The past was built upon collecting unique characteristics.

Before it got dark, Morian pushed open the slightly worn wooden door of his office and carefully placed the letter addressed to Earl White into the inner pocket of his trench coat.

He turned around, hung up the "Temporarily Closed" wooden sign he had made, and stepped into the slanting sunlight of Slan Street.

As you walk along the cobblestone street, the aroma of caramelized oil mingles with the enticing scent of freshly baked bread.

At this time, people who have been busy all day are just getting off work, making it the perfect time for the evening market to open, and the streets are bustling with activity.

Many vendors began setting up stalls along the streets, their calls filling the air. People finishing their day's work or strolling residents stopped at the stalls to choose food for dinner or to satisfy their cravings.

Smelling the aroma lingering near his nose, Morian stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling a surge of hunger. He realized that from morning until now, apart from that cup of energizing black coffee, he hadn't eaten anything substantial.

He followed the richest aroma of roasted meat to a popular pancake stall and bought a hearty roasted meat pancake for one shilling.

I took the pancake in my hand; the oil paper wrapped around it gave it a warm feeling, and it was quite heavy.

Morian held it in his hand and ate it as he walked. The pancake was slightly crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with the grilled meat inside oozing with oil. He had specifically asked that it not be spicy.

For street food, one shilling is a bit pricey, but if you taste it carefully, you'll find that the grilled meat inside is quite thick and the portion is generous.

As the warm food went down my throat, the fatigue from being busy was instantly dispelled.

Indeed, no matter which world you're in, enjoying delicious food is a blissful experience... Morian remarked sincerely after finishing the last bite of the meat pie.

It took him about ten minutes to walk from the somewhat chaotic Slan Street to the more orderly Griffin Street area, where the pedestrians were dressed more respectably and seemed to be people engaged in clerical work.

The post office stands prominently in the middle of the street. It is a heavy, gray-white stone building with two entrances, one in the front and one in the back, and has an architectural style similar to that of the Victorian era.

Pushing open the double doors at the entrance, the hall was slightly noisy with people of various professions waiting. There were clerks eager to mail letters, women hoping to receive letters from home, and letter senders like Morian, who sat calmly in a chair inside.

He naturally joined a queue, and as the people in front of him moved forward, fortunately the staff behind the window were quite efficient, and the queue moved forward quickly. Five minutes later, it was his turn.

"To St. Crentin," Morian explained briefly, handing over the letter and money.

He watched as the letter was stamped with a special seal and then tossed into a sorted mailbag before turning to leave.

Stepping out of the post office, the sounds of the street became clear again, the "roll" of wheels rolling over the road accompanied by the sound of horses' hooves. Morian looked up and saw several public carriages waiting for customers parked on the side of the post office.

There were light two-wheeled, two-seat carriages, as well as slightly heavier but more passenger-carrying four-wheeled box carriages. Some carriage owners lazily basked in the sun, waiting for orders to come to them, while others eagerly greeted and solicited customers.

The carriage was not very spacious. A young woman was already sitting opposite me, with a basket full of vegetables on her lap and a simple silk round hat on her head. She looked like she had just finished shopping and was on her way home.

Seeing passengers board, she gave Morian a polite nod and continued looking out the window.

This is how public horse-drawn carriages operated. They would often pick up passengers traveling in the same direction and then deliver them in order of priority based on distance. They were affordable but offered limited privacy and comfort.

In modern terms, it's called "carpooling".

For a better riding experience, one can choose a more spacious private carriage, which naturally costs more.

The carriage started moving at the driver's shouts and merged into the traffic on the street. Through the carriage windows, the street scene could be seen slowly moving backward.

Soon, the carriage entered a residential area. Morian spent most of the time silently looking out the window, sorting through the information about the destination he was about to reach.

After a journey of more than half an hour, the coachman's voice could be heard outside the carriage:

"Sir, we've arrived at Folk Street!"

As soon as the carriage came to a stop and the driver called out to him, Morian nimbly jumped down from the carriage.

If he had walked here, it would have taken at least an hour, which would have been a huge waste of time, including the round trip. That's why he chose to take a carriage instead.

The street in front of us was sparsely populated and quiet, a world apart from the bustling neighborhood we had just passed through.

Following the house numbers he remembered, Morian finally stopped in front of a medium-sized building with gray stone walls and two large black doors.

The address is 068 Falk Street, which matches, but there are no other prominent signs outside.

But he knew that what was in front of him was a knowledge club.

On the surface, this is an academic club, but according to information provided by the Earl of White, a secret and extraordinary gathering is held every Sunday evening.

Participants are screened, and most come through referrals from existing customers.

"This is it," Morian thought to himself, straightened his collar slightly, and then reached out to push open the three-meter-high door.

Behind the door was not a hall, but a short passageway. Because most of the windows on the outside of the building were closed and there were no lights inside, the passageway was dimly lit.

Walk straight ahead for about ten steps, and a circular reception hall will suddenly appear before you, with a semi-circular dark wood counter in the center.

An elderly man with gray hair and green glasses sat behind the counter, reading an old book by the dim light.

"Good afternoon, sir." Morian approached the counter. "I heard there's a fairly large discussion taking place here today, is that right?"

The old man sized up the young man for a moment before slowly saying, "This place only provides space for reading and studying. You can pay a membership fee to become a member and then you can use the library here freely, without time limits."

"As for attending the discussion, you'll need someone to introduce you."

Morian didn't say much, but took out the token that Earl White had specially given him and placed it on the counter. It was a copper plate engraved with a special star pattern.

The elderly man in charge of reception glanced at the bronze plate, a subtle change in his expression, and then nodded and said:

"The discussion will be held on the third floor, every Sunday evening. Go up the stairs over there, and remember, it's the black door at the end."

Looking in the direction the old man was pointing, there was a narrow staircase leading upwards at the corner.