After agreeing on the ti and location for the operation with Marcus, Lin Jie did not linger long in the Underground City.
He deeply understood that when facing a UMA with unknown abilities, even the smallest piece of extra intelligence could determine the outco of the battle.
Force was the ultimate ans to solve problems, but the path to that "ultimate" solution needed to be paved with wisdom and knowledge.
He ca to the association's internal "Ether Telegraph Room."
Unlike the noisy public telegraph offices outside, this room was quiet, filled only with the rhythmic "click-clack" of electrical currents.
Several clerical staff wearing monocles worked intently before machines constructed from complex brass and crystal, translating encrypted spiritual signals from around the world into lines of text.
Lin Jie found the person in charge and applied for an encrypted communication with the Paris branch archives under the pretext of handling "follow-up intelligence sorting from Paris."
This was the fastest and most reasonable communication thod his authority permitted.
The person he needed to ask for help was precisely that walking "living database" far away in Paris—Julian Belloc.
When it ca to knowledge of Europe's various obscure ancient texts, folk legends, and urban rumors, probably no one in the entire I.A.R.C. European branch could surpass him.
If that eerie "Crooked Man" nursery rhy truly existed in history, then Julian's archives were the most likely place to find its origins.
The telegram's content was carefully worded by Lin Jie—he only ntioned the nursery rhy's lyrics and the key token "Crooked Sixpence," requesting Julian's assistance in investigating its historical origins.
He disguised this inquiry as an academic exploration of London's local folk legends, not ntioning the UMA or Lily's crisis, to avoid leaving any clues in the communication records.
After sending the telegram, Lin Jie returned to his Baker Street apartnt and began making thorough preparations for the evening operation.
He didn't bother cleaning the [Serene Heart]—under Arthur's precise modifications, each shot from it was as stable as a precise Swiss tipiece.
He focused more energy on inspecting the [Cursebreaker Vambrace].
He carefully examined the golden neural network-like spiritual conduction circuits inside the vambrace, ensuring they hadn't been damaged during the previous battle in Paris.
This weapon capable of interfering with "order" might play an unexpected role when facing a UMA that was itself an embodint of "twisting."
Ti passed slowly to the continuous sound of drizzle outside the window.
At dusk, when the light in the apartnt had dimd enough to require lighting the kerosene lamp, the porter delivered a reply.
A telegram from Paris, encrypted and translated through the association's internal channels.
Lin Jie eagerly opened it and quickly scanned the contents.
What he read made his pupils contract.
Julian's profound knowledge had once again cleared away the heavy fog for him, pointing toward a terrifying clue hidden beneath the dust of history.
In the telegram, Julian first expressed his "most enthusiastic congratulations" in his characteristic exaggerated and dramatic style.
"My dear Lin! I must admit your sense of sll is sharper than Scotland Yard's finest hounds! You actually managed to sniff out such marvelous ancient remnants in that coal-smoke-blackened city of London!"
"The nursery rhy you ntioned isn't the complete version—what you heard is just a relatively mild version that was 'purified' and 'censored' by later generations during its transmission."
"I spent the entire afternoon flipping through nurous folk poetry collections from the late 17th century and manuscripts by anonymous authors in the archives. Finally, among the belongings of an anonymous collector obsessed with gathering 'hanging ballads,' I found this poem's most original and complete form."
"Its na isn't 'The Crooked Man,' but rather 'The Crooked Man's Crooked House.'"
What followed in the telegram was that forgotten complete nursery rhy.
The first half was no different from what Lily had sung, but the disturbingly new second half poured over Lin Jie's head like a bucket of ice water.
"...He opened a crooked door, walked into a crooked hall..."
"The stairs were twisted spirals, the floor was crooked waves..."
"The walls breathed in twisted ways, the windows were crooked eyes peeping..."
"He lay upon a crooked bed, dreaming crooked dreams that never saw dawn..."
"The crooked man waits for you, waits for you to co ho, back to the crooked little house, to share the crooked death together."
The final line of lyrics deeply stung Lin Jie's consciousness.
He instantly understood this thing's ultimate purpose.
This wasn't a ga of "hide and seek"—it was a direct "invitation" with death as the endpoint!
It wanted to imprison Lily's soul in that "house" constructed from twisted laws!
Lin Jie forcefully suppressed the chill in his heart and continued reading.
Julian's investigation didn't stop there.
"This nursery rhy didn't appear out of thin air. According to so notes beside the manuscript, its prototype relates to a real historical figure—a man nad 'Abraham Creechley.'"
"This person was a 17th-century London architect, or more accurately, a craftsman with grotesque ideas not recognized by the mainstream."
"He was active during the reconstruction period after the Great Fire of London in 1666. Unlike Sir Christopher Wren, who championed classical symtrical aesthetics, Creechley was obsessed with studying primitive concepts of 'non-Euclidean geotry.'"
"He firmly believed that perfect architecture shouldn't consist of cold straight lines and symtry, but should simulate 'nature and dreams' through vibrant 'curves' and 'spirals.'"
"His architectural designs possessed a startling surreal beauty on paper, but in actual construction, they beca disasters because they violated chanical principles."
"Every building he supervised construction on without exception suffered wall cracking, foundation sinking, or even complete collapse shortly after completion."
"There were even rumors that anyone who lived in houses he designed would hear strange noises from the walls at night, their temperants becoming irritable and paranoid, ultimately either going mad or dying."
"Eventually, Creechley was expelled from the architects' guild for his 'blasphemous' design concepts and continuous accidents, becoming the laughingstock of all London."
"He spent his last savings to build his final and only completed work for himself—his own residence—on the then relatively desolate edge of the White Church District."
"Reportedly, that house was 'tilted' from the very first day of its construction."
"It stood there at a bizarre angle that seed to defy gravity."
"No one dared approach it, and Creechley himself never erged after moving in."
"Weeks later, when neighbors reported to the authorities due to unbearable odors emanating from inside, the constable broke down the door to find he had long been dead, his corpse hanging from the roof beam in an extrely twisted, inhuman posture."
At the telegram's end, Julian provided a precise address and a scholar's excited conclusion.
"Although the main structure of that cursed 'Crooked House' collapsed long ago over two centuries of weathering, its foundation and so ruins are said to stubbornly remain like a malignant tumor in the most remote corner of the White Church District to this day."
"Go forth, my friend, and uncover historical truth! If my conjecture is correct, then the lingering obsession and resentful soul of that poor architect Abraham Creechley, born in the wrong era, likely ford the initial breeding ground for that 'Twisted Man'!"
After reading the telegram, Lin Jie stood for a long ti before the window.
Outside, night had fallen, raindrops tapping against the glass with sounds that seed to urge him on.
All the clues finally connected into a complete, clear chain of evidence at this mont.
The forgotten nursery rhy pointed to a cursed house.
The cursed house pointed to a soul filled with obsession and resentnt.
And that soul was now trying to find a new "family mber" to live with it in that death-house constructed from twisted laws.
The target was locked.
Lin Jie picked up the [Serene Heart] revolver from the table, its heavy weight bringing him a asure of comfort.
He looked at the clock hanging on the wall—the hour hand had slowly moved to "eight."
Only one hour remained until the ti agreed upon with Marcus.
"Twisted architect..." Lin Jie softly spoke the na.
His eyes showed no fear, only the cold calm belonging to a hunter.
"Your house is about to be forcibly demolished."
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