A distinctive broad chin, a classic knight's coiffure, eyes holding a cold, composed smile—Hew Dillchar half-lay, half-sat on the sofa, carefully studying the sketch Audrey had given him. In her eyes, this was the very living, walkable pound sterling. After deeply imprinting the features of the famed sea-dweller, Zilings, she turned to read the accompanying description: "Brown hair, moss-green eyes." "The portrait serves only as a reference, as the target possesses the ability to transform into the appearance of others, with the duration of transformation unknown." The portrait serves only as a reference... the target can transform into others... only as a reference, transforming others... Then why am I taking such care to remember the details of the sketch? Hew's expression went suddenly still, as though the world itself had turned against him. She looked up in confusion, gazing at Forse Wal, lounging lazily on the sofa across from her, and murmured to herself, "There's simply no way to find her. We don't know what she looks like—only that she's a stranger. The number of newcomers arriving in Beckett every day is simply staggering." Forse strained her waist, trying to sit up, but failed three times in a row. "I'm just a apprentice, not an arbitrator," she muttered, reaching out to press against the sofa backrest and finally managing to shift from lying to sitting. "Perhaps the lady thinks we're seers?" Forse offered a light remark. Just as Hux was about to respond, she suddenly noticed there were still several additional details. She whispered them aloud: "Recommendations for finding her: 1. Zilinger possesses a strange object that consumes the flesh and soul of one living person every other day—consider the missing itinerant laborers. 2. Gather detailed information about Zilinger and identify his unique hobbies and behavioral patterns." "Three, a person's facial features may change, but unless he undergoes special training, he will always seem like himself—such as his favorite foods, his gait, habitual gestures, and countless other details." Furse nodded slightly as he listened. "Miss Audley is not the simple, naive girl one might expect from the reports; she possesses a refined inner sensitivity and a calm, observant mind." "Is that so?" Hugh replied with a degree of hesitation, not expecting an answer, and then proposed, "I'll gather the information; you'll summarize all that—well, the gold pounds, I mean, and the pirate general's hobbies and traits?" Furse's eyes widened, and she shook the iron box holding her cigarettes. "How could you bear it? How could you ask a delicate, sensitive writer to perform such tasks of classification, analysis, and reasoning?" Hugh glanced at his friend with a quiet, convincing authority. "In your novel *The Storm House*, there's a particularly brilliant scene of deduction." "Vorst shrunk her shoulders, lowered her head, and looked at the coffee table. 'Do you know how many hairs I've lost, and how many nights I've woken up, just to work out that one line of reasoning?' She quickly lifted her gaze to look at Hugh Deilcher, then settled her head again, murmuring, 'Life is so short, and there's so much we need to accomplish—why should we waste it on such dull, tedious tasks?' Very well said... Hugh almost nodded in agreement, but managed to hold onto his dignity as the neutral arbiter. 'Then, do you have any other ideas for solving this?' she asked, speaking softly to give her youthful voice a more mature tone. Vorst thought seriously for about fifteen seconds, then suddenly looked up. 'Why don't we bring in professionals? Once you've gathered all the information about 'Admiral Storm,' we can erase the names and find a top-notch detective. Have him analyze, synthesize, and draw out the logical conclusions—this would only cost us a consulting fee!" "How could I have thought of that...? Hu's mind went completely blank. He and Folshe watched each other, neither of them speaking. When the atmosphere grew a bit awkward, she cleared her throat and said, "Then let's go with your suggestion." Immediately, she added, "And the consultation fee will be yours!" "Your words are always full of wisdom," Angela truly admired. After a moment's thought, Caine carefully replied, "I may come to the club less and less in the future—you won't need to introduce me to anyone anymore." The potion was now finished, and he had to move toward his new goals! "Why?" Angela was both surprised and puzzled, "You've already gained a strong reputation here. Most people know your predictions are not only accurate but truly magical. In fact, we're even considering inviting you to give a lecture on Sundays." If each prediction earns me one pound, then no matter how tired or difficult it may be, I'll have to persevere—plus, I'll need to visit several more houses with red chimneys, hoping to identify the mastermind as soon as possible. Caine smiled gently. "Madam, don't hesitate to keep me—this is simply fate." "I'm not saying I'll never come back at all. I'm just reducing my frequency. I'll still pay my membership dues on time." "Anyway, it'll be covered... I'll still drop by from time to time to keep an eye on things." Caine added quietly. "It's truly a pity," Angela sighed, "that when I find myself uncertain, you just happen to be here at the club." After the initial shock, she realized she wasn't as surprised by the event as she had expected. Perhaps it wasn't surprising at all that such a remarkable, reverent seer could be sustained by a club in Tinggen—after all, such a figure seemed destined to be rare. Angela smiled thoughtfully. "Chai from Xibei?" "Yes." Caine returned a smile. He sat at the club for about fifteen minutes, took a moment to rest, finished his chai, and then left, taking the street tram back to the street of Narcissus. As always, when he entered, he opened the mailbox and found a letter recently delivered. He casually opened it and discovered it was from Mr. Azk: "I shall be traveling to the town of Morse on Sunday and returning on Wednesday." The people of Morse Town generally believe in the goddess... If you go on a Sunday, the message will typically reach the night watch by Tuesday or Wednesday, and I'll just happen to catch it. Mr. Azk has remembered my request. I hope he'll also remember not to personally appear, but merely summon a ghost to feign the matter. Klein nodded slightly, barely perceptible, and poured out his spiritual energy, igniting the letter through friction. With a simple gesture, the flame turned to ash and settled gently on the ground. Klein nodded with little sincerity. "Really, I even thought she was your sister." "Sorry to disappoint you—I have no sisters, not even cousins or first cousins," Rosan chuckled. "Do you remember her name?" "No, why should I remember her name?" Klein smiled lightly. "Seeing you is no different from seeing her." "Are you praising me?" Rosan always found topics effortlessly, and asked proactively. "Klein, in the divination club, haven't you earned quite a bit of money? As a true diviner, your skill stands far above that of ordinary enthusiasts." Let's just keep ourselves as good colleagues—Klein cleared his throat. "Diviners must revere fate and cannot use divination to seek unusual gains." "Are you summing up your own divination philosophy?" Rosan asked curiously. "Yes," Klein replied with ease. After chatting a bit more with the other person, he waved goodbye, took his hat, and walked toward the partition. Thump-thump-thump. He looked at Dunning Smith, who was busy preparing coffee, and gently knocked on the open door. "Please come in," Dunning said, lifting his head and quickly straightening his posture.