Life is an ordinary affair. Everyone goes about their day, trying to enjoy the ride, but making a good life-and continually improving it-is no simple feat. In his past life, Li Yunlong had reached middle age without ever making a name for himself. Tom Riddle, too, had spent five years scraping by at the very bottom of the criminal underworld. Though neither past offered a blueprint for success, failure was still a form of experience. It all came down to how one used it.
Early the next morning, Li Yunlong set out to order three hundred custom business cards. The design was clean and straightforward, nothing fancy, bearing the name he now went by: Brook Lee. Below it ran a brief description: Freelance Writer, Adventurer, Occult Researcher. To navigate society, one needed a respectable identity. When he had paid a local counterfeiter for fake documents, he chose the persona of a freelance writer and prepared a matching background file. The titles of adventurer and occult researcher were recent additions, ones he felt would prove far more useful.
Hand a card to someone that read nothing more than Freelance Writer, and they would scan it, realize they had never heard of a famous author named Brook Lee, and write him off as a nobody. First impressions dictated respect, and an immediate low opinion was the last thing he wanted. Adventurer, however, carried a very different weight. Even if no one recognized the name Brook Lee, accomplished adventurers were rare; the vast majority spent their lives known only within small circles. It was perfectly natural for an adventurers reputation to be modest. In Western culture, the term was practically synonymous with explorer, and the public found the concept of an adventurers life irresistibly legendary. Even an obscure adventurer carried an air of intrigue that served as an excellent icebreaker. As for Occult Researcher, that title held even greater weight. The United States was a deeply religious country, with official statistics showing that less than nine percent of the population claimed no religious affiliation. Yet the religious landscape was remarkably fragmented. Major world faiths all had a presence here-from Greek Olympian pantheons and ancient Egyptian pharaoh worship to Islam, along with Taoism and Buddhism from China. Factor in countless cults, named and unnamed, and the whole scene was a chaotic brew. Nominally, Christianity dominated, accounting for around sixty percent of the population. But if one bundled together every denomination that worshipped God and Jesus Christ-Protestants, Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, Jews, and others-they made up roughly eighty-five percent of the total population, forming the undisputed majority. In such an environment, presenting oneself as an occult researcher was entirely acceptable in public. Though the field might occasionally clash with orthodox beliefs, it remained a respectable credential that could open very specific doors when the situation called for it.
With his business cards ready as a foot in the door, Li Yunlong drove to the Burbank station of the Los Angeles Police Department with quiet confidence. It was an aging three-story building with its own parking lot and modest security; after all, low-level street thugs rarely had the guts to cause trouble inside a station. Disliking the constricting feel of a suit, he wore rugged outdoor survival gear instead. The outfit wasn't stylish, but it was durable and functional. Attached to his utility belt were a tactical knife, a fire starter, and a small canteen-he was dressed well enough to head straight into the wilderness without changing a thing. While such attire looked somewhat out of place in the city, Los Angeles was never short on eccentrics. To seasoned police officers, someone dressed like him was nothing new.
Behind the front desk sat Officer Don Nard, a middle-aged woman with a solid, imposing build. She regarded him with a calm, neutral expression. «Can I help you, sir?»
Though she was a female officer, her stout frame gave her an intimidating presence. Li Yunlong offered a warm smile, pulling out a business card and handing it across the counter. «Hello, Officer. Allow me to introduce myself. Im Brook Lee.»
Officer Nard took the card and glanced down at it. «Brook Lee. Freelance writer, adventurer, occult researcher.» She looked up, her tone brisk. «Alright, Mr. Brook Lee. What can we do for you today?»
«Id like to apply to review public record files available through your department.»
An ordinary citizen requesting access to police records-even public ones-might sound unusual, but in the United States, it was common practice. Entertainment professionals, journalists, and researchers frequently requested access to police archives for their work. In fact, one only had to watch the local news to see resourceful reporters leaking details about ongoing investigations. The local police suffered from two chronic issues: a constant shortage of manpower and pervasive corruption. The reality of American law enforcement was far less polished than most imagined, which worked to Li Yunlong's advantage; it meant his application had a strong chance of approval.
Officer Nard pulled out several forms with practiced efficiency and handed them over. «Fill these out completely and accurately, please.»
Half an hour later, after navigating the tedious paperwork, Li Yunlong handed back the completed forms. Officer Nard stacked them neatly. «Your application will be processed within seven business days, Mr. Brook Lee. Well notify you at the contact information you provided once a decision is made. Will there be anything else?»
«That covers it. Thank you, Officer Nard,» Li Yunlong replied with a polite smile before turning to leave.
Establishing a foothold locally required building a network, but cultivating relationships with mundane neighbors held little interest for him; unless he got exceptionally lucky, such contacts were unlikely to yield real benefits. Choosing the right social circle demanded strategy, and the local police station was merely his first step.
A persons life was in constant flux. As age, status, position, power, wealth, and reputation shifted, one had to adjust their place in society accordingly. Put simply, a person needed to refine their social circle to match their current circumstances. It wasn't a matter of cold calculation, but a practical necessity for adapting to the world. Few people who achieved massive wealth continued to live and dine in the same working-class neighborhoods as before. Even in Hollywood, the dynamic was obvious: on a film set, actors and crew worked together, yet contractually mandated perks set stars far apart from the rest. At lunchtime, extras gathered in one corner, crew members-writers, camera operators, gophers-grouped in another, lead actors clustered together, and directors and producers held their own table. Every tier was clearly delineated. That was the reality of the country, despite its posturing as a beacon of equality. It was easy to wish for fewer social games and more genuine human connection, but the harsh truth was that most people simply functioned this way.
Since the police background check would take time, Li Yunlong decided not to waste his Sunday morning. At nine-thirty, he slipped into a local Christian church. It was a modest building tucked away in a quiet area, about a twenty-minute drive from his residence, with a small cemetery bordering the grounds. Though cremation had grown common in modern times, many locals still preferred traditional burial.
Because it was Sunday, a decent crowd had gathered for the service. Scanning the congregation, Li Yunlong noted that young adults in their twenties made up less than a fifth of the room. A few children sat beside their parents, but the majority were in their thirties, forties, or older-middle-aged and elderly attendees made up the vast majority. Burbank was part of greater Los Angeles, a region world-famous for Hollywood and its entertainment industry. Here, even established religious institutions struggled to maintain a firm grip; judged strictly by conservative Christian doctrine, hardly one in a thousand working in the local entertainment industry would be considered a pious believer. With the churchs influence diluted, this small local branch felt particularly subdued. The entire staff consisted of a single ordained minister, Pastor Justin. Short on funds, staff, and resources, the church kept its Sunday service brief, trimming and simplifying traditional rituals wherever possible. Even so, the proceedings dragged on until nearly eleven o'clock.
When the service concluded and the congregation began to file out, Li Yunlong lingered behind. His delay was not born of sudden religious fervor. He respected the enduring power of ancient religious institutions, but his sensory control ability confirmed that no extraordinary forces inhabited this modest chapel. The ceremonial rites carried no hidden power, and Pastor Justin possessed no supernatural aura whatsoever. Perhaps because Li Yunlong held no personal faith, the sermon had felt entirely hollow-a series of vague, rambling platitudes that danced around points without ever touching on anything real.