Have You Gone Mad, Piaget!

"Heh." Having just woken up, Karen listened to Purr recount the events of the previous night. Only now did he realize how much his cat and dog had been up to while he slept. Holding the letter in his hand, Karen said, "So this is a secret gathering for remnants of the Church of Light?" Purr analyzed, "Which means the previous owner was almost certainly a believer of the Church of Light. He must have attended these secret gatherings many times before. It's just that he moved away, so the notice for the next meeting ended up in our hands." Karen shook his head. "Too much of a coincidence. I don't buy it." "Coincidences happen," Purr countered, flicking her tail. "He moved and didn't bother updating his forwarding address? The Church of Light isn't like the Church of the Mural God. The Church of the Mural God is only targeted by the Church of Order, but the Church of Light is an enemy hunted by the entire religious sphere today. "If someone moves, a letter gets dropped right into the hands of the next homeowner? With an operational system that sloppy, how has it survived at all?" "If this stupid dog's barking hadn't successfully lured that crow down, we wouldn't have gotten this notice either," Purr said. "The crow was capable of identifying its recipient. In fact, it peered at you through the window for quite a while last night and was already preparing to leave without delivering. "More importantly, the previous owner likely had no way to report up the chain of command from the bottom." Even with Purr's explanation, Karen remained unconvinced. He was an inherently cautious man. "Woof! Woof! Woof!" "What is he saying?" "He says the previous owner was probably just a peripheral believer—at most, maybe a God's Servant. Peripheral members have a lot of turnover because they aren't part of the core echelon at all. "Besides, with the remnants forced to proselytize entirely in secret nowadays, their core circle is naturally even smaller. "Also, I suspect the previous owner followed his son to the colonial plantation to spread the faith there. Colonies aren't covered by orthodox churches. Even though the locals have their own primitive beliefs, they're easier to erode, and there's far less surveillance." Karen gave the letter a slight shake and quietly looked up at the ceiling. "Karen, what are you looking at?" "I'm checking to see if anyone is watching us." "I think you might be overcomplicating things," Purr said. "For instance, the developer of this apartment complex is the Allen Consortium." "Perhaps I'm just suffering from persecution mania." "Woof! Woof! Woof!" "What is he saying now?" "He says your concern isn't unwarranted. So, what do you plan to do with that letter? Are you going to attend this secret gathering of the Church of Light?" Karen tossed the letter aside. "Only an idiot would go." With that, Karen got out of bed and went to freshen up. Once Karen left the bedroom, Purr immediately lowered her voice and hissed at the golden retriever, "You actually suggested having Alfred slaughter Alaye's entire family just to test whether this was a coincidence or a setup?!" The golden retriever looked at Purr, flattening its ears against its head. "I didn't translate for you just now because what you said was utterly brainless! Can't you learn something from that radio goblin and keep up with his refined taste?" The golden retriever whimpered twice and crawled back into its dog bed. "Still, since the two of us have nothing else to do at home right now, we can keep watch on our surroundings." The retriever instantly perked up and stood back up. "The focus shouldn't be on Alaye's family, though. Let's observe our neighbors in this building and any interesting people nearby. At the very least, we should get a clear picture of our own doorstep first. What do you think?" "Woof! Woof!" Hearing that, Purr's whiskers twitched slightly. "You're saying there's another possibility—that different people have constitutions that naturally attract different kinds of trouble? That because he is Karen, certain events will actively gravitate toward him in the guise of coincidences? "Oh heavens, I doubt Karen would like that explanation one bit. He definitely wouldn't appreciate having a trouble-magnet constitution." "Woof! Woof!" "You're saying... mortals summon gods, and gods selectively answer certain summons?" "Woof!" The retriever nodded excitedly. "Not bad," Purr remarked. "That's almost worthy of the radio goblin." *** After washing up, Karen changed into a slightly more formal set of clothes. Standing before the mirror, he neatly combed his hair to give himself a dignified look. Even so, the sheer handsomeness of this body meant that no matter how many solemn elements he layered on, it still carried a faint air of flirtatious charm. As he walked downstairs, he happened to see Alfred speaking with Hand before closing the front door. "Young Master, Jane had Hand bring us breakfast." "Good." The breakfast was hearty, though there were only two portions. Evidently, in ordinary people's eyes, cats and dogs didn't count as dining guests. Two chicken wraps, two griddle corn cakes, and a large bottle of warm milk. Taking a bite of a chicken wrap, Karen said in mild surprise, "The sauce is quite good." "If it earns your praise, Young Master, it must be exceptional." Instead of reaching for a wrap, Alfred picked up a corn cake, knowing his young master disliked the taste of corn. Karen finished both chicken wraps by himself and drank a large glass of milk. Matching his master's pace, Alfred swallowed the last bite of corn cake just as Karen finished the final sip of milk in his glass. "Where are you heading, Young Master?" Dressed like this, he was certainly going out. "Yesterday, I saw an opening announcement for a psychological clinic in the newspaper." "Are you planning to guide some poor lost souls, Young Master?" "The clinic's owner is Piaget." "Ah. A poor soul willing to pay a reasonable price." "I think I can find a job with him. Piaget is probably the only one who won't care about my academic credentials." "Understood. I'll go borrow the car from Alaye." "Doesn't he need it?" Karen asked. "He's taking Hand to a hospital in Sangpu City today to see an ear specialist. The whole family is taking the train and probably won't be back until tomorrow. It seems all his past savings went toward treating his son, and now, every time he closes a deal, he uses the commission to take his boy for another consultation." "All right, then." Alfred borrowed the car from Alaye, and Karen got inside. Alaye walked over and said to Alfred, "There's a fuel card for Mandal Gas Station in the glove compartment. If you run low, you can fill up there. "Good morning, Young Master Karen. Have a safe trip." "You too." The Adams Psychological Clinic was situated right in the center of downtown. Awkwardly, Karen found himself trapped in morning rush-hour traffic. The moment a window was rolled down, choking exhaust fumes poured in. Many drivers sat with their windows cracked, smoking cigarettes in an anxious yet practiced wait—perhaps feeling that tobacco smoke was preferable to the thick black exhaust. Karen rolled the window shut and rested his forehead against the glass. You would never see a scene like this in Rojia City. Rojia was more like a leisurely small town, but from the outside, York City already looked little different from the metropolises of his past life. "Young Master, next time you go to work, I'll drive you to the station first and take the tram with you instead." Karen nodded. "If Alaye hadn't needed to take his son to the doctor, he would have accompanied me to the used car market today to buy a vehicle. Young Master, you'll need to approve a budget for me. "Ten thousand riels will do—enough for something comparable to Alaye's car. There are cheaper options, of course, but they wouldn't be as comfortable to ride in." Karen nodded again. "Thank you, Young Master." Back in Rojia City, Alfred had been driving a limited-edition Santland. Traffic crawled forward, and Karen, who had set out at eight-thirty in the morning, finally reached his destination twenty minutes before eleven. The congestion was truly dreadful. In the Maklai language, "York" meant not only busy, but also "congested," earning York City its nickname: the City of Jams. Fortunately, a car pulled out of a roadside spot marked with white lines just as they arrived. Seizing the opportunity, Alfred swiftly maneuvered the car in, snatching the space. Otherwise, they would have had to hunt for an underground parking garage or circle endlessly to find street parking. Stepping out of the car, Karen rolled his neck. He was now standing beneath the Saint Torr Building, where Piaget's clinic was located. When Karen turned around and looked at the bustling building across the street, his eyes narrowed slightly. "The Curtis Building." "Young Master, the Curtis Building is an old landmark in York City. Many films have shot scenes there," Alfred introduced. "Wait, what a coincidence." During the traffic jam, Karen had told Alfred about what happened the previous night. "Young Master, should I go investigate inside that building?" "No need. Pretend we never saw it." Karen had zero reason to meddle in the affairs of the Church of Light's remnants. Even though Rasma's guarantee allowed him to resume correspondence and contact with his family, it didn't mean his identity could bear the light of day. "Let's head up to the clinic first. I'm afraid they'll be breaking for lunch soon." Karen led Alfred into the Saint Torr Building. Piaget's clinic was on the twenty-first floor. Entering the elevator, Karen stood in the corner while Alfred shielded him to maintain some space. The elevator stopped repeatedly as people filed in and out. Recalling the gridlock on the road earlier, Karen felt a sudden rush of familiarity—it took him back to the days before he started his own business in his previous life. That sensation was like being a fish without gills, forced to swim beneath the surface without pause. A few fish mastered a form of artistic expression, allowing them to lead others above the surface to breathe in fresh air. That was why many artists created their greatest masterpieces when they were poor and ordinary. Once they had spent too long ashore, they forgot what it felt like to suffocate beneath the water. *Ding...* The twenty-first floor arrived. Alfred parted the crowd ahead of Karen, guiding him out of the elevator. At the clinic's front desk stood two attractive young women in business attire. "Hello, sir. Do you have an appointment?" Karen replied, "Please contact Mr. Adams for me. His father sent me to deliver something to him. My name is Karen." A white lie could often save a great deal of trouble, avoiding exchanges like *I'm sorry, sir, you cannot enter without an appointment*, or having to say, *I'm Piaget's friend, call him out to see me.* "Certainly, sir." The receptionist dialed an extension. A moment later, she smiled at Karen. "Our boss is currently in a meeting. Miss Bertha asks that you wait in the office for a short while. I'll take you in." Led by the receptionist, Karen and Alfred entered the clinic. The interior was quiet, yet a sense of bustle was palpable. There were numerous doctors and a queue of waiting "clients." The owner's office was at the very back, fronted by a secretary's desk. "Hello, Mr. Karen? Right this way, please." The secretary opened the office door. Karen stepped inside, while Alfred remained outside. "Please, have a seat. Would you care for coffee or tea?" "Ice water." "Of course, I'll bring it right over." Two walls of the office featured floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a wonderful view. Karen couldn't help walking over to admire the scenery. In his past life, he had also owned a clinic, but it hadn't been on Piaget's scale, nor had he possessed such a lavish office. Just then, the door pushed open. "Hello, Mr. Karen. Here is your ice water." It was a different female voice. Karen turned around to see a woman in a black uniform. Her hair was smooth and sleek, her demeanor poised and natural. Most strikingly, she looked remarkably like Linda. Handing the water to Karen, she smiled. "Hello, Mr. Karen. My name is Bertha, Mr. Adams's personal assistant." Karen took the ice water, looked at Bertha, and couldn't help letting out a smile. "May I ask what you're smiling at?" Karen shook his head. Inwardly, he could only marvel: *Trust you to be this wild, Piaget. Cross-dressing in your own clinic now, are we?* "Allow me to hang up your coat." Bertha walked behind Karen to help him take it off. Since Karen was holding the glass of water, he could only raise his arms. As she unbuttoned his chest, however, Karen was startled to feel her fingertips deliberately trace a few gentle circles against his chest. Karen was certain it was intentional. A wave of deep, chilling discomfort washed over him. *Piaget, you're taking this a bit too far.* Passing the glass from his left hand to his right, Karen slipped out of his sleeves, and the coat came off. Bertha went to hang it up. "Please have a seat." Karen sat down on the sofa. Bertha sat down naturally beside him, crossing a pair of legs clad in black stockings beneath her uniform skirt. "Could you tell me why the elder gentleman sent you to see the boss?" "I'm sorry, I can't." "That's quite all right. You're far too polite." Bertha shifted her legs, recrossing them. Karen looked away. Back at Allen Manor, giving Eunice a foot massage had felt warm and relaxing, but facing these legs now, he felt an instinctive aversion—even a touch of revulsion. He wanted Bertha to hurry out, claiming she would go prompt the boss, quickly change out of her costume, and then Piaget would walk back in, give him a normal hug, catch up, and finally offer him a job here. So Karen urged, "Could you please check on Mr. Adams again? My business is quite urgent." *Hurry up and change back into a man, my friend.* "The boss's meeting is very important—he's discussing development plans with investors. It should wrap up shortly, though. By the way, Mr. Karen, do you dislike me?" "No, I'm just somewhat shy and introverted. I'm not good at interacting with young women, especially beautiful ones like you." "No, that's not it. I also have a background in psychology. Your micro-expressions tell me that deep down, you're repulsed by me. Could you tell me why? Did I do something wrong to offend you?" Bertha stood up and stepped directly in front of Karen. She didn't bother pulling down her skirt, which had ridden up from sitting. Instead, she spread her arms generously and leaned forward. Not only did the black floral lace at the top of her stockings come into view, but her cleavage was also fully exposed. Karen felt an overwhelming urge to rinse his eyes. *Good grief, Piaget, are you padding your chest now too?!* "Or perhaps..." Miss Bertha asked bluntly, as though she were purely conducting an objective academic inquiry and ignoring all boundaries between the sexes, "your preference doesn't lie with women?" As she spoke, she leaned closer, resting her hands on Karen's knees and inching them upward, thoroughly provocative, as if trying to verify her hypothesis. Karen sighed. Dissociative identity disorder was never as cool as it sounded. In reality, its consequences could be devastating. Once an alternate personality split off, it wouldn't act like a pet, coming and going at your beck and call. From the moment it emerged, it was like an infant, beginning to grow and enrich itself. Don't imagine that after losing your wife, creating a split personality of her makes for a beautiful love story. That personality would gradually evolve and develop on its own. You might end up arguing, falling out of love, or she might even end up cheating on you... Of course, she would still be using your body to do it. Karen had initially assumed Piaget, being a professional, would keep himself reasonably under control. But now, it seemed Piaget was completely lost. As a friend, Karen felt obligated to wake him up. Or perhaps it was just as Alfred had said after breakfast: *A poor soul willing to pay a reasonable price.* It looked like he was about to earn another therapy fee from Piaget. Karen reached out with both hands and gripped Bertha's wrists. Pulled forward, Bertha stumbled right into his space. Karen looked at her intently and said with utter gravity: "Listen to me. I need you to sober up right now, and I need you to understand exactly what you are doing. I believe the real you will regret what you just said and did. "So, please regain your senses at once, and I will help you with systematic treatment!" "Mr. Karen, do you have violent tendencies? Do you enjoy private, extreme acts of violence?" Bertha wore a scholarly smile, as if she had uncovered Karen's secret inclination. "Still, you are far too handsome. The moment I laid eyes on you, I couldn't resist wanting to get close. I promise you, I'm willing to offer myself for your therapy, and I'll treat you in return. We can treat each other together—how does that sound?" Right then, a knock sounded at the office door. Karen released his grip, and Bertha immediately straightened up, quickly smoothing her skirt and adjusting her collar. The door swung open, and the person who walked in was Piaget himself! Seeing Karen seated on the sofa, Piaget opened his arms wide and hurried over in excitement. "Karen! When the secretary told me, I was wondering if it was just someone with the same name. I never dreamed it was really you! Hahaha! My good friend, it's so wonderful to see you here!" Piaget pulled Karen into an embrace, then turned with a grin to introduce her: "This is Bertha, my personal assistant." Bertha put on a professional, polite smile. Piaget clapped Karen on the arm. "Well? What do you think? I was startled when I first interviewed her too. Doesn't she look remarkably like Linda?" "..." Karen.