Before Christmas, Catherine, who hadn't been home in a while, returned to Oxford. She lounged lazily on the couch, texting while absentmindedly chatting with her mother. Growing impatient waiting for her brother, Catherine finally asked, "Where's John?"

　　"He said he has to discuss a project with his advisor and won't be coming home tonight," Mrs. Huntington said, sounding a bit down.

　　"Since when does John care about his studies? Last year, he was all set to drop out. Has he come around? Is he finally ready to take over the family business?" Catherine asked with a mischievous grin.

　　"I don’t think John is staying away because he's hitting the books. I ran into Rachel recently and asked about John's situation at Oxford. She was all evasive and didn’t say much. Rachel's been acting strange too. She used to rush over as soon as you got home, sticking to you like glue, practically wanting to move in. But she hasn’t set foot in our house for the last six months. Did you have a falling out with Rachel?" Mrs. Huntington asked cautiously.

　　Catherine caught the underlying tone. She suddenly sat up and snapped, "Rachel sticking to me? You know very well she's here for my brother."

　　“Is your brother still getting along with Rachel?” Mrs. Huntington asked, seizing the opportunity.

　　Her mother’s constant talk about John was like a persistent thorn in Catherine’s side. She had always been the less favored child in the family. Despite being twins, her status as a girl left her feeling like a mere substitute for John. John was the apple of their grandfather’s eye. Any casual remark John made about his preferences before Christmas would be subtly noted by their grandfather. Come Christmas Day, John would inevitably receive the three gifts he mentioned the most. Catherine, on the other hand, would get the usual pretty dresses, shiny jewelry, and lovely dolls. While she adored these gifts, her sensitive nature allowed her to discern the difference between heartfelt attention and mere formality. Her grandfather's special care for John always sparked intense jealousy in her.

　　Moreover, Catherine’s only close friend during her teenage years, Rachel, who seemed inseparable from her, was actually using her as a cover to get close to John. When John had tensions with the family, Catherine had to act as a spy, reporting his every move to their mother. Sometimes, she even had to be the thankless messenger. The elders only cared about what John thought, did, or would become. No one paid any attention to her. The family business had nothing to do with her; John was the chosen one, the one they invested all their energy in cultivating. Her gender had excluded her from any right of inheritance from the moment she was born. Despite her privileged upbringing and never lacking materially, there was always a lingering sense of resentment and unfairness in her heart.

　　When John started middle school, he was sent to the prestigious Eton College, while Catherine attended a private girls' school nearby. After high school, John was predictably accepted into Oxford University, even though he wasn't keen on it. Meanwhile, Catherine, who wasn’t as favored by the family, was allowed to attend art school in London. This was the first time she experienced the upside of not being the chosen one—she could follow her own path. Yet, what she missed growing up needed to be compensated for in adulthood—Catherine wanted to be the center of attention, and at least in London, among her self-styled artist friends, she always was.

　　Catherine couldn't hide her jealousy. "I rarely come home, and all you do is talk about John. Don't you ever think about me?"

　　"Alright, let's not talk about John. How's your fashion boutique in London doing?" Seeing her daughter’s displeasure, Mrs. Huntington changed the subject.

　　Catherine couldn't contain her excitement. She had been waiting for her mother to ask about her boutique since she got home. "I haven't had any business in three months; I was really worried. But yesterday, someone came into the shop and ordered costumes for a new production at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. He said he really appreciated my Tudor-style designs. Guess how many he wants? Thirty sets, plus stage drapery. That'll keep us busy for a while."

　　"You only come home when you have good news to share."

　　"If I hadn't made a single sale, wouldn't you just scold me when I got home?" Catherine, who had always felt underappreciated, finally had a chance to brag in front of her mother.

　　"Am I really that harsh in your eyes?"

　　"Compared to how you treat John, you're an angel to me." Catherine walked over to her mother and kissed her cheek. The money to open the boutique on Bond Street had been entirely funded by her mother. Due to the poor business, Catherine had conveniently forgotten about repaying the loan, and so far, her mother had also covered the renewal rent. Catherine’s kiss was half gratitude, half flattery. Although she wasn't exceptionally intelligent, she was more perceptive than her brother. She could easily distinguish between dreamers and those who could make things happen, and she knew who to befriend to get benefits. However, her heartfelt words of appreciation left Mrs. Huntington feeling somewhat disheartened.

　　Mrs. Huntington's sharp intuition had her questioning John and Rachel's odd behavior, so she walked into Wallace Private Detective Agency with a heavy heart.

　　“Please let Mr. Harrison Wallace know I’m here,” she told the receptionist.

　　The receptionist responded politely, “Madam, Mr. Wallace has been expecting you.”

　　Hearing this, Wallace quickly got up and closed the window. Despite shivering from the cold, he had aired out the room two hours before Mrs. Huntington’s arrival, knowing she couldn't stand the smell of smoke.

　　Mrs. Huntington wore a long black cashmere coat and a round hat pulled low over her face. A pair of dark brown glasses sat on her straight nose, although Oxford’s winter hardly required sunglasses. Today, she had driven herself without any attendants. As she entered the agency, she quickly scanned the office. The walls and ceiling were lined with soundproof panels, making the space feel a bit claustrophobic. Two years had passed, and the office layout was still the same, much to her satisfaction—Wallace was a no-nonsense guy, putting his money into high-end surveillance equipment rather than flashy decor. His business had been doing well recently, gaining a reputation among the upper class, yet he remained discreet and tight-lipped, a true detective.

　　Wallace’s appearance was as unremarkable as the decor of his office—he was the type to blend into a crowd unnoticed, which was a unique advantage in his line of work. Only the extensive collection of various portable and easily concealed cameras and night vision goggles on the wall hinted at his hidden, secretive profession.

　　He once dreamed of becoming a full-time cop, the kind who cracks criminal cases and catches the bad guys. But then the government cut budgets and police jobs, raising the hiring standards to require a formal college degree. He wasn't cut out for academic life and only had a community college diploma, so his dream was put on hold.

　　But he didn’t give up. After working as a paparazzo for a third-rate tabloid for five years, he saved enough money to open his own private detective agency. In the beginning, he helped people find lost pets, track down ex-boyfriends who had run off with money, locate runaway teenagers, and trace partners who had vanished with debts. Mostly, these were cases that the police wouldn’t or couldn’t handle.

　　More often, he gathered evidence of infidelity or tracked down illegitimate children. Wallace discovered that a woman's intuition was frighteningly accurate; their suspicions were always confirmed by his evidence. He once had a couple, experiencing the seven-year itch, simultaneously hire him to investigate each other's affairs, only to find out the husband was projecting his own guilt. There was also a man who suspected his wife of cheating, only to find out his two sons were actually his biological brothers.

　　Wallace once turned down a client, a rotund man who had to turn sideways to enter his office. The man, who Wallace nicknamed "The Sphere," broke a chair the moment he sat down. "The Sphere" was convinced his neighbor had poisoned his beloved dog and had even brought the dog's corpse for investigation. Unsurprisingly, the dog was as round and plump as its owner. "The Sphere" vividly described how the neighbor was antisocial and hated dogs but failed to mention he fed his dog the same junk food he ate himself. After being rejected, "The Sphere" accused Wallace of lacking compassion for animals.

　　Some clients presented their speculations—what they called deductions—with great confidence, yet extracting any useful information from them was difficult. When discussing the actual case, their logic fell apart, and their words became incoherent, offering no help to the investigation. Wallace figured this was why their lives never improved, with one problem following another. They overthought everything but never focused on what really mattered.

　　To drum up business initially, Wallace charged half his fee upfront, collecting the rest upon completing the investigation. However, if his findings didn't match the client's expectations, they accused him of not putting in enough effort. Even when he provided a clear, irrefutable chain of evidence, clients would argue that since nothing suspicious was found, the investigation was unnecessary, and therefore, he shouldn't be paid the remaining balance. These bizarre attitudes led Wallace to swear off taking commissions from unreasonable clients in the future.

　　Dealing with broke clients was a nightmare he preferred to forget. The more outrageous cases he encountered, the sharper his skills became. Over time, he transformed from a novice paparazzo into a detective with keen deductive abilities. Once he had firmly established himself in Oxford's private detective scene, Wallace no longer stooped to taking jobs from the lower classes. Now, he enjoyed a steady stream of high-end clientele.

　　The aristocracy values reputation and tradition. Compared to the potential damage of a scandal, hiring a private detective to investigate and nip potential threats in the bud is the wiser choice. They act decisively and speak little, but every word hits the mark. Wallace noticed a pattern: clients who rambled on at the start rarely brought significant cases. The fewer words the client spoke, the bigger the case; the harder the investigation, the more rewarding the fee.

　　Wallace took out his finest tea and premium mineral water, expertly brewing tea for Mrs. Huntington while warmly inquiring about her well-being. Now, his clients were either wealthy or powerful, generous and never haggling over prices. One big case's profit was worth twenty minor ones.

　　After some small talk, Mrs. Huntington got to the point. "I want you to investigate who my son John has been seeing lately."

　　"You mean a romantic relationship?"

　　Though clients usually hesitated to reveal their true intentions to a private detective, Wallace, well-versed in human nature, could always accurately gauge Mrs. Huntington's intentions. After all, Colin Huntington was a regular client of the agency.

　　Mrs. Huntington paused for a moment before reluctantly admitting, "I suppose so."

　　"Happy to be of service, madam." Wallace bowed slightly, responding with polite confidence.

　　He considered himself far superior to the paparazzi who camped outside celebrities' homes, priding himself as a modern-day Sherlock Holmes uncovering the truth. He was confident that his evidence had frequently changed the course of events, as his new clients often came through referrals—a testament to his skill and effectiveness.

　　After a month of discreet investigation, Wallace arranged a meeting with Mrs. Huntington. "For the past six months, a woman named Shen Liyan has been seeing your son."

　　Harrison Wallace spread out the surveillance photos on the table. Most of them showed John and Liyan entering or leaving the library.

　　“She’s Chinese, studying here on a state scholarship,” Wallace said.

　　“She’s John’s classmate?” Mrs. Huntington asked.

　　“Yes, they’re in the same lab, both under Professor David Li.”

　　“Chinese.” Mrs. Huntington’s tone held a hint of disdain. “Can you find out more about her? Her background in China, her social history, and who she’s been interacting with since arriving in the UK?”

　　“She appears normal,” Wallace replied. “At least from the month I’ve been following her, she’s like any other foreign student.”

　　“I don’t care about ‘appears,’” Mrs. Huntington cut him off impatiently. “I need a full account of her history in China and every detail of her activities since she’s been here.”

　　Wallace was puzzled by Mrs. Huntington’s extreme wariness of a Chinese exchange student. He remembered John’s previous relationship with a Slovakian girl. As soon as Wallace completed his background check on her and reported it to Mrs. Huntington, John had broken up with the girl. With so many international students at Oxford, it wasn’t unusual for someone like John to date an Asian girl for a change, though these relationships rarely lasted. Wallace thought Mrs. Huntington was being overly cautious, but she was always generous. He decided to oblige her and said, “I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll thoroughly investigate Shen Liyan’s background. You can trust me.”

　　After conducting a more thorough investigation, Wallace presented his report to Mrs. Huntington two weeks later.

　　[Investigation Report (original in English): Shen Liyan, born in 1975 in Shanghai. Her father, Shen Guohao, is a civil engineer; her mother, Lu Yun, is a high school teacher. She has a younger brother who is in high school. She attended primary, middle, and high school in Shanghai, and studied archaeology at Peking University. She came to the UK on a scholarship for her top grades. Her social circle is straightforward, consisting mainly of teachers and classmates.]

　　Shen Liyan’s background was as ordinary and unremarkable as a tree with only a trunk and no branches. As Wallace had expected, Liyan didn’t seem to warrant Mrs. Huntington’s intense scrutiny. He subtly suggested that, despite Mrs. Huntington’s sharp intuition, she might have been overreacting this time. After Wallace reassured her several times that Shen Liyan was entirely clean, Mrs. Huntington’s tension finally eased.