Who? As a constable, Hugh had a sharp intuition both in monitoring others and being monitored. At once, his heart tightened and his thoughts raced, pondering what might have happened. Over the past few weeks, she hadn't encountered any incidents requiring special attention—most of the suspects were ordinary individuals, merely linked to certain crime syndicates. It would hardly be someone who wanted to harm her, a well-known bounty hunter in the East District. Thus, she quickly narrowed her focus and began to suspect which faction was quietly observing her. Could it be members of the Aurora Circle? She hadn't attended Mr. X's gathering last time, and that event turned out to be a major surprise—reports described the scene as astonishing. According to MI9, Mr. X had been killed on the spot, his body taken away, and the assassin had even summoned half-divine powers. Was the Aurora Circle now investigating who had orchestrated this? Were all the guests invited to the gathering now their targets? Though sometimes impetuous and careless, with a direct thinking style, she possesses a strong intuition in her field of expertise, consistently grasping the key points at once. Regarding the case of Mr. X's murder, she was relieved to have been pulled away by Furse and not attend the gathering, thus avoiding the accident, and felt confident that she had no issues whatsoever—she could withstand any investigation, no matter how thorough or how conducted. When she met the masked man from MI9 last week, she approached the encounter with calm assurance and readily accepted the assignment to uncover the truth behind the case. Unfortunately, she had no clear understanding of which other extraordinary individuals had attended that gathering, leaving her uncertain about where to begin. Well, the gentleman from MI9 told me that the people from the Aurora Circle are either already mad or quietly mad—so much so that their actions can't be predicted using normal human logic. Even if they confirm that I'm perfectly well, they might still kill me on the spot, to vent their anger and warn the real culprit. Stiff with mental tension, Huxley had been steadily moving forward, re-planning her route of operations in the East District. On this route, she could always count on her friends' support, and if attacked, she had a good chance of either escaping or turning the tables on her assailants. As she walked, however, Huxley suddenly felt a moment of mental lapse and found herself back at her home in the Chorlton district—without realizing when or how. She entered the house in a state of mild confusion, sipped some water, and then felt Folse pat her on the shoulder. "Come with me to the East District," he said. Huxley paused for a moment, then responded with a phrase that felt very familiar to her: "You're going out for fieldwork?" "Vorth immediately dismissed this account, explaining that he had recently taken on a task—to help locate the dust left behind after spirits departed—and that the souls of the deceased in the cemetery had already been purified and sent to their respective divine realms, so they could only search the eastern district. "I'm actually preparing to attend the gathering convened by Mr. X," said Tho, hesitating, "can't your matter be postponed until tomorrow?" Vorth immediately frowned, expressing frustration at his own delays, noting that the deadline was rapidly approaching. Tho sighed and agreed to accompany his friend to the eastern district to seek out the recently deceased or those who had passed some time ago but had yet to be discovered. As they were about to leave, a sudden breeze from outside brushed against Tho's face, sending a shiver through him and sharply awakening his awareness. He noticed a minstrel seated at the corner of the street, playing a seven-stringed lute and singing a popular folk song from the southern countryside. Tho furrowed his brow, raised a hand to rub his temple, feeling as though he had been slightly dazed earlier, yet unable to recall exactly what he had been thinking. She remained on high alert, following the predetermined route, and entered the neighborhood café that served lunches. There, she encountered a resident from the East District who occasionally provided her with intelligence. The man was in his early twenties, with finely shaved eyebrows, brown hair reaching his shoulders, a refined but not particularly rugged facial structure, and wore inexpensive cosmetics, which gave him an oddly out-of-place appearance. "Has anything been happening lately, Sherman?" Hugh greeted. According to her, Sherman consistently believed himself to be female, though fate had dealt him a cruel twist by making him male—a reality that had subjected him to severe discrimination over the years. Sherman smiled, revealing his teeth. "Everything has been quite calm—no men have invited me to drink a drink." "Drinking is not good," Hugh remarked seriously, then moved past him toward the bar. Sherman spat out, swaying slightly as he stepped out the door, and made his way all the way to the apartment building where he rented a unit. He paused at the door for several dozen seconds, then took two steps to the side and knocked on the adjacent room's wooden door. The door creaked open, and a low, yet sweetly melodic female voice emerged: "Have you made your decision yet?" Sherman stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and looked at the young woman seated by the bed, dressed in a black dress. "I still can't quite believe it," he said. "I simply can't believe something so magical is possible." In his eyes, the young woman had a slightly round face, a gentle demeanor, and a combination of sweetness and a distinct charm that made her both captivating and compelling. Of course, for Sherman, his feelings were more one of admiration than deep infatuation. The young woman responded without expression. "Didn't you already see my old photographs?" Her gaze often carried an unconscious touch of melancholy. "But perhaps those were my twin brother or sister. I find it hard to believe that there truly exists a way for me to transform back into a woman..." Sherman said, his voice uncertain. The young woman in black smiled without joy. "Then you may treat this as a mere fiction and go home." Sherman tightened his hands gradually, remaining silent for a long time before speaking. "I... I'd like to try, even though I know you're likely deceiving me. I still want to give it a chance." "What will I have to pay for this?" "Simply follow my instructions and assist me with certain tasks—rest assured, they're things you're absolutely capable of doing," the young woman in black said. "To truly transform your gender, you'll need to take three medicines and complete certain ritualistic duties, which I will teach you." With that, she chuckled to herself, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "You might want to start thinking about a female name now."... At night, in a quiet alley off Iron Gate Street in the Beckettland Bridge district, Sherman stood beneath a gas lamp whose glass had been shattered by some unseen force, recalling the events of this afternoon. After confirming she was no longer being tracked, she returned to the Joewood district and began observing Forth, finding that her friend had not left the house at all—just as usual, spending long hours reading novels, newspapers, and magazines, and lingering for nearly an hour in the room with the curtains drawn, as though refining her extraordinary abilities. Only when she had nothing else to do did she pull out a sheet of paper, write a new opening for her book for a quarter of an hour, and then tear it up, crumple it into a ball, and toss it into the trash can. She also smoked too much… drank too much… and, biting her lip, noticed a man in a black suit emerging from the shadow at the far end of the alley. The man was tall and upright, wearing a golden mask that revealed only his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and cheeks—exactly the MI9 officer she had been in contact with. "Is there any urgent matter?" he asked directly. Though she was short in stature, her presence carried equal weight as she said, "I've been followed in the East District. I suspect it's someone from the Aurora Circle—they seem to be investigating the matter from our last gathering." Originally, she had prepared to discuss a person the other party had requested her to find, intending to present a somewhat unverified lead that would make this urgent meeting feel more routine. Now, however, she had a more compelling and fitting reason: the Aurora Circle. "The Aurora Circle's madmen are like that—they know we're also investigating them and actively seeking them out, yet they never back down. If they did, they'd be constantly under pressure," the man with the golden mask remarked, smiling. "Honestly, I was surprised they didn't simply surround you, bring you to a secluded place, question you, or even summon you through spirit communication." "X was just about to respond to the people from Aurora about how long they had been following him, when suddenly he recalled that lingering sense of disorientation that had been troubling him, and carefully added, "I'm not entirely sure what exactly has happened to me. Over a very short period of time, I've felt a bit foggy—like I can't remember what I was thinking." The man with the golden mask fell silent, and only after several seconds did he say, "Your tracking should have been concluded by now... Aurora has taken this matter far more seriously than I expected. I'll report it upward." "Ah... you mentioned that quite a few extraordinary individuals have received invitations but never attended the gatherings, correct?" X nodded. "Each time, no more than one-third of the invited guests actually show up." "This is actually the usual pattern for most gatherings—X's gatherings will be no exception." The man with the golden mask paused and then asked, "Have you found any leads regarding the person you previously asked me to locate?" "The one whose original name was Tris?" "Don't see her nodding, just shake your head and say, 'Not yet—she's probably an experienced one.'" The man with the golden mask immediately chuckled, "She's killed more people than you've completed in your reward quests. If there's any lead, stay away from her—she's extremely dangerous." "Hmm," Xu replied, moving into the topic, "Any new assignments this time?" "Why the sudden enthusiasm?" the man with the golden mask asked, slightly surprised. Xu responded openly, "I'm almost accumulating enough merit points to exchange for the 'Interrogator' potion recipe—I'd like to get it as soon as possible." "Actually, it's not necessary—you could exchange directly for the potion and save quite a few merit points," the man with the golden mask said, stepping into Xu's perspective. "I already have exceptional traits!" Xu shook his head. "Then it'll take a while—perhaps I can find the materials at other exceptional gatherers' events." The man with the golden mask didn't press further, instead half-sighing, half-smiling, "Then good luck to you." "This is a rather complex assignment. If you can complete it, your achievements should be sufficient." Holding back his excitement, he asked, "What task?" The man with the golden mask spoke with a slightly unusual tone: "Keep track of everyone the Viscount of Stewardford interacts with, and include each in your report, submitting it to me." "You don't need to monitor them constantly. Whenever you have spare time or happen to pass by, simply take note of their interactions. Believe me, this task isn't unique to you—just one valuable report per week will earn you a certain amount of merit, and there will be reports every week." Stewardford Viscount... Suddenly, Xu felt a bit dazed, and this time, she knew why. This Viscount was the Master of the Court Guard—her father's former deputy!