little maid—why are all the maids in my house hot-tempered old ladies?—I'm so jealous—" The girl muttered to herself as she flipped through the Bentley Weekly magazine in her hands. "Damn it, I can only satisfy my beautiful fantasies by reading novels—"

She turned to the first page, which was titled "The Hall on Foyle Street".

"Hmm—after all, this poem is quite famous now. Since we've already turned this far, why don't we—take a look?"

She received a top-notch education before entering university. Although she wasn't particularly interested in literature, she still possessed a certain level of literary literacy.

As her gaze moved downwards, her previously nonchalant eyes gradually widened, and a chilling sensation that struck her very soul rose up her spine.

She saw in the poem a fervent yearning for a bright future; she saw in it a prophecy of a brutal and grand aerial war:

I was deeply moved by the profound philosophical insights it contained regarding the laws governing the development of human civilization.

Evelyn eventually followed Aliya to the literary society's activity room, albeit reluctantly.

The school supports students to freely form associations and pursue their interests. Naturally, traditional societies like the Literary Society exist, and some have existed for almost as long as King's College itself.

Aliya is currently the president of the literary society.

Pushing open the door, one finds a number of students already seated in the small room, who have come to participate in the activity. Upon seeing the two enter, everyone looks up and greets them.

Evelyn followed Alya to the inside of the room and sat down by the window.

Today's activity was a free sharing session about good works that I had recently read, and unsurprisingly, the sharing session ended up all about the recently popular "The Hall of Foyle Street".

"Mr. Dorian has moved the warehouses and dock cranes of the magical industry to the clouds. His imagination is amazing," a boy said. "The poem contains a lot of modern imagery, which I think is a breakthrough. Mr. Dorian tells us that the beauty of poetry does not have to be limited to ancient daffodils and temples. The hammering of modern factories, the roar of steam boilers, and the grand ambitions of the Human Council can also become eternal rhythms."

He was the son of the owner of the empire's largest steel company, and thus he realized this earlier than others.

"Factories and boilers—that's progress, of course, but don't you find it horrifying?" another boy said, "A terrifying dew fell from the sky." The poet's expression was rather subtle; what this terrifying dew actually referred to is probably clear to everyone.

"The poet clearly saw the great terror beneath progress: war extended into the air, far more devastating than on land or sea; high above, death's face is unseen—"

"That's precisely where his honesty lies!" someone said. "The railway cuts through the countryside, leveling hills and destroying fences."

How can progress come without a price? These are all necessary sacrifices.

"This precisely proves that Mr. Dorian's progressive beliefs are not some cheap, idyllic watercolor painting. He has given us a possible future, where the air merchant fleets bring trade, not just gunfire; where the World Federation has laws and parliaments, not just iron and blood."

"He embraced the airborne steel fleets with open arms, yet also prepared the reins of 'parliament' and 'law' for them, which is a manifestation of the author's humanist thought —"

Just as the conversation was beginning to veer towards testimonials, Evelyn's voice pulled everyone back from the grand narrative: "I've heard members of parliament speak before, about opposing the Environmental Protection Act, and he mentioned the price of progress, the necessary sacrifices. I think the air quality in Lentinion and the countless cases of lung disease are also a necessary part of that—"

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