Professor Bright was Siles Noel’s mentor during his two years as an apprentice.
He was a man nearing sixty, with brown hair streaked with white, slightly disheveled, and unkempt in appearance. A widower with no wife or children, he was always reticent about his past.
However, he was indeed a strict yet kind mentor. His amber pupils always gleamed with a wise, cunning light. Academically, this professor had provided Siles with immense help.
Yesterday afternoon, during Siles’s interview at the university, Professor Bright had subtly signaled him not to be nervous, as if the position had already been reserved for Siles. It was unclear how much influence Professor Bright had exerted in this matter.
Siles took two steps forward to greet Professor Bright’s arrival.
Professor Bright wore a warm reddish-brown robe that covered his short, sturdy frame. A small man with a ruddy complexion, he appeared very healthy and robust. In no time, he hurried to Siles’s side.
Before speaking, he glanced at the state of the office and immediately exclaimed, “What in the world is this!”
Siles said, “I haven’t had time to tidy up.”
The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.
Vasqlppsa Jaktbv tawxczle nsxrzykdvp, elqldekdt bkp qsaxla pvweldv, vbl tkpv clkdt vbyv vbl kdpvkvwvl’p yvvkvwel vsoyae Fkzlp, y uswdt rasqlppsa, oyp qya vss ekpxkppkhl.
Fkzlp pyke, “Mblu’al rascyczu osaakle vblal xktbv cl kxrsavydv xyvlakyzp kd blal vbyv aliwkal y rasqlppksdyz vs psav vbaswtb.”
“Mbyv zwdyvkn sze xyd, Iyclz?!” Vasqlppsa Jaktbv pbswvle. “Ebyv kxrsavydv xyvlakyzp nswze bl byhl?”
Fkzlp pbsole y qykdvzu pwarakple lmralppksd yde ypjle, “Vasqlppsa Iyclz?”
Vasqlppsa Jaktbv’p lmralppksd qasgl, alyzkgkdt bl bye zlv psxlvbkdt pzkr. Tl pyke yojoyaezu, “Zlp… vbkp sqqknl, yde uswa rspkvksd, sdnl clzsdtle vs Vasqlppsa Iyclz.”
Fkzlp dseele pzsozu, ellr kd vbswtbv.
Vasqlppsa Jaktbv pyke, “Nlv’p vyzj kdpkel. Tyhl usw lyvld?”
Fkzlp vbswtbv sq vbl pxyzz rklnl sq obkvl calye qasx vbyv xsadkdt, blpkvyvle, yde pbssj bkp blye.
Professor Bright looked at his former student with slight disapproval and said, “Young people just out of school…” He continued to himself, “Let’s go to the cafeteria later.”
They roughly organized the materials and papers in the office. As for the dust and grime, they were temporarily powerless to address it. Soon, Siles selected a few manuscripts related to course content, planning to take them back for study.
After finishing this, he asked Professor Bright, “Professor, has Professor Kabel resigned?”
“Of course,” Professor Bright said. “He’s old and said he couldn’t continue with teaching duties. But his health seems perfectly fine to me. Who knows what’s going on with him.”
Professor Bright’s attitude toward Kabel was noticeably displeased.
Professor Kabel was quite well-known in the Institute of Literature and History. The institute had several professors studying literary history, but Kabel was the most reclusive. He was an eccentric, solitary old man with white hair.
When Siles was still a student, he often heard classmates speak of this professor behind his back, their tone and content quite… disparaging.
The original Siles’s interactions with Professor Kabel were limited to a single specialized elective course; he hadn’t taken any other classes with Kabel. The professor didn’t seem to mentor apprentices or interact much with other professors in the institute, instead immersing himself in some personal research.
The institute’s attitude toward this was ambiguous—seemingly supportive yet allowing rumors to circulate unchecked.
Siles asked again, “Then, how was I chosen?”
Professor Bright hesitated, then said candidly, “Originally, the plan was to have Kabel’s teaching assistant take the position. You remember that gloomy young man, don’t you?” Seeing Siles nod, he continued, “But that kid couldn’t be reached.”
Siles asked, somewhat surprised, “Couldn’t be reached?”
“Yes,” Professor Bright said. “The semester is about to start, and he hasn’t submitted his teaching plans. The dean tried contacting him but couldn’t find him or anyone close to him.
“In the end, they had to find a replacement quickly. But don’t worry, now that you’re here, no one’s going to push you out. I’ve got your back.”
Siles gave a heartfelt smile and said, “Thank you.”
Professor Bright clapped his hands smugly and said, “Siles, you’re truly a good kid. You’ll achieve great things, mark my words.” He stood up. “Alright, let’s go eat. Look at how hungry you are.”
This kind, slightly teasing elder took Siles to the university cafeteria for a meal.
In Siles’s memories, he had eaten here countless times. The cafeteria food was decent and affordable, though the flavors weren’t familiar to He Jiayin, the former Earth native.
…But he had to get used to this world, didn’t he?
After eating, Siles and Professor Bright strolled around the campus, discussing course-related matters. Siles, troubled, sought advice on some issues, and Professor Bright offered guidance with a hint of amusement.
Finally, he concluded, “You need to have more confidence in yourself, Siles. You’re my best student. In a couple of years, I’ll be retiring, and then…”
He didn’t finish, instead giving Siles a suggestive look.
Senior professors with deep qualifications naturally received far better treatment than young professors like Siles—much better.
Siles didn’t know Professor Bright’s exact income, but recalling the professor’s lavish spending in the past, he felt a spark of motivation.
Then again, he wondered, how long could he really stay in this professor position?
Siles thanked Professor Bright for his kindness.
Soon, Professor Bright said he had other matters to attend to and needed to return to his office, also on the fourth floor. He had likely been heading there when he ran into Siles.
Siles bid farewell to Professor Bright.
As for the cluttered office, he couldn’t think of a solution yet. Perhaps after moving to the Lamifa University dormitory, he could find time to clean and organize it.
For now, he had neither the time nor the tools.
Soon, Siles boarded a public carriage for the return trip, carrying the manuscripts he had found.
The return route was slightly different. The public carriage line he took operated in a clockwise loop, like a circle. He had taken the upper half of the circle on the way there, and now he was on the lower half.
This allowed him to see more of East Lamifa’s bustling sights: the vast, wide central square, the majestic and imposing statue of the city’s founder, the grand and towering great cathedral, the crowded commercial district, and the quiet, elegant residential streets…
Suddenly, the driver called out loudly, “Historical Society stop!”
The public carriage slowed to a halt.
Siles froze. In that moment, he hesitated briefly, thinking of the business card Glenfiel had given him, then decided to push through the other passengers and disembark, looking toward the small yet refined building ahead.
He couldn’t quite describe its architectural style—it didn’t align with any Earth styles.
It had pointed spires, a clock tower, Gothic lancet windows with stained glass, and Roman-style semicircular arched roofs—a mismatched blend, as if past histories had been fused together.
But considering this was the Historical Society’s building, Siles found its appearance quite fitting.
Siles was dressed in black casual attire, with a stack of materials tucked under his arm and a long-handled umbrella in hand, making movement cumbersome. Still, he walked toward the Historical Society’s building.
His mind flashed with some information about the Historical Society, though not much.
As a scholar fresh from the academic system, he wasn’t very familiar with city organizations like the Historical Society. He roughly knew it was a platform for history enthusiasts to exchange ideas.
In this world, the existing deity was the god of the past and history, known as the “Guardian of the Crevice of Time,” Antinam.
The “Church of the Past,” which worshipped Antinam, was the only legal religious organization in this world.
…So that’s why Glenfiel called the Historical Society a semi-official organization?
Soon, in the spacious first-floor hall of the Historical Society, Siles spotted a lady. She was seated on a sofa in the hall, as if waiting for something.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, dressed in a proper blue long dress, holding a wide-brimmed hat and a beaded small purse, looking more like a pampered noblewoman.
But the excited, thrilled expression on her face disrupted that elegant demeanor. She resembled a young girl who had stumbled upon an adult’s secret, both nervous and eagerly expectant.
Siles had a gut feeling she might provide information he needed.
As he approached her, he waited for the sound of dice, but even as he stood before her, no rattling sound came.
…So this lady wouldn’t trigger a check?
Why was that? Because he already had the vice president’s business card, so no one else was needed to trigger related information?
As a former Secret Keeper, Siles instinctively analyzed the situation in his mind.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t communicate with his game master, had no idea what his character card looked like, and even less clue about what kind of scenario he was in.
This was truly vexing.
As he reached the lady, she noticed him approaching. Seeing Siles come toward her, she stood up immediately, as if finding a kindred spirit, and asked, “Are you here for the Revelator matter too?”
Siles couldn’t help but pause.
Revelator? What Revelator?
Before he could respond, the young lady continued without pause, “I heard from a friend about that miraculous power, but I don’t know if I can master it.
“Regardless, the Historical Society is my best choice. I wouldn’t go to the overly strict church or those evil, bizarre cults.
“…I got a business card. Do you have one?”
The young lady took a business card from her small purse and showed it to Siles.
Maintaining a polite distance, Siles glanced at it and said softly, “Yes, I have that card too.”
It was indeed the business card of Joseph Morton, Vice President of the Historical Society.
“That’s wonderful!” the young lady exclaimed. “Now I’ve finally found a companion!”
Siles smiled faintly, thinking to himself that he might not know as much as this lady did.









Second Life Translations' Comment Policy
1. Be kind and respectful. Comments with curses will be put under moderation.
2. No links to other websites or asking for links.
3. No spoilers!