Alice could use her blessing power to trace back the past scenes an object had experienced. That was likely why she kept staring at the severed finger of the Swap Anomaly—trying to dig up leads on the anomaly itself through her tracing ability.

  Since we couldn’t count on Lu Patrol anymore, our best shot now was Alice.

  And she didn’t disappoint.

  “I’ve managed to make out a few things,” she said. “For a very long time, this anomaly frequently visited a certain location and interacted with some people there. Sometimes he went every single day and stayed for extended periods. If nothing changes, he’ll likely keep returning to that place in the near future.”

  “So all we have to do is go to that location and lie in wait…” I could already see the path to victory taking shape. “What kind of place is it, exactly?”

  “I’m still investigating. I haven’t had enough time to uncover that much detail yet,” she replied. “This anomaly seems to have anti-divination properties. My ability isn’t exactly divination, but it’s still been affected to some degree. The scenes I trace are all fragmented and disjointed.”

  “Do you think you can figure out the exact location?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to say for sure, but I feel like it shouldn’t be a problem,” she answered. “It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Even someone who’s terrible at puzzles can eventually find the right fit if they’re patient and systematic enough. As for how long that will take, I can’t give you an exact number. If I’m lucky, tomorrow. If not… it won’t take longer than a week, at least.”

  “No rush. Take your time,” I said gently.

  Right now, I no longer had any pressing time constraints. Whether it took her a week or a month, I could wait. But she probably couldn’t. She still carried the mission of preventing the apocalypse; she might not be willing to spend so much time stuck at the starting line.

  “Also, be careful around someone named Lu Chan,” I reminded her.

  “Lu Chan? Who’s that?” she asked, puzzled.

  I explained about Lu Patrol and the Transcendentalist faction, advising her to avoid being discovered by them.

  I had expected her to react with full wariness and commit to staying hidden. Instead, after hearing me out, she said directly, “It’s fine. Let them find out. You and Zhu Shi don’t need to go out of your way to conceal me. Just let it be known openly.”

  “What?” I was genuinely taken aback.

  “It’s from experience,” she explained calmly. “Back in the apocalypse era, I had a terrible reputation. Whenever I passed through survivor settlements, I sometimes tried to keep a low profile. But with my constitution that constantly draws disasters, trying to hide quietly… it never worked. Not once.”

  She continued with the air of someone who had long since accepted it. “So instead of tying myself in knots, it’s better to operate on the assumption that I’ll be noticed anyway. That way I don’t waste energy constantly second-guessing everyone around me.”

  “But what if the Transcendentalists try to kidnap you by force?” I pressed.

  “I’ll just use spatial transfer to escape,” she answered.

  Use spatial transfer to escape… and then what? I waited, but that was all she said. She simply looked at me with steady, composed eyes.

  Wait—that’s it?

  “Just like that?” I asked.

  “That’s enough,” she replied. Seeing my reaction, she patiently elaborated. “I know a lot of anomalous powers and phenomena can’t be escaped with spatial transfer alone. But mine is different. It might sound unbelievable, but consider this—

  “In the past, I lived through an apocalypse full of constant danger. On top of that, I have a jinx constitution that endlessly attracts anomalous disasters to me. Almost everyone who ever got close to me ended up dead. Yet here I am, still alive. How do you think I managed to survive all that?

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  “As long as I want to escape, no one can stop me, and no one can track me.”

  Except for the Calamity Demon—she added quietly at the end.

  Slowly, I came to accept her point.

  Yes—if her spatial transfer were ordinary, she wouldn’t have escaped not only the endless parade of apocalyptic horrors but even the palm of my hand.

  Moreover, Lu Patrol was an expert at tracking anomalies. Hiding someone like Alice—who naturally drew them in—right under his nose would be nearly impossible anyway. And if her spatial transfer truly couldn’t be countered except by Great Demons or Great Impermanences, then whether the Transcendentalists discovered her location right now didn’t actually matter much.

  The only real concern was how unpredictable anomalous powers could be; her confidence might be a little too absolute. Still, when it came to knowledge and experience with anomalies, she had far more—ten or a hundred times more—than I did. When someone like her said “it’s fine,” that carried serious weight.

  “All right. I trust you,” I said.

  At that, she gave a rare small smile.

  “Can you tell me more about the anomaly creator and the Department of Humanity?” she asked.

  I nodded and began explaining.

  The night passed.

  —

  That evening, Alice insisted on giving me the bedroom and sleeping on the sofa herself.

  The apartment actually had two bedrooms, but one of them had no bed. I figured it was about time to buy a new one. For now, though, I went along with her decision. If I kept arguing over every little thing like this, it might actually make her like me less.

  I also stopped setting “fireflies” around her for surveillance. Now that she was truly free to come and go, if she ever noticed them it would be disastrous. The same logic applied to not insisting she take the bedroom—monitoring no longer served any purpose.

  As for the anomaly creator and the Department of Humanity, there wasn’t much I could explain from my own knowledge. Later on, I pulled up the relevant files on my laptop, and we went through them together, discussing as we read.

  Ever since defeating the Immortal Anomaly, Lu Patrol had sent both Zhu Shi and me a batch of intelligence on the Department of Humanity—some confirmed, some uncertain.

  First, the confirmed facts: the anomaly creator was not an ordinary member of the Department but part of its decision-making core.

  Because he seemed to travel around in the outside world so often, I had initially assumed he was a lower-ranking field operative. That wasn’t the case. According to Lu Patrol’s files, the anomaly creator wasn’t just in leadership—he was the head of their research division. By all rights, someone in that position should be operating from behind the scenes, pulling strings.

  Another key difference between the Department of Humanity and Luo Shan: most Department members were ordinary humans—meaning they possessed no anomalous powers. In society at large, though, they were at least legitimate professional elites.

  In an organization like Luo Shan, where high-level demon hunters dominated leadership, decision-makers could issue orders from the rear or charge into the front lines themselves, cutting through enemies like a hot knife through butter. The Department of Humanity couldn’t operate that way—especially not when their research head had to personally get close to deranged, dangerous anomalies.

  Lu Patrol speculated that the anomaly creator likely possessed formidable anomalous power of his own. Though Lu Patrol had encountered him before, it was during his time as a test subject for the Department, not in actual combat—so the speculation wasn’t ironclad.

  The files also revealed that the Department had kidnapped numerous scientists to study demon hunter powers, including some renowned academics who had previously served official organizations.

  Such unrestricted behavior had naturally enraged the authorities, who then commissioned Luo Shan to eliminate this lawless group as quickly as possible.

  However, according to the uncertain portions of the intelligence, Lu Patrol personally suspected the Department of Humanity had backing from official forces. He believed it was a black-research organ secretly cultivated by the authorities to counter Luo Shan in the near future. Even if not directly state-sponsored, the Department must have received substantial funding and support from various sectors of society, growing under the tacit approval of the authorities.

  Was that really the case? Thinking of the rogue anomalies the creator had unleashed—killing and soul-refining at will in the civilian world—I found it hard to fully buy into Lu Patrol’s suspicion.

  The next morning, I woke up in the bedroom.

  The moment I opened my eyes, I saw Alice standing silently beside the bed like a ghost, head slightly lowered, staring intently at me.

  Of course I wanted to wake up to the sight of her face—honestly, I’d prefer to see her by my side twenty-four hours a day—but why was she standing there?

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Did you enter the misty dream realm last night?” she asked gravely.

  “Not yet,” I answered honestly.

  Her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  I understood. She was still worried about No. 2—Little Bowl—and hoping I could enter the misty dream realm again soon to save her from turning into an industry demon. If I had the choice, I’d have preferred to enter last night too. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something I could control.

  I got up, made breakfast, and ate with a visibly restless Alice. Afterward, I asked about her progress on tracing the Swap Anomaly’s finger.

  “I still haven’t figured out the interior details of the place he keeps visiting,” she said, “but I’ve already learned how to get there. It’s somewhere in this city. Should we head out now?”

  Hearing that, I took out my phone and contacted Zhu Shi.

  An hour later, the three of us met up in the new district.