He pushed the documents toward Ellen.
“Your abilities, your experiences, and most importantly, your attitude of remaining calm and attempting to investigate after witnessing an anomaly have made them think you’re qualified.
This is an invitation, Detective Joe.
Accept it, and you will enter a completely different world, gaining access to the other side of the truth, but it also means more danger, secrecy regulations, and…
a farewell to common sense.
Reject it, and you can continue being a senior Detective; today’s events and this report will be filed away, and you might be reassigned to handle some safe cases, slowly fading away from these fringes.”
Ellen looked at the document and remained silent for a moment.
She recalled the surreal scenes from the alley fight and the cases of those who died under strange circumstances.
“The Fifth Bureau…”
She whispered the name, then looked up, meeting Inspector Brent’s gaze with determination.
“Sir, I need to know the truth.
If those beyonder powers are being used to commit crimes and harm the innocent, then someone should stop them, whether they use bullets or…
something else.”
Inspector Brent took a long look at her, and his face broke into his first genuine smile of the day, though it was a complicated one.
“I knew you’d say that.
Welcome to the dark side of the world, Agent Ellen Joe.
Tomorrow morning at nine, report to the basement of 17 Whitechapel Street in the Riverside District.
Remember, wear plain clothes and don’t bring your badge.”
He relit his pipe.
“Also, regarding that foreign student Sandrone mentioned in your report…
keep an eye on her, but change your methods.”
Ellen picked up the document, feeling that the weight of the paper in her hand far exceeded its physical weight.
“Understood, sir.”
On the moon, Columbina finally figured out the truth behind the currency unit in the system shop—it wasn’t “Mora” at all; looking closely at the zoomed-in icon, it was clearly a gold coin engraved with intricate patterns!
300 gold coins for a single fried egg?
She did the math; in the system, 1 Primogem seemed to be equivalent to 1 gold coin, so a Teyvat Fried Egg for revival would cost 300 Primogems, which was almost equal to two single pulls!
“This is a robbery!”
Columbina couldn’t help but complain.
Although the “mother of blood’s Friendship Giveaway” had made her rich overnight, the thought that she might never encounter such a sucker again…
No, such a generous sponsor, made her feel that she still needed to be frugal with these Primogems.
She just didn’t know what the actual prices were in this world, and whether 300 gold coins counted as a fortune.
She turned her attention back to the mirror.
In the image, Sandrone had just pushed the door open and entered, carrying an old tool bag in one hand and a covered plate in the other, with a simple set of knife and fork resting on top. Visit novelping(.)com for the full chapter.
She placed the tool bag in the corner, carefully set the plate on the table, and then turned back to pick up her tools, performing final reinforcements and adjustments to some details of the door frame.
It seemed she had finished making dinner in the communal kitchen.
Columbina’s vision penetrated the ordinary white porcelain lid, seeing the contents inside:
A piece of slightly charred bread spread with a thin layer of butter, accompanied by a small pile of boiled peas and diced carrots, along with two slices of meat that looked smoked and very lean.
It wasn’t exactly a feast, let alone exquisite, but given Sandrone’s current financial situation, it was already a rather “luxurious” dinner, containing at least protein and vegetables.
As Columbina watched, she suddenly felt…
a bit hungry.
It wasn’t physiological hunger, but more like a psychological and sensory link triggered by seeing someone else eat.
After all, since waking up on the moon in this body, she hadn’t eaten anything, and she wasn’t even sure if she needed to.
A thought popped into her head.
She experimentally reached toward the mirror’s surface, gently touching the bread on the plate in the image.
Her fingertips felt a solid touch!
Applying a little pressure, she actually pulled that long piece of bread out from the image in the mirror!
The bread felt real and warm in her physical hand on the moon, emitting the simple aroma of butter and baked flour.
“?”
Columbina looked down at the real bread in her hand, then up at the mirror—in the image on the plate, the bread was still lying there perfectly fine, alongside the peas and meat, without the slightest reduction.
“Is this a bug?
Or…
did I duplicate it?”
She curiously took a bite.
The texture was solid, a bit dry, and the butter flavor was very faint, but it was indeed food that could satisfy hunger, carrying the indefinable coarse quality characteristic of this era.
For a transmigrated soul who had tasted all kinds of modern delicacies, this taste could only be described as “okay, edible.”
After finishing the bread, she looked at the complete dinner in the mirror, and a bit of experimental spirit made her reach out again.
This time, she tried to take the entire plate.
The miracle happened again.
In her hand was an identical white porcelain plate, topped with the duplicated peas, diced carrots, and two slices of meat.
And in the mirror’s image, Sandrone’s dinner remained untouched.
Columbina shrugged; since she could get a free (?) dinner, she wouldn’t be polite.
She leisurely ate the duplicated food, her evaluation remaining the same:
It could fill the stomach, but don’t expect any enjoyment.
It seemed Sandrone’s culinary skills were as limited as her budget.
At that moment, Sandrone finished repairing the door, put her tools away, washed her hands, and walked to the table to enjoy the dinner she had painstakingly prepared.
Then, Columbina saw Sandrone’s chewing motion freeze.
Her delicate eyebrows slowly furrowed, and her deep blue eyes showed clear confusion.
She took another bite of the peas and meat, her brow furrowing even tighter, her face wearing a strange expression.
“So bland…
no, it has no taste at all?”
Sandrone muttered softly and tried a few more bites, finally confirming—the plate of food looked perfectly normal, but in her mouth, it was like chewing wax; aside from the texture and temperature, there was no saltiness, sweetness, buttery fragrance, or any flavor the food itself should have had.
It was as if all the “flavor” had mysteriously evaporated during the cooking process.
She looked suspiciously at the plate, then toward the communal kitchen, and finally could only conclude that she might have been distracted and forgotten to add salt, or had bought butter and bacon so low-quality they were tasteless.
In a daily life of material scarcity, this wasn’t too unusual, just particularly depressing.
She forced herself to quickly and silently finish the “tasteless as wax” dinner, as if completing a task.
After clearing the dishes, Sandrone didn’t rest immediately but sat back at the table, took out a small notebook sewn with thread, and began writing in her diary.
Her handwriting was clear and neat, but the content was extremely brief, more like an encrypted record of events:
“April 17th, overcast.
Purse lost (major loss).
Door damaged (material cost: 7 coppers).
Dinner abnormally tasteless.
Consecutive days of bad luck, must be vigilant.”
She didn’t write about the mirror returning on its own, didn’t write about devouring gears, didn’t write about the supernatural sights, and didn’t even mention the Detective’s questioning or the black market transaction.
Caution was etched into her very marrow.
After finishing, she flipped back a few pages.
The past entries were equally concise:
“April 16th, cloudy.
Encountered Detective for questioning.”
“April 15th, cloudy.
Spoke with Professor Hammer.”
“April 14th, rain.
Job lost.
Bought black bread.”
After a quick glance, Sandrone couldn’t help but let out a soft “tsk,” her mouth turning down in a frustrated expression.
Her gaze unconsciously drifted toward the outline of the silver mirror on the table, newly covered with an old cloth, her eyes filled with complexity.
Although she hadn’t written it in her diary, in her subconscious, she linked this string of bad luck more or less to picking up this eerie mirror.
If only I hadn’t been so curious…
the thought flashed by, and was immediately suppressed by her.
Regret was useless; survival was the only thing that mattered.