Fantasy Writers 1860

"Young man, are you sure you really want to work here?"

A dark-skinned foreman wearing a faded soft hat looked Dorian up and down.

This guy had a fair complexion, clear eyes, and was extremely thin. He still retained a scholarly air about him, looking exactly like a pampered young master who never lifted a finger.

Whose young master came here to apply for a job as a mover?

The city of Lentinion was originally built on the lower plain of a river, and its development mainly followed the expansion along the upper and lower reaches of the river.

The existence of this river has brought great convenience to the transportation of goods and the exchange of information, and as a result, countless inland river wharves of all sizes have sprung up along its banks.

Take Dorian's current location, for example.

There were many small sailboats, fishing boats, tugboats and other types of vessels moored here. Sacks and wooden crates were piled up like mountains on the shore. Countless workers shouted unknown work songs as they unloaded goods from the boats or dragged large boxes taller than a person into the dark cabins.

"We do real physical labor here, carrying heavy loads and moving goods. It's not something a 'scholar' like you can handle."

"It's okay, it's not like we've never done it before." Dorian said calmly, not feeling that there was anything she couldn't do.

In his previous life, as a civil engineering master, he had worked on construction sites for a long time, carrying bricks, laying mortar, covering green netting, paving the ground, driving excavators and loaders, and walking more than 40,000 steps a day. He was not the kind of person who had never done manual labor.

The foreman raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat skeptical, but the docks were never short of workers, especially day laborers who didn't require long-term employment.

He pulled a greasy whistle from his pocket, blew it, and shouted, "Fine, since you insist on coming, then come on. I'm 'Iron Hand' Greg. You go over there and find old George, and listen to his instructions." With that, he pointed into the distance.

After only one morning, Dorian realized he had been too optimistic.

First of all, I am a soul transmigrated into this body, which is indeed not very useful. The physical strength limit is too low, the consumption is too fast, and I have the will but not the strength.

Moreover, he underestimated the intensity of the work of dockworkers in this era.

Based on his own feelings, Dorian subjectively compared the situation and realized that the migrant workers, who were generally considered to be the most hardworking and exhausted in his previous life, were now living a life of luxury.

It has to be said that the new society is incredibly advanced.

Dorian's fair and slender figure stood out too much among the group of burly men who were full of the marks of time, and from the very beginning, all sorts of eyes were constantly on him.

The other workers and passersby were all wondering what this person was doing.

"Hey, look at that pretty boy, he'd be blown over by the wind, wouldn't he?"

"Whose young master is this, out having fun?"

"What young master would come here to play the sack-carrying game?"

"I bet he won't make it through today; he won't be coming this afternoon."

Although Dorian hadn't heard these comments, he didn't want to give up just like that.

He came here full of confidence to work, so he couldn't just run away in less than a day, could he? Even though no one here knew him, he still felt guilty.

Can't we at least hold on for one day?

And so, Dorian managed to hold on until the end of the workday. When he received five copper coins from the foreman, he could barely stand.

"I really didn't expect to see you at this time," Greg said with unusual surprise as he handed over the money. "I thought you would have run away long ago."

Dorian wiped his dusty face without saying a word.

He was so tired that he couldn't speak.

Seeing Dorian's expression, Greg burst into laughter. "Come with me, I'll take you to a good place."

A nice place?

Dorian was startled.

Could it be that kind of place...?

Before long, Dorian was led to the door of a shop with the word "rope" written on the door. The iron sign above it showed several wires bent into ropes and wrapped around pulleys.

A pungent cloud of smoke drifted out of the house, mingling with the smell of alcohol and the dim yellow light streaming through the windows. The faint sounds of rude laughter and the clinking of dice could also be heard from inside.

It turned out to be just a small tavern.

Dorian felt both relieved and somewhat disappointed.

Greg pushed open the wooden door, and a cloud of smoke and murky air rushed out. Several greasy wooden tables were occupied by customers dressed as workers. They were either drinking and smoking, talking nonsense, or playing cards.

Of course, more often than not, they would drink, smoke, talk nonsense, and play cards all at the same time.

Behind the wooden table was a bar counter, and behind the bar counter stood a middle-aged man with thinning hair, carefully wiping the wine glasses.

The moment he entered, Dorian inexplicably became the center of attention for everyone present:

"Hey, it's that young master from this morning!"

"I watched him all day, and this young man really did work the whole time; he didn't run away."

"He held on all day! You lost!"

Dorian: ?

"How's it going, kid? Can you drink?" The bartender put down the glass he was wiping, placed it on the table, and gently pushed it toward Dorian.

"Yes," Dorian responded reflexively, and the boss filled the glass with amber liquid.

"No, no, no, well, I'm really short on money right now, I want to save more..." Before Dorian could finish speaking, the boss interrupted him:

"It's alright, I won't charge you this time. Judging from your appearance, you must be educated and able to read, right?"

Dorian nodded: "Of course."

"In that case, you can read the newspaper to everyone. You don't need to pay for the drinks. If you read it well, I'll give you an extra 1 As as a reward. How about that?"

Reading newspapers? Is it really that easy?

Dorian didn't hesitate much and immediately nodded in agreement: "No problem."

"Okay!" The boss readily agreed, pulling a stack of crumpled newspapers from the cabinet below and handing them to Dorian.

He pointed to a section above: "Read this section first, find a quiet spot, and speak louder!"

Dorian took the newspaper, and in the dim light of the gas lamp, he could vaguely make out that it was the "Lentinion Weekly".

The Lentinion Weekly was published in two versions each time, with the same content but different binding and printing quality.

The version that can be displayed in cafes, public reading rooms, and train stations is a relatively high-end version. In addition, there is a reduced version with rough paper and poor printing.

Of course, the price has also been reduced.

Compared to the official version which costs 2 ars, the reduced-spec version only costs 5 guilders.

This low price further expanded the sales channels, and even many illiterate people in the eastern district would occasionally buy a copy.

For just 5 guilders, you can repair walls and windows, make a dozen or so cardboard boxes, line various things, and even wipe your bottom for a week... It's all quite a bargain.

Dorian, clutching the stack of newspapers, went to the wall on the right side of the tavern, leaned against a gas lamp, unfolded the newspapers, and prepared to begin his work.

"Our newspaper recently received a submission from a gentleman named Hakimi, in which he recounts his observations and experiences, offered merely for your amusement..."

Dorian: "..."