It turned out that the intelligence was completely accurate, and a series of agents were punished, with the entire organization undergoing a comprehensive overhaul.

However, the newly appointed supervisor still warned the spies: do not believe in coincidences.

This was exactly what Uncle Sam emphasized to the students: coincidences do have a certain probability of being real, but that probability is so low that it’s not worth placing trust in, so low that every spy should completely rule it out.

Charles Griffin didn’t believe that Miss Bennett was a coincidence, and Henry Lincoln and Samuel Lincoln, standing by the window and looking at the barbershop across the street, didn’t believe it was a coincidence either.

“What does Old Charles mean by arranging things this way?” Samuel Lincoln’s good mood instantly vanished.

“Don’t ask, you won’t get an answer anyway.”

“Maybe... maybe the task he wants to assign us is to monitor the barbershop.” Samuel Lincoln tried to look on the bright side. “This room of ours really is in a great spot.”

“Yeah.” Henry Lincoln returned to the sofa and sat down, feeling a bit worn out from the day.

“This is exactly why the organization urgently needs new people.” The more Samuel Lincoln thought about it, the more sense it made. “The planetary heir was killed, and the murderer is still at large, so... so the organization needs to get involved?”

He was a bit unsure again. Logically, spies weren’t responsible for solving cases; the whole organization was attached to the Zhaiwang Star United Committee Meteorological Bureau, and had always kept out of the police’s business.

“Whatever the case, I figure our first task is to monitor the barbershop. Actually, Old Charles could have just told us earlier, and we could have started right away, right?” Samuel Lincoln was eager to prove himself.

“Mm.” Henry Lincoln just felt tired.

“I’ll take the first half of the night, you take the second half, how about that?”

“Hm?”

“You pick, I’m fine with either.” Samuel Lincoln was still staring out the window.

“Alright, let’s do it your way.” Henry Lincoln didn’t feel like arguing and got up to look for the bathroom.

The bathroom was tiny; all the rooms here were small. The bedroom could only fit a single bed, but Henry Lincoln wasn’t picky—at least he had his own room now.

He opened his old suitcase, picked out a few everyday clothes, closed the case, and set it by the bed. Although there was a cabinet in the corner, he didn’t plan to use it for now.

The bedroom window was even smaller, facing the building’s interior corridor, where the dim light barely illuminated the floor. Henry Lincoln drew the curtains and pushed the single bed under the window, just out of sight from outside.

He took off his shoes and lay down fully clothed. He was clearly exhausted, but couldn’t fall asleep.

“Old Lincoln?” Samuel Lincoln called softly from outside.

Henry Lincoln didn’t feel like chatting. After a moment, he replied, “What is it?”

“You’re not asleep?”

“Not yet.”

“Can we talk? I’m so bored.”

“Mm.”

The door was pushed open a crack, a shadow flickered, and Samuel Lincoln returned to the living room window. “If you can sleep, just go ahead. Don’t mind me.”

“Okay.”

On many nights at the farm, this was how they spent their time: the one on the top bunk chattering away, the one on the bottom bunk treating it as a lullaby and falling fast asleep.

“Old Charles didn’t mention anything about salary. Do you have any money? I probably couldn’t even rent a bathroom with what I have. Do you think our line of work pays well?”

“No idea.”

“I bet it’s not low, at least much higher than a farm maintenance worker. Every time they come back to the farm, they drive nice cars. Look at Old Charles, he doesn’t even care about cars.”

Henry Lincoln didn’t respond. Samuel Lincoln’s voice was still as soporific as ever, and sleepiness crept over him, his eyelids growing heavy.

“Old Lincoln, have you ever thought about doing another job?”

“Mm.”

“What would you do?”

“Teach, maybe,” Henry Lincoln mumbled.

“Then you’d have to go back to school and get a diploma. Earth history—do schools really teach that? If I weren’t doing this, I’d want to go into sales, sell anything...”

Samuel Lincoln suddenly fell silent. After a while, he quietly walked over, pushed the door open a bit more, and stood in the doorway without moving.

“Why aren’t you keeping watch?” Henry Lincoln asked.

“If Old Charles really wanted to monitor the barbershop, he’d use surveillance equipment. No need for someone to stare at it nonstop.”

“Good point. Then let’s sleep.”

“I can’t fall asleep.”

“Take a shower, lie in bed for a while, and you’ll drift off.”

Henry Lincoln didn’t know if Samuel Lincoln listened, only remembered the sound of running water for a while, and then he drifted off to sleep, having countless strange dreams. Some of them felt very important, and he reminded himself to remember them, but when he opened his eyes, he’d forgotten everything.

Samuel Lincoln stood at the door, as if he hadn’t left all night, but he’d changed clothes and was eating from a tray. “Old Lincoln, you’re so smart—analyze this for me: what do the organization and Old Charles really mean?”

Henry Lincoln slowly sat up, still feeling tired. “There’s too little information to analyze.”

“Hey, it’s not like I want you to do a formal analysis, just think out loud.”

Henry Lincoln raised both hands and rubbed his face hard. “Is there anything to eat?”

Samuel Lincoln held out the tray, which had a lump of mushy stuff on it. “Convenience meal. The label says chicken flavor, but it tastes like spicy dirt.”

Henry Lincoln put on his shoes and went to check the kitchen.