Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 119

“Some guy told me this place has the cheapest rooms in White Bridge,” Eugene said, leaning against a wooden counter polished shiny from use, speaking in the common language.

Behind the counter, which was half a person tall, there was a space just big enough to squeeze in a single chair, on which sat a skinny old man with his knees drawn up. If the visitor wasn’t tall enough, they would have to stand on tiptoes to see that there was someone there.

The chair under the old man was so worn that its original shape was indiscernible, covered with many layers of hand-sewn fabric pads, deeply sunken in the middle from use. The wall beside him was covered in haphazard scribbles, looking like a mix of names and numbers.

The old man’s eyelids were thick and heavy, and he laboriously lifted them to look at Eugene, his movement reminiscent of an elephant nearing its last days.

“10 copper coins.” He also spoke in the common language. “Rent is paid daily. If you don’t come back, whatever you leave in the room is mine.”

Eugene paid him, and after the old man counted the money twice, he got up with a jangle—caused by a large iron ring on his left wrist, from which hung various keys that clinked against each other with his movements.

Eugene guessed this building was probably constructed by his grandfather’s grandfather. The building looked much older than the old man, who was coughing with every step. Its quirky and tightly packed structure was the result of haphazard expansions over generations. Every step of the stairs and every door he saw had different colors and materials. It wasn’t fully light yet, but there were already sounds of coughing and movement behind several doors.

The old man didn’t bring a candle. He led Eugene up two flights of stairs in the dark, trying several keys before finally opening a door at the stairwell landing and gesturing for him to go inside.

The room was small and square, cramped like a drawer. The floor was covered with a grass mat whose original color was indiscernible, and there was a lump of something rolled up in old cloth—Eugene guessed it was a pillow.

A wooden board was nailed to the wall, neatly holding a wooden plaque carved with a hieroglyph.

It was a blessing charm.

The skinny old man gave him a key and left. The room had no furniture worth mentioning, and as soon as the door shut, it was plunged into darkness.

Gathering intelligence from the lower echelons was Eugene’s forte, but sitting cross-legged in the room, he felt that this place was different from the other low places he had “mingled” in before.

When he had followed a few kitchen workers here, he had prepared himself—if this area, clearly meant for the poor, was too hostile to outsiders, he would immediately withdraw, find an opportunity to bribe a couple of local loners to become informants, and then sneak back in.

But the walk in had been unexpectedly smooth.

It wasn’t because it was before dawn, and no one was out. This area was completely open. There was no manned boundary, not even a real “gate”. As long as one could find a gap between the shacks, entry was possible without any obstruction.

Inside, there was everything—one could find in any city, including stalls selling simple food all night, narrow but interconnected streets, and even a proper inn.

This inn was located not far from the main road Eugene had entered on. In the darkness, the full view of the small building was unclear, but amid mostly closed doors and windows, the light leaking from the only door big enough for one person to pass through shone like a beacon through the sea, instinctively drawing him toward it, and Eugene indeed headed there.

Inside, there was only the counter and a dozing old man. If it weren’t for the words “Inn” written on the old wooden door, Eugene wouldn’t have knocked on the counter to wake him.

No identification was required, and rent was paid daily. Eugene would bet that even if a wanted poster with his portrait was hanging on that door, as long as he could pay the rent, the old man would hand him the keys.

Although the objective conditions were vastly different, this money-centric attitude indeed proved that this place was also a part of White Bridge.

……

“%&*%￥?” a woman wrapped in a headscarf said something to him.

Eugene didn’t understand, so he continued walking past her deeper into the area. A man laughed behind him, speaking in the common language but with a heavy accent. Eugene vaguely guessed that one of the short sentences meant “In broad daylight!”

He had exchanged his waterproof cloak for another in the laundry room, but after dawn, he left it in his room—looking out the window, he saw that the locals mostly dressed very casually, exposing a lot of skin, most of which was deeply tanned, revealing uneven teeth when they spoke.

There were no drainage ditches here, and the narrow walkways were often half-occupied by sewage. Eugene spent half the day wandering deeper into this vast labyrinth, turning back for the hundredth time after dead ends and haphazard obstructions blocked his way, eventually losing track of his route back.

A few boys, wearing only trousers, shouted as they ran past him. Eugene casually grabbed one, asking in the common language where he could buy water.

“I’ll pay,” he said.

It wasn’t clear if the boy understood. Like a fish out of water, he thrashed in Eugene’s grasp, then ran off quickly, nose dripping, after being set down.

But no matter. Eugene didn’t really expect the boy to solve his problem. He said it for the ears of those nearby—although it seemed like no one was around, he knew that all along his journey, many eyes had been watching him.

“Hey.” Indeed, immediately, a young-looking man struck up a conversation. “You want to buy water?”

He spoke clearly, with no accent, and was dressed more cleanly and decently than the dishwashers working the previous night.

Eugene nodded.

“I’ll sell it to you,” the man said. “You’re a foreigner, right—lost your way?”

Without waiting for a response but not seeming to mind, he introduced himself as Popo, living nearby, and claimed he had clean water to offer him.

Eugene followed him through several turns, stopping in front of a shelter no taller than a person. If it weren’t made of thin wood planks and other materials, Eugene would rather call it a tent.

But Popo said this was his home, deftly lifting the curtain that served as the door and ducking inside.

As Eugene waited, he noticed a few inconspicuous daisy wreaths painted on the lower right corner of the door curtain.

When Popo reemerged, he held a dry gourd half-filled with water.

Eugene was starving by then, but as he reached out, Popo pulled back with a sly look in his eyes.

“You see, my water costs money too,” he said. “Not much left.”

“How much?” Eugene asked straightforwardly.

Popo hesitated for a moment, then tentatively said, “Two copper coins.”

Eugene looked at the water in the gourd, which wasn’t very clear, and the gourd itself was chipped.

“Fine, two copper coins,” Eugene agreed.

Before Popo could smile, Eugene added, “Not water. Two copper coins for you to show me the way.”

To his surprise, Popo seemed even happier. He carefully went back to put down the water, as if afraid Eugene would run off, then quickly came out again. “No problem—I grew up on Paradise Island. No one knows the paths better than I do. Who are you looking for?”

Paradise Island.

Eugene mentally noted the name.

“I’m looking for work,” Eugene said. “First day here—rented a room. Don’t know the way back.”

Popo nodded, unconcerned, stepping barefoot into the sewage and moved in front of him. “Where’s your room rented?”

“The place has no name,” Eugene said.

“The places here have no names,” Popo replied. “You need to know who the owner is. Like Jenny’s laundry factory, Old Whitebeard’s bakery…”

“It says ‘Inn’ on the door,” Eugene added.

“Ah, I know.” Popo walked backwards, looking at Eugene. “It’s not cheap there. You can stay at my place for just 5 copper coins a day.”

Eugene remained silent, but Popo clearly didn’t want to let him go, actively persuading him as they walked. “You came looking for work, right? Do you still have savings? The cheapest room there costs 10 copper coins—that’s 300 a month. Even if you find work immediately, what you earn in a day will just cover your rent. You won’t be able to afford food…”

“Is the pay really that low?” Eugene frowned.

Popo burst into laughter.

“What else? This is Paradise Island. You’re not from the inner city, are you? If you were, it wouldn’t be surprising—the rats there are richer than us. There’s no comparison.”

His matter-of-fact tone suggested that this place called “Paradise Island” wasn’t completely isolated from the inner city, and there was some movement of people between the two.

Although the inner city was bustling and lively, everything there was built on money. If someone went bankrupt at an auction or a solo dining event, they could become a beggar overnight and only manage to survive by entering Paradise Island.

Conversely, the likelihood of moving from Paradise Island to the inner city seemed much slimmer. Most children growing up here would end up like Popo or working as kitchen hands, washing dishes overnight…

Just as Eugene was about to ask him about the possibility of getting work in the inner city, Popo suddenly stopped walking and even stepped back a couple of steps, nearly bumping into Eugene.

Eugene looked over his shoulder and saw several people gathered in the distance talking. A middle-aged, fat woman was sitting on the ground crying in front of a large wooden crate.

“Let’s take a detour,” Popo said expressionlessly.

Eugene shrugged and followed him quickly, asking quietly, “What happened there?”

“Someone died,” Popo said. “See that crate… Her child is inside.”

Eugene looked at the back of Popo’s head, suddenly having a thought. “Sent over from the inner city?”

Popo kept walking. “Yeah. ‘They’ occasionally pick people from here. Children who leave here either never come back, or they end up in a box. If their family is still around, they get some money for it.”

“‘They’—are you talking about the Wolves or the Mon…” Eugene didn’t finish his sentence when Popo angrily cut him off.

“Don’t—mention their names.” The young man squeezed the words through clenched teeth. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“Why? Can they hear us?” Eugene quickly amended his approach.

“‘They’ are everywhere.” Popo looked around, seemingly checking if anyone was paying attention to them. Probably because he was leading the way, indeed, not many people spared extra energy to notice Eugene.

“Don’t talk about it, don’t draw attention, don’t resist,” Popo said. “If you want to stay here, you’d better do as I say.”

Eugene was stunned.

Except for the last part, the rules Popo just mentioned were applicable across the continent, but conventionally, they were meant to guard against witches and black mages.

Here, however…

It seemed he had found the reason why on Paradise Island, both inn rooms and simple tents, without exception, had blessing charms.

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