The Rat at the Window and a Mysterious Errand

After another circuit of the room, Mi Xia discovered a folded grey nightgown at the foot of the bed, which the Mother Superior had brought with the food.

The two keys lay on the long table, exactly where she had left them, neither taken nor used to lock the door when she departed, nor had she been warned against leaving the room tonight.

With the sun nearing its descent, this presented Mi Xia with an opportune moment to sate her curiosity.

The convent was unnervingly quiet; in the two days she had resided there, she had never once heard a human-made sound from outside.

The Mother Superior had mentioned other nuns, yet it seemed implausible that they, too, walked with the same silent tread as their superior.

Taking up the keys, she cautiously pressed an ear to the wooden door, and upon confirming no movement beyond, Mi Xia inserted one of the keys into the lock.

The Mother Superior had left two keys, and with only two doors in the room—one to the washroom—the purpose of the second key was self-evident.

“Click-whirr~” The lock mechanism turned with a soft sound.

A peculiar detail caught her attention: the whirring of the lock seemed to be mingled with another sound, one faintly grating, much like fingernails scraping against glass.

Recalling it more precisely, it wasn’t a mingling at all, for the sound had originated from behind her, precisely at the instant she turned the key.

“Screech~”

The sound echoed again, intermittently, though this time she hadn’t touched the key.

It was definitely behind her… at the window.

Being on the second floor, with a dense forest beyond, it would be exceedingly difficult for anyone to climb up; the nearest tree stood a full five meters from the window.

Slowly turning, Mi Xia beheld something the size of an adult’s palm outside the window.

It was a living creature, somewhat resembling a rat, and it was scratching at the glass with its forepaws and two long, sharp teeth.

‘This…’

How had it ascended to this two-story height?

Was she hallucinating?

She wasn’t afraid of rats; she never had been, and a change in gender wouldn’t suddenly instill that fear in her now.

Instead, a flicker of curiosity stirred within her.

As she pondered, she slowly approached, intent on discerning the rat’s true appearance.

Her steps halted in near perfect synchronicity with the rat emerging from the shadows into the pale moonlight.

She froze instantly.

It was, indeed, a rat—but a rat ‘unlike any other’—perched on a ledge less than twenty centimeters wide just outside the window.

Mi Xia felt her understanding of biology shattering, for no creature could possibly function normally with its fur melted away, as if seared by fire, its body pitch-black, skin decaying, and its limbs and most of its skull reduced to bare bone!

“CRACK!”

The rat’s sharp fangs suddenly pierced the glass, spiderweb cracks spreading outward from the point of impact.

Then, with its sole remaining crimson eye, it glared at Mi Xia, its ragged throat emitting a series of `squeaks`, as if it would shatter the glass and lunge in at any moment.

Mi Xia stood dumbfounded, not daring to advance further, yet she hadn’t descended into full-blown panic.

After all, however grotesque that ‘fire-scorched rat’ appeared, its size was undeniable; she felt confident she could stomp it to death with one kick, or two at most, considering her current physique and diminished strength.

“Dong—”

“Dong—”

The chime of a bell echoed at that precise moment, shattering the already taut, frozen atmosphere.

A sudden darkness swam before her eyes; by the time Mi Xia had steadied herself, one hand pressed to her forehead, and looked towards the window, her vision, though still blurry, revealed nothing but empty space.

Turning back, she noticed she was still rooted to the spot, her other hand still clutching the key in the lock, poised in a twisting motion.

Both the key and her hand were slick with sweat.

****

Later that evening, having hastily washed herself in the washroom in a state of ‘fumbling in the dark’ and changed into her nightgown, Mi Xia quickly burrowed under the covers.

She avoided even a glance at the window, her mind racing with wild thoughts until she finally drifted off to sleep past midnight.

The following morning, Mother Superior Anthea arrived as promised, bringing a breakfast of rye porridge and hot milk to the room.

Mi Xia, having already completed her ablutions, had been seated on the bed for only a short while.

She noticed an oak chest, securely locked, resting on the lower tray of the serving trolley.

Its corners were reinforced with brass, and it featured a leather handle.

The front of the chest bore an engraved scene: a multi-figure portrait.

The figures in the depiction were deep in slumber, lying in serene repose.

At the very center, a mysterious woman with her eyes closed and a peaceful countenance sat semi-upright against what appeared to be a complex backdrop of stars.

She had seen similar, though far more intricate, designs on the frescoes within the Konehl-Ghervil Cathedral.

The central woman, she surmised, was likely the so-called Goddess of Retrospection, her face much like the cathedral’s statue.

The chest itself measured approximately 24 x 16 x 10 inches, placing it firmly in the category of a large portable trunk.

Mother Superior Anthea offered no explanation, merely continuing to observe Mi Xia as she ate, her gaze unsettling—a blend of slight affection and the scrutiny one might apply to an inanimate object.

An involuntary sense of caution rose within Mi Xia.

She recalled the look in villains’ eyes from television shows she had watched in her past life, when they secretly took out, fiddled with, or inspected treasures acquired through illicit means.

Though the Mother Superior’s appearance didn’t suggest great age, she exuded an aura of profound composure and discernment, as if she could see right through people.

“Before I give you my answer, I’d like to understand more about the ‘Mist’,” Mi Xia began, eager to escape that piercing gaze as she swiftly finished her breakfast.

“I recall you saying yesterday morning that this place is considered a safe haven in the city; could you explain why? Also, what exactly do you mean by ‘this time’?”

She was determined to gather more information, believing that greater knowledge would lead to more choices.

“I assumed you knew, given your age,” Mother Superior Anthea replied, her lips thinning into a line as her gaze returned to normal.

“Roughly twenty years ago, around 1936, a peculiar climate swept across this nation.”

“Climate?”

“More accurately, it’s an anomalous weather phenomenon, resembling smog and smoke, yet it never dissipates naturally.

Every year, during both winter and summer, in some severely affected areas, it can become so dense that you can’t see your hand in front of your face.”

Pausing slightly, Mother Superior Anthea’s gaze shifted towards the window behind Mi Xia.

“Whenever the Mist descends, some people become lost, and those fortunate enough to survive contract strange illnesses.

Both the Order and other systems have suffered significant losses because of it.”

Listening to these alarming claims, Mi Xia felt a pang of disbelief.

In this era, if it corresponded to Earth’s timeline, the unchecked development of heavy and chemical industries following the first and second industrial revolutions would have wrought incalculable environmental damage.

Widespread fog wasn’t uncommon; London, for instance, had earned the moniker ‘The Smoke’ due to such conditions.

Deaths from chemical pollution were not unheard of, and survivors often endured lasting after-effects.

She surmised this country was experiencing a similar situation, assuming, of course, that she had merely traveled back in time rather than arrived in an entirely new world.

For smog to blanket an entire nation, either this country, Elephante, must be exceedingly small, or… no, there could be no other explanation.

She had no intention of relaying the events of last night, dismissing them as likely fatigue-induced hallucinations.

The bell had chimed at six in the evening, and the almanac on the wall indicated July 3rd; in summer, darkness fell late, making moonlight at that hour impossible.

Moreover, she had inspected the window this morning, finding no cracks in the glass, which was as pristine as new.

“If I’m not mistaken, the ailments suffered by those who survive are mostly related to the lungs and respiratory tract, such as…”

“Such as pneumonia or respiratory infections, then?” She interrupted, a hint of triumphant amusement playing on her lips.

“Yes… precisely.”

Noticing the girl’s unexpected display, Mother Superior Anthea continued,

“Doctors twenty years ago made similar diagnoses, with the result that even today, people visit their graves to thank them for, quite literally, giving their lives to warn others: never attempt to treat anyone afflicted by the Mist with conventional methods.”

Mi Xia stared blankly at the Mother Superior, finding absolutely no humor in her words.

“Very well, then, you can choose to do me a small favor,” Mother Superior Anthea offered, placing the trunk on the table with one hand.

“I understand this is a difficult decision, and that you don’t fully believe some of what I’ve told you.

Canary Street is just outside this place.

If you simply deliver this trunk to number 12, I will allow you to reside here permanently.”

This came as something of a surprise; Mi Xia hadn’t taken the Mother Superior for someone who would give up easily.

Had the ‘Mist’ threat proven ineffective, prompting her to try another approach… to first ensure Mi Xia’s stay, then gradually persuade her?

Mi Xia, for her part, was quite certain she wouldn’t, and didn’t want to, become a nun.

However, with no other recourse, and the mounting debt from her stay here… she could only hope to find a job later and slowly repay it.

“…I will complete the task as requested.”

“Excellent.

If they ask, simply tell them you have amnesia.”

Mother Superior Anthea nodded, clearly satisfied, then unlatched the chest and extracted a delicate, engraved glass container, shaped like a sealed, short-stemmed wine glass.

From Mi Xia’s vantage point, she couldn’t discern the contents of the chest, but the rustling sound suggested soft, cloth-like items within.

“Before you depart, drink half a mouthful of this; it will mask your unusual eye color.

Among those afflicted by the Mist, cases of abnormal eyes are not uncommon.”

“Is it a disguise, then, rather than a treatment?”

Mi Xia had originally planned to find a doctor once outside, to see if she was ill; after all, no normal person had eyes of that color, this wasn’t a fairy tale.

“You do, indeed, require treatment, but not for your eyes.

Regrettably, I also do not know how to cure you.”

Mi Xia’s face stiffened as she gazed at the woman before her, who spoke with such earnestness, leaving Mi Xia uncertain whether to believe her.

“Then… who can cure me?”

She didn’t believe any other part of her body was ailing, yet she asked, holding onto a sliver of hope.

“If that is your question, I can only tell you that no one can cure you,” the woman replied, spreading her hands in a gesture of innocence before handing the glass container to Mi Xia.

“If your curiosity grows any stronger, the female police officer on duty will have already gone home.”

‘A female police officer?’

So, it was to the police station, then.

The Mother Superior, surprisingly, had dealings with the police…

Unscrewing the container’s lid, Mi Xia found a pale red liquid within, emitting a unique, refreshing fragrance.

She couldn’t quite pinpoint the scent, but it resembled roses, and inhaling it for a moment had a revitalizing effect.

‘A potion to conceal eye color…’

She glanced sidelong at the woman, who, no longer paying her any mind, retrieved the nightgown Mi Xia had discarded from beside the wardrobe, unfolded it, and began refolding it with meticulous neatness.

“…”

‘Was it not somewhat improper to do this in front of someone else?’

Mi Xia had thought her own tidying had been quite adequate, a hint of awkwardness flickering in her eyes.

About five minutes later, standing before the mirror, she felt a considerable shock: her eye color had transformed into a dark gold, similar to Mother Superior Anthea’s.

The potion’s taste, when it entered her mouth, was just as it smelled—slightly sweet and palatable.

Closing her eyes, she felt a cool sensation spread from her throat throughout her body, finally converging in her head, then her eyes.

It felt as if her entire body had been cleansed, leaving her feeling considerably more invigorated.

‘How truly miraculous…’

“The first dose will last less than ten hours, but its efficacy can extend to three days once you gradually adapt,” the Mother Superior’s voice came from behind her, observing Mi Xia in the mirror.

“You may also drink a little if you feel unwell under certain circumstances.

However, I advise you to take it only once every three days and ensure you keep it safe.”

“Why?”

“Because its raw materials are scarce and it is difficult to produce.”

‘A rare, high-grade, precious item, then.’

Mi Xia decided not to carry such a valuable item on her person; indeed, she couldn’t, as most dresses of this style lacked pockets.

She looked around and chose to place it in the first drawer beneath the wardrobe, glancing into the wardrobe’s crevices as she did, finding nothing there—her nightgown was gone.

‘That’s odd; it must have been put in another drawer.’

“You wait downstairs on the first floor; I’ll be there shortly.”

Just as she was about to feign looking for a place to hide the potion and open another drawer, a voice sounded from behind her.

Turning, she saw the woman standing by the bed.

Following the Mother Superior’s gaze, she saw the folded but not-so-neat bedding and the wrinkled sheet where she had been sitting.

A little embarrassed, Mi Xia scratched the back of her head and nodded before leaving the room.

The wait downstairs was quicker than she expected; after about three minutes of admiring the garden scenery, she saw the figure slowly descending the stairs, carrying the trunk.

Following her through the long side corridor, Mi Xia would occasionally glance back to take in the convent’s surroundings, observing its full grandeur for the first time: the magnificent and solemn architectural style, the fence overgrown with climbing vines and greenery…

It couldn’t compare to the grandeur of Konehl-Ghervil Cathedral, yet it was far from shabby, exuding a pleasant and tranquil atmosphere that made one wish to live there forever.

It was a pity, however, that she hadn’t seen any of the other nuns during her tour; her plan to greet them would have to be abandoned.

Since she would be living here in the future, an early meeting would help avoid misunderstandings later.

Unconsciously, they rounded a small path in the courtyard garden, and a white stone archway adorned with marble reliefs appeared before them.

“This is as far as I go.

Take this.”

“Aren’t you accompanying me?”

“It’s so heavy!”

Taking the offered trunk with one hand, Mi Xia’s face fell, and she nearly toppled over, leaning half her body to the side.

She quickly added her other hand, barely managing to steady herself.

The strength of this body was far weaker than she had imagined!

Or was it that the Mother Superior was simply incredibly strong, able to lift it with one hand?

“Follow this road straight for about ten minutes, and you’ll reach the street.

Don’t forget what I told you.

Good luck.”

The woman answered her question with an action—pointing to a winding path in the forest, then turning around and closing the main gate without a backward glance, returning the way she came.

“Aren’t you worried I might deliver it to the wrong place…?”

Watching the woman’s figure gradually disappear, she was certain that the Mother Superior was truly not coming back.

With a hint of resentment, she strenuously dragged the trunk forward.

After just a few steps, a strange odor, like something burning, wafted through the air, and a thin layer of mist gradually began to rise in the forest.

‘Could someone be setting fires in the forest?’

‘Such a widespread smoke… it could also be the ‘Mist’ she mentioned.’

‘She really should have asked the Mother Superior to at least see her out of the forest…’

Unable to see deep into the forest, and with the surroundings unnervingly quiet, Mi Xia covered her nose and mouth with her hand and quickened her pace.

After about twenty minutes, the forest gradually thinned, and a bustling street appeared before her.

Wooden four-wheeled carriages with enclosed cabins sped by at the coachmen’s shouts.

The burnt smell dissipated, replaced by an even fouler odor—black, viscous ‘feed’ that had been digested and then pressed into the ground by carriage wheels.

Mi Xia, overwhelmed by the stench and thoroughly exhausted, simply found a clean spot and sat on the trunk to rest.

She dared not continue dragging the trunk along such a road.

Some of the galloping carriages carried passengers, while slower ones had not yet picked any up.

Inevitably, someone soon noticed her.

A relatively clean carriage stopped in front of her.

Instinctively, her gaze first fell upon its wheels, and she felt somewhat relieved upon discovering almost none of that foul substance.

“Oh, good morning, beautiful and lost young lady.

I imagine you must be in need of assistance.”

The coachman was a rather thin young man, dressed in coarse wool, wearing a brown hat, and smiling very warmly.

“I need to go to 12 Canary Street.

I’d be most grateful if you could help me load this trunk.”

“My pleasure.”

The coachman hopped down from his seat, bowed slightly, and lifted the trunk with just one hand.

It had to be said, this coachman was quite the gentleman; he even opened the carriage door for her.

Such demeanor was rare and commendable in the coaching profession, which likely explained why his carriage was so immaculately maintained.

They hadn’t been traveling long when a cool breeze drifted in, and Mi Xia gradually relaxed, her gaze wandering out the window.

People on the street walked, conversed, worked, and traded…

‘Wait.’

She noticed the items people used for transactions: paper money and metal coins.

It was common knowledge that money was needed in many places when traveling… and taking a carriage was no exception.

‘Then I…’

She patted the non-existent pockets on her thigh.

She should have realized this problem earlier—she didn’t have a single penny!