From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

In the replies section, someone warned the poster "not to discuss these things on the forum," and Edmund promptly locked the post.

Discussions of a series of "abnormal phenomena" and their corresponding technical terms are prohibited within the forum; this has been explicitly stipulated by several moderators and administrators.

Edmund remembered the term "spiritual tide." This was probably the more common name used in folk circles for the period of planetary alignment.

He refreshed his inbox and saw a new message.

[Sender: Pure Golden Light]

[Title: None]

[Content: Welcome! We'll meet there. During the day, go to "Golden Bird" at number 14, Silver Lake district, Flamingo City, and ask the staff for "Creamy Pumpkin Coffee." The lady there will find me. I have a spare room available.]

Edmund memorized the address and then sent a more specific message.

[Content: Address received. Departure within two days. Also, are there any remote suburbs near you? I need to find a quiet place to stay for a few days, preferably with as few people as possible.]

The reply came in less than ten minutes.

[Sender: Pure Golden Light]

[Title: None]

[Content: Flamingo City has plenty of suburbs and countryside; arrangements can be made then. We look forward to your arrival.]

He then sent a few more emails, cleared his logs, logged out, and went downstairs.

After leaving the internet cafe, Edmund walked two blocks south along the avenue to a commercial street lined with several mid-to-high-end clothing stores.

He entered a clothing store called "Mayfair Gentlemen," where a young clerk, a respectful and well-mannered man, asked, "Sir, what do you need?"

"I need a few outfits," Edmund said, listing his sizes and then a long list of items: shirts, dress pants, a cardigan, underwear and socks, plus a lightweight waterproof windbreaker.

Edmund asked the clerk to write down the hotel address for delivery and instructed them to deliver it before 6 p.m. that day, after which he paid the full amount.

After leaving the clothing store, he bought a cheap pair of sunglasses at a newsstand on the corner and then turned into a relatively quiet alley.

Next comes something even more important.

There aren't many gun shops in Gulfstream, but there are quite a few too. Edmund chose an inconspicuous little shop a bit further out from the city center; these kinds of places usually don't like to pry into things.

After getting out of the taxi, he looked around the store before pushing open the door and going inside. The bell rang once.

The shop was filled with the smell of gun oil, and the walls were covered with all kinds of hunting rifles and pistols, while ammunition and accessories were displayed in glass cases.

The owner behind the counter was a bald man in his fifties who sized up Edmund's youthful face after he came in.

Edmund met his gaze calmly, and the information stream pulsed accordingly.

The "Lucky Silver Coin" is an amulet crafted from ancient Sisyphus silver coins by a qualified "Path of Alchemy" participant. It subtly enhances the holder's luck.

Even gun sellers in this world have an air of the extraordinary.

Edmund remained calm: "Excuse me, I need a handgun suitable for a beginner."

The shopkeeper put down his hunting rifle and took out a long box from under the counter, inside which were three different models of revolvers.

"The Veridia M10, the Smith M19, and this 'Hawk Eye' should all meet your needs."

Edmund pretended to examine them carefully for a moment, then asked, "How much do these guns cost approximately? I also need fifty rounds of ammunition."

"It ranges from one hundred to one hundred and sixty yuan." The shopkeeper quoted a price, then added, "Young man, according to regulations, I need to see your identification first."

Edmund pulled out the prepared fake ID and handed it over.

The boss took the ID and looked at it, raising an eyebrow: "Mr. Blake, you don't look like someone who needs to use a gun."

Edmund gave an awkward smile and scratched his head: "I just inherited a sum of money from my uncle last month, and I was thinking of going to the country villa to learn shooting to pass the time. This is indeed the first time I've bought a gun."

His words were perfectly worded, and the boss nodded: "Please wait a moment."

He put the gun away and then went to the side to make a phone call.

Edmund waited calmly, knowing this was part of the normal procedure.

A moment later, the boss put down the phone, smiled, and took the M10 out of the case.

"Your identity verification is complete, Mr. Blake. I recommend you buy this M10, which has low recoil and is quite stable; it's perfect for beginners. I'll also give you a holster as a gift to celebrate your first real encounter with this kind of man's weapon."

Edmund thanked them, paid the money, and then took the pistol, ammunition, and holster, stuffing them into his briefcase before leaving the store.

This gun is good enough; hopefully he won't need it.

-----------------

Meanwhile, in Liugang Town, hundreds of miles away.

Inspector Harry Douglas sat upright in the chair of the makeshift office on the second floor of the police station, flipping through a copy of the "Crowning News Pictorial".

In the photograph, the gilded dome glitters in the sunlight, and gentlemen in tailcoats file through the main entrance. It's a life he'd much rather be in, surrounded by pipes, fine tobacco, and intermittent bursts of human civilization.

However, at this moment, he only had an extinguished pipe in his mouth, because the police chief of Liugang Town Police Station, nicknamed "Iron Kettle"—a title he earned for his unusually large waist and long neck—had posted three notices in the corridor: "Smoking is prohibited in this station. Violators will be fined."

Douglas viewed this as a direct offense to his personal dignity, and after a fierce internal struggle, he finally decided to rekindle his pipe in protest.

After lighting his walnut pipe, he took a deep drag and watched with satisfaction as the bluish-gray smoke, carrying the rich aroma of premium tobacco, rose into the office.

After dealing with that "Riegl", he can still dawdle here for three more days.

Spirits attached to the boundaries of dreams emerge in droves as they infiltrate the material dimension of the dream realm, feeding on the transitional zone between "wakefulness" and "sleep." This is how the town's insomnia over the past week has come about.

The Ninth Bureau's branch noticed the unusual report a week ago, and then the matter fell to Douglas.

The branch manager said, "You're a senior investigator, Douglas. A small place like Willow Harbor doesn't need a special operations team. You handle it; you should be back in two days if things go smoothly."

The supervisor has a good plan. If it can be resolved in two days, there might be a second two days, then a third and a fourth.

Douglas preferred to stay here, since he could still buy his usual newspapers at the newsstand and there wasn't much other nonsense getting his way.

He took a deep drag on his pipe and then stood up from his chair.

It was time to go for a walk. He could only do some "daily" activities during breaks from missions, which made him very miserable.

However, as he walked toward the door, there was an untimely knock on the office door.

Why did that "iron kettle" arrive so quickly this time?