She is a natural disaster.

Chapter 14 Aftermath of Murder

The rest of the journey was smooth and the three returned safely to their apartment on Yanhe Avenue.

Feeling depressed, Rupert went to treat his injuries first, while Anastasia went upstairs with Mike.

The two stood quietly in the elevator, neither of them speaking. Anastasia did not ask Mike about his thoughts, and Mike did not ask Anastasia why she gave him the opportunity to choose.

With a series of clattering sounds, the elevator stopped on the eighth floor of the riverside apartment building.

The metal gate swung open with a clatter, and Mike stepped out of the elevator first, having recovered from the fear of the attack.

Anastasia followed them out of the elevator, the gate slamming shut behind her. She stepped onto the thick carpet and walked familiarly into the depths of the corridor.

After passing through one gleaming wooden door after another, the two stopped at the same time.

Mike, standing in front of his house, took out his key. His hand was steady, and the key went into the lock in no time.

With a soft click, Mike opened the door and went in first, followed closely by Anastasia, even though Mike did not invite her in.

The apartment is very spacious, with thick carpets covering the floors. The decor is exquisite, with all kinds of furniture that look expensive at a glance. Above the magnificent marble fireplace hangs a gilded mirror.

What caught Anastasia's attention was a row of violin cases in one corner of the living room; judging from the size of the cases, all four types of violins were represented.

"You play the violin?" Anastasia asked.

"No," Mike said.

Even though he can't play the violin, there's a row of violins in his house. I don't know what Mike is up to.

Anastasia was about to get her violin when she heard a knock on the door in the apartment, so she had to turn around and head towards the front door.

"Is it you?"

The person knocking on the door was the mysterious transcendent who lived next door.

"It's me," the man said. His voice was magnetic and gave off a trustworthy aura. He continued, "Is Mike alright?"

"I was just a little frightened, but it's nothing serious. I'll be fine after a good night's sleep," Anastasia said. "What about you? I bet you've run into some trouble, a really tough one."

Although tonight's attack was sudden, it was actually foreshadowed; otherwise, Bill Montagu would not have had the opportunity to ask Father Lawrence for help.

Therefore, the Transcendentalist, who likes to maintain an air of mystery, must have known that an attack was going to happen, and he couldn't possibly not be paying attention to Mike's movements.

This is easily verifiable. Anastasia and Mike had just entered the room when he came over, which is enough to show that he had been keeping an eye on Mike's movements and knew that Mike had been attacked that night.

"It's really troublesome. He's been harassing me and preventing me from leaving the apartment," the mysterious man said. "Luckily, you're here, Miss Angel."

Mike didn't have a clear understanding of the Beyonder's strength, while Rupert did, but he severely underestimated Anastasia. Only the mysterious man outside the door had a clear understanding of her.

"You're exaggerating. I was paid," Anastasia said. "You paid me, and I protected Mike. It's a fair trade."

Mike looked at Anastasia with slight surprise, not expecting his mysterious bodyguard to be so polite to her.

"A deal is a deal, and gratitude is gratitude," said the mysterious man outside the door. "Next time I see the priest, I will thank him as well."

Mike, unable to get a word in edgewise, was even more surprised; it seemed he had misunderstood something.

"I've already told Bill about tonight's events," the mysterious man outside the door continued. "He wants to meet with you when the time is right."

"No problem," Anastasia agreed. "I'm also very curious to know what kind of mess he got into."

The mysterious man outside the door chuckled helplessly and said, "You wouldn't want to know, but the mess he's made might change your perspective. Alright, I'm leaving now."

The mysterious man came and went in a hurry; it seemed he had only come to deliver a few words.

Anastasia turned and went back to the spacious living room, where she saw Mike staring at her intently, his expression somewhat complicated.

"Did you hit your head? Why are you staring at me like that?" Anastasia asked. "Should I call a doctor, dear Mike?"

As she spoke, Anastasia looked at Mike with loving eyes again.

"Were you sent by the priest?" Mike asked. "Not by the old man?"

Although both arrangements were mandatory, the priest's arrangement was more acceptable than the old man's; Mike Montagu was somewhat hypocritical.

"To be precise, it was old Mr. Montague who found the old geezer, and the old geezer who found me," Anastasia replied. "You can think of the old geezer as a middleman."

Although the two disliked each other somewhat, they were quite in sync on this matter.

One person called his own father "old man," while another called a highly respected priest "old geezer."

"Could I use your bathroom?" Anastasia asked. "I smell really bad, I need to clean myself up."

Mike nodded; it was just a matter of using the restroom, there was no reason to object.

Seeing Mike nod in agreement, Anastasia immediately headed towards the bathroom located on one side of the living room, saying as she went, "You'd better clean yourself up too, unless you like the smell of a corpse."

Upon hearing this, Mike instinctively stood up abruptly, rushed into the bedroom, and then into another bathroom located inside the bedroom.

Young Master Montagu quickly stripped off his clothes and scrubbed his body with great effort, but no matter how much he rubbed and rinsed, he felt that the stench of death had not been washed away.

The sound of running water was incessant, and the washroom was filled with steam and a light mist.

Mike continued rinsing and scrubbing; his fingers and toes were already wrinkled, but he could still smell the stench of the corpse.

After an unknown amount of time, Mike finally gave up struggling and stopped scrubbing his skin with all his might. He walked to the mirror and looked at himself in the mirror.

Mike Montagu was startled by his reflection in the mirror.

He saw a smile on his face in the mirror that was hard to decipher, even though he wasn't actually smiling.

Mike rubbed his eyes hard, then looked in the mirror again. Everything seemed normal, but his reflection was pale and looked quite disheveled.

It was only then that the shadow of killing someone with his own hands gripped his mind.

Panicked, Mike trembled as he turned on the tap, letting the rushing water wash over his hands again and again.

After a while, Mike started rubbing his hands vigorously again, as if they weren't his own, as if he wanted to wash them until they were torn apart.

After an unknown amount of time, Mike gave up struggling again, walked out of the bathroom dejectedly, and returned to the living room.

"You took much less time than I expected," Anastasia's voice rang out in the living room. "That's good. Your mental fortitude has improved; you're much stronger than when you were attacked earlier."

Upon hearing this, Mike looked at Anastasia, then immediately turned his head away.

Anastasia's old habit had resurfaced; she was standing in front of a gilded mirror, wiping her long, black hair with a towel.

However, the private detective, who had no concept of gender, was dressed too lightly; she was only wearing an ill-fitting white shirt, Mike's white shirt.

"Angel!"

Mike took a deep breath and continued, "I'm a man in my early twenties!"

Anastasia stopped what she was doing, turned to look at Mike, and said disdainfully, "I really don't think much of your skills."

It is extremely harmful and highly insulting.

Mike, whose abilities were being questioned, turned his back to Anastasia and said, "There are other clothes in the closet, or I can have someone bring up a set... There are differences between men and women."

Although young Master Montague has simple and unpretentious hobbies, he is not the kind of villain who bullies men and women.

"Instead of sending clothes over, we should get someone to dispose of the corpses on the street," Anastasia said nonchalantly. "Guess how the newspapers will report it this time—still about a gang war?"

After Anastasia's reminder, young Master Montague remembered that there were still four corpses lying on the street. He quickly went to the phone and made a call.

Gloria is a city where heaven and hell coexist. The new town has electric lights and telephones in every building, but the people living in the old town still use old-fashioned lighting tools such as candles, oil lamps and gas lamps.

Anastasia ignored what Mike was saying on the phone and continued drying her hair. Once her hair was no longer wet, she went back to the row of violin cases.

A few minutes later, Mike hung up the phone and saw Anastasia squatting in front of the violin case, her dark eyes fixed on the violin.

"May I borrow it for a moment?"

"It's best not to move around."

Mike said it was best not to move around, but Anastasia heard him say that as long as she didn't move around, that was fine.

Since young master Montague had extended such a warm invitation, Miss Angel could not refuse. She opened the violin case and took out the well-maintained violin.

Soon, an extremely unpleasant sound rang out in the apartment, like someone sawing wood in the middle of the night.

Mike wanted to stop Anastasia from continuing to disturb the peace, but after thinking about it, he decided against it. Firstly, her clothing was too thin and revealing, and secondly, she was, after all, his savior, so he decided to let her be.

The hoarse, cacophonous sound lasted for a minute or two. Mike, who had been covering his ears with his fingers, suddenly lowered them. Although the notes from the violin were still out of tune, they were no longer the harsh sound of sawing wood.

A minute or two later, the harsh, noisy piano music disappeared, replaced by a beautiful, dreamlike melody.

The music was mournful, sad but not tragic, conveying both regret and melancholy, as well as a longing for a better future.

Mike envisioned a wedding scene: no grand banquet, just the two of them dancing gracefully in the church, the setting sun casting its glow upon their beloved—a scene both dreamlike and ethereal.

As the last note faded away, Mike felt a sense of loss, as if he were waking up from a dream he didn't want to wake up from.

"What's the name of this piece?" Mike asked, having never heard it before.

Mike Montagu wouldn't dare say he's particularly artistic, but in his opinion, this piece shouldn't be unknown; it should be remembered for generations.

"Hmm..." Anastasia tilted her head and thought for a while, "A wedding in a dream."

"It's a nice name, but it sounds a bit sad," Mike commented.

No wonder he imagined a church wedding with only two people, no wonder he felt lost and empty. The wedding in his dream was like a dream, but it was just a beautiful dream that he didn't want to wake up from.

"Consider this piece a gift from me to you and that young woman, a tribute to your unfulfilled love that ended before it even began."

Mike stared wide-eyed at Anastasia, who was dressed simply.

What a terrible song! It's awful! And what a lousy name! It's absolutely awful!