A fellow countryman?!
Elias's pupils dilated in sheer shock.
There really was a fellow countryman?!
Or was this letter left for him by Galahad Midnight?
His hand, reaching for the envelope, froze in midair as countless possibilities flashed through his mind in an instant.
Since coming to this world, he had seen demons, monsters that dragged the living into dreams, and even massive mountains of flesh.
Yet all of those things combined did not strike him as directly as the four Chinese characters on the envelope.
It wasn't a meaning conveyed through 【Interpretive Insight】.
Every horizontal, vertical, downward, and upward stroke—he recognized every single one of them.
Even the formal written phrasing of 'For Your Eyes Only'—a style rarely used in casual writing—served as a reminder that this letter was no mere coincidence of similar-looking characters.
“What kind of writing is that?”
Jack curiously leaned over from the side.
Elias immediately pulled the envelope to his chest, blocking his view.
“A script specifically designed to prevent nobles from snooping into other people's mail.”
“I wasn't snooping.”
“Then it proves it works perfectly.”
Jack was silenced by this twisted logic.
Elias, however, had no time to keep teasing him.
He pursed his lips tightly, suppressing the wave of emotion surging in his chest, and looked back at the strange messenger before him.
“Who sent this?”
“The sender is unregistered.”
“How long has this letter been waiting?”
The silver signpost inside the messenger's hood rotated slowly.
“The road does not keep track of time.”
Once again, it was one of those answers that sounded like an explanation but actually revealed absolutely nothing.
Elias wanted to ask more, but the signpost had already stopped rotating, clearly indicating it had no intention of explaining further.
Shock aside, a letter of unknown origin still had to be thoroughly checked.
Elias activated 【Moon Vision】 and carefully inspected the envelope.
There was only a long-dormant spiritual residue on the paper, with no active curse circuits or signs of spreading pollution.
Confirming there were no obvious issues, he finally tore open the envelope.
Inside were two sheets of letter paper.
The first sheet was exceptionally old, its edges brittle and its surface marked by several creases of varying depths.
The handwriting on it was very casual.
The ink was a faded gray, looking as though it might decay into time along with the paper at any moment.
Elias cradled it in his palm and carefully unfolded it.
The first line contained only two characters.
Fellow countryman:
His heart gave a heavy thud.
Then, he continued reading.
“I don't know who you are, nor do I know how long it will be before you see these words.”
“If you can read and understand them, it proves at least one thing: I succeeded.”
“I can't leave much behind right now, so I can only offer you a very irresponsible piece of advice: survive first.”
“As long as there is still one person who remembers where they came from, hope is not lost.”
The letter ended there.
There was no signature, nor did it leave behind a specific date or location.
Elias stared at the final sentence, not moving the paper for a long time.
Outside the window, the sea breeze battered the cottage, causing the old wooden boards to creak softly.
The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered along with it, casting shifting shadows over the words on the paper.
Someone who had lived an unknown number of years ago had left a word of comfort, which might never be seen, for a successor whose arrival was equally uncertain.
They left no name.
They didn't say whether they had managed to return.
They didn't even know if the person who would eventually receive the letter could still be considered one of their own kind.
They had simply sent these few lines into a path that did not keep track of time.
And then, waited for the next person to understand them.
Elias's fingers gently pressed against the edge of the paper.
Survive first.
The phrase sounded rather unpromising, almost like a piece of reluctant, empty advice left behind only after all other options had been exhausted.
Yet everything he had done since arriving here, in the final analysis, was nothing more than that.
Finding a way to survive.
Keeping himself safe, while also doing his best to protect those who had already formed connections with him.
Only by staying alive would he have the right to ponder who Jiang Huan was, who Elias was, and whether he could ever return to that place which already felt as distant as a dream.
“Sir?”
Jack noticed his unusual demeanor but could only see the unfamiliar square blocks of text on the paper.
“What does the letter say?”
“Some workplace advice left by a predecessor.”
Elias's voice was slightly tight, yet he still refused to speak seriously.
“The core takeaway is to never resign on your own initiative.”
Jack clearly didn't understand.
Elias had no intention of explaining either.
He slowly set down the first sheet of paper and looked at the second.
The second sheet was clearly from a different era.
Whether in terms of the paper, the ink, or the handwriting, it was entirely different from the previous one.
Obviously, while the first letter was waiting on that dim path, it had been received by another person.
After reading it, that person hadn't kept it, but had added another page instead.
The beginning of the second sheet was still written in those familiar Chinese characters.
“The fellow before me spoke very well, but didn't leave a single practical method.”
“Below, I'll write some things that can save your life.”
Seeing this, the heaviness that had just risen in Elias's heart was instantly diluted by this familiar pragmatism.
Yes, this was the right flavor.
“An old mirror that has reflected this body, and a white candle that has never been lit.”
“In front of the mirror, write down the name others call you; behind the mirror, write down the name you recognize as your own.”
“Let the moonlight fall upon your back, but do not let it shine into the mirror.”
“Set no offerings, and recite no divine names.”
The expression on Elias's face grew serious.
This was not mere advice.
It was a set of ritual steps.
And no matter how he looked at it, it didn't seem like the kind of thing any orthodox church would be willing to record in their textbooks.
He continued reading.
“After drinking the potion, if the white candle behind the mirror does not light itself, shatter the mirror immediately.”
“If the person in the mirror opens their eyes at the same time as you, then this attempt is still a failure. If they are half a beat slower than you, ask them: ‘Where do you come from?’”
“No matter what you hear, do not look back. Wait until a second breath appears behind you, then close your eyes.”
Reading up to this point, Elias's back quietly tensed.
Moonlight falling on the back.
The person in the mirror opening their eyes half a beat slower.
And a second breath appearing behind him.
Taken individually, each of these sentences sounded like instructions on how to reliably invite a haunting.
Combined, they looked more like a precise operation manual written for someone who was tired of living.
Since becoming a transcendent, what kind of awful things hadn't he seen?
Corpses crawling with carrion crabs on the beach, sewer ugly mermaids, a massive mountain of flesh in front of a grave, and that Full Moon Door that had almost dragged him in.
Yet the few lines before him still made the back of his neck turn cold.
Because those monsters at least made it clear they wanted to kill him.
This ritual, however, required him to actively open the door himself.
The content of the letter was still not over.
“One person, two names. One lives in the world, one is not on the registry.”
“Let the registered one drink; let the unregistered one open the door.”
“This letter once reached my hands, and now it is your turn.”
“As for why we received the same letter, think about that after you survive.”
“Make sure to remember: there is more than one road.”
There was no name at the sign-off.
Only a single sentence.
—From someone who has drunk the second cup.
It really was a fellow countryman!
Elias's hand holding the letter trembled slightly.
His fingertips rubbed the edge of the paper twice before he slowly relaxed his grip, lest he tear this old paper that had spanned who knew how many years.
If the first letter could still be explained as ancient people coincidentally creating a set of symbols resembling Chinese characters...
Then the tone and content of the second page made such a coincidence practically impossible.
At the very least, the person who wrote the second page knew what “the second cup” meant.
And they knew even more that two names could exist within one person.
One living in the world.
One not on the registry.
Let the registered one drink; let the unregistered one open the door.
Elias immediately recalled the potion he had just brewed, as well as the two shadows in the bottle that were always half a beat apart.
Did the other party know there were two souls inside him?
No.
Perhaps they didn't know who Elias was, but they knew that whoever received this letter must have experienced something similar.
And that final sentence.
There is more than one road.
Road.
Pathway.
In mysticism, these two words inherently shared similar meanings.
If taken literally, of course there was more than one pathway of faith in the world—that was a piece of common knowledge everyone knew.
But what if it was placed after “one person, two names”?
Galahad had told him to drink another Scale One potion.
The potion had shown two shadows.
And the letter said: Let the registered one drink; let the unregistered one open the door.
Was the writer telling him that someone like him could walk two pathways simultaneously?
The moment this thought emerged, Elias felt his throat go dry.
But what exactly was that bizarre ritual?
It set no offerings, nor did it recite any divine names.
There was no clear target for an Audience, let alone any of the protection an orthodox ritual should have.
Was it establishing a Rational Circuit, or was it preparing to let something out of the mirror?
Furthermore, could the writer of the letter be deceiving him?
But the other party was a fellow countryman!
There was no reason for them to harm him, right?
No, that was wrong.
Being a fellow countryman only proved they came from the same place; it didn't prove they were a good person.
Dammit!
Elias felt his mind being pulled in three different directions: by the hope in the letter, the possibility of dual pathways, and the ritual that looked unsafe no matter how he analyzed it.
A second breath.
Do not look back, no matter what you hear.
Who wouldn't find this absolutely terrifying upon reading it?
While he repeatedly weighed the credibility of the letter, the messenger in front of him did not leave.
The silver signpost inside its hood began to rotate once more.
Immediately after, the messenger pulled a folded slip of paper from a compartment in its old mailbag and slowly unfolded it right in front of Elias.
On the slip of paper was only a single line of Chinese characters.
Chinese don't lie to Chinese!
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