Finally, the middle-aged man with white hair took a sip of tea, smiled, and sighed, "In fact, this is already much better than it was before—better than many people here. For example..." He gestured toward the homeless men and women huddled in the corner outside the window. Kaine and Mike followed his gaze and saw a group of people lying huddled in a damp, sheltered spot, men and women of all ages, old and young, all wrapped tightly in their coats. In this cold autumn, they might not even wake up again. At that moment, Kaine noticed an elderly woman standing by the street, in her sixties. Though her clothes were worn and slightly tattered, they were relatively neat, and her hair was neatly combed. Though her face bore the usual look of weariness common among the homeless, she remained steadfast, refusing to join the crowd, instead walking slowly along the sidewalk, occasionally glancing deeply and listlessly into the café. "She's another one of the unfortunate." "The elderly man who had just finished eating the remaining dark bread also noticed the old woman, and remarked aloud, 'She used to be in good health—her husband was a grain merchant, and she had a very spirited child. Unfortunately, things went downhill; both her husband and child passed away not long after the family went bankrupt. She's different from us, truly—right away, you can see it... Oh, I think she won't last much longer unless she can regularly enter the workhouse.' As he spoke, Michael's expression shifted from calm to somber. He slowly exhaled and said, 'I'd like to interview her. Would you be able to invite her for me? She can have whatever food and drink she'd like here.' The middle-aged man found this request quite natural, and simply glanced at both Caine and Michael, as if to say, 'You're truly colleagues.' 'Certainly,' he replied, sipping his tea and then rising to leave the greasy café." Not long after, the elderly woman, dressed in slightly worn but neat clothes, entered with him. The pale, ashen hue of her face softened slightly under the warmth of the café. She trembled continuously, as though gradually releasing the cold within her and drawing in the café's relatively higher temperature. Even after settling into her chair, it took her an extra minute and a half to truly settle down. "Feel free to order anything—this is your interview compensation," Klein said to Mike. After Mike nodded, the woman composedly ordered toast, poor-quality cream, and coffee, then smiled. "I've heard that when you haven't eaten for a long time, you shouldn't eat anything greasy." So polite, so self-controlled—nothing at all like a homeless person... Klein silently remarked. Before the food arrived, Mike casually asked, "Could you tell me how you became a homeless person?" The old lady looked wistful, with a bitter smile: "My husband was a grain merchant, primarily buying grain from farmers across the country. Once the Grain Act was repealed, we quickly went bankrupt." "He was already quite old, and this blow shattered him—his health rapidly declined, and soon after, he passed away." "My son, a promising young man, had always followed in his father's footsteps, running the business. He couldn't bear this blow and, on a night without the moon, jumped into the Tassok River." "His first suicide attempt failed—he was sent to the magistrates' court. The police and judges were impatient, feeling he was wasting their time." "If you wish to commit suicide, simply do so quietly and successfully—don't bother us... well, that's probably what they intended to say, though they found it too blunt." "My son ended up in prison, and not long after, he attempted suicide a second time—and this time, he succeeded." The old woman spoke very calmly, as though it were not something that had personally happened to her. Yet for some reason, Caine felt a profound sense of sorrow. A sorrow greater than heartbreak—this phrase suddenly came to him from a lifetime ago. In this world, suicide is not only forbidden by the major churches but is also legally punishable. As to why, Caine was well aware: first, many suicide victims choose to jump into rivers, and if not discovered in time, they have a certain chance of becoming river spirits; second, the emotional state of the deceased is often deeply disturbed, and in such a condition, ending one’s life becomes akin to a sacrifice, resonating with certain strange and terrifying entities. As a result, the bodies of the deceased or certain objects in their surroundings often carry peculiar curses that harm others. The "Lucky Puppet" of Charnes Gate in Tinggen City may very well have originated in this way. Therefore, each of the seven major divine churches has, from its own theological stance, prohibited its followers from committing suicide, and the royal family has also advanced corresponding legislation. To Klein, this seems rather absurd—how would someone wishing to die be afraid of laws or penalties? Mike was jotting down notes, ready to say something, when the café owner had already brought over the food. "Have a meal first," Mike indicated, pointing to the toast. "Thank you," the elderly woman said, eating slowly and with great politeness. She ordered only a modest amount and finished it quickly. After savoring her last sip of coffee, she rubbed her temple and kindly requested, "Could I possibly nap a bit before we continue our conversation? It's quite cold outside." "Of course," Mike replied without hesitation. The woman expressed her gratitude several times, then settled into her chair and curled up to sleep. Mike turned to the middle-aged man beside her and asked, "Do you seem familiar with this place?" I’d like to ask you to be our guide—how about three sures a day? Sorry, I completely forgot to ask your name.” The middle-aged man shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no—that’s too much. At the dock, I often earn only one sure a day.” “Just call me Old Koller.” “Then, two sures a day—it’s what you deserve,” Mike settled firmly. Mike opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything. Kole tapped his chest three times, and with a bitter smile remarked, "I knew she wouldn't last long..." "In the eastern district, something like this happens every day." "At least she had enough to eat and died in a warm place. Hope... hope one day I can die like that too." After a moment of silence, Caine said, "Kole, go get the police." "Got it." Kole tapped his chest three times again and rushed out of the café. The owner glanced over but didn't come closer, as if this weren't something particularly urgent. A few minutes later, a police officer in a black-and-white checkered uniform entered the café, carrying a baton and a handgun. He looked at the elderly woman, asked Mike and Caine a few questions, then waved them off. "All right, you can just wait here. I'll send someone to collect the body and then you can leave." "Really?" Mike exclaimed, surprised. He clearly wasn't very familiar with the East District. The policeman gave a sharp exhalation. "Something like this happens here every day!" He glanced at Cline and Mike. "You two don't seem to be locals. What's your name? What's your status?" Mike produced his press credentials, while Cline introduced himself as a private detective hired to protect him. The policeman immediately frowned, fixing his eyes on Cline. "I suspect you're carrying your gun illegally!" "I'll be conducting a search of your personal belongings. Please cooperate. Otherwise, I'll treat this as a refusal to comply." Mike looked visibly concerned, knowing that private detectives often carried guns without legal authorization. Cline remained calm, simply spread his hands. "Alright." He allowed the policeman to search him, but nothing was found. Once the elderly woman's body was removed and the disappointed officer departed, Mike clenched his fists and pounded the table. "A living person dies right here, and he's only concerned about the illegal gun!" "With that," Michael turned to Caine, puzzled, "didn't you bring a gun?" Caine shook his head, drew out the gun case and the revolver from beneath the table, and spoke calmly, "As a detective, I have extensive experience in this regard." As a "magician," he could position the pistol before the other person while keeping them unaware. Moreover, since he hadn't purchased standard ammunition and the special rounds had been temporarily left behind in the gray mist, his revolver was currently empty. Yet this didn't prevent him from firing—it was sufficient simply to mimic the sound of a "crack" with his mouth when pulling the trigger. At this, the older Koller murmured, "So you're a detective." Caine pointed to Michael and added casually, "I was actually hired by this gentleman last time." Mike sat there without objecting, and after a moment of silence said, "I've investigated the crime families and seen some of the harrowing lives of the women in the service industry, but I'm not familiar with the situation in the East District. Could you take a look at this survey plan and let me know if there are any issues?" As he spoke, he pulled out several sheets of paper from his inner pocket and spread them out on the table at the café. Mike thought for a moment and revised their plan, then said, "How about we head to a nearby apartment building and just pick one at random."