In the 19th century, driven by steam-powered gears, history surged forward like a raging flood. As the pioneer of industry, Great Britain led the world. Its colonies spanned the globe—if you painted them red on a globe, it’d look like a rash covering the planet. That’s another story, though. Thus, sunlight always touched British soil, making it the Empire Where the Sun Never Sets. Rapid industrial growth brought problems. Incompletely burned coal spewed thin black smoke from towering chimneys. It veiled London—a city like a maiden—in a delicate shroud, deepening its mystery and romance. Beneath this mist, unspeakable things lurked: darkness, conspiracy, fear, death…

The first morning ray pierced the window, lighting up a small apartment. A playful sunspot crawled onto the bed, stabbing straight into someone’s eyes.

“Ugh…” Watson stretched, rubbing his chestnut-brown messy hair. Groggy and sleepy-eyed, his head felt like it’d been hit by a full-speed train—though obviously, it hadn’t. His head was still there.

Watson’s life felt like a tedious dream, day after day. He keenly felt time slipping away, powerless to stop it.

Anyway, life went on.

He slightly moved his stiff arm. Clearly, he had an old injury—a lingering effect from three months ago in Afghanistan. Yes, Watson was an army doctor. Or at least, he used to be.

Seriously ill, he’d been sent back to Britain. The generous government granted him nine months’ leave and 11 shillings 6 pence daily—enough for a decent London life. Alone in the city, he was free as air. But his allowance vanished in days. Watson knew he must change. Lately, he’d been hunting for a cheaper apartment. Rent here was too high; he needed value for money.

After a quick wash, he checked his tidy appearance in the mirror. He finished his landlady’s breakfast and set out. Moving stiffly, his injured shoulder whispered: take it easy.

The cold wind howled, making the church bell clang atop the Gothic spire. Like a sword, the church pierced the foggy sky. Pedestrians clutched their hats against the gale. Those too slow lost theirs to the ground. Watson fumbled—his black top hat flew off. Annoyed, he cursed his slow hand. Embarrassed, he saw a beautiful lady catch it.

“Sir, take your hat. Don’t lose it again~” she said lightly, teasing yet elegant. Watson finally studied her.

Veiled, she was undeniably stunning. Through the fabric, her faint features hinted at rare beauty—details hidden. Only golden hair spilled from her hat. Her slender, upright figure multiplied her charm. Watson’s face flushed red. He knew it was rude, but couldn’t help it…

“Th-thank you… beautiful lady. I’m Watson,” he forced out, complimenting her despite his blush. Shy around women, he was pure-hearted.

“I’m Moriarty, a university professor. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Watson.” Her gentle, elegant voice sounded like an angel guiding mortals to heaven.

“You’re Professor Moriarty?! Author of *Asteroid Dynamics*?!” Watson gasped. He knew she was female—but never expected such beauty.

He’d pictured a rigid, sharp-tongued old woman. This shattered his worldview. His slightly open mouth showed utter shock.

“Close your mouth, Mr. Watson. Though I understand the surprise,” Moriarty teased, reading his mind. Her mischievous gaze clashed with her Goddess-like grace—like Mars hitting Earth. Watson’s thoughts spiraled.

*Where’s the promised Goddess?!* his heart cried.

“Mr. Watson, I have matters to attend to. For academic questions, visit me at the university. Goodbye!” Her sudden words jolted him. When he snapped back, Moriarty was already gone.

Watson sighed, put on his hat, and walked stiffly onward. He headed to a pub for rental leads.

“Hm? Watson?!” A familiar voice cut through the crowd. Time had blurred his memory—his brain short-circuited…