Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Port of Lean (Part 1)
The rain mixed with spring thunder had just ceased at the port of Lean, and the midday sun emerged from behind the dark clouds, casting a seven-colored rainbow across the sky.
At the port, a ship docked. Sailors who had been pent up for more than ten days surged off the ship, their boots squishing against the port.
A **young clerk** wearing a red hat and patched leather boots stood at the ship’s railing.
He was a passenger on this cargo ship, having completed his studies and returning home to the port of Lean, where someone had introduced him to a clerical job. He believed that with his proficiency in three languages, he shouldn’t disembark with a bunch of semi-illiterate sailors.
So, he patiently waited until the last sailor got off before he slowly descended the ship, stepping onto the muddy road.
The clerk with the red hat hadn’t bathed in a week; while reading, he could occasionally smell his own body odor, and his skin stuck uncomfortably to his linen clothes.
He had gotten seasick after boarding and felt utterly miserable. The crude, unrefined sailors had laughed at him, which made him grit his teeth in anger as he confined himself in a cramped room, rarely going outside.
Treading on the muddy path, the clerk in the red hat passed through an alley and headed toward a more populated area, planning to find a bathhouse and perhaps a young bathhouse girl to wash his clothes and himself, and to relieve himself… Whatever it took to refresh.
He had a budget of five silver coins and was a meticulous planner, having already allocated his five silver coins.
However, after a long absence from the port of Lean, he wandered for ten minutes without finding a bathhouse, only to see a crowd gathered in front of a tavern. Just as he approached, someone called out his name:
A few sailors stepped out from the crowd, and one shouted, “Hey! Little Red Hat!”
Little Red Hat was the nickname given to him by the sailors.
The clerk’s expression darkened immediately as he looked at the sailors and noticed that one of them was holding a well-bound book. His curiosity was piqued; many books on the market were poorly made, and the dictionary he had bought had to be stitched with rope or else it would fall apart after a few flips.
He couldn’t help but steal a few more glances.
Noticing his gaze, the sailor proudly raised the book and said, “Want to take a look? If you help us read, you can look for free. What do you say?”
The clerk sniffed. Most of these sailors couldn’t read much, and what they could read didn’t amount to much. How could they, who spent their money on cheap prostitutes, ever compare to him? He glanced sideways at the book in the sailor’s hand, on the cover was a beautifully illustrated elven woman; the first impression was noble, the second was suggestive.
The clerk’s gaze froze. There stood the beautiful elven woman, her expression arrogant but her face flushed, with droplets of a milky substance trickling down from under her skirt, pooling at her feet, and the cover bore the seven large characters: “The Misfortunes of the Elven Queen.”
It was actually a little erotic book!
The sailors laughed heartily and flaunted the book, saying, “I know you want to see it, stop pretending, Little Red Hat.”
Could an erotic book compare to tangible experiences? Only sailors without money who could only afford low-quality prostitutes would be infatuated with such a flimsy creation.
As a book lover, the clerk held a deep-seated disdain for such trivial literature.
He lifted his chin, said nothing, turned, and walked away.
The sailors jeered after him, then also left.
The clerk still contemplated the book. Its exquisite cover and good binding kept tugging at his curiosity.
What kind of erotic book could boast such a beautiful design? Just a fleeting glance earlier kept lingering in his mind.
He shook his head; it was just a flavorless little erotic book, after all.
A stone building with a bathtub motif above its entrance appeared before him.
Looking through the door, he could see men and women wrapped in towels, laughing as they walked into the steam-filled room.
The clerk stopped in his tracks, lifted his foot, and for some inexplicable reason, turned around and retraced his steps.
Five minutes later.
The clerk arrived once more at the tavern’s doorstep.
I’m just satisfying my curiosity, he thought, as he squeezed through the crowd and approached a book stall. A row of books was displayed, all featuring black-and-white illustrations of the elven queen that made one blush.
He politely asked, “May I take a look?”
The stall owner shot him a sideways glance and replied, “You can only look, not flip.”
The clerk glanced at the price: five silver coins—definitely high for an erotic book. No wonder they were unsold, especially with such a poor attitude from the stall owner.
After a quick look at the cover, he immediately turned to leave.
Bending down, the clerk closely examined the cover. The illustration of the elven queen was beautifully done, her face exquisite, and the opulent background was overwhelmingly proud, making him weak at the knees.
But at the same time, her face was flushed, and there was a large puddle of an unclear white substance at her feet. It looked like it had been added later, but the contrast made the clerk’s heart race.
The cover was impeccably clear, with high printing standards.
The clerk was moved; a desire to possess surged within him—he wanted to tear off all the covers and display them at home for his personal enjoyment.
The clerk laid down five silver coins and said, “Here, I’ll buy one.”
One minute later.
I must be crazy to spend five silver coins on a flavorless little erotic book.
The clerk wanted to return it, but he knew that with his out-of-town accent, he wouldn’t be able to do so.
Consider it a couple of black-and-white paintings, then.
He consoled himself and decided to tear off the cover when he got home, using the rest of the pages as toilet paper.
Such an obscene triviality, which demeaned literature, didn’t belong on his bookshelf.
Upon entering the tavern, the clerk found an empty seat and ordered a bowl of pea soup.
The landlady acknowledged him, took the payment, and went off to attend to her business.
While waiting, out of boredom, the clerk turned his attention to “The Misfortunes of the Elven Queen” and discovered that beneath the cover was a line of small text: “The Misfortunes of the Elven Queen: Slayed by a Hundred, Her Bodily Fluids Form a Puddle.”
Extravagant, filthy; though novel, it was undoubtedly a poor book made up of low-grade writing. Only a rude, semi-illiterate sailor would read such drivel.
The clerk thought, reaching out a hand to flip to the first page.
I’ll only read two pages; I’ll criticize it properly.
The first page came into view, and he let out a low snort:
“Ha, the writing is nowhere near the master’s rhetoric.”
However, the flow of the text was unexpectedly smooth, requiring little mental effort to read. Moreover, it got straight to the point—right from the beginning, the beautiful and noble elven queen was separated from her newlywed husband and was to be captured by dark elves.
He couldn’t wait to flip through several pages. When he reached the part where the elven queen was captured as a slave, he tossed aside the thought of merely flipping a few pages to close the book. He sat up, holding the book with both hands, his eyes glued to the pages.
The male bartender approached and placed a steaming bowl of pea soup in front of him, calling out, “Your meal is ready.”
The clerk didn’t move at all; the bartender paid him no mind, turned, and went back to work.
The letters on the page became increasingly blurry; at first, the clerk could still manage, but gradually he couldn’t see the more complex characters, as if a mosquito had been squashed on the paper.
The clerk finally raised his pained eyes and shouted, “Why is it so dark in here?”
Inside the tavern, dim oil lamps flickered. Nearby, a table was filled with workers just returned from the docks. Outside, through the narrow windows, the sky looked gloomy.
The clerk was startled, and incredulously peered around, only to realize it was already evening.
How is this possible?
He rubbed his copy of “The Misfortunes of the Elven Queen” and noticed it had thinned considerably, as he had read nearly half of it. The previous plots, when recalled, made his heart race.
He was actually captivated by this book.
Upon returning from the book’s world to reality, he finally heard the surrounding noise and felt the sticky sensation in his pants, a small wet patch.
At that moment, his stomach grumbled with hunger.
The clerk looked in front of him for his ordered bowl of pea soup, only to see an empty wooden bowl.
He cursed the shameless thief and muttered about the author called “White-haired,” as he tucked the book into his bag and marched home angrily.
Passing the bathhouse, he glanced at the young bathhouse girls in revealing clothing. The clerk recalled his five silver coins; had he not turned back, he would have indulged with the bathhouse girls, taking a comfortable bath in the tub and returning home feeling refreshed. Instead, he lost his belongings and went hungry.
That little erotic book by the White-haired author really caused him a lot of trouble; it was truly undeserving of its worth, and he intended to toss it into the stove to burn it when he got home.
Upon returning, he faced his parents’ reprimands.
After dinner and a bath, it was already night.
The clerk lit an expensive candle, just enough light to barely read, and then thought better of it, lighting a second candle. He took out “The Misfortunes of the Elven Queen,” carefully laid it on the table, flipped through it, and found the page where the elven queen was tied to a bed, her bottom raised, being taken advantage of by a passing janitor.
Turning page by page.
“Bang!”
An elderly hand slapped down on the table.
Startled, the clerk jumped and softened; he looked up to see his father’s angry face, and his father rebuked him:
“I called you several times; why didn’t you respond? What kind of book has you so entranced? Is it worth wasting money on candles to read?”
His father was a writer and historian. He looked down upon those little erotic books; the clerk’s disdain for such works came from his father’s influence.
The clerk hurriedly put the book down, covering the cover with his hand, and said, “It’s nothing, nothing. I’ll go to bed right away.”
His father commanded, “Hand over the book.”
Slowly, the clerk moved his hand away, revealing the cover and the title.
His father’s beard trembled with anger: “You actually read this kind of book?! Now I understand why you got robbed; give me that book! I’m going to burn it!”
He lunged to grab the book.
“No!” The clerk quickly sprawled over the table to protect the book, receiving a hit to the head.
His father scolded, “You disobedient brat! You’ve deeply disappointed me! If you don’t hand over that book today, don’t think about staying home.”
“I’m not reading erotic literature!” The clerk thought quickly and said, “A friend recommended it; he said this book is very detailed about history, and I want to understand the history of how the dark elves invaded the high elf island a century ago.”
“Still trying to argue?”
The clerk felt guilty but held his ground, shouting, “Really!”
“Fine!” His father declared, “I won’t sleep either; I’ll go fetch history books one by one to compare. If you’re lying, not only will I burn this book, but I’ll also rally others to resist these poisonous ideas in erotic literature and burn all the books!”
