He hadn’t even finished being polite when, turning around, he saw Sister Parker somehow produce a skein of seaweed-green yarn from who knows where. She chatted idly with him while her hands flew up and down, knitting away—a sleeve was almost finished already, making the whole atmosphere feel especially warm and cozy.

　　Dylan Foster: “…You’re really skillful.”

　　Jason Parker laughed so hard her whole body shook: “Would you like one? I bought a lot of yarn this time, and it’ll be winter in about a month. Once I finish knitting a sweater for the old man, there’ll be enough left to make you a hat—what kind would you like?”

　　“No, no, no, that’s really not necessary…” Dylan Foster glanced nervously at that eco-friendly colored yarn, thinking it might be best to resign before winter came. He quickly changed the subject, “Besides things like today, what else do we usually do? Is there a lot of business travel?”

　　“There’s quite a bit of travel. As for today’s matter, it looks serious, but it’s actually not hard to handle. The most troublesome thing is some of our field colleagues don’t pay attention to environmental protection—smashing a big bridge here, blowing up a few cars there, and after they’re done, they just pat their butts and leave. Then we have to run around cleaning up after them, fixing things, negotiating compensation plans and whatnot. Sigh, when it comes to money, the wrangling never ends.” As Jason Parker spoke, she leaned in closer to Dylan Foster and lowered her voice, “Our previous Director Hudson left before retirement age, said it was ‘early retirement,’ but actually there was ‘an issue.’ I hear the bureau is investigating him now.”

　　Dylan Foster: “……”

　　He had underestimated this post, which was like an old palace matron’s job—there were actually integrity risks!

　　“Besides business trips, our department also handles online matters,” Jason Parker finished a round of knitting, pulled out another length of yarn, skillfully wrapped it around her pinky, and continued, “There are a few popular supernatural forums and public accounts we have to keep an eye on at all times. When a new hot topic pops up, we have to figure out right away which ones are just bored people talking nonsense, and which might actually be a problem. After screening, we pass the problematic ones to the field team—that’s Old Turner’s responsibility.”

　　“That’s me, boss, I’m Old Turner, Emily Turner.” The man with the barcode on his head leaned over, a waft of fragrance drifting over. Dylan Foster sniffed—it was a grassy scent. This brother Cui Cui was quite the fresh type.

　　The fresh and clean brother Cui Cui said, “You really have to be careful. If there’s nothing wrong and you report a problem, the field team will make a trip for nothing and come back to give us trouble, right? They’re all ancestors—we can’t afford to offend them.”

　　Dylan Foster asked, “But what if you miss something that actually is a problem? Isn’t that even more serious?”

　　“That won’t happen. There aren’t that many real issues. Most of what’s online is like this,” Old Turner handed over his phone, pointing to a trending post on a forum, “The cases that really need the field team usually get referred to us from the police.”

　　Dylan Foster looked closely and saw the post was titled, “Help: I think my son isn’t my son anymore.”

　　What the hell?

　　Old Turner said, “Our department is all about not seeking merit, just avoiding mistakes. When Director Hudson was in charge, he’d remind us every day that our job is to resolve issues, never to create them. Whatever we do, we have to remember that principle.”

　　Dylan Foster suddenly felt he might not be cut out for this job—after all, he was a troublemaker registered at headquarters, and asking a troublemaker to smooth things over seemed a bit much.

　　Old Turner changed his tone and flattered him with a grin: “But, I don’t think you’ll be with us for long, Director Foster. You’re not an ordinary person, are you?”

　　As soon as he said this, the smile on Dylan Foster’s face vanished. He lifted his eyelids and looked at Old Turner.

　　He had a pair of atypical phoenix eyes that curved when he smiled. Because his expressions were always so lively, he always seemed to be hiding some mischief, often making people mistake his eyes for smiling ones. But now, as he looked over without a word or a smile, his true appearance was revealed. His eyelids were thin, the slightly upturned corners of his eyes held a barely noticeable mole, and when his face darkened, an indescribable, otherworldly aura appeared.

　　A chill suddenly ran down Old Turner’s spine. Before he could react, Director Foster leaned back in a lazy manner, winked at him, and that blade-like aura vanished as if it had never existed, as though it was all just his imagination.

　　Dylan Foster casually jabbed his thumb at his own chest: “Bro, what about me isn’t ordinary? Am I idol material or what?”

　　Old Turner: “……”

　　Emily Turner, though not blessed with much hair, was quick on the uptake. He immediately realized he’d asked something he shouldn’t have and hurriedly made his escape.

　　Dylan Foster, bored, took out his phone, connected to the plane’s wifi, and found the post Old Turner had shown him earlier.

　　The post basically said that the original poster’s kid used to be a total troublemaker—smoking, skipping school, hanging out at internet cafes all day. But recently, for no apparent reason, he’d turned over a new leaf, started attending school obediently, and even managed to rank in the middle of the class in the monthly exams. The surprise was so great that the mother couldn’t believe it, started overthinking, and suspected her son had been replaced by an impostor.

　　All the replies underneath were “Shills from internet addiction rehab schools, get lost.” After refreshing, the post was gone—probably reported and deleted.