Don't You Think About Running

His trench coat and fedora hung on the rack, and his walking stick leaned against the wall.

A memo board now hung on the wall beside the living room fireplace, pinned with a few newly written notes, alongside a map of Rhine City.

He had bought it on the way home, spending seven pence.

Lynch realized he had made a mistake. He hadn't collected his five-pound consulting fee before Natalie withdrew, leaving him with only thirteen shillings to his name.

I'll worry about that tomorrow. It’s not like I need it urgently.

Fortunately, he still had the pistol. Lynch sat on the sofa, loading his new weapon.

It was a very ordinary small revolver, feeling heavy in his hand. He had no idea how to use it, let alone dismantle it; he simply loaded the bullets, slid it into its holster, and drew and re-holstered it several times.

It felt completely awkward. It didn't even seem as useful as a brick.

Can this thing really protect me? If only Officer Natalie were still here.

Having been gone for barely an hour, Lynch already missed the back that had always stood between him and danger.

Slender yet firm, like an insurmountable barrier.

Lynch sighed. Although the officer’s decision to withdraw caught him off guard, he understood that she was doing the right thing.

The officer didn't owe him anything; she had no obligation to accompany him to his death.

Besides, she didn't know this was a matter of life and death for him.

Therefore, Lynch wasn't angry, but... the feeling of being isolated in a strange world was not a pleasant one.

At least you are always here with me. Thanks.

Lynch clutched the moon pendant at his chest, thinking this in his mind.

The gentle female voice offered no response, and the moon outside the window had not yet fully risen, but Lynch felt as if he had once again returned to that cold, crimson moonlight, seeing the crimson moon that had accompanied him for millions of years.

It’s alright. The two of us are enough. Travel Companion, let’s find the truth and get you back.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Lynch looked back at the memo board.

Although today’s investigation had hit walls at every turn, after carefully organizing his thoughts, he realized he had actually gained quite a lot.

City Hall (information) — Hall of Order (records, burned) — The Investigator newspaper (?).

Although the records in the first chain of clues were burned, that only served to prove that there was likely something problematic within them. Furthermore, he might be able to fill in the gaps from the newspaper office, so it wasn't a total dead end. One of tomorrow’s tasks would be to check out The Investigator, and if they refused to cooperate, he would find another way.

Eldest daughter of the Valente family — hillman (super strong) — purple tumor (suspected of delivering medicine, clay pot).

The eldest daughter of the Valente family was also linked to the first chain, connecting to both City Hall and the Hall of Order.

Under this second clue, Lynch drew a row of question marks, just like the current state of his own mind: completely confused.

Her movements were highly suspicious and likely deeply related to the case, yet she hadn't performed any concrete actions—at least, none that had been discovered. It was too rash to confirm her identity now, especially with such a powerful hillman lurking behind her. He would have to learn more about the situation of the Valente family first.

But this was a major problem. Without Officer Natalie’s help, he had no channels for an in-depth investigation. Once again, that back in men’s clothing flickered before his eyes. That person was reliable. Just you wait, once this crisis passes, I’ll come looking for you. You still owe me two favors; I won't let you off the hook.

But for now... I should head to the Black Night Cathedral tomorrow and find Trinlais. I’ll ask him to at least help me find a channel or an identity that makes investigating easier. Yes, that is the most urgent priority.

William’s Holiday Surprise (extremely dangerous) — Donnie Narton (deceased, suspected mystery erosion, newspaper reporter, specifics unknown) — Thorn Flower (!!!).

Donnie Narton seemed like an irrelevant person, but since Lynch heard the police mention he was a newspaper reporter, he wrote him down anyway. Although the police didn't know which paper he worked for, it couldn't be ruled out that he was related to The Investigator. If that were the case, he would have to be added to the first chain of clues.

As for the Thorn Flower, Lynch specifically marked it with huge letters and an even larger exclamation mark.

He decided not to touch that for now.

It was obviously an extremely dangerous place; only a fool would barge in blindly. If all other leads were cut off, he would consider this dangerous area then.

Besides, Lynch didn't know where it was. He had searched his memories carefully but found nothing, and he had checked the map several times with the same result. Lynch couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.

Just as he was pondering this, he heard a rustling sound at the living room door. He turned around to see a small, golden head peeking in.

Little Martha was peeking through the door, carrying a pot of black tea.

Looking at the girl, Lynch felt quite conflicted, but he still waved his hand, signaling the little one to come in.

“Helping your mother with work?”

“Mhm.”

The girl walked in, patting across the floor with the tray, and set it on the coffee table with neat, practiced movements.

“Do you often help your mother bring tea upstairs?”

“Mhm.”

The girl nodded vigorously with a sweet smile, skillfully setting up the cups and pouring the tea.

Her smile was gentle and well-behaved, but remembering how this little brat had given him that clay pot with the same innocent smile yesterday—leaving his back aching even now—made the hair on the back of Lynch’s neck stand up. She was a beautiful child, but she was nothing but trouble. Lynch wanted nothing more than to pin her to the floor and give her a good thrashing.

“Are you ready to explain your behavior from yesterday? I’ve given you a whole day to think about it.”

“Mhm, I will explain it to you, Uncle.” The girl looked bashful. “But... could you... let me use the washroom first? I’m afraid if I go downstairs to use it and come back up, Mom will get suspicious.”

What a lazy brat.

Lynch curled his lip, muttering to himself, and pointed toward the washroom door. The girl seemed even more embarrassed, blushing as she ran inside.

But less than a minute later, a scream rang out. The washroom door was slammed open, and little Martha burst out, disheveled, her hair a mess as if someone had done something to her. Her face was full of terror, tears in the corners of her eyes. Once out, she covered her face and let out an even more miserable shriek.

However, after crying out twice, the little girl realized there was no movement around her, which wasn't quite what she had expected. Instead, her mother’s panicked inquiry came from the stairs outside, accompanied by hurried footsteps—only, there were two sets of footsteps.

Huh?

Little Martha lowered her hands, surprised to find that Lynch, who had been in the room just a moment ago, was gone. When she turned her head, she saw Lynch following her mother, both running up from downstairs.

Before the girl could react, her mother rushed over and pulled her into a hug. Over her mother’s shoulder, she could see Lynch clenching his fists and sneering.

Lynch was actually secretly relieved; he had almost been tricked again.

At first, seeing the girl’s practiced movements, he had mused that she was a poor child, sensible enough to help her mother with chores.

But thinking about her being a poor child, he suddenly realized that the family wasn't wealthy and relied heavily on the tenant’s rent.

Yet when they first met, Mrs. Maggie had inadvertently revealed that the previous visitor had been chased away by her.

To be that dependent on rent and yet chase away a tenant, the visitor must have touched a taboo. And although Mrs. Maggie was gentle, Lynch had seen how terrifying she could become if her taboo was touched.

Her taboo was obviously little Martha. The previous tenant being chased away must have been related to this little thing.

Thinking of this, the moment he saw the little girl enter the washroom, Lynch immediately dashed out of his room and ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

Whatever scheme she had, he needed an alibi first.

Mrs. Maggie had been in the kitchen tidying dishes, and seeing Lynch suddenly come down, she was confused. Before Lynch could even speak, Martha’s scream came from upstairs.

Sure enough, Mrs. Maggie rushed up immediately, and Lynch had feigned panic, following right behind her to appear in Martha’s sight.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?” Mrs. Maggie panicked, cupping her daughter’s face and checking her over.

The little girl looked at Lynch’s smile, quickly composed herself, rolled her eyes, and pointed at the washroom, crying: “A bug, a bug...”

Hiss, this little brat reacts quickly.

Lynch clenched his fists. Instead of complaining to Mrs. Maggie, he wanted to test his strength against this little thing himself.

It would be even better if he could beat her himself.

Realizing it was a false alarm, Mrs. Maggie finally breathed a sigh of relief, gave her daughter a few light slaps, apologized to Lynch, and dragged her daughter downstairs.

Lynch sat back on the sofa, unable to laugh or cry, not even daring to drink the tea on the coffee table. But a few minutes later, the blonde, blue-eyed little thing snuck back up.

She sat on the sofa, picked up the tea she had just poured, gulped it down, and said in a fierce, childish voice: “You win this time. Tell me, what will it take for you not to tell Mom about this? Would letting you have x and x work?”

The smile froze on Lynch’s face. He frowned and asked seriously: “Have you done this before?”

“No. I heard it from the last tenant. Don't you adults love these things?”

“So you told your mom and had her chase him out?”

“Hmph, disgusting adults are all the same.”

“Well done. Remember, if anyone treats you like that again, tell your mom—or, well, you can tell me too.” Lynch thought for a moment and said sincerely, “I’m not a police officer, and I don't maintain order like your Aunt Natalie, so what you do is technically none of my business. But since you’ve provoked me, and I am under Mrs. Maggie’s care, I have a duty to look out for her. So I need an explanation: why do you do these things?”

“It was my first time too, I was forced by them...”

“The experience just now should have shown you that I can know many things I shouldn't in advance. For example, I can know who their leader is. So think carefully before you spin a story. I’ll only give you one chance to explain.”

Martha bared her teeth as if to bite, but after stealing a glance at Lynch’s eyes, she whispered: “I admit defeat. You’re right. I am their leader. I’m the one who leads them in doing these things.”

“The reason?”

“Money. Everyone gets a share every time. They all have to live, and so do I. Mom needs to support the family, maintain this house, and most importantly, pay for my schooling. Primary education is barely affordable, but she still wants me to continue to intermediate education. School is so expensive. If I didn't use the extra income to supplement it, things would be very difficult for our family.”

Lynch nodded. Education in the Kingdom of Lande wasn't cheap. Primary education was similar to elementary and middle school, a four-year course costing about eight pounds per year in tuition. Intermediate education was like a vocational high school, which was even more expensive, costing at least twenty pounds a year for a three-year course—not something an average family could afford.

“And if I didn't lead them in doing bad things, would they stop? I’ve at least had some education; I know what can be done and when to control myself. Those idiots don't. In the past, they did even worse things, even causing deaths. Not only did they end up on the gallows, but they made outsiders fear the King’s District more and more, to the point where they wouldn't even come here. If I stopped, they would return to their old ways, and the slightly normal lives they’ve built would be ruined.”

Lynch poured her a cup of tea instead. Watching the little girl drink it all in one gulp and wipe her mouth, she said indignantly:

“They don't have a good mom. Their families don't care about them at all. The only difference between them and street urchins is that they can eat something every day so they don't starve on the streets. Thank those gentlemen at City Hall for their ‘kindness’ in banning factories from hiring child labor. How truly kind. If they want to eat just a little bit more, they have no choice but to steal and rob. ‘Children of the King’s District’—that was a slang term in Rhine back then. The whole city knew we were nothing but uneducated bastards.”

Lynch sighed, suddenly feeling that compared to these people at the bottom, his original body’s owner had lived a fairly decent life, and now he was living quite comfortably.

Well, if you ignore the fact that he only had thirteen shillings in his pocket.

“It’s better now. Every few days they can bring home a few pence or even a shilling or two. Their parents treat them better, and the police treat them better too—at least they don't beat them up on sight. Adults aren't as afraid to come to the King’s District anymore; even women dare to come in alone. Isn't that better? Did I do something wrong?”

Lynch retorted: “Then what about me? I was just being soft-hearted, and I was beaten and robbed by you all. Did I do something wrong? Will I dare to be soft-hearted in the future?”

The girl fell silent, and after a while, she muttered: “There are people from the King’s District who rob us and discriminate against us residents too. You deserve it.”

But after muttering a few words, the girl hung her head and whispered: “I know this isn't right, but if I want to change things, I have to find them another way out. I’ve found other ways to make money recently, so we do fewer bad things. Everyone is slowly getting better. Just give me a little more time.”

“Huh? Other ways?”

Lynch felt a bit nervous. A child’s thoughts were different from an adult’s; who knew what dangerous things she meant by ‘other ways’.

“The children of the King’s District run all over the city; we’re everywhere, so no news in the city escapes us.” The little girl said proudly, “For the past two years, several newspaper offices have been buying information from us, especially one older sister. She’s bought it many times and gave us quite a lot of money. She even said she’d try to find them work as paperboys so they could supplement their household income without running wild in the streets. Things are better for everyone now. Just give me more time, and don't let Mom find out and get hurt.”

A child intelligence network. This group of mischievous kids running all over the place really had the perfect conditions for this, and it would be the same even if they became paperboys.

Although information brokers were often dangerous, providing news to newspaper offices was relatively safe.

Besides, information within such a group was shared; it was rare for only one individual to know a piece of news. To silence them, you’d have to kill all the street children, which was clearly impossible. Thus, the risk to any individual was actually very low.

This little brat was truly precocious and had great ideas; it was just that her behavior was truly asking for a beating.

Thinking about how he had almost been disgraced, Lynch felt his hands itching, and the little thing, as if she had guessed it, shifted to the side, hiding further away from Lynch.

Lynch rolled his eyes. In truth, he didn't really want to complain to Mrs. Maggie anymore.

Every social stratum had its own way of living, and as an outsider, it wasn't his place to judge the girl’s right or wrong. But if she wasn't lying, she couldn't be called a villain, and in practical terms, everything was moving toward a better direction. It was just that...

“But what about yourself?” Lynch sighed, his voice softening. “You’re the one who benefits the least, right? You’re so smart, didn't you think about yourself?”

“Me? I don't have many years to live anyway, so what’s there to think about? I just want Mom not to work so hard for these few years. When I die early in a few years, Mom will be free, and I won't have any regrets.”

“Huh?” Looking at that detestable yet youthful face, Lynch couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy and asked softly, “Why?”

“They think I’m just a child and don't understand anything, so they keep it from me. But I already knew when Dad’s accident happened. It was all because of me.” The girl pouted, her eyes reddening. She rubbed her nose and whispered, “I overheard Aunt Natalie and the others talking about it. My constitution is special, making me suitable as a container for something. People like that rarely live long; they’re all killed by something called a mystery. Hmph, I’m not afraid. If I die, I die. I’ve already made peace with it. As long as Mom is happy these few years, that’s all that matters.”

Container? What was that?

Could the mysterious filth on her ring be related to this?

Lynch wasn't sure. He thought for a moment and tried to soothe her: “Although I don't agree with your explanation, Uncle, I’m not in a position to condemn you. So, I’ll keep it a secret from your mom for now. But you must be good. Don't use those tricks on me again, and try to tell me the truth as much as possible.”

The girl pouted and hesitated for a while before finally nodding.

“Very good.” Lynch high-fived the girl to seal the deal. “Now tell Uncle, who else has touched your ring recently?”

“Ring? No one touched it.”

“Did it touch anything else?”

“Oh, I remember. The day before yesterday, the older sister from the newspaper came to me and asked me to help deliver a small bag of photos to one of her colleagues. I was afraid of losing the bag, so I hung it around my neck when I delivered it.” The little girl said, not understanding. “So the ring should have only touched that bag.”

Hiss... another reporter? And one associated with the mystery?

Lynch hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the name on the memo board and asked: “That colleague of hers, it wouldn't be this Donnie Narton, would it?”

“I don't know him. I don't know that person’s name.” The girl looked up at the memo board. “Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Uncle, you know this place too?” The girl pointed to the word ‘Thorn Flower’, right next to the name Donnie.

Huh?

Lynch felt every pore on his body tighten, his breathing stalling. He asked nervously: “You know where this is?”

“Yeah, Aunt Natalie took Mom and me there two years ago. It seems to be related to Dad’s incident.”

“Oh, no wonder you know. Wait, what did you say?” Lynch suddenly realized, staring at the little girl, making her shrink back. “Natalie knew too? She was the one who took you there?”

“Mhm...” The girl shrank into the sofa in terror and nodded.

Whew, so from the moment Madam Bessie mentioned the name, the officer already knew where it was, yet she hadn't said a word until she left.

She had deliberately concealed it. But why? Why would she conceal it?

No, that wasn't the only thing. Her behavior at the end was all wrong.

Realizing the problem, he recalled the scene again. The officer’s soft words of farewell.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lynch.”

The tone was unprecedentedly gentle. It didn't sound like a farewell; it was a parting for the last time.

Lynch suddenly slapped himself hard across the face.

“Damn it, I’m such an idiot. How did I not realize it?”

He had always thought it was strange that she had been scared off so suddenly, and because it aligned with his own wishes, he hadn't thought much of it.

But looking back now, her behavior had been abnormal from the start.

She would run around all night without complaint to save his life, be willing to face hundreds of monsters in the memories of a mystery relic to protect him, thoughtfully find ways to help him secure benefits with the Watchers, and agree to abandon a clue she had already obtained and flee the scene just because of a single sentence.

Would a person like that suddenly change their attitude and retreat in the face of danger?

It could only be a facade.

But why?

Lynch hammered his head in annoyance. There was no need to think; the answer was obvious.

She trusted Madam Bessie’s judgment more than he did, and she understood the potential dangers of the truth better than he did. While he was racking his brain trying to trick her into retreating safely, she had obviously had the same thought, and she had been able to implement it much earlier than he had.

It was laughable that he considered himself smarter than this simple-minded woman, yet he hadn't noticed a thing and had actually believed she wanted to quit.

She had never intended to quit. Whether she guessed the importance of the case to him or did it to uphold order, she had never intended to quit. Even knowing it might mean death, she intended to keep investigating, but she didn't want an ordinary person like him to risk his life, so she tricked him into staying behind.

She had even specifically told him to wait at home for news. A day or two later, either the matter would be resolved, or her death would cause the situation to escalate, and under the attention of many parties, he would no longer be in danger.

Damn it, that stupid woman, do I look that dumb? Am I really that obedient?

Lynch stared at the darkening sky outside, his mind spinning faster than it ever had.

Her hurried departure was because she was afraid he would see through the problem. To prevent him from looking for her at the club tomorrow, she had even specifically told him not to act as a consultant anymore. In that state of mind, to be safe, she probably wouldn't wait for tomorrow; she would act tonight, exploring the ‘Thorn Flower’ alone.

With that woman’s personality, she definitely wouldn't drag anyone else into danger. She was likely already there by herself. The isolated one wasn't him; it was her.

This is my business, why are you more anxious than me? You still owe me two favors, and I won't watch you risk your life for me. Don't you think about running; if there’s danger, we go together.

“Martha.” Lynch stared sternly at the shivering little girl. “Tell me where the Thorn Flower is, right now.”