"Why does the confidential document being escorted mention Utopia? What's special about this place? ... " A cascade of thoughts flashed through Wendel's mind, and a hum seemed to resonate in his ears. He felt a sense of relief after mental exertion—like he was on the verge of illness. Wendel quickly forced himself to calm down, carefully reviewing his experiences since arriving in Utopia, and found that every detail was sound, entirely plausible within the context of everyday life. The only aspect that still troubled him was the remarkable coincidence of his arrival: while delayed steam train stops due to storms were common, the specific station where the train halted—linked directly to the confidential document—could not be explained by mere chance. Wendel gazed steadily at the confidential document on the table, hesitating whether to open it and read it carefully. Perhaps the mention of "Utopia" was only a passing reference—my actions would seriously violate internal discipline. Maybe this is a secret report compiled by an intelligence officer investigating "Utopia," whose contents will ultimately determine whether I survive or perish. After a moment of struggle, Wendel glanced out at the deep night sky and reached for the document. Only by living could he begin to consider whether he would face disciplinary action. With determination, Wendel quickly opened the outer paper bag and began reading the printed files inside. As he read, his hands trembled slightly, and a coldness spread through his back—no matter how fiercely the coal stove burned, it could not warm him. Regardless of how one interpreted the confidential report in his hands, it clearly indicated problems with Utopia, problems extending throughout the entire town. Perhaps Utopia did not even exist as a real place. Wendel felt his mouth dry, as though he could hear the sound of death slowly approaching, dragging its sickle closer. He instinctively wanted to rise, but ultimately held himself back, choosing not to react impulsively. He sensed that in the darkness outside the window, within the room upstairs, and along the corridor by the door, there were pairs of eyes watching him. What could he do? So far, nothing out of the ordinary had happened—this suggested that if he remained unaware, he might still safely reach morning. He had seen numerous reports indicating that prematurely signaling awareness of something strange in the surroundings would only trigger danger prematurely. Yet, he could not simply remain passive, relying solely on luck. Recalling the various dangers he had already faced, he quickly made up his mind. He would return immediately to the steam train, in a way, stepping out of Utopia—there, at least, most people were normal, while throughout the city, danger lurked everywhere. Of course, Wendel couldn't just rush back that way—he had to appear normal, as though he had left the hotel for some other reason in the middle of the night to head back to the steam train station. As his thoughts raced, Wendel folded his confidential report, rose steadily, put on his coat, and adjusted his hat. Then, holding his suitcase in one hand and his umbrella in the other, he walked calmly to the door and turned the handle. The corridor was dimly lit, with only a few gas wall lamps on either side casting a somewhat faint glow, adding a touch of human presence to the otherwise quiet atmosphere—so still that the sound of a sewing needle falling to the floor could be heard clearly. As Wendel stepped onto the corridor, the wooden floor beneath him emitted a soft creak, a sound particularly noticeable and far-reaching in the profoundly still, cold night. Frowning slightly, Wendel moved forward with the air of someone going about his usual business, approaching the staircase located midway down the corridor. He moved with complete confidence, showing no hesitation or concealment. As the stairs grew closer, a creaking sound suddenly arose behind him. "Mr. Wendel, where would you like to go?" a slightly broken male voice reached his ears. Wendel's body instantly stiffened. He slowly turned around and saw the wooden door of the "service room" open, a waiter stepping out and standing in the shadow of the doorway. He quickly composed a smile, speaking calmly, "I have some important items left on the steam train. I'm afraid they might be taken, so I have to return now." Then, he softly added, "There's been a murder at the hotel. I don't want to stay here any longer—I can't sleep at all." "I'm sorry," the waiter replied, slightly bowing. "I won't let this matter become known." Wendel nodded in agreement and then continued, turning back toward the stairs. Perhaps because the night light was dim, he walked with great care and caution, each step as if stepping along the edge of a cliff. One step, two steps, three steps… finally, after remaining vigilant, Wendel reached the first floor. The hotel hall was empty—every object hidden in darkness, its forms blurred by the faint light from outside, like creatures poised to pounce. Wendel looked ahead, passed through the deep stillness of the hall, and reached the door. As he pushed it open, he suddenly heard a rustling sound behind him—somewhat like mice moving, yet as if someone were approaching quietly. Wendel felt a strange numbness in his back of head, yet he held back his urge to rush forward, instead calmly lifting his gaze to the sky, now clear and still after the rain. Then, drawing a deep breath of cold, crisp air, he oriented himself and headed toward the steam train station. His steps gradually quickened, as if he were a bit afraid of the night, eager to finish this journey as soon as possible. As he walked, Winder noticed a sign in the distance: "Utopia Telegraph Office." A telegraph office... Perhaps he could try to sneak in and send urgent messages—one to the headquarters in Beckland and another to the Escon Military Base—so that the half-gods could come to his rescue. If he truly ended up trapped here, unable to leave, this would be his only means of自救. Winder thought it over and, without drawing attention, subtly angled his path, eventually reaching the entrance of the Utopia Telegraph Office. He didn't immediately search for a place to enter, but instead focused his attention, listening intently to the sounds inside. He soon heard intermittent, heavier breathing. This made Winder sometimes feel as though no one was there at all, and at other times, as though there were several people present. Suddenly, the breathing ceased completely. At that very moment, every hair on Wendel's body stood on end. His instinct told him that there was a figure standing quietly behind the main door of the telegraph office! Without hesitation, Wendel abandoned the idea of sending a telegram and stepped past the door, continuing on his way. Throughout the rest of the journey, even the slightest breeze made Wendel tremble, afraid of encountering some unforeseen danger. Time slipped away slowly under his growing anxiety, until finally he reached the outside of the steam train station, only to find the main gate closed and impassable. Undeterred, Wendel first handed his umbrella to the man carrying luggage with his left hand, then moved to the side, found a wall, pressed his palm against it, and effortlessly leapt over. After landing firmly on his feet, Wendel took a deep, steady breath and walked steadily toward the platform ahead. At that moment, a faint, barely audible sound of footsteps came from behind him. "What are you doing here?" he asked. A deep, resonant voice then echoed. Wendel's toes tightened, and cold sweat beaded on his back. Without hesitation, he remained alert, his body slightly stiff as he gradually turned toward the rear. First, he saw a classical glass lantern, then the platform staff who had been standing there before. Wendel exhaled, slightly exasperated: "It's not the kind of night or setting where one should appear like this. As a gentleman, one should strive not to startle others." "I'm not a gentleman," the platform staff replied, not particularly cordial. Wendel gestured toward a corner of the platform: "I'm going to the restroom." He had already observed the platform's layout and surroundings. "And you, why have you come here?" the staff asked. "I got lost," Wendel answered simply. Then, he turned his attention away from the staff and began walking steadily toward the platform restroom. Behind him, the staff member watched silently, without speaking. This gave Wendel considerable psychological pressure, yet he maintained a steady pace throughout. In the lavatory, under the glow of the gas wall lamp, it took Wendel nearly a minute to ease the tension in his body before he successfully urinated. Back on the steam train, gazing at passengers sleeping in various positions along the carriages, Wendel finally found a sense of security. For several hours thereafter, he remained awake, constantly on guard against unforeseen events. As Wendel grew increasingly detached from the passage of time, the sky gradually brightened, dispelling the darkness. Over the next two hours, passengers bound for Utopia returned one after another—some purchasing a bottle of the local renowned red wine, others pale and weary, as though still recovering from a hangover or having been beaten up. Wendel remained vigilant, yet could not detect any anomalies in the details. Hoo! Finally, the whistle blew, and the steam train began to move slowly and steadily from stillness. The clattering sound echoed as it departed the Utopia station. Then, another period of overcast skies followed, but fortunately, no storm arrived, and the sun soon pierced through the clouds, illuminating the land. To Wendl, this was entirely normal—since his arrival in Utopia last night, everything had unfolded this way—had it not been for the confidential report tucked in his coat, he would have doubted that Utopia presented any issues at all. When the steam train reached the next station, a familiar one, Wendl finally relaxed, his head throbbing in waves, as though drained of energy. At that moment, he quickly reviewed his experiences in Utopia. In retrospect, Wendel's body suddenly straightened: last night, when he had claimed to have gone to the restroom, he had been carrying both a suitcase and an umbrella—quite unlike a passenger who had alighted unexpectedly on a steam train. Yet the platform attendant had failed to notice this, or perhaps had noticed it, but for some unknown reason had not brought it to light!