The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 653: A Letter Home in the Pages of a Newspaper

The ending was regrettable, but it couldn't be called a tragedy.

Because that wasn't the end of the novel.

The elixir of emotions was no true cure. Over time, Jamie had to increase the dosage and shorten the intervals between doses, just to keep his emotions from vanishing from his life entirely.

On the final page, the story leaped forward several decades. Jamie continued to astonish the world, retaining his youthful appearance, but his developed tolerance for the elixir threatened the complete loss of his feelings.

As the last drop of the elixir dissolved into his body, Jamie finally understood: he had sought immortality because he could so clearly feel all the beauty of this world.

But in the pursuit of eternity, he had lost that very beauty along the way.

And that was where the story ended.

It was hard to imagine Aileen reading such novels. Perhaps it was a favorite of her unflappable butler?

Closing "The Voice of Sorrow," Lu Li set the book aside. With the wail of the sea wind outside the cabin walls, he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

What struck Lu Li more than the plot itself was the resemblance between the main character and Anna.Anna, too, had lost the same things: her sense of touch, smell, taste, and now her emotions, which were being eroded by the aura of the In-Between.

Jamie had his elixir to cling to the remnants of his feelings. Anna did not. The only method available to her, obsession, demanded a price—harming people.

The solution, it seemed, depended solely on a response from the Exorcist Association or a visit to the Trader.

After he finished reading, less than two hours remained until dawn.

The Elm Forest wasn't always a place where anomalies dared not tread. Soon after Lu Li's reflections, the long, drawn-out blast of a ship's horn carried from the sea.

No vessel was heading for Belfast, especially not at night, shrouded as it was in the anomalous fog.

The blasts, growing closer, fell silent for a time near Port Roadster, then resumed, receding until they dissolved into the thickening, lightening haze.

The night quietly faded away.

...

Another morning arrived, with no sense of what day of the week it was.

After the clang of a copper bell outside the settlement, the underground dwellers trickled out of their homes and toward the open-air dining hall.

They had almost grown accustomed to life underground.

Aside from the absence of the sun, the distribution of goods according to need, and the oppressive atmosphere, it wasn't much different from the surface. Then again, there was no sun on the surface either.

But at least it was safer here.

The menu changed every two days, but the variety only applied to lunch and dinner. Breakfast options were meager: bran bread without sawdust—wood had become scarcer than wheat; mashed potatoes with chicken broth; milk half-diluted with water, or more accurately, water with a splash of milk. It was a wonder they even kept cows in the shelter.

Lulu wheeled the baroness to the dining hall.

Tesla had arrived a little earlier and was pouring broth over his mashed potatoes.

"I thought you'd sleep longer," Aileen remarked, breaking a piece of dark bread over her bowl of broth.

For the past few days, Tesla had been working for two, as if he never felt fatigue.

Whether he was doing it for the shelter or to numb his own pain, only he knew.

The residents gathered at the long tables, chatting during their rare moments of rest, sometimes with a laugh.

In the middle of breakfast, the morning edition of the shelter's newspaper was delivered.

Lulu took a copy for Aileen and reached for Tesla's.

"I don't need one," Tesla said hoarsely. "I don't want to read it."

Had Aileen known Tesla's story, how important Adamfiya was to him, she might have been impressed. But she didn't know. All Aileen saw was his avoidance and weakness, which filled her with contempt. "You're weaker than a woman with no legs."

"Say what you will," Tesla replied indifferently, his face an impassive mask.

Aileen waved a hand dismissively and opened the newspaper. After scanning a few lines, she unexpectedly raised an eyebrow.

"You're Michael Tesla, aren't you?"

"Are there any other Michaels here?" Tesla was still stirring his potatoes with a spoon.

Lulu whispered in Aileen's ear, "Among the 685 residents and staff in the shelter, there is only one Michael."

"Then this must be for you," Aileen said, seeming to have found something amusing as she pushed the newspaper toward Tesla. "It's a letter. And what an extravagance—they published it in our newspaper."

"And clever," Lulu added with a note of approval.

Tesla's vacant gaze finally wavered. His hand stilled, and his eyes fell upon the newspaper.

[Michael, it's me... How are you?]

[That mysterious gentleman, the one as dark as night but full of compassion, received your letter and brought me to his shelter.]

[It's safe here. Maybe not as secure as yours, but... safe.]

[On a clear day, I can vaguely see our old home. I'm glad the anomalies haven't touched it. Every time I look at it, I remember our days together... I miss you so much.]

[They said we couldn't contact each other. Fortunately, the Mysterious Gentleman helped. This was his idea, though it required some sacrifices.]

[Michael, I don't know how long I can hold on, whether I'll get to see you return before my consciousness fades. But I will wait.]

[And... I'll see you in a few days. The Mysterious Gentleman said I could write to you.]

His frozen hand began to move again. Tesla's voice was hoarse, as if he'd gone without water for days, but the apathy was gone. "Thank you. I believe the rest is addressed to you."

The letter had returned Tesla's soul to him.

"For me?"

Aileen took the newspaper back in surprise, skipping the "touching part" and looking at the end.

There was a receipt. The concise style painted a picture in Aileen's mind: him, in his black coat, calmly explaining it to her.

The gist was simple—he had taken some books from her library. If she ever returned, she would find a note in that bedroom detailing his whereabouts.

It sounded ambiguous, but Aileen knew "that bedroom" meant Sara's room.

"This 'Mysterious Gentleman'—is it Lu Li?" Aileen looked up.

Obviously, two letters in the newspaper couldn't be a coincidence.

Tesla nodded. "The letter is from Adamfiya, my wife."

Whispers broke out at the neighboring tables—the residents had noticed the strange message, which read more like a letter than a news story.

But few knew Tesla's name, and even those who did wouldn't have connected him to the head of the Investigators.

Tesla explained to Aileen and Lulu how he had sent Lu Li a coded letter. And Lu Li had not disappointed him—he had deciphered the code and saved Adamfiya.

"So you've been walking around like a zombie all these days because you were worried about your beloved?" Aileen asked.

Tesla didn't deny it.

No outsider could understand just how important Adamfiya was to him.

"It seems we won't be seeing a man working himself to the bone today," Aileen said. She was glad to see Tesla return to life, but something else infuriated her. "That scoundrel really only wrote me a couple of lines!"