Chapter 52: Futailan - Two People Waiting by the Stump

Fulan was still sitting on the hood of the car, casting a glance at the newcomer before turning his head away without getting out.

"... Could it be that the person on the boat belongs to your family?"

"Don't talk nonsense."

Chisi Munro acted as though he had no awareness whatsoever that his car was parked right in the middle of the road—though few cars ever used the road leading to the private pier ahead, especially in the dead of night. Fulan's wish that a police car might happen to pass by and slap him with a fine was destined to remain unfulfilled for now.

"If the one trading with Wesile were us, do you really think I'd let you sit here?"

"Then where would you have me sit? On Keronan's chair?"

Fulan retorted verbally, though an irrepressible irritation churned inside him.

... How on earth did he find out?

Wesile's transaction tonight had been concealed from the entire city of Blackmoor. Fulan had acted on unexpectedly acquired intelligence less than an hour ago, making a last-minute decision to deploy his steps, and even he had only just arrived here—where in the world did this guy catch the scent and trail behind like a hyena?

He desperately wanted to know, but he loathed asking even more.

Wearing a gloomy expression and falling silent for a moment, Fulan suddenly let out a cold laugh. "... So it was Golden Carp Roslin. Is anyone even willing to board that sinking ship of yours? She'd better not think about changing allegiance later."

"Oh? You figured that out on your own?" Chisi asked. "Without the help of a tutor?"

In truth, there was still a part he hadn't figured out—for instance, even if Golden Carp Roslin knew their location, how did Chisi know that Wesile was conducting a transaction with a third party? Yet, no matter what, Fulan could not bring himself to ask now.

Anyway, once this man caught even the faintest clue, he would bite down and never let go. He had truly chosen the wrong profession; he should have been a snapping turtle.

Fulan only cared to ask one thing: "Does it still feel good being a dog to your godfather?"

Chisi didn't get angry at all; he offered a smile, a flash of white teeth gleaming in the night.

"It feels a bit better than having a biological father who's a dog."

"... The hunters' business has nothing to do with you. You wouldn't understand. Go back."

"How could that do? After you mess things up, an adult always has to clean up the mess." Chisi stared at him, lowering his head with a chuckle. "... Aren't you used to this sort of thing by now?"

Fulan had never paid attention to the color of Chisi's eyes; but at this moment, Chisi's eyes resembled a pair of inkstones radiating a hard luster in the gloom, deeply sunken beneath his brow ridges as if they were swallowing the surrounding night.

Compared to humans, he sometimes felt closer to the Residents—clearly standing right there in Blackmoor City, Chisi seemed to cast a long, Resident-like shadow upon the ground.

Perhaps precisely because of this lingering sensation in his heart, as Chisi took a step closer, Fulan found his own body gradually tightening.

Though he did so without conscious intent, he imperceptibly shifted his angle bit by bit, trying his best to face him squarely, every muscle primed and coiled like a spring for a sudden leap.

Longzhen was stationed further back on the road to coordinate personnel and set up the perimeter, leaving only him here.

If a conflict with Chisi were to break out right here...

"Don't be nervous. If I wanted to make a move, your guard wouldn't do you any good." Chisi lifted his chin toward Fulan's hand. "Just bumming a light."

"No fire."

Cursing inwardly, Fulan glanced at the burning paper roll in his hand—let him try making fire by rubbing sticks together then. "You should clear out right now."

"Oh?"

"The person trading with Wesile hasn't gotten off the ship yet."

Fulan slammed the paper roll down onto the ground, entirely abandoning his teenage temper and drawing upon a lifetime of patience just to say: "Your car is blocking the middle of the road, sticking out right here like some more conspicuous version of the Loch Ness Monster. What do you want a fire for? To shoot flare guns at them and tell them not to come out?"

Most hunters in Blackmoor City knew that if they were driving in the dead of night and suddenly caught sight of Chisi standing in the glare of their headlights, trouble was about to begin.

"Afraid I'll ruin your operation?" Chisi turned his head to look down the road leading to the pier, saying, "I am a very reasonable person."

Fulan swallowed back a sarcastic retort.

"If I knew it might ruin something of yours, I certainly wouldn't keep standing in the middle of the road."

... Unwilling as he was to admit it, Chisi Munro had reached his current standing in the hunter's world without any Passages, and it wasn't entirely because he was willing to act as his foster father's dog.

Just as Carter Morgan had said, "Where there is an agenda, there are actions"; the moment a person acted, they left traces behind.

Employing his turtle-like innate talents, Chisi had sniffed out an unusual scent from the Morgan family's movements tonight—in other words, his target wasn't just Wesile's trading partner; he was also probing the intentions and plans of the Morgan family.

To think deeper on it, he might even have been keeping his eyes on the Morgan family for quite some time.

He truly would make a good hunter.

Which was precisely why he must never be allowed to have a Passage.

"This matter has nothing to do with the Ke family."

Fulan's face went cold as he said, "Someone stole the Morgan family's business, and we are cleaning up the trash. It's a family affair. Think carefully: does the Ke family really need to stick their nose into this tonight?"

"Rubbish."

Chisi looked out toward the distant pier. "When you first saw me just now, didn't you ask whether the person on the boat belonged to the Ke family? That proves you don't even know who's on that boat."

How could Fulan possibly let himself be caught in such a flaw in logic?

"Are you out on the streets for the first time? If he dares to cross us, naturally someone is backing him from behind. The moment I followed him here, you happened to show up as well." He sneered. "Since when are there so many coincidences in this world? Of course I had to ask."

Chisi looked at Fulan with a blank expression—it seemed even he was harboring a trace of uncertainty.

"That makes a lot of sense."

Yet, after a moment's thought, Chisi's next words were: "Too bad, even if you claimed to be a human being, I'd still need to see the autopsy report before I'd believe it."

Fulan instantly leaped off the hood, bypassed Chisi, and yanked open the driver's side door.

"Then stay here and prop up the road," he said. "I'd like to see what kind of result you manage to prop up."

The car door slammed shut with a bang, cutting off whatever response the other might have had.

Though Chisi's presence introduced an unpredictable variable, tonight's situation remained firmly under the Morgan family's control.

First, with Fulan keeping watch nearby, Chisi wouldn't be able to snatch the trading target away.

Second, even if the target spotted Chisi and turned tail to run, the hunters and helicopters Fulan had deployed nearby could still latch onto the individual and smoke out his identity—it added a few twists, but it also drew them away from the pier, making it less likely to alert Wesile.

Even if Wesile grew suspicious later, everything could be pinned on the Ke family... and even the target himself would believe that the ones hunting him down were the Ke family.

So, viewed from another angle, Chisi's appearance was actually a good thing: he served as a decoy and a screen for the Morgan family.

That being said, making a seventeen-year-old swallow this stifling frustration docilely and quietly was asking a bit too much of Fulan.

He glanced outside through the half-rolled-down window.

Chisi had already walked back to the middle of the road—his tall, silhouetted figure was leaning against the hood of the black Mercedes, arms crossed, seemingly determined to turn tonight's deck into a chaotic mess of cards.

Regardless of what he planned to do next, for now, both of them could only wait.

The dark night fell quiet once more as they gazed into the distant lights upon the sea.

After a moment, Fulan instinctively patted his trouser pocket, only to remember that his last paper cigarette had been tossed onto the ground just moments ago.

For once, he hesitated: going back down to pick it up felt a little humiliating.

Not going down to pick it up meant sitting blankly in the car, waiting motionless without even being able to check his phone, which felt truly agonizing—no matter what, he was still only seventeen, and even knowing he'd likely be fighting for his life shortly, he still felt bored when boredom struck.

Fulan poked his head out to look outside the car once more.

Did middle-aged and older people really not know what boredom was?

If Chisi didn't move soon, he'd genuinely start wondering if the guy had fallen asleep—just at that moment, Chisi stood up, walked around to the side of the car, and reached an arm through the window with a stoop.

When he straightened back up, he was holding what looked like a heavy rod topped with a T-shape; at the same instant, music began to play from inside the black Mercedes.

Chisi silently smiled toward Fulan, as if tearing open a wound within the dark, formless void.

Flailing that T-shaped rod in one hand, he stepped in time with a vocal track that drifted like mist through the night, leaning against the hood once more.

The night paused for a heartbeat, then suddenly rushed in with a highway-strong rhythm that felt capable of rustling one's bangs.

I've been dreamin’ about the West Coast
Where the people take it real slow

Chisi's silhouette remained as frozen as a statue; only upon closer inspection could one notice the tip of his shoe tapping slightly in agreement with the beat.

Fulan held back, failed, and let out a scoff through his nose—half mock, half amusement.

Since the middle-aged man had started listening to music anyway, what harm was there in picking up his paper cigarette?

Fulan pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the road; and right at that moment, a car rounded the corner ahead, its headlights cutting brilliantly through the darkness.

... They're here?

Fulan swept out an arm, snatching a pre-positioned iron chain from the roof of the car. Without turning his head, accompanied by a dull thud, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the tall figure had also leaped onto the hood of the car.

Hardly had it completed the turn when the approaching car seemed startled, swerving abruptly off the road. Amidst the sharp screech of tires that seemed capable of scraping sparks from the night sky, the vehicle plunged desperately off the road—just as the thought flashed through Fulan's mind: *Did he see Chisi?*—he instantly realized something was wrong.

It was too far; the other party shouldn't have been able to see Chisi clearly, let alone panic to the point of veering off like this.

That person must have discovered some other situation—

Before the thought could even finish forming, from a silent, gloomy little building by the roadside, a heavy artillery blast violently tore the night apart, the darkness collapsing inward as a ball of fire bloomed.

The very next second, that car was tossed high into the sky like a toy thrown by a child's hand, riding the flames and shockwaves.

All I wanna do is fly
Take me where the sun shines

My sleep has been poor lately, staying up until the small hours every day, which is agonizing...
I finally understand why I write slowly. As a mere amateur web novelist, I fell under the delusion that I was a director. While writing, I just had to pick background music, spending half an hour flipping through playlists until I decided *West Coast* was suitable and absolutely had to write it into the text.
The lyrics fit well, are very ironic, and match Chisi's background. The tempo is just a fraction too fast, but it works; this scene isn't long, just a matter of a few shots (｡).
Yesterday at the gym, I saw a familiar, super handsome guy. I only reached his shoulder—he must have been at least 2.1 meters tall! I couldn't resist sneaking a few extra glances and got caught, which was awkward. I immediately told myself that someone this good-looking surely had to be gay, and instantly my heart turned as calm as still water, my expression grew serene, and it wasn't awkward anymore.
What's wrong with a sister taking a few looks, anyway?