Klein listened carefully, then asked, "So, you suspect that the Zerel the detectives saw was actually someone else pretending to be her?" Ian, holding his brown fedora, responded thoughtfully, "That's a possibility, but I think it's too difficult—so difficult that it would require an immense risk. The gathering took place in the evening, and the lighting wasn't particularly bright, yet most of the attendees were detectives, keen observers. It would be hard for them to be fooled simply by wigs, mustaches, and cosmetics." Perhaps some extraordinary ability could achieve it—something like the 'thirst that creeps' itself... Klein's question had contained a subtle trap, aiming to gauge whether Ian had encountered extraordinary beings, whether he possessed a certain familiarity with the mysterious realm. The initial assessment was negative. Ian saw the detective nod slightly, indicating agreement with his reasoning, and continued: "I believe the detectives saw Mr. Zerel, though he was not free—he was under strict control by others and unable to send out any distress signals. In fact, his failure to respond to my communications was intentional, designed to alert me and prompt me to seek assistance to rescue him." "A reasonable explanation," said Caine, loosening his clasped hands and leaning back slightly to appear more relaxed and confident. Ian remained silent for several seconds, then spoke with a sense of seriousness: "I would like to commission you to investigate Mr. Zerel and verify his current condition—only that." Considering that the other party was a semi-professional gathering intelligence on behalf of the detectives, Caine felt a desire to build a relationship and smiled: "Then, how much would you like to be paid? I'm sure you're aware that this matter might prove quite dangerous." Ian subtly lowered his head and glanced at the pocket of his worn coat, weighing his words carefully. "There are two options. First, I can pay you a sufficient, satisfactory amount upfront—enough to meet your expectations—and then, regardless of whether the task is simple or demanding, it will remain the same amount, unless you suffer a relatively serious injury. Alternatively, I can pay you five pounds initially, and then supplement the payment based on the task's difficulty upon completion. However, this approach may lead to disputes, even with a contract in place." Klein shook hands with him briefly, pulled out a standardized contract he had prepared in advance from the table, took up a round-bodied steel pen, and entered all the details discussed just now, then pressed his signature. After signing the contract, he handed the young man Ian a stack of white sheets, watching as he wrote down information about Zerel the detective. A moment later, while flipping through the documents, Klein casually asked, "In case of an emergency, or if I confirm Zerel's condition, how should I reach you?" Ian kept his mouth closed, silent for a while, until Klein looked at him, when he responded stiffly, "You don't need to contact me—I'll appear when it's appropriate." He said no more, and from the pocket of his old coat, he produced a thick stack of bills, neatly stacked in strict descending order by denomination, perfectly aligned. Ian first pulled out three £1 banknotes from the bottom, then counted six 5-shilling notes, and finally ten 1-shilling banknotes. Seeing the other person arrange the banknotes with meticulous care—ensuring that the royal portraits faced upwards, with no room for error—Crawen suddenly felt a growing sense of irritation. This was clearly the late stage of a severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. He sighed silently, took the offered payment. Based on his estimate, Ian’s remaining cash did not exceed £3. He must have brought all his savings with him. If he had asked for more compensation earlier, would Ian have ultimately walked away without paying? Crawen didn’t look particularly like someone who would do that, but appearances can be deceiving. He casually folded the banknotes and tucked them into his coat pocket, without bothering to arrange them neatly, and thus successfully observed a slight furrow in Ian’s brow. "I’ll do my best to complete the investigation as soon as possible," Crawen said, standing up and extending his hand in a gesture of farewell. "Thank you for your assistance." Ian sincerely thanked him, as the offer clearly carried a discounted price. Watching the tall, mature young man—much older than his actual years—walk away, Caine stroked his chin and quietly murmured to himself, "This matter runs deeper than it appears." "Ian never once mentioned what Zerel the detective has been investigating, nor did he assign him any specific intelligence gathering tasks." "Well then, whatever the price, I'll settle for whatever services are provided—my only concern is to confirm Zerel's current condition." He turned around and walked back into the living room, pulling out at random a copper coin worth one-quarter of a penny from his trouser pocket. Clink! The coin rolled upward, and Caine's gaze darkened as he silently pondered whether there might be any extraordinary element at play. Then, he spread his right hand out, attempting to catch the falling coin. Clink! The coin skimmed past his fingers and landed on the floor, rolling smoothly several feet away. This outcome signified a failed divination. "It seems Ian has been hiding more from me than I ever imagined... The information is so lacking that even vague divination results are missing." Caine tightened his lips, took a few steps forward, and bent down to pick up the copper coin. ........ That evening, at dawn, 138 Rose Street, in the Beckland Bridge district. Caine had changed into a simple light blue workman's outfit, with black beard stubble clinging to his mouth, chin, and cheeks, giving him a rugged, wild appearance. He wore a dark baseball cap, the brim low and nearly concealing his eyes. This style of cap, originally worn by hunters from the Inters Republic and distinct from the traditional deer-hunting caps of the Roon Kingdom, had recently become popular among the middle and lower classes in Beckland. Hidden in the shade of Inters wisteria trees along the street, Caine studied the house across the way, its elegant gas lantern casting a refined glow. That was Zerel's home. The detective is from South Wylde, where his parents, relatives, and friends all reside. He has settled in Beckett alone, gradually building a reputation. He remains single, hiring only two temporary housemaids—those who come every three days to clean, without responsibility for meals or lodging. At this moment, the townhouse he rents is completely dark, with no light at all. Zerel's home had no porch, no garden, no lawn—just a street-facing facade adjacent to the road. Caine rounded to the side, climbed up to the second-floor balcony along the water main, where clothes were hung to dry. Then he pulled out a tarot card, slipped it into the gap, and opened the door leading to the hallway. Following Ian's floor plan, Caine moved almost silently to the entrance of Zerel's bedroom. He lightly tapped his left tooth to activate his clairvoyance, gazing through the wooden door. Clairvoyance allows one to see the color of energy fields through non-living barriers, but its effectiveness depends on the practitioner's skill. At present, Caine could see through the door, but not beyond the stone wall, and the images he perceived were not very clear. Within his vision, the bedroom behind the door contained three human-shaped energy fields, hazy and positioned at different locations. Three people had been quietly watching—waiting to catch Ian, or someone else? The bedroom wasn't very large... Caine stood in the darkness, calmly reflecting on what he had observed. At that moment, he suddenly stepped back toward the balcony, his footsteps still quiet. Back on the balcony, Caine pulled out a thin silver disc from his pocket. This was his "Sleeper Spell," which he had attempted in the afternoon. Instead of invoking the Night Goddess, he had performed the ritual upon himself—upon himself, the "simpleminded fool from a different age"—and then entered into response within the gray mist. Because this method was less effective at summoning the powerful forces of that mysterious space above the mist, Caine could only offer his own spiritual resonance as a response. As a result, the spell he created was less refined than the usual standard, though still better than one made using the method of "invoking by my name"—it was just sufficient. Once again reviewing the surroundings, Caine covered his mouth and softly uttered an ancient Hermes word: "Crimson." Feeling the cold of the talisman, he moved swiftly yet silently to the doorway of Zerel's bedroom, gripping the handle while channeling his spiritual energy into the silver foil. Creak! Carefully turning the handle, Caine gently pushed the door open a crack. Then, he tossed the "Sleeping Talisman" inside. Drawing back slightly, Caine closed the door and began to count silently. "Three... two... one." He pushed the door open with a sudden burst and rolled to the floor. Not sensing any movement from the three people inside, Caine rose to his feet and, using the deep crimson moonlight streaming through the window, surveyed the room. It was a typical bedroom—complete with a bed, a row of wardrobes, a desk, a small sofa set, and a coat rack. On the other side of the bed, a man in a black coat lay propped up, breathing deeply and sleeping soundly. Additionally, beside the armchair and in front of the wardrobe, there were two more individuals, both now asleep. After confirming the condition of these three, Caine moved gently to the head of the bed, bent down, and picked up a few strands of short, golden-brown hair. According to Ian's notes, the detective Zerel was a man with short, golden-brown hair. It should be correct... Caine murmured, holding the strands of hair in his hands, and then walked to the armchair, sitting slowly down in the dim, slightly rosy light, intending to use dream divination to locate Zerel.