She speculated that the belt might have come from some unfastened restraint, the tobacco tin was picked up randomly to be used as a container, and the gears might have been removed from some discarded machinery, perhaps once used to prop something up.
Time’s up.
Sandrone stood up and looked at Miss Star.
Miss Star’s face remained expressionless, but her deep golden eyes seemed to brighten for a fleeting moment.
“Observation skills are acceptable, logic and inference foundations are qualified.
You weren’t foolish enough to move things directly.”
She tapped the floor lightly with her cane, “Second test: on the third shelf over there, between the seventh and twelfth books from the left, there is a copy of a preliminary police report regarding the accidental fatal fall of the East District Textile Factory strike leader last month.
Take it out and summarize the most illogical points in the report in no more than three sentences.”
Sandrone walked toward the seemingly chaotic bookshelf once again.
She quickly located the third shelf and found that the books there were packed exceptionally tight, with varying sizes and thicknesses, making it difficult to pull one out directly.
She carefully observed the erosion and dust distribution on the spines, finding that the gap between the seventh book (a heavy volume of ‘Annotations to the Kingdom Code’) and the twelfth book (a worn ‘Atlas of Common Flowers’) seemed slightly wider than elsewhere, and there were fresh indentations on the spines of both books.
She didn’t pull hard; instead, she carefully moved ‘Annotations to the Kingdom Code’ slightly to the side to make space, then reached her fingers into the gap between these books, and indeed felt a stack of papers with a texture different from the books.
She carefully pulled it out; it was indeed that report.
A quick browse.
The report described that the strike leader was counting supplies alone late at night at a high point in the factory warehouse when he fell to his death due to the breaking of an old wooden board, which was ruled an accident.
Sandrone’s gaze lingered on several details:
The estimated time of death was one in the morning.
When the body was found, a small brass whistle that did not belong to the warehouse items was tightly gripped in his hand.
There was more than one type of fresh scratch on the edge of the broken wooden board.
There were no abnormal unlocking records for the warehouse door that night, but the latch of a side window was slightly deformed.
She looked up and faced Miss Star: “Suspicions: First, performing a supply count alone at one in the morning is inconsistent with standard work procedures; second, the source of the whistle in the deceased’s hand is unknown and may have been used to signal; third, the multiple types of scratches at the wooden board’s break do not match simple trampling break marks; fourth, the deformation of the side window latch suggests a possible abnormal entry Pathway.
Most illogical is that the report attributes all suspicions to coincidence without conducting an in-depth investigation into the whistle and the side window.”
Miss Star listened quietly and, after a moment, nodded.
“Summarization ability is passing; you’ve grasped the key contradictions.”
She paused, her gaze falling on Sandrone’s face again, this time with something nearly resembling interest, “Last question: if you are hired, what would be your primary organizational principle for this room?
You have ten seconds.”
Sandrone blurted out almost without hesitation: “Establish a classification system to distinguish between case-related items, tools and materials, reference materials, personal belongings, and trash to be processed.
She glanced at the hanging books and stacked parts, “While it looks chaotic, it likely has its own internal logic.”
Ten seconds were up.
The room fell silent for a few seconds.
There was only the rustling of the wutong leaves outside the window and the faint sound of carriages from the distant street.
Miss Star reached out and pushed the monocle on the bridge of her nose, her deep golden eyes looking directly at Sandrone.
“Weekly salary of 5 Silver coins, two-week probation period.
Working hours will primarily depend on the needs of my cases, usually from afternoon to evening, and may be moved earlier or later if necessary.
You are not to handle any items marked or placed in specific areas without permission.
Any questions?”
Sandrone’s heart was nearly jumping out of her chest.
She suppressed her excitement and tried to keep her voice steady: “No, Miss Star.”
“Very well.
Come back tomorrow at two in the afternoon with a copy of your identification and a detailed weekly schedule.
Now, you may leave.”
After Miss Star finished speaking, she turned back to her round table as if the interview had never happened.
A relieved smile broke out on Mrs.
Rosen’s face as she lightly patted Sandrone’s shoulder, signaling her to follow her out.
After walking down the stairs and returning to the first-floor reception room, Mrs.
Rosen finally let out a long sigh: “Congratulations, child!
For Miss Star to say that means she has accepted you!
Heaven knows how many people she has driven away.
It seems your professional background and that…
well, matter-of-fact attitude suited her taste.”
Sandrone also felt a wave of surreal joy and relief.
A weekly salary of 5 Silver coins!
A job that seemed like it could be done long-term, and where she might even learn something!
“Thank you, Mrs.
Rosen.
I will work hard to do a good job,” she said sincerely.
“Work hard, child.
Mrs.
Rosen winked, “By the way, remember to wear clothes that can get dirty tomorrow.
Also, it’s best to bring your own apron and gloves.
Um…
bring a mask as well; sometimes the smell of her chemical experiments is…
well, quite refreshing for the mind.”
Sandrone nodded vigorously, keeping the precautions in mind.
When she left No.
47 Wutong Street, the afternoon sunlight filtered through the wutong leaves and fell on her, as if the gloom of the past few days had been somewhat dispelled.
Meanwhile, in that chaotic domain on the second floor, Miss Star stood by the window, watching that petite figure walk away with light steps through her monocle.
Her dull, deep golden eyes reflected Sandrone’s back, and her fingertips unconsciously tapped the silver skull decoration on the top of her cane.
“Mechanical application…
Lopez…”
She murmured to herself, “…Perhaps, she can do more than just clean.”
She turned, her gaze sweeping over an old wooden box half-hidden by clutter in a corner of the room; an eerie symbol, seemingly a twisted combination of gears and tentacles, was carved on the lid.
“Maybe,”
The corners of Miss Star’s mouth twitched upward slightly, “she could have some unexpected uses.”
Sandrone used part of the weekly salary advance she had just received to buy a small bun, still warm and filled with a bit of ham and cheese, from the corner bakery as a celebration for finding a new job.
She ate in small bites, her steps lighter than usual as she pushed open the door she had repaired herself—
And then, the last bit of breadcrumbs in her mouth almost choked her.
In the room, that ghost girl in a strange moon-white dress, her black hair with deep ginger-red highlights moving without wind, was facing away from her, leaning slightly and hovering over the table, seemingly poking at her few pitiful Silver coins and coppers with translucent fingers out of boredom, though they all passed through.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, the ghost girl’s movements stopped, and she slowly turned around.
The white eye mask seemed to look toward Sandrone.
Time seemed to freeze for two seconds.
“…” The half-eaten bun in Sandrone’s hand dropped to the floor.
“…” Columbina’s hovering fingers froze in mid-air.
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”