I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Mr. Reeve reached for the sugar jar on the corner of the table.

On the tea table, Shadow's hand remained resting on her knee, unmoved.

"Mr. Reeve." Richard was startled and put the teacup back on the table.

"In your line of work, you must have seen more dead people than anyone else."

"Yes, that's a lot." Mr. Reeve scooped a spoonful of sugar into his jar and stirred it slowly.

"In an industrial city, few of the people who make a living under the chimneys can die a dignified death in bed."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Mr. Reeve stopped stirring the sugar.

"What's so scary about dead people?"

"Young man, it's the living who are scary."

"The dead lie quietly, all they want is a coffin, a handful of soil, and someone to read a few words to them."

"You gave him these, and then he left."

"If you don't give it to him..." He placed the spoon on the rim of the jar, "he won't leave."

Richard suddenly understood.

It is so well-stocked precisely because it is not flustered at all.

It knew that two mysterious figures were sitting inside, and that they had most likely already reached the door, but it didn't care.

A hunter doesn't care whether the prey trapped in the cage has discovered the cage.

Mrs. McNeil remained silent behind Richard.

Her face was ashen compared to when she came in.

"Your tea has gone cold," Mr. Reeve said, standing up. "I'll go brew another pot."

"No need," Mrs. McNeil said. "We have other things to do."

"Then I'll see you off."

When they reached the door, Mr. Reeve opened it for them.

Richard stepped across the threshold.

Mr. Reeve leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a smile.

"I will take care of your funeral arrangements."

"It's free."

The door closed gently.

The brass door knocker struck the wooden door with a dull thud.

On the way back, no one spoke.

Mrs. McNeil stopped when she reached the old, broken bridge archway beside the canal.

She stood still at the base of the wall in the shade of the bridge arch.

"That person wasn't planning to keep up the act."

Outside the bridge arch, the sound of coal cart wheels rattled intermittently, enveloping her words.

"Because it's not afraid of us knowing at all." Richard leaned against the brick wall on the other side of the bridge arch.

"The ceremony is already counting down," Mrs. McNeil sighed.

Even if we turn back and leave the city now...

She shook her head.

"We can't get out."

Richard looked at her.

"In the past twelve years, they have held at least several thousand funerals."

Mrs. McNeil raised her hand and made a vague gesture in the direction of the North District.

"It runs an internet service."

When someone dies, their family cries.

When someone cries, the living person feels connected to the dead person.

The more people attending the funeral, the more ropes are hung up.

"It takes care of the funeral arrangements for these thousands of dead people."

Each event, it connects everyone who has cried, mourned, or remembered the deceased to that online network.

Richard closed his eyes.

He remembered the loose thread that stretched up from the depths of the foundation and hung on him.

This is hung all over the city.

"Those on the mystical side shine even brighter," Mrs. McNeill's voice turned cold.

"You, me, Wentworth, Mr. Hutton... we have loops within us, we have ether, and we shine a hundred times brighter on that web than the average living person."

"The priority of being 'responded' is also a hundred times higher."

She looked at Richard.

"If we run out of the city now..."

"Without the seal of this branch office in the city, and with the little bit of support that the practitioners of each guild had for each other... we became a lone candle in the darkness."

The area under the bridge was quiet for a while.

A coal cart rolled by outside, its iron wheels grinding against the rails with a long, sharp sound, and then it was gone.

Richard opened his eyes.

"So it's not afraid of us knowing, because even if it knows, it can't escape."

"Yes."

"It's telling us that it wants to panic."

Richard's tone was very calm.

"When they panic and things get chaotic, it's easier to control the situation."

Mrs. McNeil looked at him.

"You seem to understand things quite well."

………………

In one of the handwritten notes left by Old Big, there is one that is written in exceptional detail.

"The female corpse was found floating in the water. She was about forty years old, but her actual age is difficult to determine."

If soaked in water for too long, the tissue will become partially saponified.

"This person did not fall into the water recently; judging from the degree of saponification, he has been in the water for more than ten years."

However, the body had not completely decomposed, nor had it fallen apart... This is inconsistent with normal physiological phenomena.

"It is suspected that it was 'nailed' to the bottom of the water and used as an anchor for something for a long time."

On the last line, Old Big's handwriting suddenly became messy.

I think I stopped writing around this point, and only continued writing after a while.

"This woman's name is Lizzie, I recognize her."

"Please don't... let her stay submerged in water again."

Richard closed the book.

By the time I returned to the underground autopsy room of the branch office, it was already dark.

Mrs. McNeill brought out a disposed body covered with a white sheet.

She lifted the white cloth.

Richard glanced at it, looked away for a moment, and then looked back.

The body, having been submerged in water for too long, was not a good sight.

But old Big cleaned it up very well for her.

Her hair was pulled back, and the charcoal pencil smiley face on the inside of her left wrist was clearly visible.

It was repaired with a new charcoal pencil.

Before he died, old Big drew the smiling face that he had painted many years ago, and then repainted it.

"This smiling face was originally painted for her by Bigelow," Mrs. McNeill said, standing on the other side of the table.

"You know her?" Richard asked.

"I know a little bit." Mrs. McNeil's gaze fell on the smiley face on Lizzie's wrist.

"The waitress in the teahouse in the southern district of the capital, Bige had only been a disciple for a few years at that time, and the two of them... dated for a while."

"She got tuberculosis and then disappeared."

"Later, Bigelow voluntarily applied to be transferred from the capital to Briston."

Mrs. McNeil said.

"At the time, I didn't understand what he was after. Why would he leave the capital and come to this drab industrial city?"

Richard placed his hand on Lizzie's wrist.

The spiritual vision seeped out from the fingertips.

Her physical body had long since stopped, but her spiritual vision went deeper, reaching the level of the loop... and there was still a thread connecting her to her body.

Extremely fine and faint, it extends towards the Black Ditch, sinking to some unknown place at the bottom of the water.

She was left half-dead, nailed to the water.

It was used as an anchor for more than ten years.

"She's a kind girl," Mrs. McNeill suddenly said.

"Bigelow told me that she never went to collect money owed by customers at the teahouse."

She secretly gave bread to the begging children at her doorstep during winter.

Mrs. McNeil put the white sheet back on.

"She was a kind girl when she was alive."

"After he died, he was nailed to the water and served as an anchor for more than ten years."

"It's time to put her to bed tonight."

………………

Old Big's handwritten notes recorded the exact location where Lizzie pulled the fish out.

There is an old sluice gate in the section of the Black Ditch that flows through the northern area.

The water swirls there, and anything that falls in will be swirled to the bottom of the sluice gate.

The next morning, Richard and Mrs. McNeil went to the sluice gate.

The black ditch is not wide, just a sewage ditch about five or six meters wide, which runs through the factory in the north district.

The ditch was black with a layer of oil floating on it, and it smelled of coal slag. That's why the workers called it Black Ditch.

Several early risers were taking a break by the sluice gate, squatting on the edge of the ditch and smoking.

Richard walked over and offered him a cigarette.

"Masters, I have something to ask you."

The workers looked up at him, took the cigarettes, and left.

Is there any special significance to this ditch?

An old worker squatting on the far side lit a cigarette and took a puff.

"Black Ditch," he spat into the water, "Black Ditch is recruiting people."

"Recruiting?"

"Once it falls in, it can't be retrieved," the old worker said.

"A few years ago, an apprentice was walking across this side at night when he lost his footing and fell in. The water in the ditch was only waist-deep; it wouldn't drown him."

"But he didn't come up."

"The next day, when they fished them out, they reached the bottom of the sluice gate, and the people inside were all white from being soaked."

A younger worker nearby chimed in.

"It's not just about recruiting people." He lowered his voice.

"Sometimes when you pass by here at night, you can hear people counting underwater."

"Count?"

"One, two, three, four..." the young worker gestured.

"Keep counting, count to the tens, then start counting again from the beginning."

"And some call out names." The old worker took a drag of his cigarette.

"Call it out clearly: your name, your parents' names, the names of your dead brothers."

"If you turn around and answer..."

He didn't finish his sentence, and spat into the water again.

"We never walk this way at night anyway," the young worker said. "We'd rather take a longer route."

"Young people might think it's superstition." The old worker stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the ditch: "It's just nonsense passed down from the older generation."

"But you have to believe lies too." The young worker muttered, "It's true that Heigou recruits people; I've seen them pulled out with my own eyes."

After resting for a while, the workers got up and headed back to the factory.

Richard stood by the sluice gate, looking at the pool of inky black water in the ditch.

Someone underwater is counting people and calling out names.

He responded, but could never come up again.

This is probably not superstition.

The dead, nailed to the bottom of the water, are the anchors of the "Echoes," in the "Echoes."

Lizzie had been counting names in the water for over a decade, and the people calling out names were all like Lizzie.

He raised his head and looked north along the Black Ditch.

On Old Big's map, this sluice gate is one of thirteen red dots.

It is also a turning point for the entire network.

The canal, the black ditch, those thirteen points... all swirl around this one place and spread outwards to the entire northern district.

"This river," Mrs. McNeil said, standing beside him.

"This is also a place that Bigelow often sits in over the years."

Richard turned his head.

"Does he come here often?"

"He told me himself," Mrs. McNeil said, gazing at the water.

"He said this ditch is quiet and peaceful, and no one makes noise. He often brings a pot of tea to sit here after work."

"I can sit there for most of the day."

Richard looked at the sluice gate.

Old Big sat by the Black Ditch, carrying a pot of tea.

Underwater, Lizzie is counting.

………………

The solution was devised by Mrs. McNeil at the coroner's office.

"Forcing it won't work."

She carefully put the entire autopsy kit back into its instrument box.

"Behind this net, crouches a pupilless eye."

Richard remembered that eye... behind it was the Black Soil River expert who walked the narrow path.

That eye is a reverse hook prepared for anyone who wants to uncover the real name or the behind-the-scenes manipulator.

"If you use explosives to blast it, or use magic to bombard it, that eye will wake up immediately."

Mrs. McNeil closed the utensil box.

"Once it woke up, it turned around and stared at us, following the line of our attack."

"We need to take advantage of their network and use a requiem ritual beforehand to release some of the residue inside."

"There's another issue we can't avoid," Richard said.

Mrs. McNeil looked at him.

"Who used the silencing spell to kill old Biggs?"

The autopsy room was quiet for a moment.

"The response will be in Briston; there's definitely an operator there," Richard said confidently.

"A practitioner or someone with expertise in the field is responsible for the daily operation of this network... and also deals with those who get in the way."

The two people looked at each other.

"Mr. Reeve," Richard said the name.

Mrs. McNeil closed her eyes briefly.

A charity that was supposed to help the poor, and everyone said it was a good and philanthropic organization.

Actually, it's a creature with a dead face that eats poor people.

It harvests its crops while being appreciated by others.

It strings the names of living people together online, while simultaneously digging graves, adding soil, and saying a few kind words for the dead.

This is the secret of that Black Soil River expert.

Replacement, to replace someone else with someone else's version.

Mr. Reeve wanted to stand up for all the dead in the city, and for the living who had cried for the dead.