Alvin and the others were still checking Cabinet Three.
Many people in the records hall had stopped their work.
Some stood up to help search, while others discussed in low voices whether the numbering had been misplaced.
Ryan lowered his head again, pretending to continue looking at the migration records in front of him, but his attention was no longer on the paper at all.
The light from just now had been too obvious. Although it had only appeared for a brief moment, he was certain he hadn't seen wrong.
It wasn't a reflection of the gas lamps, nor was it a hallucination, but rather something... that truly existed.
Ryan forced himself to stop looking at the cabinet.
But the problem was, the more he tried not to look, the more pronounced the strange sensation in his head became, like someone was gently pricking his temples with a needle, causing a dull throb of heat.
He looked down and wrote a few lines of proofreading notes, only to realize he hadn't absorbed a single word.
Beside him, Simon was still complaining, “Someone must have been lazy and stuffed the files in randomly yesterday. If another problem pops up before the end-of-the-month review, Alvin is going to get chewed out again.”
No one chimed in. Hierarchy in the first-floor Formal Hall was very strict.
What ordinary formal clerks feared most was a supervisor's inspection.
Once a number went wrong, the entire batch of documents had to be reorganized.
Taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention, Ryan looked up again toward Cabinet Three.
This time, the sensation was even clearer.
Amidst a row of dusty, grayish-black old archives, a very thin booklet among them was emitting an extremely faint white light.
It wasn't illuminated by its surroundings, but rather as if something was hidden inside the pages.
The light was so weak that an ordinary person would never have noticed it.
But in Ryan's eyes, it was as distinct as a spark in the dark.
His breathing hitched slightly.
The Lantern.
It was the influence of the Lantern again.
He was now becoming more and more certain that his eyes had been altered by that knowledge.
He could see certain “anomalies.”
Ryan immediately lowered his head, not daring to keep staring.
Because he realized that if he stared for too long, his head would begin to throb.
He could even faintly hear the tolling of bells in his ears.
This was definitely not a good sign. About ten minutes passed.
Alvin frowned and locked the cabinet door again. “We'll check it again this afternoon.”
With that done, everyone returned to their work.
The records hall fell quiet once more, with only the rustling of paper and the scratching of pens echoing continuously.
Time slipped by. The morning work was far more exhausting than in the basement.
The Formal Hall required constant mental effort.
Ryan continuously verified numbers, addresses, and migration dates.
Sometimes, verifying a single file required cross-referencing three or four old registers.
Even a slight lapse in attention could lead to an error.
Fortunately, though, the original owner of his body had a decent memory.
And having transmigrated, Ryan was accustomed to modern data organization logic.
So he picked it up surprisingly quickly.
Even Alvin gave him an extra glance when he passed by at noon. “More proficient than I expected.”
Ryan didn't even look up. “I spent a lot of time in the basement.”
Alvin grunted in response. “Keep it up.”
Then he turned and left. At noon, a food vendor pushed a dining cart into the records hall.
Today's meal was stewed cabbage and black bread, priced at two pence a portion.
Ryan hesitated for a moment but bought it anyway.
His body was currently in terrible shape; if he didn't eat, his lung disease would inevitably worsen.
As he sat at his desk eating slowly, his peripheral vision couldn't help but drift toward Cabinet Three.
Ryan took a sip of the hot soup, his mind racing with questions.
What exactly was that?
Why was he the only one who could see it?
Extraordinary knowledge?
A cultist book?
Or some kind of polluted file?
Just then, Simon suddenly spoke up, “Help me recheck the old cabinets this afternoon.”
Ryan looked up. “Which one?”
“The third row of old archive cabinets.”
Ryan paused. “Why?”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Because I'm a formal clerk, and you're the new guy. There's too much dust on the old cabinets, and I'm too lazy to go.”
Someone nearby chuckled.
Simon went back to eating. “It's just old junk that no one looks at anyway. Just organize the numbering.”
Ryan remained silent for two seconds, then nodded. “Alright.”
At half past one in the afternoon, Ryan carried the registry to the third row of old cabinets.
This area was near the very back of the records hall, and the lighting was poor.
The air had a distinct smell of old paper, and a thick layer of dust had accumulated on the cabinets. Many files hadn't been touched in decades.
Ryan knelt down and began reorganizing the numbers, looking diligent on the surface.
In reality, his attention was entirely focused on the glowing booklet.
Finally, his hand brushed against it.
It was a very thin booklet, sandwiched between several population migration records.
There was no title on the cover, only a heavily worn black leather surface.
The moment Ryan's fingers touched it, a sharp, subtle pain shot through his head.
A faint buzzing hummed in his ears, like the distant tolling of a bell.
His breathing tightened, and he immediately pulled the book out.
In the next second, the white light became even more pronounced.
A faint white glow flowed slowly along the crevices of the cover, as if something luminous was hidden within the pages.
Ryan's heart began to race.
He immediately looked around. No one was paying attention to him; everyone was busy working.
The records hall remained quiet.
Ryan slowly turned to the first page. Inside were not normal records, but handwritten text in a highly peculiar script.
It didn't look like English, but rather some distorted hybrid of Latin.
And amidst those words, he suddenly saw a sentence he could actually read.
“The Glory is a fragment of truth.”
Ryan's pupils constricted sharply.
In the next second, a wave of intense pain rushed into his mind, and a flash of white light even flickered briefly before his eyes.
He immediately closed the booklet, his breathing growing rapid.
There was something wrong with this thing, absolutely wrong.
And it was related to the Lantern.
Ryan forced himself to calm down and continued organizing the cabinet, but his heart was already pounding wildly.
He knew that what lay before him was highly likely something from the truly extraordinary world.
And such an item, by all accounts, should never have appeared in an ordinary archive.
Unless—someone had deliberately hidden it here. At this thought, a layer of cold sweat broke out on Ryan's back.
He suddenly felt as though he were slowly drawing closer to a dangerous vortex.
Yet, at the same time, another thought kept bubbling up.
Power.
Knowledge.
A way to survive in this world.
Ordinary people were too fragile. Lung disease, poverty, cold, robberies—any one of them could easily kill him.
If he remained just an ordinary clerk, he would die in the East End sooner or later.
But if he touched the extraordinary...
Ryan looked down at the thin booklet, his fingers tightening slightly. He knew this was dangerous.
But he no longer had any real way out.
As the afternoon work drew to a close, people in the records hall began packing up their documents.
Alvin went upstairs to deliver files.
Simon was still on the other side, verifying numbers.
No one was paying attention to the corner.
Ryan slowly slipped the thin booklet into the very bottom of his file folder, then piled several ordinary census records on top of it.
After completing this, he remained calm on the surface, continuing his work with his head down.
But only he knew.
From this moment on, everything had changed.
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