Welcome to Whitechapel District

To the gentlemen and ladies of London's upper class, the night meant crystal chandeliers in opera houses and champagne flowing through salons; to the rats in the gutters, it was an entirely different sight.

The glow of the gas lamps was diluted by the thick fog into patches of dim yellow halos. Beyond them lay darkness that could swallow everything.

This was Whitechapel District, a massive festering scar that would never heal behind the glamorous face of the Empire on Which the Sun Never Sets.

Lin Jie moved like a shadow, keeping close to the walls as he swiftly passed through the borders between light and darkness.

His breathing had steadied, but the wound in his right shoulder still throbbed faintly. Every heartbeat brought a sharp stab of pain, reminding him of the danger he had just escaped.

He knew the two pursuers would not give up easily. Professionals like them were bound to have their own "informants" in a place as chaotic as Whitechapel.

The beggars and prostitutes scattered across every street corner, or even the seemingly drunken bartenders in taverns, could sell out his whereabouts the next second in exchange for a few pennies—enough to buy black bread.

He had to find a hiding place that could cut him off from the outside world as soon as possible.

He headed east, and the streets grew narrower and muddier while the smell in the air became increasingly pungent.

Along with the ever-present coal smoke came the chemical stench of cheap tanneries, the bloody odor of slaughterhouses, and the nauseating reek of filth surging up from the sewers after the drainage system failed.

The buildings here had no order to them. Like a heap of carelessly stacked blocks, they leaned against one another, forming a solid yet rotten, grotesque whole.

This was Whitechapel District's true face.

An independent kingdom built from poverty, crime, and despair.

At last, he saw his destination.

It was a cheap lodging house known as 11 Dorset Street. Famous throughout Whitechapel District, locals privately called it the Rat's Nest or the Last Stop for the Poor.

It was not famous because its rent was the lowest, but because it was the most chaotic and lawless.

They said that as long as you could pay four pennies a night for a bed, even if you were a murderer wanted by Scotland Yard, the landlord would not ask a single question.

Outside the lodging house, several ragged men huddled around a burning trash barrel for warmth, their murky eyes glinting with numbness and wariness.

Lin Jie tugged up his collar, concealing his East Asian features as best he could, then lowered his head and hurried inside.

The ground floor was a large communal dormitory. Beneath dim kerosene lamps, dozens of indistinct figures were packed into crude double- and even triple-tiered bunks like sardines in a tin.

Coughing, sleep-talking, and the snores of drunks rose and fell one after another.

A hunched old man with a face full of wrinkles sat behind a crooked table, clutching a cashbox in his arms.

He was the landlord here, known as Old Mole.

His eyes were like two cloudy glass beads, darting over every newcomer as he assessed their worth and potential danger.

Lin Jie walked up to him and placed the few copper pennies he had left on the table.

Old Mole did not bother to count them. He merely used his long yellow nails to rake the coins into the cashbox, then lifted his chin toward a lower bunk in the farthest corner, right beside a leaking wall.

"Four hours. Get out when the time's up."

Lin Jie nodded without speaking and walked straight toward his "bed." The so-called bed was only a wooden board covered with a few grimy scraps of burlap.

He lay down, curled up facing the wall, and used the bundle containing the gun and diary as a pillow.

He did not take off his equally ragged clothes, ready to deal with any emergency at any time.

In a place like this, letting down one's guard was no different from suicide. He could feel the malicious stares around him.

Here, an obvious outsider—especially a wounded, seemingly weak East Asian man—was like a chunk of fresh meat dropped into a pack of wolves.

Sure enough, before long, a large man reeking of alcohol staggered over. He bent down, his foul breath blasting across Lin Jie's face.

"Hey, yellow monkey," he said in English with a thick Irish accent. "Let everyone have a look at what you've got in your arms."

Lin Jie kept his eyes closed and did not move.

At a time like this, even the slightest sign of weakness would invite worse bullying.

Seeing no reaction from Lin Jie, the drunk's patience clearly ran out. He stretched out a rough hand and grabbed directly for Lin Jie's bundle.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch it, Lin Jie's eyes snapped open. They held not a trace of emotion, like two pieces of cold, tempered iron.

Then the left hand he had kept hidden in his sleeve shot out like lightning and firmly gripped the wrist, which was twice the size of his own.

At the same time, his right hand had silently pressed against the drunk's lower abdomen.

Through a layer of tattered clothing, the drunk could clearly feel a hard, cold, round object.

A gun barrel.

The drunken haze and vicious grin on his face froze instantly.

He glanced down at the hand that looked thin but clamped his wrist like iron tongs, then felt the deadly object against his stomach. A layer of cold sweat immediately formed on his forehead, sobering him halfway.

It was not as though he had never seen a gun, but anyone who dared draw one so cleanly and decisively in a place like this was no one to provoke.

Lin Jie still said nothing. He merely looked at him quietly with those cold eyes.

The two remained locked in confrontation for a full ten seconds.

The other lodgers, who had been waiting to enjoy the show, quietly withdrew their gazes as well. They understood that this newly arrived East Asian man was a porcupine with quills.

In the end, the drunk was the first to back down.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed with difficulty. Then he cautiously pulled back his hand and raised both hands to show that he meant no harm.

"Hey, hey... brother, it was just a joke. Don't take it seriously."

Only then did Lin Jie release him. His body relaxed again, and he turned back toward the wall as if nothing had happened.

The drunk retreated sullenly to his bunk and did not dare glance in this direction again.

A minor disturbance was settled in this silent manner. Lin Jie had successfully established his authority here for the first time.

He had proved to everyone that he was not someone to be trifled with.

Though he was safe for the moment, Lin Jie had no desire to sleep.

He knew this was only temporary. Those hunting him would find this place sooner or later. He could not expect the Rat's Nest to shelter him forever.

He needed information. He needed to understand the environment he was in, and more importantly, find an opening to strike back. Through the cloth bundle, his fingers gently traced the hard cover of the German diary.

It recorded the secrets of another world and concealed the key to breaking this deadlock. He had to understand its contents as quickly as possible.

But in London in 1888, where could he find a translator who understood German, could keep a secret, and was trustworthy?

This problem gave him more of a headache than avoiding pursuit.

He closed his eyes and forced himself not to think about it. The exhaustion in his body surged over him like a tide, while the wound in his right shoulder began to inflame and throb in waves.

He needed rest. Even a brief, shallow sleep would be better than keeping his nerves strained without end.

Just before he drifted into sleep, he heard a commotion outside the lodging house, followed by a woman's shrill scream.

But the sound was quickly swallowed by the eternal noise of Whitechapel District, failing to stir even the slightest ripple.

Lin Jie paid it no mind.

Here, death and screams were more common than black bread.

He did not know that, only moments ago, in some dark corner not far from the lodging house where he hid, a terrifying legend that would soon shock all of London had quietly begun.