I sat in the police station chair, watching the two men across from me in crisp black-and-white checked uniforms alternately open and close their mouths, as if speaking. The one on the left was composed and detached, having witnessed too many tragedies; the one on the right still seemed fresh and inexperienced, his eyes carrying a touch of compassion. I did not feel pain, nor did I regret having drawn that knife; at that moment, I even felt a sense of liberation, as the warm, flowing blood splashing onto me seemed like a divine salvation. I only regret having pursued money so passionately in my youth, at the cost of my dignity, my body, and my freedom. Over these days in the police station, I have found sufficient peace to reflect deeply on this issue—more thoroughly than I ever had before: my lack of firm resolve and my immaturity were the roots of my mistake, but this does not mean they were the only causes. From childhood onward, I have been taught that striving and working hard are all about achieving a large house, generously lit floor-to-ceiling windows, three or more servants, a private garden lawn, silver or gilded tableware, sumptuous dinner parties, and elegant ballroom evenings—on and on. The newspapers and magazines I have read have repeatedly reinforced this message: only when one attains sufficient dignity can one be considered middle-class, the very foundation of this kingdom, the refined, the excellent, the noble, the compassionate, and the knowledgeable. At the same time, they have defined what dignity means: it is a well-dressed dress, appropriately dressed attire for different occasions, expensive skincare and cosmetics, a sophisticated lady’s handbag, a concert, an afternoon tea, and a well-appointed gathering. And all of this, in the end, translates into pounds, pounds, and pounds. It must be admitted that the pursuit of a better life is an innate instinct for everyone. Yet when every aspect of a girl's environment is subtly shaping that very pursuit, and when the prevailing societal currents emphasize grace, refinement, and sophistication, her thoughts inevitably become influenced. I don't know what this phenomenon is called, but I know this: if nothing changes, tragedies like mine will continue to unfold, and they will multiply. At that point, someone will surely rage, "Look at these materialistic women—they've sold their souls!" Subconsciously, I turned toward the window, seeing the beautiful, bustling world, and the vibrant, flowing life within it. "Miss Trudy, are you listening to us?" a voice pulled me back to the present, coming from the somewhat reserved police officer. I smiled at him, not telling him that I had just been pondering some philosophical questions. It's truly amusing that a woman who has sold her soul for money should be thinking about such mundane matters during her interview with the officer. The officer nodded to me and said, "Miss Trudy, you're going to have to prepare for court next. We'll assign you a lawyer." "I'm sorry, but I didn't manage to secure that witness—only the statement remains. That's quite不利 for you." "That's all right," I replied calmly. I will strive to defend myself and will also face the guilt of my crimes with grace, hoping only to have a fresh beginning in the future. I paused, lifted a corner of my mouth, and said to the two officers, "While we're waiting for court, could you please borrow me a few books from the library?" "Ah, *Social Trends and Educational Phenomena*..." At that moment, I could see the two officers looking slightly puzzled, and, yes, a bit awed. ………… Sitting at the far end of the weathered long table, I listened as the "Judge of the Trial" spoke about Utopia. Once she finished speaking, I glanced around and said in a low, resonant voice: "This is a ritual." As expected, I saw the 'Judgment' lady's gaze momentarily freeze, and sensed that the 'Hanged Man' gentleman and the 'Justice' lady were now looking at me with a touch of curiosity. At that moment, I seemed to be able to anticipate what they were thinking: they would undoubtedly suspect this was the Sequence 1 ritual of 'World' Germaine Spalero, and they already knew through internal communications of the Tarot Circle that, should there be a Sequence 0 Divine Being, Sequence 1 could not exist. I had prepared an explanation for them—inviting them to reflect on the ancient Sun God and His Eight Archangels. Unfortunately, no one asked a question. Perhaps they had already recalled the Archangels, or perhaps they believed that the rituals involved in Utopia primarily served to further revive the 'Magician' gentleman. …… I gazed at the beautiful young lady, quietly absorbed in thought, and after a moment, asked, “Miss翠西, where do your parents reside?” “They have passed away…” she replied, her voice slightly wavering, as though her spirit no longer belonged to this place. I nodded and took down the note. “Do you have any other relatives?” The lady turned her gaze toward the window and answered casually, “No…” I exchanged a glance with my colleague and raised our voices, “Miss翠西, are you listening to us?” She looked back at me and offered a gentle smile. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, quiet and still—as if blooming alone in the night. This metaphor came from a poetry collection my brother recommended to me, saying that reading poetry makes me more charming. Of course, so far, that poetry collection has only brought me laughter. My colleagues at the police station all consider it utterly worthless. After informing the lady across the table about the developments in the upper hall, I noticed a gentle smile on her face as she asked us to borrow several books from the library—books whose titles I already found difficult to pronounce. The combination of that smile and the names of the books proved to be utterly beautiful. After returning Miss Truscott to her temporary holding room, I gathered the case files and prepared to visit the lawyer, a meeting that had been long scheduled. ………… Leaning back against the chair, I listened as "Moon" Emlyn described his dreams. According to the assessment of Father Utravsky, these dreams did not stem from a revelation of the "Great Earth Mother." This naturally led us to cast our suspicions toward the Moon, toward the "fallen Mother," and thus toward contamination—so much so that I found myself nearly amused by my own thoughts. As a seasoned oracle and dream interpreter, I didn’t hesitate to state my insights plainly: "There are three possibilities. First, this dream is guiding you to seek something, pursue something, and in doing so, subtly disrupting your fate. Second, it's urging you to deeply interpret and understand it, allowing it to gradually, imperceptibly, seep into your life. Third, your excessive concern about the 'Beauty Goddess' matter has caused you to dream of the very scenario you fear most." The third possibility was self-evident, and the approaches for the first two were identical—simply not to dwell on it, not to investigate it, and no need to leave Beckland. Upon finishing, I saw Emlyn nod without hesitation. I knew this was precisely his preferred way of handling things. ………… "A case of murder?" I glanced over the case files in my hands, inflecting the ending of my sentence to convey my query, "You should certainly hire a senior lawyer." "I'm just a transactional lawyer—strictly speaking, I don't even qualify to appear in court. Of course, that's the most rigorous scenario; in reality, it doesn't hold up. As long as the case isn't major and doesn't involve the criminal court, transactional lawyers routinely step in to provide assistance. The police officer in the black-and-white checked suit smiled warmly and said, 'Utopia is a small town—we don't have big-name lawyers, so we'd have to go elsewhere. Moreover, this case is being brought under the defense of necessity, with a relatively short sentence and a claim amount under £400. It can first be handled in the magistrates' court, and once the defense of necessity is established, it can be transferred to the criminal court.' That makes sense—so you're thinking of making a career shift into law? Typically, even cases of homicide brought under the defense of necessity are sent to the criminal court. Hah, that's one of the advantages of a small town—many things aren't as rigid. I thought for a moment, then nodded: 'Then I'll give it a try—make an acquittal argument.' "Also, please arrange a meeting with Miss Trudy as soon as possible." After reviewing the materials just now, I've gained a solid grasp of this case. The only issue remaining is whether Miss Trudy's character will evoke sympathy. Indeed, although my professional license was forged elsewhere, that doesn't diminish my professional competence—it merely reflects a minor error during the exam administration. ... Banshee? Would维尔Du like to go to Banshee? I'm seated at the lowest end of the weathered long table, watching the "Hangman" report to the "Knight," somewhat puzzled by the unfolding events. Verdou indeed has good reasons to explore the abandoned port of Banxi, given his deep fascination with esotericism—after all, he has resided in Bayum for nearly six months and it is entirely reasonable that he has come into contact with Banxi's records... The main issue lies in the fact that the surveillance prior to the "Hanged Man" position failed to provide any clear indications, making Verdou's actions seem somewhat abrupt... This matter deserves heightened attention... I nodded mentally as the " Fool" remarked: "Continue monitoring." … I was playing a seven-stringed lute by the fountains at the city square, using my knife and fork to cut through the steak, delivering the teachings of the goddess to the faithful inside the church, extending my right hand as a gentleman gently assisted me out of the carriage, finally receiving the long-anticipated new dress and eagerly donning it, moving on all fours while being chased by a child, laughing loudly and stumbling playfully with a dog… Suddenly, we all trembled, lifting our heads to gaze upward, seeing delicate, ethereal threads emerge from our bodies, stretching upward into the infinite, reaching through the gray-white mist, ascending toward an ancient palace, and finally landing in the hands of a lofty figure veiled in mist. Ever since then, Caine’s condition has been remarkably strange—seemingly completely fragmented into countless living beings, each incarnation possessing its own will, thoughts, perceptions, and destiny. Yet, above all these individual consciousnesses, there exists a dominant primary consciousness that continually faces various impacts, as if it might at any moment be absorbed by the vast ocean of consciousness it has itself generated—yet it consistently endures, preserving Klein's clarity of mind. His essence has always rested beneath the foundation of the Church of Saint Alaric, with his consciousness occasionally rising into the interior of the "Spire" and at other times sinking back into his own body. The scenes experienced by his spectral duplicates continually flash before his mind, forming a dream composed of countless fragmented images.