In the evening, the crimson moonlight hangs peacefully high, and the stars around are shining!
On the continent of Phaedras, no matter whether it is spring, summer, autumn or winter, whether it is raining or snowing, the two bright red moons, one large and one small, always hang high above the black curtain.
Of course, in some special areas, the moon is not common, or even if it can be seen, it is only hazy and sporadic, such as Hutton Mar, the capital of hope in the Kingdom of Ghent!
With the advent of the Age of Discovery, the thousand-year-old idyllic castle scenery was replaced by chimneys and whistles.
Railway traffic runs in all directions from east to west, north to south, and the thick smoke emitted by steam and factories accumulates over Hutton Mar, forming a gray haze that cannot dissipate for a long time.
This is the best of times and the worst of times!
In this era, there are rows of newly built factories on one side, and homeless poor people crowding the bridge holes on the other.
On one side, there are exquisite and tempting pastries displayed in the shop window, and on the other side, there is a sewer girl picking up garbage and eating it in the gutter not far away.
On one side, the funerals of nobles were comparable to lavish parties, on the other side, the poor who died of hunger were dug up to make room for new corpses as soon as they were buried...
This is the city of dreams, this is the city of hope, this is Hutton Mar!
.........
Eileen and Weinerson sat upright at the desk, looking at the sumptuous food on the table and listening to Mies telling the story of Hedunmar, the city of hope.
"They're so pathetic."
There was something unnatural about Irene's face. She entered social work earlier than Mies and Gropius. She had also heard a thing or two about the legend of Hutton Mare, but it was far from this terrifying level.
Although the sewers of Fasranka are also crowded with homeless poor and homeless people, it is undoubtedly much better than Hutton Mar.
"I heard Teacher Jialin mention it before in school that her husband does business in the industrial area of the Port of Hutton Marbeo."
“He said there were different sensations throughout the day there, from the morning air pressing down on you like lead on a hot summer day to mid-day feeling like you were sitting in the stove with your nose in a pipe.”
"And at night, you have to cough because of the dust and the stench, it's like you swallowed a pound of chili peppers in one sitting!"
Weinerson said to himself with a slight frown. This reminded him of the stories he learned while reading modern global history in the university library in his previous life.
At the end of 1952, a smog swept across the entire city, ruthlessly claiming the lives of nearly 20,000 people in just a few days.
This is a different world, so this kind of problem shouldn't happen, right?
"Actually, the environmental problems in Hedunmar are not bad and are within a tolerable range. If it were in the Turman Empire in the southern continent, the environment there would be truly desperate."
"There is a very popular saying on the ships from the Southern Continent coming and going from Pulitzer Harbor. If you want to know how a poor sinner is tortured in purgatory, then go to Turman, where you can feel it. You can see the care for cholera, typhoid and typhus, and you can also see the excrement blocking the door of your house."
As Mies spoke, she took out three black-packaged aluminum cans from her satchel and placed them in the corresponding positions for herself, Weinerson and Gropius.
"Black ginger beer?"
"Yes, it's a reward!"
"award?"
After thinking for a moment, Weinerson nodded suddenly.
He had heard of this type of beer before, and it was said to be brewed by fermenting the strong-smelling Bandar black ginger and lame wheat, with a spicy and pungent taste.
But the advantage is that it is cheap enough, 1 penny can buy a large bottle, and it is one of the alcoholic beverages chosen by most hard workers in the port area.
Mies smiled, then turned to Irene and blinked her left eye deliberately.
He reached behind his back and magically took out a bottle filled with yellow liquid, unscrewed the cap and handed it over:
"We have beer and you have juice."
"Thanks."
Erin took the juice and said something weakly, with a slightly melancholy expression.
When Mies saw this, he motioned to his two brothers to open the aluminum can together, poured the black ginger beer into the wooden cup on the table, and said with a smile:
"Let us forget the topic we just talked about. Come on, let me tell you an interesting story I heard on the ship recently. The protagonist is the old man and the sea."
Mies picked up the glass and clinked it with the wine glasses of Weinerson and Gropius, and then with Irene's juice:
"Praise to Crimson!"
"Praise to Crimson!"
With a grunt, he picked up the cup filled with black ginger beer and took a sip.
The spicy and exciting taste passes through the esophagus and slides down to the stomach. A strong grain flavor emerges from the bottom up, bringing a wonderful aftertaste.
After burping comfortably and contentedly, Miss looked up at her sister and brother.
"The protagonist of the story is an old fishing man who lives in the slums of West Street in Prydzport. He is an expert at fishing on the Gulf Stream in a small sailboat."
"But the old man seems to be unlucky recently. As of today, he has been in the sea for fourteen days in a row, and he hasn't caught a single fish."
"And what's interesting is that there was a little boy about ten years old who followed him until the fourteenth day. After he still found nothing, the child's parents said to him: This time the old man must be in trouble. Good luck."
"What's the bad luck of being in trouble?"
Erin asked slightly confused, with a look of concentration on her face.
This dissipated most of the gloom that had enveloped her face after hearing the rumors about the great smog in Hedunmar.
Weinerson also listened with some curiosity. After all, there seemed to be no memory of such bad luck in the memory of the original owner.
"It is the most powerful kind of bad luck. It is often popular in sea and port legends. Around the end of the Fourth Age, it came from the mouth of an unlucky man named Bidenwa at sea."
Gropius raised his glass as he answered, gently touching Mies' and Weinerson's glasses again.
"This may be explained by mysticism."
Erin used a knife to cut off a small piece of tender and smooth lamb meat in the bowl, then picked it up with a fork and chewed it gently in her mouth.
The lamb that was stewed to the limit was mixed with the faint fragrance of young peas, as well as the right taste of salt and the lubrication of olive oil. This made her saliva secrete like crazy, so much that she forgot that she was talking and almost choked.
“It’s delicious, much better than the first time I didn’t know how to add salt.”
"I can testify." Gropius laughed loudly: "Even without adding salt, Irene finished eating. She also said that when Miss grew up, she could cook for her sister."
"Ahem..."
Misty accepted Irene's praise calmly, and of course, she also signaled to Gropius not to mention the previous embarrassing incident.
He took a spoonful of soft and delicious mashed potatoes, put it into his mouth, and continued on the topic:
"In the following time, the child respected his parents' orders and got on another boat. As a result, they caught three red tail cod the next day, and the small sailboat was still empty when the old man came back every day."
"The old man was thin and thin, with deep wrinkles on his neck, and some brown bumps on his cheeks. I heard they were benign skin tumors caused by the reflection of the sun on the sea."
"By the way, you may know the old man, his name is Behrens!"
