“This child is only about two months old, right?” An old policeman frowned as soon as he saw the baby. “How did this stroller get here? Did any of you see it?”

Eric Bennett and Big Tom both turned to look at Edward Clark.

“I was just standing here,” Edward Clark walked to the spot where he’d been before, “looking over there with my phone. I don’t know when the stroller got next to me—I only saw it when I turned my head.”

“We need to contact a few female colleagues at the station right away, and the hospital too,” the old policeman turned to his colleague behind him. “This child is so little, who knows how long they’ve been hungry…”

“So… can we leave now?” Eric Bennett asked from the side.

“Please cooperate,” the old policeman said. “We need to make a record. After we settle the child, we still have to investigate.”

“Right now?” Edward Clark asked.

“Yes.” The policeman nodded.

“What’s wrong?” Eric Bennett whispered, “Do you have something to do?”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Edward Clark whispered back.

Eric Bennett ignored him after that.

From handing the child over to the police, to cooperating at the station to give a statement, and finally answering a round of questions before being allowed to leave, Eric Bennett didn’t speak to him again.

He barely even looked at him.

As soon as they walked out the police station doors, Eric Bennett grabbed his friend, hopped on his bike, and left without so much as a backward glance. Edward Clark didn’t even get a chance to return his reference book.

The dog walk was definitely off.

Edward Clark ate a bowl of noodles at a small shop next to the police station, then took a bus back to school.

He knew why Eric Bennett suddenly started ignoring him.

Probably thought he was cold-hearted—facing such a tiny, possibly abandoned child, and all he could think about was eating.

Not even the bare minimum of sympathy.

Dinner tonight was noodles, brought back for the guys in the dorm—just noodles.

It took some effort for Edward Clark to carry four portions of noodles into the dorm; the four containers were about as bulky as two bags of barbecue, but these had soup inside. When he dashed past the dorm supervisor’s door, he had to be quick but keep his hands steady.

“Don’t think I can’t see who you are!” the supervisor’s voice called out from afar.

You really can’t see.

Edward Clark was already up on the third floor, still confident in his speed.

There was a mirror on the first floor. Every time he ran past it with food, he’d glance at it, but he’d never managed to see himself clearly.

Like lightning.

The guys in the dorm were still studying under the light, but when Edward Clark came in, all their faces turned toward the door.

“I heard the supervisor yelling downstairs,” Adam Brooks said with a laugh.

“He said he could see who I was,” Edward Clark replied.

“No way, if he could, he’d have caught you by now,” Matthew Cooper got up to take the food containers. “You run at least three times a week.”

“Noodles for dinner today?” Jason Reed said. “That’s not like you. You went out and didn’t get a feast?”

“Something came up,” Edward Clark stuffed Eric Bennett’s reference book under his pillow. “Didn’t get to have a feast.”

He didn’t want to talk about finding the child tonight, and the best thing about his dormmates was that they made you feel at ease—no one asked.

Such great roommates, and the time together was ticking down along with the classroom countdown clock. Sometimes, thinking about it made him suddenly sad.

“Is there still a box for you?” Adam Brooks asked.

“Four boxes are easier to carry,” Edward Clark said. “You guys split them. I just ate. I’ll read for a bit.”

The Mystery of Palmistry.

Edward Clark turned on the lamp by his bed and put on his glasses.

The book looked like one of those cheap, pirated books you’d find at a street stall. The title wasn’t something like “Palmistry Made Simple: Learn in Five Minutes” or “Reading People by Their Hands” or “From Palm Lines to Life”—it seemed to have a suspenseful vibe.

Unusual.

Oh, the author was a foreigner.

Edward Clark habitually followed his usual study routine and started by mentally outlining some questions.

For example, where did palmistry originate? In which cultural context was palmistry most popular? What’s the basis for dividing the different regions of the palm…

Then he opened the book.

On the first page, in the table of contents, two big lines were neatly written in ballpoint pen.

Private collection of child prodigy Eric Bennett.

Not for lending. Don’t steal. If found, return to me.

Each character was nearly two centimeters in diameter. Edward Clark looked at it for about ten seconds before silently laughing.

Below that was a date. Judging by the date, this must have been written when Eric Bennett was in first grade or even earlier…

Edward Clark paused, then flipped through the book. There were some notes inside, all in the same handwriting, probably from the same period.

It seemed that when Eric Bennett was five or six, he already knew quite a few characters, had good comprehension, and had his own ideas. He didn’t see books as absolute authority like many kids did. On one page, he’d even marked—“What nonsense!!”

Interesting.

Edward Clark pushed up his glasses.