He witnessed the girl’s scar-covered body.
Feng Mountain’s eyes widened in anguish, his face a mask of disbelief.
"Th-This is...!!"
Erica kept her shirt lifted. The crazed look on her face vanished, replaced by deep pain and despair as tears welled up in her eyes.
"This is my past. My painful past. Are you satisfied now?"
"I’m sorry." Feng Mountain stepped forward, intending to pull her shirt down, but she shoved him away.
"Don’t touch ! No one gets to pity !"
"Erica, I don’t pity you. I just want to help." Feng Mountain stepped forward again, embracing the wounded girl. With no intention of taking advantage, he helped pull her shirt down.
He happened to glance up and saw the others standing on the stairs, their faces etched with surprise.
Among them, Tammy Lucas couldn’t help but ask, "Erica, what’s wrong?"
Erica broke free from Feng Mountain’s embrace and turned around, her voice trembling slightly. "It’s nothing. Just a small misunderstanding."
Feng Mountain looked at the others and explained, "I was just concerned for her. Drinking cold beer in the morning is bad for you."
"It certainly is." Jenny Cecil nodded, walking down the stairs. She ca to the coffee table and saw the freshly reheated leftovers. "You’re eating this for breakfast?"
"Sorry, I couldn’t find any cookware." Feng Mountain shrugged helplessly. You can’t make bricks without straw; what kind of decent al could you expect from an induction cooker?
"Let cook instead!" Jenny smiled. The scar on her face, a reminder of her husband’s knife, seed to squirm as if alive, but her smile held a heartbreaking sense of relief.
She walked into the kitchen.
When she erged, she was holding a plate with several sandwiches.
The bread for the sandwiches was toasted to a crispy, golden brown, with faint wisps of steam rising from the edges.
The slices of ham were a tender, enticing pink, and a few glistening water droplets clung to the fresh lettuce leaves like morning dew.
Jenny placed the plate on the table and said with a welcoming smile, "Co and try them. They’re freshly made."
The sandwiches looked like sothing out of a gourt magazine, while the leftovers heated on the induction cooker were a complete failure in presentation by comparison.
Feng Mountain blad the cookware. A Chinese chef needed an open fla to make good food. What could an induction cooker do? Boil instant noodles or make hot pot?
’It’s just their version of a at-stuffed bun!’
He picked up a sandwich and took a bite. His expression imdiately turned to one of pleasant surprise.
It wasn’t just that the sandwich was delicious. The bread was toasted to perfection, paired with fresh lettuce and savory ham, and finished with what tasted like a honey-chili sauce. The result was a rich and wonderful combination of sweet, sour, and subtly spicy flavors.
’A two-star Michelin chef, indeed.’
She could make a simple sandwich taste amazing.
"Congratulations. From now on, the kitchen at Crown Territory is yours!"
An eager-to-please smile blossod on Jenny’s face, and for a mont, the scar didn’t seem so nacing. She nodded repeatedly, her voice trembling slightly. "Thank you. I’ll do a good job."
Feng Mountain beckoned for the others to eat breakfast, sighing inwardly.
’They’re all so troubled.’
Yves had PTSD, Jenny seed to have a fear of strangers, Erica suffered from manic episodes, and David had an eating disorder coupled with an inferiority complex. As for the last one, Tammy, he wasn’t sure what her situation was, but it was likely no better than the others’.
Just as they finished breakfast, Tom arrived right on ti in his car.
After leaving last night, he’d gone to a bar to ask about Vergil. He learned that the entire villa had been leveled, as if the US Military had hit it with a Tomahawk Missile strike like in Syria. The news scared him so much he had to down several beers to calm his nerves.
And yet, the masterminds, Frank and Feng, were completely unscathed, casually eating Chinese food in a restaurant.
What did that an?
It ant Feng had so seriously powerful backing.
Before dawn, Tom had gotten up early and bought beef wraps and coffee from a Subway.
Clutching a large bag of breakfast, he saw that everyone inside had already packed their luggage and were ready to leave at a mont’s notice.
"Feng, your lifestyle is just too much. In Fairbanks, morning doesn’t start until after 9 a.m.," Tom said, his face a mixture of complaint and resignation.
Feng Mountain smiled, pulled a beef wrap from the bag, tore open the packaging, and took a large bite.
He’d only had one sandwich for breakfast, and the leftovers had been split among six people, so he was still hungry. Tom’s delivery was perfectly tid.
Aside from Yves, who joined him in eating a little, the others waved their hands in refusal.
"Feng, are we ready to go?" Tom wanted to get them to Crown Territory early so he could hurry back to Fairbanks. Feng Mountain had a lot of supplies he needed to buy.
From snowmobiles to fuel storage tanks, the supply list also included plenty of miscellaneous items.
He had to make sure the supplies were the first thing Feng Mountain saw upon his return to Crown Territory.
’Suck up!’
’I’ve got to give it my all!’
Chewing on his beef wrap, Feng Mountain looked at the five new mbers of Crown Territory. "Are you all ready?"
"Yves will stay with for now. The rest of you, go with Mr. Tom to the airport. He’ll personally fly you to Crown Territory, and soone will be there to pick you up."
The five of them nodded. They were long accustod to this kind of transient life and picked up their luggage.
"Fly slowly, and make sure you explain everything clearly to Nash when you land," Feng Mountain reminded Tom, still feeling a bit uneasy.
Tom grinned. "Don’t worry, I’ll serve them like I serve God the Father himself. Alright folks, follow ."
Feng Mountain saw them to the door, watching as they got into the Pickup Truck and drove away.
The house suddenly felt empty.
Before he had ti to feel sentintal, a red sedan slowly pulled over to the curb, and Frank got out, waving to Feng Mountain.
"Buddy, put on that Wolf Fur Coat. Let’s make those natives’ eyes pop."
"!!" Feng Mountain was speechless. ’You say that like you’re not an Indigenous person yourself. Who’s the one always bragging about his Inuit blood?’
...
The car was stuck in traffic. Ten minutes had passed, and the congestion showed no signs of easing.
Feng Mountain sat in the passenger seat, wearing the Wolf Fur Coat. He saw many Indigenous People in vibrant traditional clothing, singing and dancing along the roadside.
Alaska’s Indigenous People mainly consist of three groups: Indians, Inuit, and Aleut People. The Indians are the largest group, followed by the other two.
Other smaller tribes, like the Supiak Tribe, Yupik Tribe, Chupik Tribe, and Inupik Tribe, are mostly offshoots of these three main groups.
The Indians wore brightly colored clothes with feathered headdresses. The Inuit wore full-body outfits of animal skin coats, with wide hoods that looked like arches over their heads. The Aleut People wore colorful padded clothing, mainly long parkas, trousers, and leather boots.
Feng Mountain had encountered the first two groups before, but the Aleut People were active on the reservations in southern Alaska and rarely ventured north.
However, what made Feng Mountain curious was that while so facial features of these Aleut People resembled those of Han Chinese, their high noses and narrow chins made them look more like Russians.
He asked about the reason for this.
Frank glanced back at the Aleut People on the roadside, a scornful look on his face.
"There are no pure-blooded Aleut People left these days. Most of them intermarried with Russians generations ago. Plus, a lot of Russians sneak over from the Komandor Islands and the Chukchi Sea to the Aleut reservations, claiming they’re Aleut. Fack, it’s not like anyone can tell the difference. The state governnt is useless."
Yves, sitting in the back seat, suddenly blurted out a sentence.
"The Aleut People smuggle arms."
The atmosphere in the car tensed. Frank slamd on the horn, urging the Pickup Truck blocking their way to move, and managed to say,
"Yeah, everyone knows the Aleut People smuggle arms. The state governnt knows too, but they like to play ostrich and pretend they don’t. They probably think the public doesn’t know either. This is the Free United States of Arica for you."
Feng Mountain was speechless.
’The Free United States of Arica, a shooting every day.’
...
Today was destined to be a busy day in Fairbanks.
The streets were jamd with vehicles from all over Alaska, here for the Indigenous People’s conference. Every so often, a plane would appear in the sky.
Frank dropped all pretense of civility, yanking open his collar. He stuck his head out the window, shouting and cursing. Using his familiarity with the terrain, he navigated through a labyrinth of side streets and alleyways, battling his way to the conference venue.
The University of Alaska Fairbanks - Central Sports Arena.
The parking lot in front of the arena was filled with all sorts of stalls. A sea of Indigenous People, city residents, and tourists moved between them.
There were food stalls selling snacks, the aroma of hot dogs and popcorn filling the air. There were also Indigenous People selling various arts and crafts, their unique designs catching the eyes of passersby.
Locals and tourists who had co to enjoy the event stopped at the stalls to pick out goods or haggle with the vendors, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere.
Frank parked the car, jumped out, and slamd the door shut, muttering, "This damn traffic! Almost made us late!"
Then he led Feng Mountain through the crowd toward the arena entrance.
When they reached the main entrance, several Indian security guards in traditional attire stopped the three of them, their eyes lingering for a mont on Feng Mountain’s Wolf Fur Coat.
"Sorry, today is the Indigenous Elders and Youth Conference. The arena is closed to tourists."
"Bullshit! Which one of your eyes sees a tourist? I’m an Indigenous person too." Frank tossed his flowing blond hair. Judging by his face, he had absolutely no connection to Indigenous People; in fact, Feng Mountain looked more like one than he did.
"No invitation card, no entry!" The Indian guard didn’t care whether he looked the part or not. Anyone without an invitation card was denied entry.
"Alright, alright." Frank pulled a card from his pocket and handed it over.
The guard took the card, opened it, and confird it was valid. He gestured for Frank to enter, then looked at Feng Mountain.
Feng Mountain looked at Frank. "Buddy, where’s my invitation card?"
"Your invitation card isn’t with ," Frank said, looking baffled.
"Didn’t you text to co over?"
"I didn’t." Frank shook his head repeatedly. The last ti he heard Feng Mountain was invited to the Indigenous Elders and Youth Conference, he had specifically called so contacts to ask about it but ca up empty.
The invitation cards were issued by the conference committee. The committee’s composition was complex, with the three major tribes and twelve Indigenous Companies responsible for review and distribution. Each card had a unique number, and only by seeing the card could one know who had issued it.
Just as the security guard was about to turn him away, a voice called out from inside the arena.
"Is that you, Brother Khilla? Sorry, I’m late!"
A middle-aged Indian man in traditional attire walked out briskly. Feng Mountain narrowed his eyes; the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t rember where he’d seen him.
"You are?"
"It’s , Jie Luo. From Kevik Camp. Susan. I was the one on the radio."
"Ohhh!!" Feng Mountain drew out the sound, a look of sudden realization dawning on his face.
"Sorry about last ti. I was so focused on saving Susan that I forgot about you. How did you get out?"
...
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