The Aftermath

What did it feel like to be famous?

Before he became famous, Ye Yan might have harbored some longing for that empty reputation. Now that he was truly in the thick of it, his only thought was to flee London and find somewhere no one knew him.

Every day, all sorts of people came to test his abilities, openly or in secret, and Ye Yan was sick of it.

But given their status, he had no choice but to muster his energy and deal with them.

"To be honest, what kind of detective am I?"

Ye Yan rubbed his temples and vented to Uncle Jules. "I only took the title of consulting detective to earn an extra salary. As for spirit communication..."

He gave a wry smile and shook his head. "That was an even more wonderful misunderstanding. It was just a stroke of luck."

Fate was always full of irony.

He, a man with only the most superficial knowledge of criminal investigation, had summoned a "Shadow Maiden" and gained a reputation in the detective world that genuine master detectives could spend their whole lives striving for without ever attaining.

Whenever he heard the title "Spirit Detective," Ye Yan felt as if ants were crawling up his spine.

"Foolish boy, you need to change the way you think." Jules tipped back a large gulp of whiskey and let out a satisfied burp. "Who says solving a case has to rely on deduction?"

Ye Yan rubbed the bridge of his nose helplessly.

"Then tell me, Uncle Jules. If detectives don't rely on their brains, what do they rely on?"

"Huh?" Jules waved his thick arms. "This, of course! Beat the truth out of the suspects! Or..."

He winked at the young man. "Use that handsome face of yours to get ladies of high society to spill their secrets willingly."

"Wait." Ye Yan covered his face and hurriedly raised a hand to stop him. "What you're describing is an agent or a spy, not a detective."

"Hmph!" Uncle Jules snorted heavily, his bulbous red nose flushing even brighter. "What's the essence of being a detective? Isn't it revealing the truth to the public?"

He counted off the points on his fingers as he listed them for Ye Yan. "One case destroyed the cult's lair that had been ravaging London. Another brought down a hereditary noble family that had lasted for centuries. Which of those so-called famous detectives who do nothing but boast can match your achievements?"

Ye Yan frowned.

"Uncle Jules, strictly speaking, I only took part in those two cases. My role in them was barely..."

Jules waved a hand, cutting him off.

"Those things you're talking about are beside the point. Let me tell you something practical."

As he spoke, he suddenly lowered his voice, a sly glint in his eyes. "You know, ever since those snobs at the Administration found out about our relationship, their attitude toward me has completely changed. Now I can stand tall and announce that I'm the Spirit Detective's own uncle!"

Jules clapped a heavy hand on Ye Yan's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, son. It's time you understood your place in the Mystic Realm, my dear foolish nephew."

Ye Yan was taken aback.

He had always thought of himself as an ordinary person.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he was gradually having an impact on this world?

Tea scented the air in the sitting room at 221B Baker Street, lending a hint of warmth to Mycroft Holmes's half-smiling face. He lifted his teacup and took a delicate sip, never taking his eyes off his younger brother.

"Our little friend really does enjoy causing me trouble. The cross-sea portal incident only just died down, and now he's summoned an entire spirit."

Holmes remained calm.

The occult had always been like that. Some people spent their whole lives pursuing the truth without getting anywhere, while others stumbled into it by chance and opened the door to an inexhaustible treasure trove.

"Don't tell me you can't deal with those fools whose minds are full of greed."

At that, Mycroft chuckled. "Pressure from the nobles is no problem, of course. Our little friend very wisely chose to hand over the ritual that summoned the girl's spirit. A complete and stable summoning ritual—the Research Institute had nearly resorted to snatching him up over one before."

Every mysterious organization longed to recruit a genius attuned to the mystical. History had already shown that even the most mediocre among them could carve a new path through the closed-off field of mysticism.

"After all his successive creations and discoveries, The Queen has shifted from keeping an eye on our little friend to protecting him."

He paused, his voice dropping.

"Only a few brainless idiots and shameless outsiders would do something irrational."

Holmes said nothing. He exhaled a ring of smoke and asked an odd question.

"Has there been any activity from Witch Lane?"

Mycroft immediately understood what he meant. He set down his teacup and replied, "Of course. A complete spirit has appeared in the world. How could the witches, famed for their spiritualism, possibly remain indifferent?"

Holmes frowned. "How do they usually approach their targets?"

"Kidnap them outright? No, that's too crude." Mycroft shook his head. "They prefer seduction, especially since our little friend has a face women find attractive."

"Then he'll definitely fall for it."

Holmes's answer was unequivocal. "An immature man, unaware of his own abilities and circumstances, whose mind is often ruled by his emotions, will always have unrealistic ideas about love and women."

"Sherlock, you're being far too harsh on our little friend." Mycroft suddenly laughed. "Emotions can certainly interfere with clear thinking, but sometimes they can also work miracles."

Holmes tapped his pipe thoughtfully and continued, "I'll keep an eye on him, but I'll need you to provide me with firsthand information from your end."

"Do you know what I like most about you, Sherlock?" Mycroft set down his teacup and lightly tapped a fingertip against the table. "You always have a way of putting people at ease."

He lowered his eyes and leisurely smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his suit sleeve. "It seems one of my objectives here has already been accomplished."

When Mycroft looked up again, the faint smile on his face had vanished completely.

"Sherlock, can you tell me now why you suddenly wanted to leave the laboratory?"

Silence briefly settled over the room. Only the faint scent of tea drifted through the still air.

"It's not that I can't tell you."

Holmes's voice carried a rare note of hesitation. "I haven't fully confirmed it myself."

Mycroft watched him for a long while before raising an eyebrow.

He picked up the teapot and leisurely poured two cups, one for himself and one for Sherlock. The amber liquid rippled in the cups, reflecting some hidden emotion in his eyes.

"Interesting." Mycroft pushed one of the cups toward Holmes. "Now I'm more and more curious about what could trouble even you."

Holmes didn't take the teacup.

"All right, all right. I misspoke. You're simply not sure." Mycroft's voice held a trace of helplessness. "Next time something troubles you, tell me in advance. After all, I'm your brother."

Holmes's fingers twitched ever so slightly.

Mycroft noticed the tiny reaction, and his smile deepened. "So, will you tell me what's really going on?"

"You should leave."

Mycroft sighed softly at being dismissed. "All right. I suppose I should."

With that, he stood and walked toward the door. Before opening it, he turned his head slightly and left him with a reminder.

"Oh, and Sherlock, remember to remind our little friend to beware the chimes of midnight. Also, thank him for agreeing to join my Diogenes Club. There's a members' gathering next Friday. Please make sure he attends."

"He's right next door."

Mycroft let out a low laugh.

"I thought you'd understand, my dear brother."

He gave a wink with his gray eye.

"I want to chat with you a little longer and help you make a few more friends. Isn't that obvious?"