“Hey! Hey! “

“Hey! Hey! “

The accordion cheerfully played by the campfire.

The square was packed with people, and a few from the town were dancing in the inner circle.

Disgusted that even such a thing was being celebrated, Yang Zicang shook his head and left.

In front of a private tavern converted from the village’s public granary.

Two jesting men in long gowns burst through the tavern door, but upon spotting Yang Zicang approaching from the path, their faces changed. “It’s a Fogfolk, ” they quickly fled.

He glanced at their departing backs, then looked at the stone wall whitewashed with lime, which was hung with dried fish and kelp, along with decorative seashells. As well as a “Notice of Information ” from Teranasi.

“These pests just never end. ” Yang Zicang tugged at his hat brim and stepped up the wooden ladder.

In the spacious hall, every bit of space under the tarp rigged from half a sail near the gray walls was crammed full of people, not to mention the open areas elsewhere.

“The imperial collector offered me five hundred silver coins for it, you know. “

A clear, ringing voice came from the other side of a partition wall made of stacked wine barrels and wooden crates.

That area over there was the paid-access zone, which required spending money to enter.

Inside a crowd of rough, burly men gathered out of curiosity, a young man in a long red overcoat reminiscent of a robe was taking something with a dull, dark sheen from an oilcloth bag. With polished courtesy, he handed it to a seated gentleman whose clothes were still relatively neat and clean.

“The jawbone of a blood crocodile. Just look at the texture, this wear pattern. It’d be a damn shame not to collect this on a day worth celebrating, don’t you think? “

The man licked his lips uncontrollably, pulled back his dark red sleeve with a chuckle, and pointed a finger at what seemed to be the piece of bone.

“See those teeth marks? The ladies and madams in the noble council wouldn’t have a clue. This is the marks left by a silver wolf from the snowfields. You should get where I snagged this little treasure, shouldn’t you? “

“You sure?… well, I’ll be damned. Looks to me like it’s from the northern grasslands too. A real rarity, this is. “

Sitting in his seat, the man being stared at by his wife sighed while caressing the item, unable to part with it.

Those words alone already meant the deal was as good as dead.

Yang Zicang withdrew his gaze and looked toward the front desk, where a busy round had just ended. Standing there was an old man with teeth nearly all fallen out, his face full of wrinkles, yet he looked surprisingly cheerful.

“Ah, you… “

The old man, spotting Yang Zicang walking in, paused mid-sentence in the Wutao language, as if he was thinking about what language he should speak.

“Hello, I’d like to know if there’s any lodging here, I mean, something separate. “

The old man looked the young man up and down—his attire and style were utterly localized—and said hesitantly:

“The patrol officer from a couple days ago was looking for a stranger from the Fogfolk. It wasn’t you, was it? “

“Oh? I wouldn’t know. Did they say what the person they’re looking for looks like? Maybe I’ve seen him. “

“They didn’t. ” The old man chuckled. “Who cares about that anyway? Whatever happens, happens. All those annoying bastards have left already. Oh, right, what was it you said you wanted earlier? Guest. “

“An empty room. “

“We’re full. “

……

Afraid of inviting trouble, Yang Zicang was politely shown out by the owner.

The owner, saved from being a captive thanks to his age, valued his shop highly and thus refused to do business with anyone who might stir up trouble.

“Goodness me. ” Yang Zicang let out a low chuckle.

Under everyone’s gaze, he didn’t want to return to the carriage and add to Long Mingjie’s troubles.

Just as he was wondering if he should find somewhere to wrap himself in Holy Man’s blanket and sleep for the night, a child appeared behind him.

“Big brother, are you one of the Fogfolk? “

The little boy wanted to tug at his sleeve but finally held back, because Yang Zicang’s clothes were very clean.

“I suppose so. Do you… have something you need my help with? ” Yang Zicang easily slipped into the locals’ stereotypical expectation and asked the question.

The little boy’s mouth instantly turned downwards, tears nearly welling up.

“My mom was taken away this afternoon. “

-｛Distributor February. Di’an is observing my actions.｝

Yang Zicang crouched down and was just about to reach out and touch the boy’s face when a man in his forties or fifties rushed out of the darkness and scooped the child into his arms.

“My apologies, sir of the Fogfolk. This is my grandson. He doesn’t know any better and talks nonsense. Sorry for the trouble. “

With that, the old man smacked the child on the bottom and carried him away. The little boy’s eyes never left Yang Zicang, who was watching him recede into the distance.

Yang Zicang turned his head toward the bonfire, where several people were brawling; the accordion was already smashed.

-｛Distributor February. Di’an expresses regret over my choice.｝

“Whoa. Is the life of a Fogfolk so miserable even in this day and age? “

A vaguely familiar voice came from behind him.

Yang Zicang, clutching the dictionary, turned around to see the man in a red robe from the warehouse. His shoulder-length black hair was tied up, and he was smiling as he held a case in one hand, a bundle wrapped in oilcloth slung over his back.

“What do you mean by that? “

“Can’t even take on a child’s commission. “

“Heh. It’s not like I’m some hero who’s been racking up quests in this world. “

“Hero, huh? Hmm… ” The young man withdrew his playful grin and solemnly rubbed his chin.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you don’t like jokes. Actually, the word ‘hero’ suits you quite well, sir from another continent. “

The man bowed gracefully, as if he were a true noble.

“My name is Edgar Jin Christie. The ‘Jin’ is my family’s title of honor, so you can also call me Edgar Jin, or Jin Christie—same effect as a ‘holy surname.’ “

Yang Zicang didn’t commit to a reply. He felt tired now and just wanted to get a good sleep.

He planned to follow this gravel path out of the village.

“I heard you’re looking for a place to stay. Come on, follow me somewhere good—the boss there will never kick you out. “

“Why? ” Yang Zicang turned his head.

“Because that place is the Qingying Commune. “

The man in the robe, with a bag at his feet and hands on his hips, said spiritedly, “It’s built specifically for brothers and sisters like us from all corners of the world—a place where no one has the right to drive anyone away! “

“Qingying… Commune? “

……

The two followed the road toward the ruins of a collapsed lighthouse base near the sea outside the village, passing several refugee groups warming themselves by fires.

By the abandoned rock base lay a wide row of large huts, the former lighthouse data vault. It was now cluttered outside with fish racks, while flickering candles inside cast a faint glow.

—「~Forward, Young People…」

Before they even got close, songs sung by several voices in chorus drifted out from the house.

“—Radiance… Science will never become the disaster and curse of mankind… “

The singing inside continued passionately, the sound shattered by the distant rumbling waves, its frequency soothed by the wind as it blended into the silent night.

“Let’s go. Why did you stop? “

The red-robed young man turned to look at the youth standing still in the yard, gazing toward the doorway.

“—Radiance… Crossing continents… fellow students, go learn education and struggle… torches and books illuminate every country… “

As the song ended, enthusiastic applause and cheers erupted from inside.

“I see. This seems like a song from your Fogfolk, so that’s your reaction? Come on, these people are very friendly. “

Edgar Jin Christie strode toward the door of the single-story tile-roofed house.

“Hey, fellas! ” the man called out, propping himself against the wooden doorframe with a grin. “I brought someone who never gets old. You won’t be annoyed, right? “

Inside, the group—who had just been reveling by two rickety wooden small dining tables over the melody—turned to look at the young man in a red windbreaker standing at the doorway, holding a suitcase and lugging a cloth bag of oil.

And behind him, one step back, stood the sharp-cheeked young man wearing black, straight-legged long pants, a dark blue turn-collar single-breasted jacket, a black**navy cap–style sheepskin hat on his head, and holding nothing but an old, thick dictionary in his hand.

The young man’s ears weren’t pointed at the tips.

“Fogfolk?“

Their accents were far from standard.

Some of them hesitated, while others rose from their seats as if making room.

“Wasn’t there a Feirheim Patrol looking for Fogfolk around yesterday noon?“

“Friends!“

One of the men sitting near the wall stood up, “Our vow here has always been to offer basic shelter to anyone in need—it hasn’t been discounted tonight.“

This man, wearing tortoiseshell glasses with his sleeked-back hair glistening, turned his gaze to the somewhat haggard young man at the door.

“My name is Long Huogang. Come in, friend of the Mist. So long as you pledge to perform a joyful act for everyone else here, and agree to share in the labor with the group tomorrow—that’ll count as your rent.“

“A joyful act, and labor for rent?“

Yang Zicang stared intently into the man’s eyes.

So close at hand, he sensed no special blood essence from this person. There wasn’t even a trace of training in his frame—perhaps he’d be outmatched by even the ordinary primitive humans from back in the “Complete Stamp Emblem World.“

“What are you dwelling on? You don’t think you’ve got it in you, do you? Hah, you’re Fogfolk!“

The red-clad youth clapped a palm on Yang Zicang’s shoulder.

Everyone inside started laughing too.

“Even a joke would do fine.” The man in spectacles said as he rounded the table.

Long Huogang walked to the door and took the red-clad youth’s suitcase, then looked around in the darkness outside.

“Friend, where’s your luggage? “

Yang Zicang held up the dictionary. “It’s all right here. “

From Hong Haocheng’s oil painting to Xu Aiyuan’s coat, the change of clothes bought from the distributor, and even the purchased resonance statue—all of it was left behind on the plane.

“Whoa! “

A gasp of admiration came from the men and women inside the room.