There were plenty of people named Oliver.
The surname Twist wasn't uncommon either.
But when the name "Oliver Twist" appeared alongside a diary, Ye Yan couldn't help thinking of the classic character from Oliver Twist.
"Hello, Mr. Twist."
Ye Yan shook his hand, his fingers tightening slightly.
The old man's palm was calloused from manual labor, a subtle contrast with his station. His suit was well-tailored, but already showing its age.
It seemed he was living on a tight budget.
"My name is Ye Yan. You can also call me Newman."
Oliver was clearly taken aback.
Few people invited others to use their given name when they had only just met.
Old-fashioned gentlemen would consider such behavior an insult. Those who cared about their dignity valued manners and rules more than their own lives.
But it wasn't something he cared about.
After all, in the eyes of those self-proclaimed elegant nobles, a man like him—who chose to spend his days mixing with street children and sinking into depravity—was nothing but a disgrace to the aristocracy.
"Ye, may I call you that?"
Oliver smiled warmly. "I rarely meet a young man as full of life as you. You remind me of those children who are just as full of life."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the carriage. The ragged street children were climbing into it one by one, their eyes still clouded with confusion and apprehension.
"Of course, Mr. Twist."
Ye Yan nodded and politely withdrew his hand.
He knew Oliver from Oliver Twist very well, but he didn't know the old gentleman standing before him.
In the original story, Oliver was an orphan raised in a workhouse. He was punished for "daring to ask for more gruel," then sold as an apprentice to an undertaker.
Unable to endure the abuse, he fled the undertaker's shop and made his way to London, only to be lured by Smarty into Fagin's gang of pickpockets.
After enduring many hardships, he eventually found a happy ending.
Ye Yan remembered that Oliver was actually the illegitimate son of a nobleman, and that Brownlow adopted him after he gained legal status. He only needed to confirm these two things to determine whether the old gentleman before him was the Oliver from Oliver Twist.
"Mr. Twist, if you don't mind my asking, are you related to Mr. Brownlow?"
Ye Yan's question came out of nowhere. He could even feel Detective Lestrade beside him looking over in surprise.
But Oliver unexpectedly laughed.
"You know my adoptive father?"
Good.
That settled it. This Oliver was that Oliver.
Only, one was the younger Oliver, while the other was the older Oliver, four or five decades later.
"No, I don't know him personally."
Ye Yan shook his head, quickly shifting the blame onto his late father, who could no longer be asked to confirm the story.
"To be precise, it was my father who knew him."
He paused, then continued, "My father once received help from Mr. Brownlow. He told me about it."
"Mr. Brownlow had an adopted son named Oliver Twist. You happen to share his name and surname, and you're in London, so I thought I'd ask."
"I see. My adoptive father was indeed a gentleman who loved helping others."
Oliver smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "My adoptive father saved me and helped your father, and now we've met while helping a group of orphans. It seems we're quite fated to meet."
He gave a playful wink, making him look twenty years younger.
"If I were thirty years younger, perhaps we could have become friends. But I don't think age matters. Anyone who shares your ideals can be your friend. Don't you agree?"
Ye Yan sighed.
As expected of a protagonist written by Dickens, he radiated the light of humanism at all times.
"You're right. Friends across generations do exist."
"'Friends across generations'—that's an unusual phrase, but it fits."
Oliver smiled, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out like old parchment pressed flat. His gaze passed over Ye Yan's shoulder, and his eyes suddenly lit up.
"There seems to be a little gentleman over there looking for someone."
The smile on the old man's face deepened.
"Let me guess. He wants to thank the person who rescued him in person?"
Ye Yan followed Grandpa Oliver's gaze and turned around. Billy was hesitating just outside the carriage door, his dirty little hands twisting the hem of his clothes. Every so often, he glanced in Ye Yan's direction.
When their eyes met, Billy's lit up, and he quickly ran toward him.
His unruly, straw-like blond hair gleamed with joyful energy in the sunlight.
"Kind sir, thank you so much for helping Irene and me. I'll find a way to repay you."
The boy was a little out of breath from running, his cheeks flushed with healthy color.
"But the lucky coin you gave me..."
His voice suddenly dropped, and he avoided Ye Yan's gaze.
"Are you talking about this?" Ye Yan took the coin from his pocket. "I found it on Scarface."
Billy looked up sharply, yearning shining in his bright blue eyes. "Sir, I... I want to keep the coin. But I don't have any money right now."
His voice grew softer and softer, until it was almost a whisper. "Could I give you an IOU? Once I earn some money, I'll pay you back two... No! Ten shillings!"
The boy nervously bit his lower lip and waited anxiously for Ye Yan's answer.
Ye Yan only smiled.
"You don't need to write an IOU. I'm just returning it to its rightful owner."
He offered the coin to the boy again, gently placing it in his palm. "Since I gave it to you as a gift before, it's yours. Lucky Billy."
Billy's fingers closed tightly around the coin.
His blue eyes filled with tears once more, and he bowed deeply to Ye Yan.
The first shilling he earned from honest work would go to the kind sir.
The thought took root in his little heart.
No! Not just the first one!
If the kind sir ever needed it, Billy could give him all the money he earned from then on.
Ye Yan stood quietly where he was, watching the carriage grow smaller in the distance. He took a deep breath, turned to Lestrade, and gave him an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, Detective Lestrade. I've held you up while you were pursuing your own case. I thought this was only a small gang, and that the two of us could handle it..."
Lestrade shook his head.
"No, Newman. My case is just as important as any other; there's no need to put one ahead of another. I'm grateful you were willing to help me investigate. Since your case turned up a lead first, of course we can't just leave it alone."
As he spoke, a glint flashed in his eyes.
"Besides, I may have gained something from this after all."
"Hmm?" Ye Yan raised an eyebrow.
"Scarface, the man we caught, gave us a lead related to that disappearance twenty years ago." Lestrade lowered his voice and glanced down the deserted street. "You remember Billy's sister, the one who was taken to the hospital?"
"You mean Irene? What happened to her?"
"Scarface said that a well-dressed man approached him earlier and specifically asked to buy Irene." Lestrade took a sketch out of his notebook and handed it to Ye Yan. "They arranged to make the deal beneath London Bridge tonight."
The man in the sketch was clearly drawn. His hair was slicked back with meticulous care, and he had a prominent black mole at the corner of his left eye.
Ye Yan immediately recognized him.
"This man... Is he Arthur Mills?"
The detective had always suspected that the criminal involved in the case came from the Butler Family, but he'd been unable to find evidence. Arthur Mills was the Butler Family's butler.
"That's right."
Lestrade's voice suddenly grew grave.
"I plan to issue an arrest warrant now and use Arthur Mills as a lead to investigate the Butler Family."
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