The Outlander from the Far East

Ye Yan sat on the bed, dazed for several minutes. It wasn't until his empty stomach protested that he finally got up and accepted the reality that he had traveled to another world.

He walked over to the desk and opened the blackout curtains.

Sunlight streamed in, driving the gloom from the cramped room and revealing the gray sky overhead.

Ye Yan tilted his head slightly and looked at himself in the mirror.

He was a boy who hadn't yet come of age, dressed in a dark brown waistcoat, a white shirt, and suspenders.

Black hair, black eyes.

But he didn't have typical Asian features. His eyes were deeper-set than those of an East Asian, making him look mixed-race.

Ye Yan turned his gaze to the Encyclopaedia Britannica on the desk. Thankfully, as an English major, he could glean some information from the book.

He reached out and opened it, finding the publication date and a name written in ink on the page.

Ewan Dalmons, 1877.

"Is this London in the Victorian era?"

Ye Yan put the book back, picked up the key from the desk, and decided to go downstairs to learn about the times he'd landed in.

Suddenly, he caught a strange, sour stench.

It was as if a damp tongue had licked the back of his neck. A nameless nausea welled up inside him.

He looked down and saw a pale man lying on his back on the stairs on the first floor, like a jellyfish washed ashore by the tide, his arms dangling limply over the edges of the steps.

It was a terrifying sight.

Yet when the sunlight from the second floor fell across the dead man's peaceful, smiling face, it gave him an eerie, almost holy appearance.

Ye Yan stumbled back, nearly missing a step.

This world is way too dangerous! I lived my whole previous life without seeing anything worse than an urn, and now I've barely arrived in this world—and haven't even stepped outside—before I run into a corpse?!

At that moment, all Ye Yan wanted to do was call the police.

But before he could make another move, a pounding knock came from the first floor.

"Open up! We're police officers from the Westminster District. We've just received a report from a resident that a murder has taken place here. Open the door immediately and cooperate with our investigation!"

"If you don't open up, we'll come in ourselves!"

The moment the words fell, the door, already rattling from the blows, was smashed open with a thunderous crash.

Two officers wearing bulldog-style helmets burst in first. They gripped their batons, their faces tense and wary, and craned their necks to peer inside.

When their eyes fell on the pale corpse, their pupils contracted sharply, and their faces turned livid.

"Fuck! Damn murderer!"

The officer raised his baton and pointed at Ye Yan, who stood on the stairs. "Don't move! Get down on the floor!"

Ye Yan stood still, raising his hands slightly to show he meant no harm. "Wait, this has nothing to do with me. I only just—"

His explanation was useless. The officers with batons were already charging up the stairs.

Two burly men quickly pinned the boy to the floor, while another officer deftly pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and cuffed his hands.

"I'm not a murderer!"

Ye Yan shouted, but the only response was even rougher treatment from the officers.

"Don't try to wriggle out of it, you scoundrel!"

"I'm not wriggling out of anything! I didn't kill anyone. You've already got me restrained—can't you at least hear me out?"

"You'll have plenty of time to talk at the station."

The officers in blue had no interest in talking to Ye Yan. They took him back to Scotland Yard for questioning, while the others stayed behind to secure the scene and continue investigating.

"Knock, knock, knock—"

"Hello? I'm a police officer from the Westminster District. There's been a murder next door, and we need to ask you a few questions."

The tightly closed door of the 221B Apartment swung open at once.

A tall, lean figure wrapped in a dark cashmere overcoat stepped outside, the silver-headed cane in his hand tapping against the ground.

"The murderer wasn't him."

"What?"

"He's the real victim."

After speaking, Holmes paid the officer no further attention.

He walked straight to the street and climbed into the private carriage waiting outside.

"To Scotland Yard."

His low voice slipped beneath the carriage driver's greasy cap. The carriage wheels crushed puddles in their wake, reflecting the speeding vehicle and the sharp gray eyes inside.

4 Whitehall Square, Scotland Yard.

This was the first time Ye Yan had ever been inside a police station.

As a law-abiding citizen and future pillar of socialism, he felt the biggest mistake he'd ever made was failing to hand over a pound he'd found to the police when he was in primary school.

Yet on the very first day after crossing into this world, he was drinking coffee at a police station as a murder suspect.

And that wasn't even the worst part.

Sitting in the interrogation room, Ye Yan could clearly see the familiar name on the detective's badge across from him: "Greg G. Lestrade."

Some people might not recognize the name.

But Ye Yan had watched the BBC series Sherlock, so he knew this was Inspector Lestrade.

Well, perhaps he wasn't an inspector yet.

Damn it!

Had he not traveled to Victorian England, but into Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes Casebook instead?

"Ewan Dalmons, fifteen years old. Your parents both died in a shipwreck a month ago."

"You have two uncles: one is Philip Dalmans, and the other is Jules Dalmans. Since Jules Dalmans is missing, your guardianship fell to Philip Dalmans."

Jules?

A flicker of doubt passed through Ye Yan's mind. There was something strangely familiar about the name Jules.

"Achoo—"

His nose itched, and he couldn't help sneezing.

The chilly interrogation room made Ye Yan hunch his shoulders. He didn't dwell on the strange feeling of familiarity.

Instead, Ye Yan focused on the coffee in his hands and listened carefully, word by word, to Lestrade's explanation, hoping to find a way to clear his name.

"Our investigation has confirmed that the man who died in the apartment was your uncle, Philip Dalmans."

As he read aloud from the newly arrived scene report, Lestrade watched for any change in the boy's expression.

So far, he hadn't shown any grief.

That suggested he hadn't been close to the deceased.

"The door was locked from the inside, the windows were intact, and there were signs of a third person in the room. The victim's time of death and your—"

"We've also learned that you once clashed with Philip Dalmans over an inheritance. He came to England this time to take you to live with him in France."

At this, Ye Yan wasn't sure what to say.

Who could have guessed that he'd only just arrived in this abnormal London today? If Lestrade hadn't mentioned it, he wouldn't even have known who the corpse was.

"As the leading suspect in a series of murders, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Ye Yan blinked, confused.

Did I hit the skip button? Wasn't I just suspected of being connected to Philip Dalmans's death? How did I suddenly become the prime suspect in a series of murders?

"Sorry, Detective. I don't quite understand."

"Looks like you don't read the newspapers."

Lestrade set down the suspect's file and looked up at him, scrutinizing him.

It was March in London.

Even when it didn't rain, the daytime temperature was low.

Yet the black-haired boy in front of him wore nothing but a waistcoat. His hands were pressed tightly against the hot coffee cup, and he was curled up in his chair like an ostrich.

A frail, wary, down-on-his-luck boy with little common sense—that was Lestrade's assessment.

But there was a contradiction. The boy had the air of a nobleman's son who had wandered into a slum. His eyes were clear and lively, and his every gesture carried an unhurried confidence and a composure far beyond his years.

Lestrade's excellent memory for detail instantly brought the boy's background to mind:

He had grown up abroad, was solitary by nature, and had almost no friends. A month ago, he'd moved to Baker Street with his parents. After they died, he'd lost his inheritance and supported himself with odd jobs.

He was nothing like the brooding loner described in the file.

An unexpected discrepancy.

But Lestrade had always been patient.

He wouldn't jump to conclusions like those uniformed officers. He knew this case involved the supernatural.

And that was why he was sitting here conducting the interrogation.

On the surface, the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) consisted of plainclothes detectives responsible for collecting information about all kinds of crimes. In reality, it was a pack of hounds devoted to tracking down supernatural cases.

Lestrade picked up the latest edition of The Daily Telegraph and handed it to the boy.

"Have a look."

Ye Yan took the paper curiously. His eyes immediately fell on the headline across the front page: "Horrifying! Serial Horse-Belly Corpse Case Stuns London."

So even Victorian Britain had its own sensationalist headlines.

"Since the start of this month, the series of murders that has shaken Great Britain has finally seen a major breakthrough! Scotland Yard..."

The article went on at length, but its contents could be summed up in three points.

First, there were three victims so far. All their bodies had been hidden inside horses' bellies, and all had died of suffocation.

Second, the three victims had nothing in common in life. Their occupations spanned scholars, merchants, and laborers.

Third, their deaths were bizarre: every victim had worn a ghastly smile.

After reading the article, Ye Yan finally understood why Lestrade had called him the prime suspect in the serial murders. Philip Dalmans's cause of death and the expression on his face were almost identical to those of the three victims.

"Finished?"

"Yes."

"Then think carefully."

Lestrade tapped on the table and fixed the boy with a sharp gaze. "What evidence can clear you of suspicion?"

He asked because although the boy had both motive and opportunity, he lacked the ability to commit the crime. They hadn't found any physical evidence, and evidence that couldn't be proven shouldn't be accepted.

Ye Yan thought for a moment, then shook his head without hesitation. "I'm afraid I can't offer any direct evidence to prove my innocence."

"But you don't look worried at all."

Despite the unfavorable circumstances, the boy in front of him was remarkably calm. Lestrade wondered what gave him such confidence.

"That's because someone once warned me never to let myself fall into the trap of proving my own innocence."

Ye Yan answered calmly.

He had no memories, so he didn't know whether his original self had colluded with a third party to commit murder.

But no matter what, "Ye Yan" hadn't killed this man.

So he spoke with righteous conviction, without a trace of fear: "I admit I had a motive, but I'm even more certain that I'm not the murderer."

"Unless you intend to force a starving vagrant to cut open his own stomach just to prove he didn't steal a piece of bread this morning, I don't see any reason for me to worry."

He paused and met the detective's eyes. "After all, Detective, you'll catch the real murderer, won't you?"

Lestrade was taken aback.

As an experienced detective, he could see the sincerity in the boy's eyes.

He'd considered several reasons the boy might not be panicking.

Perhaps he had some key information that could hurt the case, or an unmentionable secret, or even a powerful patron backing him.

But Lestrade had never expected that the boy's confidence came from absolute faith in his ability.

As one of Scotland Yard's most celebrated detectives, he was used to the scrutiny of residents and journalists. People were always eager to find fault with every decision he made, then impatiently waited for him to slip up.

That harsh scrutiny had long been a shadow hanging over his career.

And so, faced with the boy's unreserved trust, Lestrade couldn't help feeling a complicated mix of heaviness and joy deep inside.

What familiar eyes...

He couldn't help remembering that sunlit afternoon, when Blue Eyes had bounced up to him with the same trusting look and handed him a big red apple.

I can't let another child down!

As the detective made this vow in his heart, a strange message appeared in Ye Yan's consciousness at the same time.

[Your words caused a certain possibility in a detective to deviate from its course. You have gained Soul Essence: Edge.]

[Oratory and understanding, a door opened both ways.]

As the strange message appeared, five pitch-black storage spaces manifested in Ye Yan's mind.

[You have successfully collected one [Fragment of Inside and Outside] and obtained a Tier 1 Curio: [Pen of Surface and Interior], [Diary of the Outlander].]