The rainy season in Chongqing seems endless.
But these past few days, the rain has fallen unusually quietly. There's no thunder, only a fine, dense drizzle weaving a grey net, enveloping the entire city in a suffocating dampness.
No. 13 Blackwood Street, the Oriental Detective Agency.
The firelight in the fireplace illuminates a late-night visitor.
It is a well-dressed old gentleman, the Order of the Golden Fleece hanging on his chest, the symbol of an Imperial Duke. But this old man at the pinnacle of power is now hunched over, his hands trembling as he holds a delicate music box, tears streaming down his face.
"Earl Shen…please, save my Lilith." The Duke of Westminster's voice was broken. "She was just…just a little melancholic, a little prone to daydreaming. She said she heard the sound of gears turning…I thought it was an illness, so I sent her there."
"Where?" Shen Qingqiu sat in a high-backed chair, holding a cup of Darjeeling tea that Seventeen had just brewed. Her gaze, through the rising steam, fell on the Duke's aged face.
"Saint Mary's Asylum." The Duke trembled as he uttered the name.
"That holy place that claims to heal all 'soul flaws.' But…it's been half a month, and I haven't seen her since. The church says she's undergoing God's 'deep purification.'"
"Purification?" Shen Qingqiu put down her teacup, letting out a very soft, cold laugh.
"Draining a vibrant soul and filling it with a cold spring, it certainly sounds quite 'clean.'" She reached out, her fingertips lightly touching the music box.
[Information Retrieval: Rewind] *Buzz—* A blurry image flooded her mind.
It was a girl in a white lace dress, sitting by a window in a tall tower. Her eyes were vacant, and she hummed a broken lullaby. Behind her, several "doctors" in white coats and metal-faced masks approached, holding huge syringes connected to tubes.
The girl didn't resist.
Because a control chip flashing red light had been implanted in the back of her head.
"Seventeen." Shen Qingqiu withdrew his hand, a cold glint flashing in his golden eyes.
"Prepare the car."
"Let's go see how many poor canaries this so-called 'Holy Tower' is holding."
...St. Mary's Mental Hospital was located on an isolated island on the outskirts of Fog City.
Surrounded by the rushing Thames River, the only passage was a steel suspension bridge.
It was a towering building, entirely white. Without Gothic spires and flying buttresses, only bare white tiled walls, it resembled a giant, lifeless bone stuck in the mud. There was no warm glow from the gas lamps, only the cold white crackling of the electric arc lamps.
"To get in, we'll need a different identity." The carriage stopped in the woods before the drawbridge. Shen Qingqiu looked at the heavily guarded white tower in the distance, a playful smile curving her lips.
"A direct assault would alert them. We need to dismantle it from within."
She turned to Seventeen, who was organizing his weapons and equipment.
"Sebastian, take off your tuxedo." Seventeen paused, a flicker of doubt in his eyes behind his monocle, but he obediently removed his coat, leaving him in only a white shirt and black vest.
"From now on, you are my personal caregiver."
Shen Qingqiu retrieved a pre-prepared set of equipment from her storage space—a white straitjacket.
It was a special garment used in mental hospitals to control severely manic patients. The heavy canvas material, the long sleeves that needed to be knotted at the back, and the numerous leather buckles could bind a person like a rice dumpling.
"And I…" Shen Qingqiu let her cascading black hair fall loosely over her shoulders. She wiped off her lipstick, making her face appear pale and sickly.
"I am the Countess of the East, driven mad by longing for her deceased husband."
She opened her arms, gesturing to Seventeen.
"Come, help me put this on." Seventeen looked at the shackles that resembled a torture device, his white-gloved hand clenching tightly, his knuckles turning white.
"Master…this…"
His voice was filled with resistance.
He was a weapon born to protect her. To have him bind her with his own hands went against his core logic.
"This is acting, fool."
Shen Qingqiu looked at his expression, as if he had suffered a great injustice, and couldn't help but chuckle softly. She stepped forward, her forehead resting against his chest.
"No chain in this world can bind me, except your embrace."
"Hurry, don't keep those charlatans waiting." Seventeen took a deep breath (the cooling fan whirred wildly).
His hands trembled as he picked up the straitjacket and pulled it over her body.
It was an extremely cruel design.
Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, the sleeves wrapped around her back, the belt buckles tightened tightly.
Shen Qingqiu's graceful figure was roughly wrapped in the heavy canvas, making her appear exceptionally slender and fragile.
"Does it hurt?" Seventeen's voice was hoarse, his fingers hesitant to tighten the last belt buckle.
"It doesn't hurt." Shen Qingqiu tilted her head back, her eyes glazed and crazed—she had entered the role.
"But I need you to be more ruthless, Seventeen."
"Remember, you are a cold-blooded caregiver. You are going to 'take' me inside."
…Half an hour later.
The reception hall of St. Mary's Mental Hospital.
It was blindingly white.
The floor was white, the walls were white, and even the air reeked of bleach.
Several nurses pushed wheelchairs past. They wore crisply starched nurse uniforms, but walked silently.
Shen Qingqiu activated [Overclocking Vision] and glanced at them.
Sure enough.
These nurses' lower legs were all mechanical prosthetics, the joints wrapped in thick rubber for quietness. Their fingertips were modified into sharp surgical blades or injection needles.
"Name?" The registrar behind the reception desk asked mechanically without looking up.
"Shen. A madwoman from the East." Seventeen stood behind Shen Qingqiu, one hand on her shoulder, the other hand handing her a forged medical report.
He was wearing a mask, only his cold eyes visible. He wore a white nursing uniform, and his mechanical right arm, hidden in the sleeve, exuded a chilling aura that kept strangers at bay.
"Symptoms?"
"Paranoia. Violent tendencies. Always says he can see God."
"Oh? See God?" A high-pitched, slick voice came from the stairs.
A tall, thin man, like a praying mantis, descended the stairs. He wore a white coat, thick gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and toyed with a gleaming lobotomy needle in his hand.
"I am the director here, Dr. Hannibal."
The man walked up to Shen Qingqiu, scrutinizing the oriental beauty bound by straitjackets through his glasses.
His gaze was sticky and greedy, like a slug crawling across skin.
"What a perfect head…"
He reached out, wanting to touch Shen Qingqiu's forehead, "There must be a wonderful madness hidden inside."
Click.
A soft sound.
Seventeen's hand gripped the director's wrist like an iron clamp.
So fast it was invisible.
"Doctor." Seventeen's voice was calm and even, but the mechanical fingers under the glove were tightening slightly, making a creaking sound as metal pressed against bone. "The patient is a germaphobe. He doesn't like being touched by…dirty things." Dr. Hannibal's smile froze on his face.
He felt a terrifying force crushing his wrist bones. As a high-level cyborg of the Church, his bones had long been replaced with alloy, yet he was feeling pain?
"Let go, Seven." Shen Qingqiu suddenly spoke.
Her eyes were unfocused, a foolish smile playing on her lips, as if she were immersed in her own world.
"He's glowing…hehe…he's glowing…" Seventeen immediately released her, retreating behind her, reverting to her cold, aloof caregiver demeanor.
Only a tiny arc of electricity flashed across her fingertips hanging at her side.
Dr. Hannibal rubbed his wrist, giving Seventeen a sinister look before returning to his hypocritical smile.
"A very interesting case. Take her to the top-floor 'special care ward.'"
"As for you…" He looked at Seventeen, "caregivers are only allowed on the ground floor. There are dedicated 'nuns' here to look after her."
"No." Seventeen refused decisively.
"I am a private caregiver hired by the family. I must stay by her side at all times." Dr. Hannibal narrowed his eyes, seemingly assessing the man's danger.
After a moment, he smiled.
"Fine. But once you're here, you must abide by the rules."
"No matter how privileged she is outside, here, she is merely a lamb awaiting purification."
…Top-floor ward.
This place was more like a high-tech prison.
The walls were padded to prevent patients from committing suicide by hitting their heads against them. But beneath that padded surface lay a high-voltage electric fence.
Shen Qingqiu was pushed into the room.
The door slammed shut.
Dr. Hannibal stood outside, peering inside through the iron bars.
"Give her a 'sedative.' Calm her down tonight, and tomorrow… we'll begin our first 'brain-opening purification.'" Two robotic nurses entered carrying a tray with a large syringe filled with blue liquid.
Seventeen stood by the bed, watching the two approaching robotic nurses.
His muscles tensed, and the golden markings on his right arm began to heat up.
He was holding back.
Holding back from unleashing his killing spree now.
"Seven, I'm scared…" Shen Qingqiu huddled in the corner of the bed, trembling, her eyes brimming with tears as she looked at him.
That was acting, and also a signal.
It meant: Don't act, proceed according to plan.
Seventeen took a deep breath.
He stepped aside, making way.
The robotic nurse stepped forward, the sharp needle piercing Shen Qingqiu's slender arm.
The blue liquid was injected into her vein.
Shen Qingqiu groaned, her body slumping down.
Her eyes gradually became vacant, as if her soul had been ripped away.
"Very good." Dr. Hannibal outside the door nodded in satisfaction. "Looks like an obedient sample."
He turned and left, his leather shoes clicking on the floor.
The ward fell silent.
Two robotic nurses retreated to a corner, entering standby mode.
Seventeen stood by the bed, looking at the unconscious Shen Qingqiu.
He knew it was a fake death drug, concocted by Shen Qingqiu herself to deceive the tests.
But seeing her lifeless state, bound like a bird with broken wings by the straitjacket, his heart still ached unbearably.
He slowly reached out and, through the rough canvas, stroked her cheek.
"Qingqiu…" he murmured, his voice concealing a storm about to erupt.
"Endure one more night."
"Tomorrow… I'll tear this white tower to rubble."
He turned and walked to the window.
Outside the window was the dark night sky and the ever-flowing Thames River.
In this asylum known as the "Land of Miracles," countless imprisoned souls weep.
Seventeen removed his mask.
Behind the silver mask, in the eye behind the monocle, red and blue lights swirled wildly.
[Map scan complete.]
[Structural analysis: The tower has thirty-three floors.]
[Target locked: Underground laboratory.]
[Current mission: Infiltration. Awaiting dawn.]
He raised his mechanical right hand and pressed it against the bulletproof glass.
The heat of his palm caused the glass to sizzle slightly, leaving a clear handprint.
The caged bird was now in the game.
But in this cage, there was not a lamb to the slaughter.
But a demon about to awaken, a being that feeds on gods…
Night deepened.
A faint song drifted from within the white tower, the melody from Lilith's music box.
Only this time, the song was no longer melancholic.
Instead, it is a prelude to revenge, tinged with bloodshed.