Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

"Today, I saw a stranger in my shop."

Cyril arrived on the fourth floor.

He walked through the long corridor and pushed open the beautifully carved mahogany door.

"Yes, boss, the new guy is called Lynn. He's from the South and he's a country bumpkin."

When her boss heard the news, Ms. Violet dared not hide it and told him the truth.

Cyril sat down behind his large desk, gave Ms. Violet a meaningful look, and then took a brand new cigar from a box on the desk.

He leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table.

Seeing this, old Bob, who was following behind Ms. Violet, quickly stepped forward, cut Cyril's cigar, and lit it for him.

Cyril took a deep drag, holding the rich smoke in his mouth and savoring the aroma of the cigar.

After a long while, he finally exhaled the smoke from his mouth.

Cyril licked his lips: "That Lynn guy, did he get his background checked?"

Upon hearing this, Ms. Violet's face turned pale instantly.

She stammered and couldn't utter a single word.

Cyril's wolf-like eyes appeared exceptionally sharp under the gas lamp.

"Alright, you can all leave now."

Suddenly Cyril spoke to the person behind Violet.

"I need to speak with Violet. Close the door!"

Following Cyril's orders, his bodyguards and old Bob had no choice but to leave the room.

The heavy wooden door closed, shutting out the noise from outside.

The room was filled with the smell of cigars.

"Tell me the truth, are you attracted to someone else's face again?"

Cyril's voice wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for Violet to hear clearly.

Seeing that her boss had pointed out her little scheme, Violet could only lower her head.

Cyril took another puff of his cigar, put his feet down, and slowly walked over to Violet.

He blew smoke into Violet's face and said with a sinister look in his eyes, "How many young men you want to support is none of my business, and what kind of men you want to play with in the shop is none of my business either."

Suddenly, Cyril held the cigar butt in his hand close to Violet's eyes.

"But you can't let your own interests affect me, understand?"

Violet closed her eyes and nodded vigorously.

"I understand, I absolutely won't influence the boss!"

Cyril put the cigar back into his mouth with satisfaction.

He casually sat back down in his seat, one hand behind his back.

"Mr. Arthur, did you come today?"

"Cyril asked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the smooth tabletop, making a regular, soft sound.

"There is no boss."

Violet wiped her face and was surprised to find that she had sweated a lot.

"He didn't come today. Mr. Arthur sent someone this morning to say that there seems to be something important going on at the Black Sail Society today, and all the main members of the gang are required to be present. Mr. Arthur is among them, so he couldn't get away."

She paused, observing Cyril's expression, and added, "I estimate I won't be able to find time to come over in the next day or two."

"very good."

Cyril smiled, but there was no real joy in his eyes.

He held a cigar between two fingers, his lips moving as if he were talking to Violet, or perhaps to himself.

"There are six gangs in the old town of Fog City: the North Port Chamber of Commerce, the Grave Diggers, the Furnace Society, the Black Sail Society, the Brotherhood, and the Gallows Gang."

"Our Brotherhood and the Black Sails are located closest to each other, and we have the most conflicts with them."

"I know, boss," Violet said.

"Hmph, you know that..."

Cyril glanced at the fat woman in front of him.

"As you know, the Black Sail Society is one of the oldest and most established forces in the Old City. Although it has weakened considerably in recent years due to the suppression from the North Port Chamber of Commerce, even a weakened camel is bigger than a horse. In the Old City, they still firmly hold the upper hand over our Brotherhood."

His fingers tapped faster. "If the Brotherhood wants to rise to the top, if they want to truly control East Street, Cross Street, and even more, they must remove this stumbling block and completely defeat them!"

Cyril's voice lowered as he calculated, "The Black Sail Society hasn't been idle these past few years; they've been secretly seeking a revival. That Lucien Hadley, the executioner? Ha, quite ambitious. Therefore, they are our greatest threat and must be guarded against."

At this point, Cyril's gaze suddenly sharpened: "Fortunately, the Black Sails produced such a stupid traitor as Arthur."

"Yes, boss is wise." Violet quickly echoed, her fat face squeezing out an even deeper smile.

"Those ledgers he got his hands on," Cyril leaned forward slightly, his voice tinged with excitement, "are key! With them, we can use a scalpel to precisely target the Black Sails' vitals. We can cut off their financial resources, destroy their network of connections, and seize their weaknesses. Then, we can crush the Black Sails' momentum until we completely defeat them!"

"And this glory will be given to the Brotherhood by my own hands, Cyril."

Cyril stubbed out his cigar, rubbed his hands together, and his eyes gleamed with ambition.

"Violet, can you imagine how high this honor will lift me?"

"With this achievement, I can rise to the core of the fraternity and become a leading figure in the fraternity's dominance of the Old City! Just thinking about it excites me!"

Cyril stomped his feet on the floor like a child.

Violet breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her boss looking so happy.

"but."

Cyril's sudden change of tone made Violet's heart skip a beat.

"So Arthur's matter must not be known to anyone else. Too many people will cause trouble. If anyone leaks the news and Arthur's defection goes wrong, I'll pull that guy's intestines out of his stomach and hang him from a street lamp with his intestines!"

"Understood! Understood! Boss, don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on it. There will absolutely be no accidents!"

Violet patted her chest in assurance, as if the ledger was already hers for the taking.

Cyril nodded in satisfaction.

"Half of the ledgers have already been delivered to me. Now, we just need to wait for the other half to arrive. Remember that!"

After giving his instructions, Cyril signaled to Violet that she could leave.

Violet felt as if she had been granted a pardon and respectfully withdrew from the office.

Cyril sat alone in his office, looking at the half-smoked cigar in the ashtray, a smile involuntarily curving his lips.

……

"Where's the wine? Didn't we have them deliver it yesterday? Why hasn't it arrived yet! Can't I produce my own wine here?"

The next morning, old Bob, his long face etched with displeasure, stood in the front hall, hands on his hips, grumbling that the distillery guys hadn't delivered the goods yet.

Rum has been selling like hotcakes these past few days, and the bar's warehouse stock has been running low for a while now.

Old Bob was annoyed, and he casually pointed at Lyndon and the other two waiters.

"Go to the distillery and urge them! Their dawdling is delaying business, so they'll dock your wages!"

Like the other two, Lyndon agreed despite his displeasure.

The three men went out of the bar and dragged the delivery truck out.

"Who among you can drive?"

One of the waiters, whose face was covered in pockmarks, asked.

"I'll do it, I can."

Another guy who looked a bit slow volunteered.

The three of them discussed it and got into the carriage.

There wasn't much sunshine today; the weather was gloomy.

The streets of the old town are still filled with the smell of coal smoke.

They drove through several relatively bustling streets and alleys, heading towards the winery.

The distillery that supplies the Old Sailor's Bar is actually owned by the same person as the bar.

This self-production and self-sales model had a fashionable name at the time: "sponsored bar".

After the distillery was established, the owner provided start-up capital to the operator. In exchange, the bar had to exclusively sell the distillery's products.

The distillery that supplies the Old Sailors' Bar is located at the end of this street.

"Oh dear! We can't do anything about it. The carriages broke down, our employees were injured, the oak barrels cracked, we're just too busy!"

The distillery manager looked at the three people who came to urge him to finish the wine, and complained, pounding his chest and slapping his thigh.

"What do we do then? Boss Cyril is in the store today. If we don't have any stock to sell, we're all doomed!"

"That's what the pockmarked waiter said."

Upon hearing this, the manager exclaimed, "What? Cyril is in the store! This is outrageous!"

He dared not delay and led the three to the warehouse entrance.

"Your goods are all here! You'll have to move them yourselves! The most I can offer is... one person to help!"

The three of them were furious when they heard that!

A huge winery can only send one person to help? If you can't afford it, don't send one!

"I can only send one person! Take it or leave it!"

Seeing that the three were about to attack, the person in charge realized the situation was not good and ran away.

The three of them were speechless as they watched the person in charge flee in disarray.

"Forget it! Forget it! There's not much business in the morning anyway, the three of us can carry it ourselves!"

The pockmarked waiter blew his nose, wiped his chest, and said with a hearty laugh.

Lyndon and another waiter exchanged a glance. Since there were only three of them at most, they figured they might as well move it.

The three of them carried the rum around noon until they had loaded all the rum they needed for the next few days onto the car.

"Ouch! I'm exhausted!"

The pockmarked waiter slumped to the ground, feeling as if his body no longer belonged to him.

Lyndon was also exhausted. He looked around and found a pharmacy not far away.

In those days, if you wanted to buy some soda, you could only go to a pharmacy, where the clerk would bring you a glass bottle and mix it on the spot.

"How about I go buy some soda?"

Upon hearing this, the two nodded vigorously, like pile drivers.

"Okay, okay!"

Lyndon went into the pharmacy and bought three bottles of soda, which cost him one shilling.

He was holding his soda when he stepped out of the pharmacy when a man suddenly blocked his way.

"Excuse me, but have you seen my daughter?"

Lyndon paused in his tracks.

Before him stood a tall, middle-aged man, dressed in faded coarse cloth clothes, with dark skin and a weathered look on his face.

He held a rough wooden board in his hand, on which a few lines of words were written crookedly with charcoal.

Lyndon glanced briefly at the writing on the wooden board. It turned out that the man's daughter had gone missing in the foggy city, and he was inquiring about her whereabouts.

His upbringing made it impossible for Lyndon to remain indifferent to such matters.

"Uncle, if you want to find your daughter, I suggest you describe her appearance in more detail."

But in this era without surveillance, without cell phones and computers, all Lyndon can do is offer men some advice.

"Ugh! If only there were photos, how can we find it based on just a text description?"

Lyndon frowned and sighed.

"Yes, yes, I have photos!"

As the man spoke, he took out a yellowed photograph from his pocket.

The photo shows a girl who is sixteen or seventeen years old.

The man said this photo was taken many years ago when he took his daughter to the market.

It was also the only one he had.

Lyndon took the photo, glanced at it, and his heart skipped a beat.

His breathing became heavy.

picture!so similar!

The young girl in the photo is wearing a simple dress and has a slightly shy smile.

Although the photo is somewhat blurry and yellowed, the girl's eyebrows, eyes, and facial features bear a striking resemblance to Gisele in the kitchen.

"Sir, have you seen him before?"

The man noticed the changes in Lyndon's expression.

He had a vague feeling that the young man in front of him might have actually seen his daughter.

"Hey! Lyndon, what are you doing?"

At this moment, the two men beside the carriage stood up and urged Linden on.

Lyndon told the man to wait a moment.

He ran to the carriage, shoved the soda he was carrying into the pockmarked waiter's hand, and then ran back to the man.

Lyndon said to the man, "Giselle?"

The man's pupils trembled, and a spark of hope ignited in his bloodshot eyes. He grabbed Lyndon's arm urgently: "Yes! Yes! Giselle Burton! That's her name! She said she was coming to the Fog City to work six months ago. At first, we kept in touch, but then we lost contact! So I had no choice but to leave my hometown and come to the Fog City to find her. Have you seen her?"

Lyndon looked at the photo carefully and became even more certain that the person in it was Gisele.

Yes, I know her.

"Can you take me to see her?"

Lyndon shook his head at the man's request.

The light in the man's eyes gradually dimmed.

"I'm sorry, but your daughter isn't doing well right now, and that place is very dangerous."

The man's face turned deathly pale instantly, and his lips trembled.

He seemed to have lost all his strength, and if Lyndon hadn't caught him in time, the man would have almost collapsed there.

"Sir! Don't lose heart! You still have a chance to see your daughter again!"

Lyndon quickly tried to calm the man down.

He helped the man sit on the curb.

"How should I address you, sir?"

"Wesley, Wesley Burton," the man said weakly, "a man from Birch Slope in Wiltling."

Veltlin?

Isn't this where the Dream Moth lives?

Lyndon couldn't resist asking a completely unrelated question.

Have you heard of the Dream-Clearing Moth?

Wesley paused for a moment, then said, "I've heard of it. Its legend is known to everyone back home."

"Then can you take me to find her? No, no, I mean..." Lyndon considered his words, "I mean, if I can let you see your daughter again, could you take me to find the Dream-Eating Moth?"

"Of course! I'd do anything to find Giselle!"

Wesley did not hesitate, his eyes reflecting his father's unwavering determination.

Although he didn't understand why the young man in front of him wanted to find Jingmeng'e, he was willing to go through fire and water to find his daughter!

Lyndon's heart began to pound!

It's like searching high and low without finding it!

Wesley's words instantly ignited the hope in his heart!

"Alright!" Lyndon decisively extended his hand. "Mr. Wesley, let's make a deal. I'll find a way to rescue Giselle and reunite you. In return, you'll help me find the Dreammoth! Deal?"

Wesley looked at Lyndon's outstretched hand, then at his daughter's photo.

He wiped away the tears in his eyes, and then without hesitation, he firmly grasped Lyndon's hand.

The hands were rough, the hands of a peasant, but full of strength: "Deal! If you can rescue Giselle, I, Wesley, will risk my life to find that damned moth for you!"

To convince Giselle of his story, Lyndon asked Wesley if he had anything that could prove their identities.

Wesley carefully took a bracelet from his pocket; it was woven from brightly colored silk threads and had a small string of bells hanging from it.

Wesley said that if he showed this to his daughter, she would definitely recognize it!

Lyndon gripped the bracelet in his hand and told him the address of the Old Sailor's Bar.

"You can find a place to stay there first. I'll let you know as soon as I have any news. Remember, whatever you do, stay away from bars!"

After giving his instructions, Linden got into his car and drove away from the distillery with a load of liquor.

……

Lyndon seemed distracted while working at the bar.

He had been carrying the bracelet Wesley had given him in his pocket. He had planned to go find Giselle as soon as he got back, but unexpectedly, Violet called him into her room as soon as he entered the door.

Violet didn't say anything, she just made Lyndon drink and then dance.

Lyndon wasted an entire afternoon.

When he staggered downstairs, there was already a huge crowd.

The Old Sailor's Bar is bustling again.

The glow of the gas lamp was mixed with the smells of alcohol, perfume, and sweat.

Music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses filled the store.

Lyndon was too weak to carry trays to customers, so he could only sit at the bar and mix drinks for them.

"Aha~"

Lyndon handed the drink to a customer at the bar and then yawned widely.

As the alcohol took effect, Lyndon felt the world spinning before his eyes.

He was resting his chin on his hand, about to doze off, when suddenly the bar door was pushed open again.

In the light, a figure appeared in the doorway.

He wore a striking striped suit, his bow tie casually tied, and his slicked-back hair was neatly combed back, close to his scalp.

The small earring on my left earlobe reflected a cold light under the gas lamp.

He stood at the door, his gaze sweeping over the women in the bar with a habitual arrogance, as if searching for his target for the night.

Lyndon's breath hitched slightly.

The double images before my eyes merged into one at this moment.

"Arthur..."

Lyndon murmured.