Fantasy Writers 1860

The docks have always looked the same: workers unload crates of goods from moored steamships or load them onto inland barges about to set sail. The air is thick with the salty smell of the sea and the acrid odor of burning coal.

Dorian wrapped his slightly thin old coat tighter around himself and searched for familiar faces in the noisy crowd.

"Hey, isn't this 'Young Master'? You've finally arrived!" A familiar voice came from ahead, tinged with a hint of mockery.

Dorian looked in the direction of the sound and saw "Iron Hand" Greg carrying a heavy wooden box.

Dorian stepped forward, trying to make his smile appear natural. "I'm here today to say goodbye. I probably won't be working here anymore."

"Oh? You're quitting?" Greg raised an eyebrow, put down the wooden crate, and crossed his arms.

"I've found a new job and will officially start next week. So, I came here to say goodbye and thank you all for taking care of me the past few days." He felt there was no need to hide it, after all, it wasn't anything shameful.

"Oh, congratulations!" Gray was genuinely happy for Dorian.

From the beginning, Gray knew that this guy was from a different world. Whatever his reason for working here, it was definitely temporary, and he would soon return to his own world.

Gray wasn't indignant about this; he simply felt it was a universal law from ancient times to the present, like the sun rising in the east.

Even so, this guy actually came to say goodbye in a very serious manner, even though he had only known him for a day.

That's actually...really cute.

For some reason, Greg burst out laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" Dorian subconsciously touched his face. "Is there something on my face?"

"Nothing, nothing..." Greg waved his hand, but his smile didn't fade at all. "It's just that... you seem like a pretty interesting person."

"In that case, shouldn't we have a proper celebration? Let's go grab some drinks later, the usual place!" Greg patted Dorian on the shoulder.

……

"Don't mind him, that's just how the boss is. He always turns everything into drinking, he can always find a way to bring up drinking." Another middle-aged man leaned against Dorian. "Before, he imitated those old men and threw some kind of party, and then the next day he said that to celebrate the success of yesterday's party, we should throw another one today..."

Dorian was already standing at the entrance of the "Cable" tavern.

The familiar taste, the familiar appearance.

It's the taste of the food here that makes him not want to come back.

After Greg's announcement, everyone in the tavern learned about Dorian's situation and offered their congratulations and blessings, followed by the inevitable drinking spree.

Now everyone knows that Dorian can drink, so no one pretends anymore.

Looking at everyone's sincere and enthusiastic faces, Dorian really couldn't refuse, so he drank one cup after another, listening to everyone tell interesting stories about the docks and the joys and sorrows of life.

"Hey, have you guys read the latest issue of the Lentinion Weekly? I heard the newest novel is pretty interesting." Someone brought it up.

Dorian paused slightly in his hand holding the wine glass, somewhat surprised. He hadn't expected that his older brother, despite being illiterate, would be so concerned about cultural affairs.

"Yes, I saw it on a passenger ship today. All the passengers were holding the *Lentinion Weekly*. When I asked, they all said they were reading that million-pound book." Greg put down his glass. "Boss, do you have the latest *Lentinion Weekly*?"

"Yes, yes, yes." The boss skillfully pulled out a stack of newspapers from under the bar and handed them to Dorian with practiced ease. "Read them to everyone. Now you're a cultured person."

Dorian took the newspaper and looked at the expectant looks on his fellow workers' faces, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation.

The inspiration for my novel came from this, and now I'm reading it to you all here, which gives me a strange sense of destiny.

"Then I'll begin," Dorian said.

"Read it quickly!" the crowd urged, putting down their glasses or stopping their conversations. The tavern fell silent for a moment, with only Dorian's slightly hesitant reading voice remaining:

"...The two brothers argued like this until the younger brother said he was willing to bet 20,000 gold pounds that the man could survive for thirty days on a million gold pounds without ever going to jail. The elder brother agreed to the bet, and the younger brother went to the Britannian bank and bought back the money. You see, that's how Britannian men are—full of courage."

"A bet of twenty thousand gold pounds, that's certainly bold," an old sailor with a full beard said, smacking his lips as he held up his wine glass.

"You don't even look at what they're betting on—it's a million gold pounds..."

"That's right, that's what we Britannian men are like."

Dorian, seeing the atmosphere gradually heating up, didn't interrupt but continued reading:

"Henry Adam shoved the empty plate forward with a loud thud that startled even the cat dozing in the corner. 'One more, just like that! And quick!'"

"The waiter didn't move, but slowly lifted his eyelids, like prying open two rusty iron plates. His gaze first fell on the customer's frayed collar, then slid to the few lonely copper coins on the table. 'Another...another one,' he said, as if a cork was stuck in his throat."

"'That's right, buddy. A large beer to go.' Adam leaned back, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound. The waiter held the empty tray like it was a sacred relic. He tiptoed behind the counter and whispered in the proprietress's ear, 'That weirdo wants another set of the same thing, plus a beer.'"

The proprietor behind the counter, who had been counting napkins, froze in mid-air. He slowly turned his neck, his eyes rolling over from above the ledger, fixed on Adam, then abruptly pulled back, and whispered to the proprietress, "Does he... look like someone who can pay another bill?"

"...'Take a gamble. Go for it.' She was about to wave the waiter away when the boss tugged at her apron and leaned in to whisper in her ear. As the boss's wife listened, her thin lips gradually tightened into a line. Finally, she nodded to the waiter and said in a low voice, 'Do it as usual, but... don't go for the cartilage transplant.'"

Hearing this, quite a few people had already started to chuckle secretly.

"I can't help but laugh just thinking about what's going to happen next."

"I already guessed it. Next, Adam will definitely pull out that million-pound note and shock the boss!"

"Not removing the cartilage? Then even if a whole plate of it is served, there won't be much meat..."

"Actually, the boss wasn't a bad person. At least he didn't kick the guy out as if he was trying to dine and dash; he actually gave him another meal..."

Dorian continued reading:

"...I stared at that large bill until I felt dizzy and lightheaded, and it must have taken a full minute for me to come to my senses. At that moment, the first person I saw was the snack shop owner. His eyes were glued to the bill, as if struck by lightning. He was praying fervently to God, his hands and feet unable to move. Suddenly, an idea struck me, and I did what was perfectly natural: I handed him the bill and said, 'Please give me my change...'"

"...But I have nothing else on me," Adam said. The snack shop owner, flustered, said it was no trouble at all, not to worry, that it was a great honor for us to patronize such a small shop, and thanked him for his kindness...

At this point, the emotions that everyone had been building up finally erupted:

"Find change... Hahaha, Adam's got some talent, who can open that!"

"Interesting, so interesting! That must have scared the boss to death!"

"Wow, that's a quick change of attitude... But you know what, I've actually met people like that before. They practically bend over backwards when they see a well-dressed lady!"

"That's right!" A tall, thin young man slammed his glass on the table. "Last time I went to a tailor shop, I was wearing my old work clothes, and the shopkeeper didn't even look up before saying that they didn't have the style you were wearing."

"Later, when I went to deliver goods with my boss, I wore a slightly cleaner jacket, and he immediately came up to me and asked if I wanted a wool suit custom-made!"

The people around burst into laughter, and Greg laughed along, patting the tall, thin man on the shoulder: "Why didn't you pull out a 'million pound note' to scare him back then?"

"If I had that kind of ability, would I be working at the docks carrying boxes?"

Everyone burst into laughter.

Dorian also paused for a moment to share the joyful atmosphere with everyone. For some reason, he felt a vague warmth in his heart, like the gentle light emanating from the dim magic crystal lamp in the tavern.