Chapter 78 The Detective Whose Memories Were Altered (10/26)

The great detective Hattori was an Asian detective from Britain, quite famous in his home country. However, things had not been going well for him lately, ever since a six- or seven-year-old boy suddenly appeared in the fog-shrouded city.

This boy was known as the "walking child of death." Wherever he went, people would die, and he always managed to be the first to discover the crime scene, analyzing on his own who the perpetrator was.

What was most exasperating was that he was always one step ahead, publishing the news before the great detective could crack the case himself.

Because of this boy, Hattori had not earned an income for quite some time. That was why he left the city of fog and came to the new town in the Land of the Towering Lighthouse, hoping to avoid this walking harbinger of death.

But no sooner had he arrived in the new town than he ran into trouble. He had been busy since early yesterday morning and had lost track of time.

Looking at the man and woman standing before him, Hattori felt a sense of familiarity, though he could not recall where he had met them. He blinked repeatedly, trying hard to remember.

"A detective with such a poor memory is going to have a hard time finding work," the man before Hattori remarked.

At this, Hattori retorted, "It's not that my memory is bad—something just doesn't feel right. Give me a moment."

As he spoke, Hattori took out his notebook. Several pages had been torn out, but he paid it no mind and kept flipping through the remaining pages. His eyes grew brighter and his expression darker as he read.

Finally, Hattori looked up at the man and woman and said, "I shouldn't be called Hattori. I'm just a great detective. My memory has been altered by someone, am I right, Mr. Booth?"

"It's your own clues; only you can make sense of them," replied the one occupying Booth's body—Ou Xiaolu. He had quickly found the detective he had projected here, but was surprised to discover that the detective's memory and identity had been tampered with almost immediately.

The detective nodded solemnly, then resumed searching for clues in his notebook. Before long, he looked up at Ou Xiaolu and said, "I've remembered something. I seem to have discovered something extraordinary, but then a group of people holding little wooden wands appeared. As soon as they did, I forgot everything.

I can't be sure of the rest, but they definitely have some method for manipulating memory."

"Did you keep a backup of the information you found?" Ou Xiaolu asked directly.

"Of course I did," Hattori replied confidently. "I'm not some halfwit. Let me think—I remember I left myself some clues."

As he spoke, Hattori began searching his room. Soon, he found a series of numbers and began to analyze his own previous actions, eventually producing some documents.

He did not look through them himself but handed everything to Ou Xiaolu.

"I won't look at them. You go through the contents yourself."

"Why not?" Ou Xiaolu accepted the documents, curiosity in his voice. "Don't you want to know what memories of yours were tampered with?"

"Memory is a mysterious thing," Hattori said, shaking his head. "Once I know it’s been altered, I have to view everything with suspicion. Unless I can prove I remembered it myself, I won't trust any of it."

"But how do you know if the things you recall are real?" Ou Xiaolu asked, puzzled.

"That's where intelligence comes in. I always leave clues only someone like me could decipher. As for those who ignore logic, even if they find the clues, they’ll never know what’s hidden within."

"Anyway, you can trust these documents at least. They were never discovered by those people."

Ou Xiaolu glanced at Hattori, then naturally began reading through the documents. Nowhere did Hattori mention being a projection; he simply described himself as a detective from the city of fog, having accepted a task from Booth to investigate clues about mysterious forces.

The documents also recorded that there were several groups wielding mysterious powers in the new town, mostly concentrated near Fifth Avenue and Central Park.

Near Fifth Avenue, there was an invisible building. If one paid close attention, one might notice people who looked like wandering artists appearing and disappearing in the vicinity.

Central Park, on the other hand, was home to many unusual animals. Some people had seen them, but most had not noticed anything out of the ordinary.

The documents also contained stories about strange local legends, each accompanied by various clues—some related to crimes, others suspected to be supported by mysterious powers.

Ou Xiaolu studied the highlighted marks in the documents, his finger tapping lightly on the paper.

"This invisible building you mentioned—I know of it. I even fought my way out of there once. Now I have a question: inside that building is a powerful army protecting the birth of an important individual. The key to that birth is this... egg next to me.

You see? Eggs like this are exceedingly rare. I can’t let them take mine. Do you have any ideas?"

"That depends on the balance of power. But looking at you, there are only two of you. That might not be enough," Hattori replied, eyeing him with suspicion.

Ou Xiaolu caught the look. Hattori, whose profession depended on observation, noticed at once and bristled, "What, you don’t trust me?"

"It’s not that," Ou Xiaolu said thoughtfully. "I’m just wondering—are there any factions in your notes that oppose the one in the building? You didn’t mark any. As a great detective, surely you’d have considered that?"

"I did notice, but I wasn’t able to dig deeper. I just know that all of them are at odds with the building's faction."

Ou Xiaolu nodded. "I see. I’ll investigate further according to your notes."

With that, he left with Xiaoyou. After they had gone some distance, Xiaoyou, still clutching the sun coral egg, suddenly asked, "Isn’t there something odd about that detective?"

"Yes, his memory has been altered, and he now has his own name. How interesting," Ou Xiaolu replied, shaking his head. He snapped his fingers, and a card appeared in his hand.