Wendel was far from unfamiliar with murder, and upon hearing the news, he remained calm, his gaze passing over the woman at the door and settling on the interior of the room. He immediately spotted a man lying on the floor, his chest stained red with blood. "Is he definitely dead?" Wendel asked calmly. The young woman, in her twenties, first looked puzzled, then hesitated before responding: "I think so... I'm not sure..." "If there's any chance of recovery, he needs to be taken to the hospital immediately," Wendel said, speaking to the patient's family as if he were a physician, not a murderer. The woman, still clutching the blood-streaked dagger, instinctively shifted aside to make room. Wendel took a few steps forward and approached the victim. He need not bend down; a single glance at the scene was enough to draw his conclusion: "He is indeed dead." The twenty-something woman with slightly tousled, light-brown hair showed no obvious expression, lowering her gaze to her toes and saying, "Call the police." "May I have your name?" Wendel had already heard the hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. Clearly, a server or the hotel manager had heard the cries and come to investigate. "Tracy..." the spirited and fresh young woman replied softly. Then she slipped into her own world, saying no more words. Wendel was about to speak when the hotel manager who had assisted him with check-in had already rushed to the door. "By the gods!" the older man exclaimed, his voice rising as he took in the scene inside the room. Wendel gently pressed down with his right hand, signaling for him to remain calm, and then said, "Go call the police right away. I'll stay here to keep an eye on things." His demeanor and voice carried an inherent sense of trust and authority; the innkeeper didn't waste a single word, immediately turning and heading downstairs. To Wendel, his initial visit to investigate had been merely a matter of gentlemanly courtesy—nothing more than a passing interest. After all, he still had duties to fulfill. Yet, the lady's apparent confusion, her detachment, and her forced composure stirred a sense of compassion within him. That was a natural male response. He glanced around, as though speaking to the air, saying, "Murder isn't always punished severely—it depends on the circumstances." Traci slowly lifted her head, fixing her gaze on the man. A subtle, indefinable glow now shimmered in her otherwise still and bewildered eyes. Wendel glanced at the bruised features on her face. "He hit you, did he?" "Yes," the woman seemed to possess a certain authority that finally prompted Traci, who had been reluctant to speak, to respond. Wendel lowered his gaze to the dagger, no longer dripping blood: "Did you bring it here, or did he?" Crisi responded with a slightly delayed reaction: "He." Wendel nodded slightly: "Good defense is legally recognized. I can prove to the police that there was a heated argument beforehand, and physical altercations—clearly, men have a natural advantage in such situations. I'm not being discriminatory toward women; science and experience tell us this." He paused and asked: "What exactly is your relationship, and what happened?" Crisi's eyes flickered, regaining some of the depth and grounding that had previously been lost. She answered as though responding to the police officer, with a mixture of hope and sadness: "I am, well, I'm his mistress." "With that, Tracy offered a touch of self-mockery: 'I used to be a woman who chased money to the point of losing her senses—a plain, unattractive woman. Not long after leaving grammar school, under his influence, I became his mistress. He gave me a hotel, where I was to stay, waiting each week for his visits or calls. Gradually, I lost interest in this life. I grew more suffocated and self-conscious. I wanted to return everything to him, to completely cut ties with him, but he refused. He threatened me in various ways, preventing me from leaving. Our recent meetings have been filled with arguments. Just now, he said that the only way to leave him was to die—he physically assaulted me and drew a knife. Then, as you know, the rest unfolded...' Mistress... Winder, with a tone of regret and admiration, glanced at Tracy's face: 'The initial evidence at the scene also supports the sequence of events.' He had originally assumed that Trish and the deceased were married, only to find their relationship far more strained than he had imagined. Trish nodded mechanically, saying, "Thank you." She remained silent until the Utopia police arrived, when she broke her silence and raised her hands to accept the handcuffs. Wendel glanced at Trish’s slightly unsteady gait and told the police, "Take her to the hospital for an examination, treat her injuries, and make sure nothing unexpected happens." The police had no idea why they should follow a witness's instructions, but without question, they led Trish, with Wendel, through the relentless downpour to the small hospital in town. Since Trish was a woman, Wendel and the two officers stayed in the hospital corridor, waiting outside. As time passed, Wendel noticed a pregnant woman being rushed into the delivery room, apparently experiencing complications requiring surgical intervention. A while later, he heard the sound of a baby crying—the announcement of a new life arriving. At that moment, Trish stepped out. "Feel it, don't you? The beauty of life," Wendel said seriously to Trish. Trish leaned closely, listening to the cries of the infant interwoven with the rain, her expression clearly touched. Her face had been wiped clean, appearing simple and fresh. After a few seconds, Trish came back to herself, nodded to Wendel, and said again: "Thank you." This time, she no longer seemed detached, distant, or withdrawn. Wendel breathed a quiet sigh of relief and then proceeded to the police station to file his statement. Once he had completed his duties, he walked to the street, preparing to take a hired carriage back to the Iris Inn. Yet, in this stormy night, there was not a single pedestrian nor a single carriage to be seen. "This is the downside of a small town—lacking in convenience." Wendel murmured something, unfolded the umbrella he had brought with him when he exited, oriented himself, and retraced his steps back to the "Iris" inn. As a former constable, he possessed a kind of mnemonic memory of the routes he had walked—so profound that he never worried about getting lost in a foreign town. Though the rain had lessened considerably, the wind still howled fiercely, gusting in waves and slanting against Wendel with a steady stream of water. This prompted him to raise his right hand and shield his chest and abdomen. The confidential document was tucked inside his clothing at that spot. ——Wendel had always kept the document close to his body, even while sleeping, never letting it separate from him; this had become a habit. As long as he reminded himself beforehand, he never turned over during sleep. Utopia was a small town. After walking for nearly a minute, Wendel spotted the "Crocus" inn, and by then, his hat and clothes had been somewhat dampened by the strong wind. This worried him, as he feared the confidential document might get waterlogged and damaged. Strictly speaking, he had violated one of the fundamental rules of his duty, yet how could he fail to offer assistance to such a lady? That was the very refinement a gentleman ought to exhibit. Wendel felt a touch of annoyance, but not the slightest regret. As soon as he entered the room, he removed his coat, took out the document, and placed it on the table. The paper envelope surrounding the document had clearly absorbed moisture, and several spots seemed vulnerable—just a slight pressure might cause it to tear. Immediately, Wendel rang the bell, summoned the servant, and asked for the coal stove, hoping to raise the room temperature and speed up the drying of the sealed envelope. During the wait, he noticed that there was not a single sense of quiet typical of a late night—seemingly because the earlier screams and the police visit had woken up the residents of the building and nearby neighbors, who had yet to fall back asleep. The roaring wind had softened, and within the steady patter of rain, he heard children's cries, couples arguing, the steady sound of a violin like sawing wood, intermittent sobs, footsteps moving up and down the hall, and conversations that at times were spoken softly, at others, simply lost control. He didn't feel moved by this vibrant atmosphere; rather, he found the noise overwhelming, making it difficult for him to settle. A while later, a server brought him a stove now fueled with charcoal. Wendel relaxed slightly and casually asked, "Do you know the Miss翠西 who was here just now?" The slender server shook his head. "Not personally." He added immediately, "I heard she's indeed a native of the area, but until this year, I've always lived in the country estate outside the city." "Do you know her well?" Wendel asked instinctively. "The servant sighed suddenly. "She comes to our inn three to five times a month, always visiting the man who died. She's not happy at all." Wendel remained silent for a few seconds, sent the servant away, and sat back down at the table. Time passed slowly; the outer bag of the confidential documents gradually dried out. Now, both inside and outside the inn had grown quiet, with only the occasional sound of raindrops hitting the ground and the wind rustling through the windows. Wendel, refreshed and attentive, recalled the events that had unfolded, sighed over Miss Truscott's life, and lifted the document folder, turning it over. At that moment, he noticed a slight tear in the section of the bag covering the bottom, revealing a glimpse of the papers inside. Wendel furrowed his brow, knowing he would be reprimanded. Of course, the reprimand wouldn't be severe, since if the confidentiality of the documents had been particularly high, he wouldn't have been sent alone. Wendel had originally intended to remain in his current state and show the receiving party the damage, but as he glanced at the torn section, he caught a single word on the document: "Utopia." Wendel's spirit tightened instantly, and he felt the wind and rain outside suddenly cease.