Outer City District, East Yilins District, 121A Cork Street.
Old Dunling had entered the night, and the black whale in the night sky swam as leisurely as ever, casting gigantic beams of light to scrutinize the sleeping city below.
Hot steam billowed out from underneath the manhole covers, and from within the white mist, Lorenzo emerged slowly.
He didn't look too bad, just a bit pale, leaning on a cane, walking slowly.
Lorenzo had escaped before the cavalry arrived, saved by the complex maze of the Lower City District, a sign he wasn't new to being chased given his familiar movements during a getaway.
But this time, he wasn't entirely successful. You had to admire the group of thugs for their handiwork; they actually built a nail gun, and amidst the dense hail of bullets, Lorenzo's fleeing silhouette was hit—a finger-length iron nail lodged into his side. Luckily, it was just a flesh wound.
Thanks to the perpetually humid atmosphere, the residents of Old Dunling often wore damp clothes, which is why Lorenzo preferred black. It kept people guessing whether the stains on his clothes were from water or blood.
After a long walk, he finally reached his door.
121A Cork Street.
This location was remote, a newly developed area in recent years, so the housing prices were cheap. However affordable it was, it was still beyond what a detective like Lorenzo could purchase, so on Bola's recommendation, he found a reasonably good rental.
Lorenzo didn't dare to knock, gently opening the door and tiptoeing inside.
The first-floor owner was Mrs. Van Rudd, a hardcore old lady. It was said she used to be a female soldier, one of the most valiant Aerial Cavalry members.
She often boasted to Lorenzo about her glorious past, favoring the story of how she met her husband.
It was remembered as being towards the end of the Radiant War when the entire Old Dunling was in turmoil. Mrs. Van Rudd had returned to Old Dunling as a wounded soldier to recuperate. Chaos erupted within Old Dunling, leaving even her, a wounded soldier, forced to spring into action.
Lorenzo guessed she ran into some officer and fell in love, but in reality, Mrs. Van Rudd, as an Aerial Cavalry, descended from the sky with an iron chain, shot an enemy in the head, and casually captured another, who ended up being her future husband.
"You married the enemy?" Lorenzo had been quite baffled at the time.
"He was just a wayward young man, whom I corrected through my guidance."
"What were you thinking at that time? You were in the middle of battle! And then you just grabbed a husband?"
"Lorenzo, you're still young, do you know what love at first sight is?"
Her aged, cloudy eyes gleamed as she replied.
A truly hardcore love story, the fully armed heroine descends from the skies. She should have just shot that unfortunate young man, but under the inexplicable spell of love at first sight, she couldn't pull the trigger, as if she were a primitive person knocking him out cold. When he awoke, he had two choices—either marry this woman in front of him or face a traitor's execution.
What happened in their marriage afterwards was beyond Lorenzo's knowledge. Lorenzo did have suspicions about the truth of Mrs. Van Rudd's story, but recalling her fierceness when he was late on rent, drawing her gun and firing, he decided not to press further.
Quietly, he crept up the stairs. The living room had two doors on either side, one belonging to Lorenzo, the other to his roommate, a rather ordinary person whose profession was a mechanician, often working overtime at the factory.
The room's light was off, indicating the unfortunate mechanician was working late again.
Only after entering his own room did Lorenzo feel truly at ease. He neatly hung his clothes on the rack, grabbed the medical kit, and went into the bathroom—one of the things he liked about this place, an independent bathroom, just excellent.
Warm water splashed down as he carefully tended to his wound, bare-chested.
The wound wasn't big; after thoroughly cleaning it, Lorenzo proceeded with disinfection. It's known that the weapons cobbled together by the Lower City District thugs are rarely fatal; it's the stuff on the weapons that kills.
In that filthy place, you never know where a knife or a sword had been the night before.
The era of war was over; what takes lives now are diseases, and most people die from infections after injuries, in a place where even the basics of medical awareness are lacking.
A legendary weapon once swept the Lower City District, merely a rusty metal weapon that Lorenzo dubbed the Tetanus Blade. There were shady doctors from unknown origins everywhere; once infected, it's practically a death sentence.
After treating the wound, Lorenzo slowly stood, the fatigue of the day urging him to sleep.
His gaze inadvertently swept over the mirror, catching the sinister, twisted black pattern reflected within its frame.
It was a tattoo, a black tree growing along Lorenzo's spine. It carried an unsettling sensation; staring directly at it made it seem as though Lorenzo was merely a human skin, and iron branches and thorns propped up the whole body. But it also seemed like a coiling, twisting black serpent wrapped around this mortal body.
Weird and pitch black, as if it led to another world beyond the darkness.
The tree that props up the world.
Lorenzo seemed accustomed to ignoring its presence, merely gave it a glance and paid no further mind.
"Nice tattoo."
A voice suddenly sounded within the room.
Beast-like alertness cut through Lorenzo's nerves like a razor, murder rolling in his gray-blue eyes.
His gaze traced to a man sitting on the sofa wearing an exquisite mask, his posture relaxed, as if he were in his own home.
"I nearly killed you."
Lorenzo's mood was low, realizing the man's identity, his hand stretched from the blind spot of the man's vision, holding a gun filled with ammunition.
It was one of Lorenzo's habits, having swords hidden throughout this small room. If anyone intruded, even if Lorenzo were wiping his butt, he could pull a weapon from behind a towel and blast the intruder's head off.
"It seems you're not very fond of letting others look at your tattoos. They're actually quite good, very artistic," Bola said, watching as Lorenzo draped his coat over his shoulders and then sat across from him.
"I just don't like being stared at by a man."
Lorenzo retorted unreservedly, then placed his revolver aside, looking at his employer.
"So, what brings the esteemed Bola for a night visit?"
Bola didn't answer Lorenzo's question; instead, he picked up a nearby metal box, opening it to let the aroma of tobacco waft through the air.
"I guess these marks have a purpose, don't they?"
It was Lorenzo's cigarette box, and despite Lorenzo's face clearly showing his displeasure, Bola continued rummaging through it and passing judgement.
"Is this... Wind Tobacco?"
Picking up a cigarette marked with a red line, Bola sniffed it with some surprise.
"I thought you couldn't recognize this stuff."
Lorenzo was a bit taken aback that Bola could recognize Wind Tobacco. In his view, someone like Bola should be indulging in money and fine wine.
"I recently had a group of shamans come from the Land of Abundance. They kept mumbling about some deities and devils, all mystical."
Bola continued rummaging through the cigarette box as he spoke.
"Their leader wanted to make a living in the Lower City District, so when they came to meet me, they talked a lot about shaman witchcraft, like this Wind Tobacco. They say smoking it turns the smoker into a so-called 'spirit medium', after which they'll experience 'spiritual vision' and see things they're not supposed to see."
With a slightly playful look in his eyes, he then glanced at Lorenzo.
"How long have you been using this stuff?"
"None of your business, Bola."
For once, Lorenzo responded firmly to Bola's question.
"Alright, alright. Then what's the deal with this cigarette?"
Bola knew Lorenzo's habits; most of his cigarettes were mixed with invigorating herbs. But this particular cigarette was special, marked with a black line, and there was only one. It exuded a chilling aura, as if harboring a deadly poison.
"It's poisonous. If you don't want to die, best not touch it." Lorenzo patiently explained to Bola.
"Hmm... I'm guessing this is your tool for killing?"
"Leaving a mark on a murder tool?"
Lorenzo mocked Bola with biting sarcasm, even though just a few hours ago, this patron had nearly shot his head off.
"It's a cigarette meant for me. The neurotoxin would put me into a coma, and then my heart would stop beating in a sweet dream."
This was his tool for suicide, yet Lorenzo spoke of it effortlessly, as if it wasn't his own life on the line.
Bola was somewhat stunned; he didn't expect this irreverent man to have such a harsh side towards himself. Seeing Bola's expression, Lorenzo then slowly spoke again.
"You've been around the Lower City District long enough to know that some things are more terrifying than death, so sometimes dying is the right choice."
Death is a momentary thing, but suffering can last a lifetime.
"Truly profound life philosophy."
After a brief pause, Bola praised.
"So, has Lorenzo Holmes also encountered such a 'better off dead' situation?"
Like a snake bared its fangs, Bola sat up straight with a smile on his face.
What greeted him was the swift rise of a black gun barrel and the icy gaze of Lorenzo's gray-blue eyes.
"Bola, you've said it before: coming to Ingwig, to Old Dunling, is a brand-new life, and a new life should say farewell to the past, shouldn't it?"
"Seems like you're really angry." Bola said casually, "I'm just curious about the man before me and what he was like before he renamed himself Lorenzo Holmes. But it seems you still don't want to say."
This wasn't the first time they'd had such a conversation. Ever since Lorenzo arrived in Old Dunling six years ago, Bola had repeatedly tried to dig into his past.
Everyone who starts a new life should have a past, but Lorenzo was different. No matter how Bola investigated, he couldn't uncover Lorenzo's origins, as if he had appeared out of thin air.
"Don't be mad. I still trust you, after all, you're my Iron Thorns. If you still don't want to talk, then let's change the subject."
Bola didn't mind Lorenzo's offense. The two of them were peculiar, even though it was an employer-employee relationship, they were usually on the same level.
"Let's talk about today's case progress. Thanks to you, Suyalan Hall is finally paying attention."
Saying this, he pulled out an exquisite revolver from his pocket, aiming it at Lorenzo. Under half of his mask, Bola revealed a friendly smile. No one knew if the last bullet was loaded at that moment.
Finishing the personal affair and getting to business, the truth is, if there had been anyone else to replace him, Bola would have loved to shoot this detective before him.