Elena had never lived in a castle, and naturally, she was full of yearning for it. However, Vera ruthlessly shattered this unrealistic fantasy.
To say nothing of other things, even just the toilet situation was unbearable. Of course, there were no flush toilets—what they had was merely a wooden board with a hole in it, hanging on the outer wall. The waste would either drop into the moat (if there was one), fall into a pit outside the wall, or just hit the ground directly. That's why the toilets were built high up—to stay away from the stench.
"Some attackers even used those holes to sneak into the castle," Vera said, frowning as she recalled her experience living in one. "In my family's castle, at least the waste dropped into a pit below."
That revolting description was enough to make Elena back away in disgust. What's more, Vera went on to say that the castle was too large, had no glass windows, was dark, drafty, and freezing. Because the rooms were located high up, even taking a bath became a difficult task. Moreover, maintaining a functioning castle required a vast number of servants and cooks—something clearly beyond the ability of just the club members.
Though there were inconveniences in the club as well, at least it was in the city, with easy access to food, water, and clothes. Moving into a castle would make everything enormous and complicated—cleaning would be a nightmare, eating would become a major issue, and problems like laundry, heating, and lighting would follow one after another. All in all, Vera held a grim view of castle life and only hoped she could survive the period of scrutiny and return to her life at the club.
Elena, on the other hand, thought everything apart from the toilets was still bearable. At the very least, castle life sounded quite novel. She imagined the grand stone walls, the silent corridors, and the massive halls. Flipping through ancient books in an old library, uncovering the secrets of the castle. Or strolling in a spacious garden, admiring the vibrant leaves of ancient trees and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers.
Just the thought of it filled her with inspiration.
"You'll regret it," Vera sighed, seeing she couldn't persuade her. "Once you get there, you'll be counting the days till you can come back."
Despite that, there didn't seem to be a sense of urgency at the club. Only the Occult Society had begun researching cleaning magic—everything else remained calm and orderly.
"Many people are reluctant to leave Luenton," Vera knew this all too well. "If there were any other option, they'd never agree to go to the countryside. After all, who knows if they'd ever come back from there? So they won't be told unless things really go south."
For those club members who came from noble families, leaving Luenton to live in the Duke of Berkeley's castle was a last resort. They'd much rather return to their own family homes—though that increased the risk of exposure. But people always had a bit of wishful thinking.
The Duke of Berkeley couldn't possibly allow such a security risk to roam free, so Elena began packing early to prepare for her upcoming countryside life.
Though Vera insisted she'd regret it, she still honestly guided Elena on how to pack. Before this, the furthest Elena ever traveled was between home and the club, and her mother usually helped her pack. Now, she had to rely on Vera's advice to learn this new skill.
Vera often visited various relatives and stayed for weeks or even months. Though her packing was usually handled by her mother and servants, she still had plenty of experience.
"Dresses, gowns, coats, cloaks," Vera recited, "Loose skirts. Coats and cloaks are essential—the countryside weather changes constantly. Bring walking shoes and wool socks. Cotton socks will cut your feet. The roads there are nothing like the neat streets of Luenton. Towels, toiletries, cosmetics, handkerchiefs, and your writing desk too."
As for basins, sheets, and blankets, Vera rolled her eyes and gave up. "We're going to a castle, not a slum."
Though by her description, the two didn't sound all that different.
In the past few days, Elena had been swamped. The manuscript for her serialized story had reached over 40,000 words—about the length of a novella. Realizing she wouldn't have much time to write in the coming days, she decided to submit the 40,000-word manuscript now. After all, her original goal was simply to see if her new approach would earn the favor of the goddess Daedite.
That meant she had to dress as a man again and return to Holywell Street. Unlike *Ladies' Monthly*, submissions here couldn't just be mailed in. She was worried a postman might lose the manuscript—or the shopkeeper might keep it for himself. After all, she'd spent over two weeks on it! If it were lost, she wasn't sure she could recreate it.
This wasn't her first time visiting Holywell Street. She already knew the streets and alleys like the back of her hand. She brought the manuscript and a small sum of money, planning to browse a few shops after dropping off her work. She activated her transformation badge, assuming the same male disguise as before, changed into appropriate clothes, and walked to the corner to catch a carriage.
Holywell Street looked just as it had before, unchanged. Elena headed straight to the same little shop. The shopkeeper and familiar faces were chatting quietly, just as last time.
She waited until they were finished, then walked up to the shopkeeper with an air of mystery. He clearly recognized her and gave her a knowing smile, gesturing upstairs. They walked up the steep, winding, grimy staircase one after the other.
When they reached the second floor, the shopkeeper rubbed his hands and said in surprise, "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"Thank you for your generosity last time," Elena said in a deliberately exaggerated tone. "I was struck by a bit of inspiration and quickly wrote it into a manuscript. Please have a look." She handed him the carefully wrapped pages.
"Don't be so formal," he waved off her words.
As the owner of a shop specializing in serialized novels, the man had seen it all. At first, he had been excited about everything—full of energy. But now, even top-tier stories like *Randiana: The Exciting Story* failed to stir him after a few reads.
He took the manuscript and started reading.
Because of her concerns about public literacy, Elena had deliberately written in simple, straightforward language using the most basic vocabulary and sentence structure—ensuring that anyone with a basic education could easily understand it. The shopkeeper had no trouble reading it.
That was good. He had received plenty of submissions for serialized stories—some even tried to quote classics. Who wanted to read that?
Though serialized novels weren't exactly highbrow literature, plenty of people wanted to submit—because they made money. A standard three-volume novel sold for 10 shillings and sixpence per volume, with famous authors fetching up to 31 shillings and sixpence. A full novel ran 150,000 to 200,000 words, whereas serialized stories were often privately published, had limited print runs, and always sold out. The price was high too—an elegantly bound, well-printed novella could go for several pounds.
Understandable. Niche things are always expensive.
Just from reading the first few paragraphs, the shopkeeper looked surprised and glanced at Elena a few times, puzzled that a man would choose to write from a woman's point of view. But after a moment of surprise, he kept reading.
Then his eyes widened, his grip tightened on the pages, and a shocked expression crossed his face.
The protagonist was just an ordinary person?! And—a married woman?!
Though he'd read widely, he'd never seen *that* before!
He gave Elena another subtle glance, as if surprised that this seemingly serious man could come up with such a soul-piercing premise. Just the setup alone had him feeling a rush of excitement.
The story opened simply: the lady and her husband were out when they passed a nobleman's carriage, which was described in great detail. The lady merely glanced at the nobleman—just a glance—and that scene ended.
Then came the twist that blew the shopkeeper's mind.
What? The nobleman was drugged and needed a woman to decipher the effects? What kind of drug was that—he'd never heard of such a thing!
What? The lady just happened to stumble upon the scene, and the nobleman's servants captured her and offered her to the nobleman as a cure? What kind of logic was that?
Things escalated *very* quickly. They… they really went straight into it? No shame! What happened to morals? Boundaries? Dignity? This was—this was outrageous! The collapse of civilization! A disgrace to society!
The shopkeeper suddenly slammed the manuscript shut, his breathing ragged. Good thing he stopped in time, or he might've made a fool of himself right then and there.
He'd seen a lot—but this manuscript had completely blindsided him.
"This novel of yours…" The shopkeeper, now full of enthusiasm, said, "is *incredible*! How did you write something this good? I have a feeling your work is going to take over the entire serialized market in Luenton! I can't believe I'm the first one to read something so brilliant!"
His lavish praise made Elena feel a bit awkward. She quickly said, "Actually, it's only halfway done."
"What?" The shopkeeper's eyes lit up. "This masterpiece is only *half* finished?"
He took a deep breath and made up his mind. "This is too good for my little shop to handle. Let me introduce you to Mr. Hellman. With his help, your manuscript will take Holywell Street by storm. From now on, anyone who hasn't heard of *Spring Dream* doesn't deserve to step into a bookstore here!"
Elena felt very embarrassed after hearing that... It was too exaggerated... It was too exaggerated...