"No, this is merely good fortune—merely the gods' favor upon me," Caine modestly stepped aside to invite Stuart in. What he said was true: this indeed had been a matter of luck. In fact, he had already known where Emlyn White was located even before Stuart had accepted the assignment. As Stuart removed his woolen coat, took off his hat, and hung them on the rack in the foyer, he shivered, saying, "This dreadful weather is getting colder and colder—perhaps I should try one of those thick coats." "Can't this be called cold? Go to the northern part of the Sea County, spend a day in the Frost County, and you'll understand what true cold and a true winter are like," Caine chuckled. Then, generously, he asked, "A cup of hot coffee?" "That's exactly what I'd hoped for." "Stuart walked toward the downstairs living room," I've been to the northern part of Sea County, where the cold and heavy snowfall are well known. It was a pleasant getaway, though Beckland's cold wasn't far behind—magical in a way, seeping through my clothes and into my bones. Oh, what a fireplace to praise!" Stuart stood before the fireplace filled with burning charcoal for twenty seconds before sitting down on the sofa, watching Klein busy preparing instant coffee. "This year, I plan to take a holiday to the south, to the Dizzy Bay to fish. What about you? We've endured Beckland's air for a full year, working hard to save up for just such a break." "Perhaps, I'll go to Dizzy Bay too..." Klein hesitated, turning slightly toward Stuart, his expression momentarily blurred. This was about a promise. A promise made to his brother, Benson, and his sister, Melissa. "Ha ha, by the time we get there, I'll show you what my offshore fishing skills are really worth," Stuart rambled on. "We just aren't quite wealthy enough yet—otherwise, we'd actually go to Fasak, to Intis, or even tour the Southern Continent." Yet he knew the White couple weren’t unwilling to increase the reward—they simply worried that offering too much might scare the detective, prompting unnecessary associations and drawing attention from the police or certain official bodies. For an ordinary private investigator, a task worth fifty pounds was already highly attractive. When Caine had hired someone to investigate all the red chimneys in the entire town of Tingen and its surrounding villages, he had only paid seven pounds. “Also, the Whites have added an extra pound,” Stuart said, pulling out six five-pound notes and one one-pound note, slightly puzzled. “They mentioned it as your daily travel expenses.” Caine took the notes and casually checked their authenticity without explaining the travel costs. Stuart didn’t press further, but smiled and asked: “Besides Mr. Stanton, you’re the most outstanding detective I’ve ever encountered. Were you self-taught, or did you study under a renowned detective before?” Did you study under a renowned detective before? That's a lot—Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, the eternal elementary school kid, the one who pretends to be someone's grandson all the time… Klein silently muttered his thoughts. He then added, "I come from the County of Menai. I worked in various capacities early in my career before becoming a detective." "So your experience is truly broad!" Stuart exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. Honestly, you're so complimentary that I'm a bit flustered… Klein smiled, saying nothing. Stuart sipped his coffee and said, "Sherlock, if I ever come across a case I can't solve, I'd like to seek your advice." "I've been building my network in the detective world, too," Klein replied cautiously, "if I happen to have time." They chatted a bit more, and then Stuart politely excused himself. Klein saw him all the way to the lobby. Dressed in his coat and hat, Stuart was about to pull the door open when he suddenly turned back, earnestly saying, "Sherlock, you're far too simple. Your talent deserves better coffee." Ah? Kline was first taken aback, then slightly embarrassed. He cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly, "I can't tell the difference between good and poor coffee—it all tastes the same to me." ... After sending Stuart away, Kline stepped out and went to the butcher to buy several cow bones and some beef, then to the vegetable shop to pick up radishes and other ingredients, and stocked up on the appropriate seasonings. He was preparing beef bone and radish soup for dinner, to serve with the leftover rice, while for lunch he simply chose a restaurant on the street and had a small lamb chop. In the leisurely afternoon, Kline continued reading The Book of Secrets, growing more and more aware of how little he truly knew about esoteric studies. Fortunately, his foundation was solid, so once he engaged with a concept and thought about it, he quickly grasped it. In the late afternoon, he smelled the inviting aroma of beef-bone and radish soup drifting from within, and his thyroid moved up and down twice. Then he heard the sound of the doorbell—just like the signal to begin dinner. Swallowing a lump of saliva, Caine walked to the front door and grasped the handle with his hand. In his mind, the image of the visitor naturally formed: the handsome but not particularly robust red-eyed vampire, Emlyn White. No need to prompt at all—such a reliable man. Caine opened the door with a smile. "Good evening, Mr. White." Emlyn raised his chin, his impatience clearly visible. Just as he was about to speak, Caine glanced at the brown priest's robe he was wearing and smiled knowingly. "You just came from St. Harvest Church, didn't you?" Who said last night they'd be able to stick it through? Emlyn immediately lost his gentlemanly composure, gritting his teeth. "That old man! That old man!" "By heaven, how am I supposed to get rid of that implication?" "Before Klein could respond, he tapped his chest衣 and frowned: "Take me to see that patient. "There's a sumptuous dinner awaiting me." As he spoke, he subtly sniffed, as if he had just detected a scent. Klein said nothing more, took up his coat and hat and replied: "Alright, I'll show you there now." After closing the door and walking a few steps, he carefully asked: "Do you have a medical license?" Otherwise, how could he convince Jurgen the lawyer to agree that Mrs. Doris should take the medication? Emlyn glanced at the sky at a forty-five-degree angle and said: "I don't need such a certificate to demonstrate my competence." Before Klein furrowed his brow, he casually added: "It's rather simple—I just obtained it to meet the minimum requirements." ...That tone, quite proud of his medical license, indeed. Klein smiled, saying nothing. Emlin gazed at the damp ground ahead and remarked casually, "Do you know my favorite thing about Bakersland?" "What?" Klein responded without much curiosity. Emlin chuckled, "The often overcast sky, with its misty veil covering the sun—this means even during the day, when I step out, I don't feel too uncomfortable." "That's wonderful, though the air isn't quite as fresh." So, vampires truly suffer some damage from sunlight? Good thing I considered that yesterday and deliberately left my sun brooch at home; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to exchange a word with Emlin. Klein seemed to be picking up on something. As they spoke, they reached the outside of Yurgen's house, and Klein went to ring the doorbell. A moment later, the door opened, and Mrs. Doris, dressed warmly inside, exclaimed in surprise, "Mr. Detective, are you here to visit?" The black cat, Brody, remained silent, crouched beside them, watching Emlyn with cautious eyes, as though sensing something amiss about him. Cain pointed to the vampire at his side. "I've recently met a physician who specializes in respiratory conditions, so I've specifically invited him to examine you. This is Dr. Emlyn White." "Really? You still remember that?" Doris beamed warmly, inviting the two in. Child... Cain's lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing. On their way into the living room, Emlyn lowered his voice to say: "The patient's condition is now irreversible. She is quite elderly and very frail. Even with the remedies I can provide, she will only make it through this winter—perhaps three to five years at most. Unless there's the legendary elixir of immortality or something similar, we'll have to settle for this, or, better yet, transform her into a member of the bloodline?" But at her age, she can no longer endure the bodily changes brought about by such exceptional traits, and neither my parents nor I have any extra traits left." Inevitable... Kline paused, sighed silently. To Emlyn he said, "Let's prepare a remedy for her first. We can discuss this further after winter." "Very well. I have a finished remedy that's precisely suited for this condition." Emlyn sat down on the sofa without hesitation. At that moment, Jurgen the lawyer came out of the kitchen, removing his apron, and asked Kline what he had come for. "Dr. White, what is your assessment of my grandmother's lung condition?" Jurgen asked seriously. Emlyn clearly excelled at such situations—he began with a detailed explanation of lung diseases, which bewildered Jurgen—before saying, "What she needs most is warm, healthy air. That is my most sincere recommendation." "Additionally, I have a special remedy that you may try at no cost." "He spoke while producing his internal medicine physician's license and a small metal bottle." "Will there be any side effects?" Jurgen asked cautiously. "No," Emlyn replied with a very professional tone. "The only issue is that it can't cure the problem permanently—it only provides temporary relief. I wouldn't have recommended it to anyone unless it were for the case of Moriarty." "Perhaps we could give it a try? Hm..." Mrs. Doris interjected. Jurgen glanced at Klein, who had previously made a divination reading and gave a clear nod of approval. "Very well," Jurgen finally decided. He watched Mrs. Doris carefully as she drank the medicine, observing her reaction closely. At first, there was no noticeable change, but gradually she began to feel her breathing ease up. She stood up, bent down to give her cat a hug, and said with delight, "I feel much better!" Seeing this, the usually serious and expressionless Yurgen's lips gently curled upward. As for Klein, what came to mind was: three to five years. He smiled softly, murmuring a quiet sigh: This too is a kind of magic performance—creating a pleasing illusion through extraordinary abilities to delight the audience... PS: Just arrived home after a busy journey. I'll rest for two days, then start posting updates in the early hours, possibly even ahead of schedule.