He sprang up from the ground with a kick, his movement exactly like those street-performing farmhands, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he immediately spotted the bamboo scroll on the table. He rushed over and grabbed it. The female ghost seemed to still have lingering fears about William Carter's combat ability when holding the bamboo scroll, and just like that, she abruptly vanished.

The police officer, of course, couldn't see any gods or ghosts. He was so startled by William Carter's sudden leap that he took two steps back, his hand reaching for his baton. But then he saw this guy, acting like a madman, snatching up that tattered bamboo book wrapped in sheepskin, and for a moment he was completely baffled: "What are you doing? You'd better behave yourself!"

"I..." William Carter wanted to come up with a reasonable explanation, but in such a short time, it seemed like only his instinct to make sarcastic remarks was working, so he blurted out, "I like to squat and read ancient books to cultivate my mind when I'm taking a dump..."

Five minutes later, that police officer was smoking outside the restroom door. Besides the white smoke coming out of his mouth, he also had a head full of black lines...

William Carter felt that if he delayed any longer, he'd really be done for. By midnight, who knew how many monsters would be gathering on the streets, and he was like an ant in this city—an ant being watched by countless wolves. So he had to think of a way to escape; only that bastard's agency was safe...

Another ten minutes passed. The police officer yawned and checked his watch. "Are you done yet? Damn it, what are you men dawdling for?"

No one answered. He called out a few more times, but the dimly lit corridor remained dead silent. The officer felt a surge of dread—could that kid have run off? He hurried into the restroom, but as soon as he stepped into the pitch-black room, he was struck hard on the back of the neck. His last thought before losing consciousness was: Crap, I fell for that kid's trick...

William Carter pulled his hat brim low and kept his head down as he left the police station. The police uniform fit him fairly well—at least it was more comfortable than his mud- and blood-stained clothes. He walked quickly down the street. He could sense that there were "spirits" in this city, but most of them weren't aggressively dangerous; they were more like a quiet melody, perhaps lingering because of unfinished business in this world. But there was one spirit, very close and very aggressive, that was intermittently closing in on him from behind. William Carter didn't even need to think to know it was some old enemy coming for him again.

But by now, he was already close to his destination, and he'd had enough rest at the police station, so he started running. He finally arrived at No. 13 East Street. The first floor was a bar called "Black Cat." There was no dance floor in this bar, just a counter and a few tables—more like a café, and unusually quiet. William Carter, dressed in a police uniform, glanced around at the entrance and was immediately blocked by a burly man built like a tower.

"Who are you looking for?" The big man looked down at William Carter with a disdainful forty-five-degree glare.

"Is there someone called Mr. Cat here?"

The big man's expression relaxed. "Oh, so you're his client. The stairs to the second floor aren't here—there's a staircase in the alley next door. Don't take the wrong way next time."

William Carter nodded and was about to leave when the big man suddenly said from behind, "Something's following you. Be careful."

William Carter was just about to ask if this tough guy could help hold them off for a bit, but when he turned around, all he got was the sound of a door slamming. He sighed, glanced back at the street, and saw that there wasn't a single pedestrian! In a city like S, with such a vibrant nightlife, that was absolutely impossible. And in the middle of the road stood a figure in white, with a hideous grin, standing there all alone, step by step walking toward him. Then, from the side alleys, more and more ghosts emerged—some pale as death, some missing arms or legs—nearly a hundred in total.

"Damn... a night parade of a hundred ghosts, and every one of them looks like they're pretty skilled. How did things get to this point... Come to think of it, I guess I'm now a wanted criminal for assaulting a police officer and breaking out of jail. I might even be on TV tomorrow! Maybe they'll even offer a reward for information at the end of the program!" He muttered as he ran into the side alley, spotted a staircase leading to the second floor, and dashed up. On the glass door was written "Detective Agency." He now knew that the word "Supernatural" in front of it, just like the address on the business card, could only be seen by those with "spirit vision."

William Carter didn't even bother to knock—he just tried to barge in, but found the door was unlocked. He rushed into the room and found the light switch, only to discover the office was completely empty. There was nothing but trash all over the floor and a shabby desk. One look at the sofa and he could tell this was both the office and Mr. Cat's home.

Then he saw a dagger on the desk. It definitely wasn't the kind you could buy at a hardware store; it looked more like a weapon out of a martial arts novel. Under the dagger was a note.