Someone broke in? Klein didn't immediately roll over to sit up; instead, he shifted slightly, extending his right hand into the pillow and quietly grasping the left-hand revolver, the "Great Bell." At the same time, he slowly relaxed his left fingers, keeping the "Thriving Hunger" in a state of readiness. —— Knowing that after returning to Beckland it would be difficult to find food for the "Thriving Hunger," he had already made a visit to the prison in Conner's City, Dixie Bay, where he secured a death row inmate, verified the charges, and fed him to the gloves. Has the "Rose School" locked onto me? No, not that quickly. Moreover, if it were them, they wouldn't have come boldly but would have waited for an opportunity, striking when I passed through remote areas, so as not to alert Beckland's official authorities... My donation during the Moon Mass was too substantial—now they've noticed me and are keeping a close eye. Well, a wealthy outsider who arrives in Bakersfield and spends generously is indeed easy to become a target… of course, it might also simply be the "Night Watchers" conducting routine checks. As thoughts flowed through his mind, Caine heard a faint sound coming from the large balcony of the half-open room next door. Immediately, the lock clicked softly, and the floor-to-ceiling window opened almost silently. Caine listened carefully and noticed footsteps crossing the half-open room and moving into the corridor. After a brief pause, the footsteps headed toward the master bedroom, then passed by, and finally turned the handle of the door leading to the butler's room. Had he made a mistake in his route? Or was he actually coming to find Richardson? Caine's mind stirred, and he loosened his right hand from the left-hand revolver, reaching instead toward the nearby iron cigarette box. Once the "Wall of Spirit" was lifted, a translucent figure in a dark red coat and an old triangular hat appeared instantly beside him and stepped into the full-length mirror. When the "ghostly" secret figure of Senyor leapt onto the glass window of Richardstone's room, he saw a figure with a warm, golden-brown complexion, soft features, and dark hair stepping out of the doorway. Richardstone sat silently on the edge of the bed, his body slightly leaning forward and his back arched, as if merging into the darkness. His expression shifted between fear, hesitation, and vulnerability, eventually settling into stillness. Indeed, he had come to find Richardstone—his appearance closely resembling the people of the Southern Continent. Agile, efficient in movement, clearly no ordinary visitor. This was someone Richardstone had known during his time at the estate in the Southern Continent, or perhaps someone connected through his mother's circle? Richardstone himself was merely a personal servant earning thirty-five pounds annually—what could possibly require his assistance? While observing through Senyor's perspective, Caine made these mental deductions. At that very moment, he suddenly understood why Richardstone was so skilled at observation and enjoyed taking walks on the balcony, watching the passersby. He was afraid to be found by certain people! He hoped it wasn't a serious issue that would disrupt his plans... He'd make a divination later... If Richardson couldn't resolve the difficulties, then he'd need a reason to dismiss him. Upon seeing the young valet had once again settled back into bed, Caine returned the "Spirit Ghost" automaton. Meanwhile, Leonard Mitchell, residing at 7 Prestwick Street, once again entered the misty, sleeping Beckland. He had previously consulted with reporter Mike Joseph of The Daily Observer, who concluded that Sherlock Moriarty had not actively become involved in the Larnus incident, but had been hired specifically for it—dramatically reducing the reporter's suspicion. Were it not for the lingering presence of the great detective at the edge of the Capin case and his close connection with Emlyn White of the Harvest Church, Leonard Mitchell would have abandoned the investigation altogether and continued pursuing the trail of Inez Zangewell. Since Sherlock Moriaty had only a few close friends at the Crags Club—one who had already passed away in the Prince Edzack incident, and the other being journalist Mike Joseph—Leonard’s current focus now narrowed down to just one person: Dr. Alan Cris. "According to internal records, this doctor has also been involved in a remarkable incident concerning the 'monster' pathway… after the items were exchanged, he stopped experiencing misfortunes and nightmares, and his life returned to normal. Indeed, Sherlock Moriaty seems to know people who are deeply connected to the extraordinary—this detective must be no ordinary man." While mulling over these thoughts, Leonard rang the bell symbolizing Dr. Cris’s dreams. Upon entering the dream, he casually settled into a sofa and looked across at Dr. Cris. "Could you please walk me through the specific way you two first met?" In his dream, Alan didn't withhold a word. Beginning with Mrs. Mary's introduction of Sherlock Moriarty to the Crags Club, where he himself had been invited as a recommender, he went on to recount how the detective had advised him to share any unusual occurrences with the Bishop of the Night Goddess Church. Indeed, as described in the records, Sherlock Moriarty held a notably friendly attitude toward official institutions and had gained the endorsement of Easington Stanton... Leonard glanced at the bearded Sherlock materializing before him, then looked away, listening intently. After Alan had finished his account, he concluded: "Sherlock has been on a holiday in the south and hasn't returned yet—I've remained deeply concerned. "Yet, he's a wise and compassionate detective, and I believe he'll be safe. I hope he can make it to the celebration banquet following my child's birth." "Perhaps so..." Leonard doubted that Sherlock Moriarty would ever return to Beckland. He then politely excused himself and stepped out of Dr. Allen's dream. Taking a few steps forward, he instinctively glanced back, and there, within the house with its garden, countless hazy light spheres interwove and filled the entire space, perfectly unobtrusive. Was it just my imagination? I keep feeling as though something has changed within me... Leonard murmured this to himself, then turned and flew toward Pinstreet. Below, the mist was thick and the gas streetlamps dim and pale. Suddenly, Leonard halted in mid-flight and directed his gaze toward a building. Inside, five or six hazy light spheres floated quietly, indistinguishable from the other buildings around them. Yet in his intuition, he sensed a dark cluster within the house that seemed to absorb all the light. Moreover, he realized he did not recognize this neighborhood or this street. He felt a sudden pang of unease, wondering if he had stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, and quickly turned his gaze away, preparing to leave and head toward the place where his body now was. At that moment, a playful voice echoed from within the otherwise unremarkable building: "Why not come in and have a seat? Would you like a cup of tea?" Leonard’s thoughts exploded in his mind; without hesitation, he launched into high-speed flight. In his imagination, the row houses and garden villas behind one after another grew larger, their windows and doors transforming into mouths that closed in on him! The iron-gray gas lamp poles nearby surged upward, stretching and growing, turning the surroundings into a dense forest of steel, as though blocking his path. Leonard did not stop, nor did he look back—only the cool, growing chill on his back became more pronounced and intense. His body gradually stiffened, as if caught and held by countless invisible hands. Just when he thought he was about to give in, familiar houses, familiar windows, familiar lights all came into view before him. Leonard quickly held his breath, plunged downward, and found himself back in his own dream! Huff... He woke up suddenly, drenched in cold sweat. "Old man, what exactly happened to me just now?" Leonard pulled his legs back from the edge of the desk, asking with a sense of relief. The slightly weathered voice in his mind responded after a few seconds: "I don't know." Leonard's eyelids drooped slightly, and he said no more. He then turned his gaze toward the window, where the night streets of Beckland were lit up, peaceful and serene. ... 160 Berkland Street, the D'Orsay residence. "Mr. Kline, Mrs. Wahana Heisen has arrived," Richard said as he entered the room. Klein set down the newspaper, lifted his head, and glanced at his personal servant. He found him as always—quiet, reserved, hesitant, with no signs of change. If only the divination results had been more favorable... otherwise, abruptly dismissing him might raise suspicion. Klein murmured silently to himself, as though nothing had happened, then stood up and asked Richardson to help him put on his coat. Klein pulled the woman a little closer, smiled and replied, "I was afraid I might have been impolite." Did this mean that getting too close to a lady was considered impolite? Or was it implying that he himself was particularly attractive, and that getting too close might make him look awkward? It was a subtle compliment... Wahana thought for a moment and smiled lightly, "You're doing quite well." The dance continued. Klein glanced at Wahana's face and, with a warm, casual tone, asked gently, "Madam, it seems you've been a little preoccupied?" Wahana bowed her head and smiled, "It's not a serious matter. My husband is a businessman, and he's recently had some minor disagreements with a few people—we're managing to resolve them." "Ah, your question was quite direct. When you haven't yet established a friendship with someone, it's best not to ask about their difficulties unless they've clearly indicated they're experiencing them." "Compared to you, who has known so many ladies and gentlewomen through various upper-society households, the newly arrived wealthy businessman in Beckland indeed lacks considerable social connections... Klein nodded gently and smiled, saying, 'I thought we were no longer strangers.' He then shifted the topic, sharing his own experiences and those of his neighbors. Wahana listened attentively, occasionally responding, which allowed Klein to gain a deeper understanding of the neighbors' characteristics and preferences. When Wahana departed, Klein stood by the door for a long time, turning to the butler and saying, 'Walter, find out what difficulties Wahana is facing. If she cannot resolve them, we will provide timely assistance.' "