Cokeworth, a town in northern Britain, had once been a prosperous city famed for heavy industry. With industrial upgrading and manufacturing moving overseas, it had inevitably fallen into decline. Yet the economic downturn had not erased the traces of its history. Certain trades deeply rooted in its streets and alleys had, if anything, flourished.
In an old house on the southern outskirts, heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking out every scrap of light. From a distance, it looked like an abandoned house forgotten by time. Yet gently pushing open its door was like stepping into an entirely different, clamorous world.
Inside the hall, blackjack, Texas hold 'em, and mahjong tables were packed tightly together. The cheerful electronic sounds of slot machines mingled with the crisp clatter of chips.
The gamblers seemed to be under a spell, utterly engrossed in their games. Not one noticed the eleven-year-old boy strolling leisurely among them.
Herman wandered slowly around the tables, toying with an old silver coin. The coin was quite ancient, its design worn so smooth that he could barely make out a bird clutching a stick in its claws. Vine-like decorations encircled its edge, along with a series of gear-like protrusions.
Suddenly, Herman stopped behind a Black man and said calmly, "Mate, know when to stop. This is Scar Reed's turf."
The Black man had been concentrating fully on his game. The unexpected voice startled him into a violent shudder, like a frightened rabbit. But when he turned around and saw that it was only a child, his attitude instantly did a complete reversal. "You little brat, don't go looking for death!" he roared viciously.
Herman merely shrugged indifferently. Without another word, he turned and left, looking as though the man's threat had genuinely frightened him, like a puppy with its tail between its legs.
The Black man was smugly about to resume cheating, utterly unaware that, after hearing Herman's words, the dealer had turned discreetly and exchanged a look with a burly man guarding the place nearby.
The burly man immediately understood. Without a word, he strode over and roughly dragged the Black man away.
The regulars around them were not surprised. The moment Herman spoke, they had known the black bastard was cheating.
He had dared come and cause trouble at this underground casino without even recognizing Herman, its young consultant.
At four in the morning, with sunrise approaching and darkness still shrouding the land, Herman finished his night's work.
Just before he left, the head of security hurried over with a stack of cash and pressed it into his hand. "Consultant, here's today's money. The extra is compensation from that black bastard."
"Thanks." Herman accepted the money, offered a polite reply, and turned to leave.
Watching Herman walk away, a new underling could not help muttering, "Why's that kid so full of himself?"
The security chief raised his hand and slapped the underling hard on his bald head. "Cut the crap. That one's got some serious tricks up his sleeve. Not only does he have a sharp eye, he's ruthless too. Know how the boss got that scar on his face?"
"Did he do it?" The underling's eyes widened in astonishment, disbelief written all over his face. "Of course not. The boss just said that if anyone offended that young master, he'd give them a matching scar."
"Four thousand five hundred pounds. Heh, that saying really is true: all the ways to make money are written in British law. At the rate I'm saving, once I'm an adult, I can just get a passport and go back to China, invest as a foreign national, then get a residence permit through marriage. In this life, as long as I seize the opportunities and work hard for a decade or so, I'll be able to lie flat in comfort afterward."
That was right. Herman was a transmigrator. After recovering the memories of his previous life, he had discovered that he was in an orphanage in Britain.
It was the standard orphan start. At first, Herman had planned to study hard, save money, and then return to China. After all, he was more familiar with the "script" over there.
But one day, his golden finger had suddenly arrived. Herman had decisively changed his plans for life. Compared with tedious studying, getting money without working for it was clearly faster-the difference between riding a rocket and climbing stairs.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, Herman spotted a group of Black men in the distance, complete with built-in night camouflage. Without anyone speaking, they really would have been hard to spot.
One of them, hopping on one leg, pointed angrily at Herman with his only intact hand, his left, and jabbered something. They were a little too far away for Herman to hear clearly, but he could guess that it probably was not anything nice.
Soon, the group charged at him like ravenous wolves. Herman sighed helplessly, pulled a deck of cards from inside his clothes, and tossed it casually.
Once the weightless cards left Herman's hand, they suddenly accelerated as though granted life. Then, in an instant, they transformed in midair into sharp swords gleaming with cold light, darting back and forth through the air.
In an instant, screams rose and fell in the narrow alley, like a wretched dirge being played.
Once the Black men lay sprawled all over the ground, Herman gave a light wave. The money in their pockets wriggled toward him as though it had grown legs. There were also two guns, which hopped toward Herman in a manner both comical and strange.
This was Herman's golden finger-the ability to control the transformation of matter however he pleased, or even, one could say, to grant objects a false life.
Turning cards into flying swords to injure enemies and making money grow arms and legs and run over were both child's play to him.
After gathering up this unexpected windfall, Herman turned his gaze toward the Black men on the ground. To their horror, they discovered that his originally black pupils had instantly turned silvery white, like deep white abysses that gripped the soul and sent chills down their spines.
Immediately afterward, they felt a sharp pain in their brains. Their vision went black, and they passed out, as though a great hand of darkness had dragged them into an endless abyss.
According to Herman's research, those who passed out would lose their memories. In milder cases, they might only forget being taught a lesson by him. In more severe cases, there was no telling.
In any case, Herman neither provided treatment nor conducted follow-up visits. He only needed to make sure they did not remember him.
After ensuring that no one had slipped through the net, Herman headed back to his current home-St. Chris's Children's Home.
Plastic imitation vines twined around the black wrought-iron gates, as though draping them in a green cloak. At Christmas, colorful lights would be hung there too. A hand-painted ceramic plaque also hung on a gatepost, bearing the words: "Beware! Dinosaur territory-all the children of the class of 1990."
The front yard was paved with antique-style tiles, covered in chalk hopscotch grids and crooked drawings of the sun. In one corner stood a miniature plastic castle slide, like a tiny fairy-tale castle. Every corner was filled with the air of childhood.
The orphanage's main building was a symmetrical three-story structure. Its red-brick exterior had been coated with a clear waterproof finish that gleamed softly in the sunlight. Here and there, wild roses poked out between the bricks, adding a touch of vitality and romance to the building as they swayed gently in the breeze, giving off a faint fragrance.
Honestly, the conditions at this orphanage were quite good. Its director, Mrs. Margery, was also very kind and approachable, like warm winter sunshine warming every child's heart.
But Herman's soul was, after all, that of an adult, and he always felt somewhat out of place here.
So, after awakening his golden finger, Herman had gradually started spending his holidays secretly catching up on sleep during the day and going out to earn extra money at night. During the school term, he caught up on sleep in class and continued his part-time work at night.
With a golden finger already in hand, who would still willingly sit through primary school lessons? Just as a bird with wings would never willingly remain trapped in a tiny cage.
Today, however, Herman had barely crawled under the covers when Liz, a care worker, called him up. "Herman, someone's here to see you."
"Someone's here to see me?" Herman's first thought was that Scar Reed's place had been raided by the police, and a detective had come looking for him.
Should I make a run for it now? At that thought, Herman instinctively looked toward the back window. Beyond it was the orphanage's backyard, and over the wall was a foul-smelling river. On its opposite bank stood a cluster of dilapidated houses that were practically a slum.
Of course, that was not the point. Herman felt certain that, with his ability to animate and transform objects, he could get away. What mattered was the large tree in the corner by the wall. That was where he hid his money.
When going on the run, funds were naturally the most important thing. Besides, if he did not take the money, wouldn't all his part-time work have been for nothing?
Seeing Herman stare blankly, Liz thought the little fellow was still half asleep and added, "A very kindly old gentleman has come to see you. He's in Director Margery's office right now."
"An old gentleman?" Then it was not a detective. After all, no country would send an old man to work as a detective, let alone send him out alone to arrest criminals.
Besides, what do I have to fear from one old man? I've got a golden finger. What, can he use magic or something?
"All right, Liz. I'll be right there." Herman hurriedly got up, ready to see just who had come to visit him, his heart full of curiosity. After all, he seemed to have entered the orphanage at the age of one, and according to the records, no one had ever come to see him.
Could some relative of mine in this life have died and left a fortune of billions for me to inherit?
Director Margery's office was not far from Herman's dormitory, and before long, he reached the corridor where it was located.
Since the office door was open, he heard Director Margery's loud voice from inside as soon as he approached.
"You're saying Herman meets your school's admissions requirements, and you want to admit him through special recruitment?"