In the evening, the crimson moonlight is serene and the stars are shining!

On the continent of Federas, whether it is spring, summer, autumn or winter, rain or snow, the crimson moon always hangs high above the black curtain.

Of course, the moon is not common in some special areas, or even if it can be seen, it is only hazy and scattered, such as Huttonmar, the capital of hope in the Kingdom of Ghent!

With the advent of the Age of Discovery, the thousand-year-old quiet pastoral castle scenery was replaced by the roar of chimneys and whistles.

Rail traffic runs from east to west, north and south, and the steam and smoke emitted from the factories have accumulated in the sky over Huttonmar, forming a gray haze that will not dissipate for a long time.

It's the best of times, and it's the worst of times!

In this era, on one side there were rows of newly built factories, and on the other hand, they were crowded with homeless poor people in Qiaodong.

On one side there are delicate and tempting pastries displayed in the shop window, and on the other hand, there are sewer girls picking up garbage in the gutter not far away.

On the one hand, the funerals of the nobles were comparable to lavish parties, and on the other hand, the poor who died of starvation were dug up to make room for new corpses......

This is the City of Dreams, this is the City of Hope, and this is Huttonmal!

.........

Erin and Venason sat upright at their desks, watching the hearty food on the table as Mies told the story of Huttonmar, the city of hope.

"They're so pathetic."

Erin's face was a little unnatural, she had entered the social work before Miss and Gropius, and she had heard a lot about the legend of Hutton Male, but it was far from this terrifying.

Although the sewers of Faslanka are also full of homeless poor and displaced people, it is undoubtedly much better than Huttonmar.

"I heard from Ms. Jia Lin at school before that her husband was doing business in the industrial area of Huttonmar North Ao Harbor Terminal."

"He says a day there can be a different feeling, in the heat of summer, when the air in the morning is like lead on you, and at noon it's like you're sitting in the stove with your nose stuck in your pipe."

"And at night, you have to cough from dust and stench, as if you swallowed a pound of chili peppers in one go!"

Vinason said to himself with a slight frown, which reminded him of the stories he had learned in his previous life in the university library, when he was reading modern global historiography.

At the end of 1952, a smog swept through the city, killing nearly 20,000 people in just a few days.

This is a different world, so this shouldn't be a problem, right?

"Actually, Huttonmar's environmental problems are okay, they are still tolerable, if they are in the Turkman Empire in the southern continent, the environment over there is the real despair."

"It is very popular on the ships of the southern continent that come and go from the port of Pritz that if you want to know how a poor sinner is tortured in purgatory, go to Turkman, where you can feel the love of cholera, typhoid and typhus, and see the excrement blocking the door of your house."

As he spoke, Mies took out three black-wrapped aluminum cans from his satchel and placed them in the corresponding positions for himself, Venason and Gropius.

"Black ginger beer?"

"That's right, it's a reward!"

"Reward?"

After a moment's thought, Venason nodded abruptly.

He had heard of this type of beer before, and it was said to be a spicy and pungent blend of strong-smelling bandar black ginger and lame grain wheat.

However, it is cheap enough to buy a large bottle for 1pence, and is one of the alcoholic beverages of choice for most drudgers in the port area.

Mies smiled at the corner of her mouth, then turned to Erin and winked her left eye deliberately.

He reached out and grabbed it behind his back, and as if he was juggling, he took out a bottle filled with yellow and clear liquid, unscrewed the cap and handed it over:

"We drink beer, you drink juice."

"Thank you."

Erin took the juice and said a little weakly, looking a little melancholy.

Seeing this, Mies motioned for his two brothers to open the aluminum can, poured the black ginger beer into the wooden cup on the table, and said with a smile:

"Let's forget about the topic we just had, and I'll tell you an interesting story I heard on a ship recently, the protagonist of which is the old man and the sea."

Mies picked up his glass and touched it with Vinason, Gropius's glasses, and Erin's juice:

"Praise Crimson!"

"Praise Crimson!"

With a grunt, he picked up the cup full of black ginger beer and took a sip from his head.

The spicy and pungent flavor passes through the esophagus and slides down to the stomach, and a strong grain flavor rushes out from the bottom up, creating a wonderful aftertaste.

With a comfortable hiccup, Mies looked up at her sister and brother.

"The protagonist of the story is an old fisherman who lives in the slums of West Street in the port of Prydze, an expert who often sails alone in a small sailboat to fish on the Gulf Stream."

"But the old man seems to have been unlucky lately, and as of today, he has been in the sea for fourteen days in a row, and has not caught a single fish."

"And the interesting thing is that there was a little boy about ten years old who followed him until the fourteenth day, and after he found nothing, the child's parents said to him: The old man must have been unlucky for a while."

"What's the bad luck of handing over the bottom burner?"

Erin asked, slightly confused, a slightly focused look on her face.

This made the gloom on her face dissipate most of the gloom that had shrouded her face after hearing the rumors of the Great Smog of Huttonmar.

Venason also listened with some curiosity, after all, in the memory of the original owner, there seemed to be no memory of such bad luck.

"It's one of the worst of bad luck, and it's often associated with the sea and the port, which came from the mouth of an unlucky guy named Biden Wa at sea around the end of the Quaternary Age."

Gropius replied as he raised his glass, and it touched Mies and Vinason's glasses again.

"This may be explained by the occult."

Erin used a knife to cut a small piece of tender and smooth lamb from the bowl, then forked it up with a fork and put it into her mouth to chew gently.

The lamb stewed to the limit was mixed with the faint aroma of tender peas, the right amount of salt and the lubrication of olive oil, which made her saliva secrete so wildly that she forgot that she was talking and almost choked.

"It's delicious, and it's a lot better than the first time I didn't know how to put salt."

"I can testify." Gropius laughed and said, "Even without salt, Erin finished eating, and said that Mies was grown up and could cook for her sister." ”

"Ahem..."

Mistan accepted Erin's compliment, and of course signaled to Gropius not to mention the previous trouble.

He scooped up a spoonful of soft and delicious mashed potatoes and put them in his mouth, and continued on the topic he had just said:

"The boy then honored his parents and got into another boat, and the next day they caught three redtail cod, and the old man came back every day with the boat still empty."

"The old man was thin and thin, with deep wrinkles on his neck, and brown bumps on his cheeks, which I heard were benign skin tumors from the reflection of the sun on the surface of the sea."

"By the way, you may know the old man, his name is Behrens!"