Thick fog wound through the streets of the East End of London.
The gas lamps cast a murky yellow glow, like paper lanterns soaked through with water, illuminating only a few steps ahead.
Ye Yan tightened the collar of his wool coat.
This path through the Whitechapel District was the only way from Baker Street to Detective Lestrade's home.
He had heard that pickpockets ran rampant in this area.
Ye Yan glanced around and curled his lip.
With its crisscrossing alleys and damp surroundings, this place was surely more than just a haven for pickpockets when the weather turned bad. It would make an ideal spot for muggings, too.
A flurry of hurried footsteps came from around the corner.
Ye Yan frowned and chose to take a detour without hesitation. He didn't want to get into trouble on the way.
"Let go of me!" a child's shrill voice cried.
Well, all right.
He really hadn't wanted to get into trouble, but it seemed a child had run into some trouble of his own.
Ye Yan pulled a revolver from inside his coat.
"Bang—"
He fired a warning shot into the sky.
The commotion around the corner stopped abruptly. Then several sets of hurried, disorganized footsteps fled into the distance, leaving behind only the sound of quick, trembling breaths.
Ye Yan slowly lowered his gun.
"Are you all right?" he asked, deliberately softening his voice. "I can help you call the police."
There was no response from the alley.
Ye Yan understood. It was perfectly normal for a child to be wary of a stranger.
Besides, those who'd run away could at most beat someone up, whether with good intentions or bad. But Ye Yan, with a revolver in hand, could put a bullet in someone.
The two weren't even in the same league when it came to intimidation.
"I'm leaving now. You should get out of here quickly."
Ye Yan tucked the gun back inside his coat.
Just then, he heard a quick patter of footsteps heading straight toward him.
Ye Yan spun around, gun in hand.
A small figure ran out of the alley.
In the lamplight, he could see the newcomer clearly: a boy of about ten, his face covered in soot and grime, wearing a shabby coat several sizes too big. His bright blue eyes were wide with terror.
"Sir, could you please help me get out of here?"
The boy's voice trembled, and his gaze kept darting toward the depths of the alley. "Please! I'm afraid they'll come back and grab me!"
"What's your name?" Ye Yan asked.
"Billy," the boy replied softly. "Sir, are you going to call the police?"
Ye Yan didn't answer right away.
He noticed a fresh lash mark on Billy's right arm, stretching out from the torn sleeve. It stood out starkly against his pale skin.
"Who did that to you?"
Billy suddenly grew nervous, his eyes darting around. "Sir, can't we leave now? I'm really scared."
Ye Yan narrowed his eyes.
He didn't press him any further. He simply put away his revolver and motioned for the boy to follow.
The boy followed Ye Yan in silence. A few times, he seemed to want to quicken his pace and draw closer, but in the end he kept a careful distance.
"Grrrr—"
A protesting stomach growled behind him.
Ye Yan sighed and turned to look at the boy. "Wait here."
"Sir?"
The boy sounded puzzled.
"I'm going to the shopping district," Ye Yan explained. "But you can't go any farther. The police might mistake you for a vagrant child and arrest you."
For a homeless child, the fate that awaited him was often worse than going hungry.
After all, England in this world had both the Poor Law and the Vagrancy Act, and neither had been repealed.
The doors of the Workhouse were always open to the poor.
But the Poor Law followed the principle of less eligibility, requiring relief to be harsher than the living conditions of the lowest-paid laborers, to ensure the poor wouldn't rely on aid.
Of course, you could always refuse this "merciful" relief and choose to run away.
Then congratulations.
From that moment on, you'd bear the stigma of being a "vagrant."
And under the Vagrancy Act, anyone "without a fixed abode or visible means of subsistence" could be convicted. The police had the right to arrest so-called "suspicious persons" without a trial.
The justice system of this era didn't allow the poor to "lie flat."
No matter how bizarre its rules were, you only needed to remember one thing.
Poverty was a sin.
Those in power believed it meant you were lazy and degenerate, and that you might cause serious social problems.
At best, you'd be forced into labor. At worst, you'd be transported or imprisoned.
The belief that the poor deserved no sympathy and the principle of less eligibility were two great mountains weighing on the poor, forcing them to "voluntarily" enter more dangerous factories or turn to crime.
Ye Yan's warning seemed to put the boy in a difficult position.
"But I..." Billy bit his cracked lips, as if he was afraid of something.
"I'll come back."
Ye Yan made him a promise, then turned and left.
In fact, he'd already figured it out.
The boy named Billy was a pickpocket, and might even have belonged to a gang of thieves.
But Ye Yan wasn't going to call the police.
There was no need.
Calling the police would only drag the boy out of one abyss and push him into another with his own hands.
And before long, he returned.
The boy was still where he'd left him. Ye Yan could tell he was terrified. His body trembled uncontrollably, but he hadn't moved a step.
Hearing footsteps, Billy looked up at Ye Yan, then behind him, only to see that he'd come back alone.
A plainly bewildered look crossed his face.
"Did you think I'd gone to call the police?"
Ye Yan smiled, took a red apple from the bag of fruit, and handed it to him.
He'd planned to buy a gift for his visit to Detective Lestrade anyway. After some thought, he'd settled on an apple—something that could fill a stomach and make a suitable gift.
"Is this for me?"
The boy looked up at him cautiously, confusion written all over his dirty face.
"Yes. Eat it here, then go home."
Billy silently took the apple. He took a huge bite, then devoured the whole thing, even keeping the core instead of throwing it away.
When he looked up, tears filled his eyes.
"Sir."
Billy's voice trembled in the thick fog.
"I'm actually a criminal. The people who chased me through the alley just now were my accomplices..."
The boy's lips quivered uncontrollably.
"We... We were going to lure a kind person in here and rob them." At that, he suddenly shook his head violently, his dirty blond hair swaying in the thinning mist. "But this really is the first time I've done anything bad! Please believe me!"
Then Billy shakily pulled a few warm coins from his pocket. "I used to beg on London Bridge, but today... today..."
The boy suddenly choked up and couldn't speak.
Big tears rolled down his cheeks, cutting two clear tracks through the soot. "My sister is sick. They said... they said if I don't bring in five shillings today... they'll sell her to a chimney sweep..."
Ye Yan silently watched the boy's outstretched palm. Black grime still clung to the few pitiful coins.
In truth, he'd tested the boy three times.
The first test had come while they were walking together. The boy had tried several times to get close to his pocket, but in the end he hadn't acted.
The second test had come when Ye Yan left. The boy hadn't run away. Instead, he'd waited for Ye Yan to return.
And the final test had been just now. When Ye Yan showed him kindness, the boy had chosen to confess everything.
Three tests, and three times he'd made the right choice.
No matter how much Ye Yan wanted to stay out of other people's business, he couldn't ignore a child who was pouring his heart out to him.
The boy had been driven to the brink of crime.
Ye Yan silently took a brand-new coin from his wallet and gently placed it in Billy's cold palm.
The coins clinked crisply together.
Billy looked up sharply, disbelief filling his tear-blurred blue eyes.
"Why?" he asked.
Ye Yan crouched down so that he was at the boy's eye level.
"This isn't charity."
His gaze fell on the vicious lash mark on Billy's arm. He gently closed the boy's fingers around the coin, pressing it against his small palm.
"It's a coin that brings good luck."
Billy seemed never to have encountered such kindness before. Even his breathing grew cautious.
Ye Yan stood up and patted the boy's thin shoulder. "Go home. Your sister will get better."
"Thank you, sir."
Watching the boy run off, bowing again and again, Ye Yan's lips curved into a faint smile.
The coin he'd given the boy was, of course, a lucky coin.
After all, his Luck Compass had already marked it. As long as the boy took it home, Ye Yan could follow the coordinates to the hideout of the criminal who'd forced the child to become a pickpocket.
"Come to think of it, Detective Lestrade probably won't mind... working another overtime shift, will he?"
Ye Yan blinked.
This case was practically a free boost to the detective's record.
Before you continue