The morning in the foggy city was devoid of sunlight.
Only the enormous, wind-up sun, known as the "Eye of God," hovering directly above the city, emitted a pale and constant cold light. The light pierced through the thick industrial smog, spilling onto the streets covered in coal ash and puddles, creating a greasy, rainbow-like sheen.
The K109 train, with a weary whistle, disappeared into the end of the time tunnel.
Shen Qingqiu stood on the platform, holding her black lace folding fan, gently covering her mouth and nose. The air here was worse than on the train, a mixture of sulfur, rust, rotting Thames water, and… the bitter smell left behind by countless souls squeezed dry.
"Air quality: Severely polluted." Seventeen stood half a step behind her, a line of red data flashing on his monocle. He carried two vintage leather suitcases ("borrowed" from the train conductor), his posture upright as a pine tree, attracting frequent glances from the passing mechanical guards.
"Let's go, Sebastian." Shen Qingqiu raised her hand, adjusting the small top hat adorned with a black veil on her head. "We should find a foothold in this new world."
…In this city ruled by the church and steam-powered machinery, one cannot move an inch without an identity.
Fortunately, for the administrator, an identity is merely a string of code that can be modified at any time.
Customs checkpoint.
Before the massive brass gate, a mechanical eyeball drooped down, staring intently at Shen Qingqiu.
[Scanning…]
[Identity confirmed…beep…unable to recognize…] The iris of the mechanical eyeball contracted wildly, about to emit a red alarm.
Shen Qingqiu removed her velvet gloves, revealing slender, white fingers, and gently pressed them against the cold brass casing.
The golden pupils glowed slightly behind the veil.
[Edited: Shen Qingqiu, a fallen noblewoman from the East, Countess.]
[Edited: Seventeen, Omnipotent Butler.]
[Proof of Assets: Unlimited (Forged)] "Beep—" The red light instantly turned green.
The mechanical eyeball retracted, emitting a respectful synthesized voice:
"Welcome to Fog City, Your Excellency Countess." The gate opened.
What greeted them was a steel jungle constructed of gears, chimneys, and Gothic spires.
...Although they had status, they had no money.
The real currency—"gold pounds" or "high-energy coal"—was not in Shen Qingqiu's possession. All she had were a pile of spirit stones and magical artifacts brought from the cultivation world, which were not legal tender here.
"We need a house. Preferably a detached house, with a garden, and... cheap." Shen Qingqiu sat on a bench by the roadside, looking at a copy of the *Fog City Morning Post* in her hand.
Seventeen stood to the side, silently watching the bustling crowd. The workers, dressed in tattered coats and pale-faced, each carrying a battery pack-like device on their backs, were supplying life to the city.
"Master, over there." Seventeen suddenly spoke, her gloved finger pointing to a corner of the newspaper.
It was an inconspicuous classified ad section, written in bold black font:
[No. 13 Blackwood Street, detached Victorian villa. Urgent sale/rent. Rent: Free. Requirements: Must stay overnight.]
"A haunted house?" Shen Qingqiu raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flashing in her eyes. "Interesting. In this world where even ghosts are captured to generate electricity, there are still haunted houses that can terrify people like this."
"That's it."
She closed the newspaper and stood up.
"Let's go see our new home."
… Blackwood Street is located at the border of the Lower and Upper Towns of Fog City.
It is shrouded in thick fog year-round, and the gaslights, even during the day, only illuminate a small patch of ground beneath their feet.
No. 13 is a typical three-story Gothic building.
A pointed roof, dark red bricks, withered ivy climbing the walls, and a rickety sign hanging on the tightly closed iron gate—"Evil spirits within, keep away."
The real estate agent who brought them was a short man with a rat-like mustache, standing across the street, refusing to approach.
"Countess, I must warn you, this house…eats people." The agent said, trembling. "In the past ten years, twelve tenants have gone in, and only three came out alive, all insane. They said…the house is alive."
"Alive?" Shen Qingqiu chuckled softly.
She walked to the gate, not using the key, but placing her palm directly on the cold iron door.
[System Analysis: Information Read.]
*Buzz—* Countless chaotic, cold, fragmented streams of data flooded her mind.
Screams, cries, the grating of machinery…
This was more than just a haunted house.
This was a **"data recycling bin"**.
Those fragmented codes (vengeful spirits) deleted, forgotten, and exploited to death in this city, yet unable to dissipate, were all swept into this corner and piled up by the system.
"Seventeen." Shen Qingqiu turned to look at the butler behind him.
"This house is a bit dirty. As the butler, what should you do?" Seventeen pushed up his monocle, a cold glint flashing behind the lens.
He put down the suitcase in his hand, slowly removing his pristine white cotton gloves, revealing a sleek, dark golden mechanical right hand.
"A thorough cleaning."
He uttered three words calmly.
Creak— The iron door was pushed open.
A visible black gust of wind, carrying countless distorted human faces, roared out from inside!
"Get out!!!" The piercing ghostly howl shattered the gaslights on the street.
The real estate agent fled in terror.
But Seventeen simply stood calmly before Shen Qingqiu. He didn't use those destructive heavy weapons. This would be his home from now on; if it got damaged, he'd have to repair it.
He raised his mechanical right hand, fingers spread, and made a grabbing motion in the air towards the onrushing black wind.
The movement was as elegant as catching a fluttering butterfly.
[Xingtian's Grip - Logic Shattering]
Poof.
The menacing tide of evil spirits dissipated instantly, like a burst bubble.
Before those distorted faces could even touch Seventeen's clothes, they were forcibly dismantled into the most primitive, harmless binary particles by the absolute order force field emanating from that palm.
The black mist dissipated, turning into specks of fluorescent light that drifted down.
"It's a bit dusty." Seventeen put his gloves back on, turned to the side, gestured "please" to the dumbfounded intermediary, and then bowed slightly to Shen Qingqiu.
"Master, please come in. It's been cleaned."
...The interior of the house was much more spacious than it appeared from the outside, but also much older.
Heavy, deep red velvet curtains blocked out all light, white sheets covered the furniture, and the air was thick with the smell of old paper and musty wood.
"I like it." Shen Qingqiu looked around, her fingertips tracing the dusty handrail. "It's quiet and secluded enough."
"Seventeen, tidy up. The second floor will be the bedroom, and the first floor… turn the living room into a reception room."
She walked to the window and pulled back the curtains.
A dim, yellowish light streamed in, illuminating the swirling dust.
"From today onwards, this is the **'Eastern Detective Agency'**."
For the next hour, this notoriously haunted house underwent a brutal "cleaning."
Seventeen removed his tuxedo coat, revealing only a white shirt and black vest, sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms and his intricately crafted mechanical right hand.
He moved like a black whirlwind through the rooms.
The "Hand of God," once used to crush nascent souls and blast trains, was now meticulously scrubbing every floor tile and every vase with millisecond precision, using a feather duster and rag.
The remaining little ghosts, trembling in the corner, hadn't even had a chance to play a prank before Seventeen grabbed them, crumpled them into a ball, and stuffed them into the fireplace as fuel.
"Madam, this ghost... seems to be trying to steal your hair clip." Seventeen said expressionlessly, holding up a ghost with only half a head.
Shen Qingqiu was sitting on the only clean sofa, flipping through a copy of the *Foggy City Code* she had found on the bookshelf.
"Burn it. Perfect for boiling water for tea."
"Yes, ma'am." Seventeen tossed the ghost into the fireplace, flicking a wisp of golden flame from her fingertip.
With a boom, blue flames erupted, the ghost transforming into pure heat.
...Dusk fell.
At No. 13 Blackwood Street, this haunted house, silent for ten years, lit up with warm lights for the first time. The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly (fueled by various unidentifiable "garbage").
The water in the copper kettle was boiling, bubbling softly.
Shen Qingqiu changed into a loose silk robe and lazily curled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace.
She held a copy of Byron's poems in her hands, and at her feet lay the tiny, palm-sized mechanical black cat that Seventeen had just made (used to catch any stray "data bugs").
"Master." Seventeen approached, carrying a tray.
He was now dressed neatly, not a single hair out of place.
On the tray was an exquisite bone china tea set, an antique he had found in the basement.
"Lapsang Souchong. With a sugar cube and three drops of milk."
He knelt on one knee before her, offering the teacup to her.
Shen Qingqiu took the teacup, the rising steam illuminating her features.
She took a sip.
A warm current slid down her throat, dispelling the city's unique chill.
"Your skills have improved." Shen Qingqiu nodded approvingly.
A barely perceptible hint of pleasure flashed in Seventeen's eyes.
He remained kneeling before her, not rising, but silently watching her.
The firelight illuminated his face, half flesh and half metal, blurring the line between human and non-human.
"Seventeen." Shen Qingqiu put down her teacup, reaching out to stroke his cheek, her fingertips brushing against his cold monocle.
"In this world, we are outcasts."
"We will see many ugly things, and we will kill many people."
"I know." Seventeen took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and gently kissed it.
"If you wish to see, I will light a lamp for you."
"If you wish to kill, I will hand you a knife."
"And this cup of tea..." He looked up, his deep blue left eye, as unfathomable as the sea, reflecting her red figure.
"No matter how fierce the wind and rain outside, no matter how terrifying the ghosts and monsters,"
"at home, it's always warm." Shen Qingqiu smiled.
She bent down and kissed her one and only demonic butler, who belonged to her, before the flickering fire.
Outside the window, thick fog shrouded the city, and the clock tower's bell tolled twelve times, dull and oppressive.
But inside this window at No. 13 Blackwood Street.
Peace and tranquility prevailed, and the red tea was warm.
This was the first home they built in the abyss.