Perhaps it was on the way, or perhaps Stelle didn't really have a clear destination. Either way, she and Old Neil decided to walk together.
This little trip could be said to have really broadened Old Neil's horizons. It was the first time he'd ever seen such a lively young girl. Compared to her, Rozanne was practically a quiet, obedient child.
Along the way, Stelle would occasionally rummage through trash cans, and sometimes suddenly stop to have a "conversation" with a streetlamp.
After a period of adjustment, Old Neil gradually began to understand the way Stelle mind worked.
As long as light hit something and produced a reflection, in Stelle's eyes that meant it had a "possible interaction option." Sometimes, even without light, she would still decide that some object could be "interacted with."
Old Neil didn't know what "interaction option" meant, but he roughly understood—it probably referred to something that could be "engaged with" or "communicated with."
Though he couldn't quite comprehend why Stelle could spend so long interacting with a roadside rock, it didn't stop him from finding her company pleasant.
Indeed, when people grow old, they come to enjoy being around the young and energetic. It makes them feel as though they themselves have become younger again, as though blood still flowed through their veins instead of the sludge of old age.
Old Neil suddenly grew curious. He wondered what the world looked like in this girl's eyes.
A Mystery Pryer is always interested in strange and novel things.
He called out to Stelle and asked why she liked trash cans so much.
Stelle became very excited, like a child eager to introduce a friend to an elder.
She pulled Old Neil over to the roadside, rummaged through the bins, and chose the one she thought was most suitable for him to observe.
"A beginner should start with a relatively clean trash can like this," Star explained very earnestly.
It was clear she sincerely wanted to teach Old Neil how to appreciate trash cans.
The bin was utterly ordinary, the kind found on every street corner. Plain, featureless. There wasn't even any garbage inside—it was so common, so overlooked, that even trash ignored it.
"What do you see?" Star asked.
Old Neil thought for a while before answering, "I see this trash can is very rusty. It must have been used for a long time."
"It's an old man," Stelle affirmed, her eyes full of encouragement, urging him to continue.
"And it's clean? I mean, compared to other trash cans, there's nothing inside it." Old Neil tried to understand from her perspective. "That must be its virtue? Right?"
"No!" Stelle immediately refuted. "A trash can without garbage is like a person without money."
"…So it's an old and poor trash can," Old Neil muttered.
It was so unremarkable, just like himself—already advanced in years and still only at Sequence Nine. For a moment, he felt a strange sense of kinship with the bin.
Tentatively, he reached out. The touch was cold.
He noticed that not only was the inside empty, but the outside was clean as well. Like a gentleman properly dressed.
It was a worthless object, yet there was a beauty in its worthlessness. Like a patched but well-kept suit on a gentleman, silently declaring: there is no such thing as born trash—always believe in yourself.
Perhaps it even had a dream: to see a city with no more garbage. A difficult, nearly impossible dream.
"So that's it… it also has a reason to exist… it also has something it wants to achieve?"
He felt the dignity of the trash can—hard to imagine such a thing could have dignity. Yet its dignity weighed heavily.
It lived with troubles, with fleeting happiness. Its fate was never fair.
And yet hope was priceless.
He began to understand. To understand the trash can, to understand Stelle.
Touching the bin's surface, he realized it seemed to have changed—not so rusty, smoother than before.
It no longer felt cold and rough, but warm, polished, delicate.
"You've become young again, is it because of your inner resolve?" Old Neil asked softly. "Even if your dream can never be achieved, you won't give up, will you?"
The trash can did not answer. Such questions needed no reply.
It reflected the last rays of the setting sun, standing tall. Until its dream was achieved, it would not yield.
Old Neil stood up, removed his hat, and gave a slight bow of respect.
"Once you set foot on this path, there's no turning back," Stelle sighed behind him.
Stepping back, Old Neil looked around. The world seemed different—objects by the roadside all glimmered with light, communicating in some language humans could not comprehend. He realized it might take him time before he could join in.
"Thank you," Old Neil said sincerely. His belief had grown stronger, and he had found a like-minded companion.
He turned to Stelle again. "Thank you too."
Star smiled warmly at him. "Would you like to hear a story?"
"Of course."
From who-knows-where, Stelle pulled out a harp. Like a bard, she strummed as she spoke:
[Sis thinks she is Venti 😭]
"My story begins in the primordial age, when gods still walked the earth. The King of Trash fell from the sky, filled with curiosity for all the world's wonders…"
...
The next morning, after seeing Melissa safely onto the public carriage, Klein and Benson parted ways at the street corner and headed to their companies.
Klein had insisted on watching Melissa hand over the proper fare—otherwise, he feared she might try to pay less and get off midway. But once the right amount was paid, even Melissa wouldn't dare ask the conductor to return part of it.
As Klein stepped through the company's door, he spotted Old Neil chatting with Rozanne at the reception desk. Neil wore his usual classical black robe, unbothered by others' stares. Rozanne, however, had changed into a light yellow casual dress.
For some reason, Klein felt Old Neil seemed a little different today—more confident, younger somehow.
He overheard Neil telling Rozanne a story:
"The trash can sought its answer, unable to comprehend the chaos of the mortal world. Then the Singer of the Bin struck the strings, and the Harp of Trash gave it answers one by one…"
"Good morning, Mr. Neil, Miss Rozanne." Klein doffed his hat in greeting.
Neil looked at him. "Good morning. You didn't hear anything you shouldn't have last night, did you?"
"No, I slept quite well," Klein replied, somewhat puzzled. He remembered Neil saying he'd often hear such things.
He could only chalk it up to his inspiration not being high enough yet.
"Haha, don't worry. It's not so easy to hear." Neil pointed to the partition. "Go on to the armory. This morning we continue our mysticism lessons."
Neil almost forgot—he often heard such things only because he prayed to the Hidden Sage. Klein had not.
Klein nodded, followed Neil downstairs into the basement, and replaced Bright, who had been on night duty.
"What are we learning today?" Klein asked curiously.
Neil drew out a long "Hmm" before answering, "Some complicated but fundamental knowledge. But before that, I'll teach you an interesting technique."
He pointed at the silver chain coiled around his wrist, from which hung a tiny silver trash can charm.
(End of Chapter)