It was sothing from many days ago—
Beside the Everflow River, in the reeds, the old man standing at the bow of the boat called out to a few young n fishing with nets on the dock.
"Boys, don’t touch those fish, they’ve eaten dead people."
A few sun-tanned young n looked up and saw the old man on the boat smiling as he spoke.
"Old man, what nonsense are you talking about? If the fish have eaten humans, why can’t they be eaten?"
"Exactly!"
"Whatever flies in the sky, runs on the ground, or falls into the water—all are fish. The fatter they are, the better they sell!"
Looking at these young n who lacked reverence, the old man shook his head and sighed.
"You do know that everything flying in the sky and running on the ground ends up in the water, but do you know what they ate before they fell in?"
The young n looked at each other, unable to speak.
Finally, the young man pulling the net, ignorant of the vastness of the world, cheekily replied.
"Why should I care what snakes, rats, insects, and birds eat? We fish to exchange for money, not to put into our own stomachs! If the fish buyers don’t speak, what are you saying?"
The other young n ca to their senses and all echoed loudly.
"Exactly!"
"Aren’t you also on a fishing boat? Haven’t you ever fished?"
"The old man is no good. Probably worried we will ruin his business!"
Ah...
The old man shook his head, saying nothing more, and poled away with a long bamboo stick.
It’s true that he made his living by fishing, and he used to raise so ducks, but those were last year’s happenings.
Just at the beginning of this year, his ducks raised in the river were poisoned by sothing in the water, and the usual fish buyers stopped collecting fish from the Everflow River, switching to the seafood business.
Everyone does the neighborhood trade, seeing each other daily. No matter how unscrupulous, no one dares to earn money against their conscience.
But word has it that the recently arrived fish buyers are less picky, collecting any kind of fish, though at lower prices. It’s said they do business with tourists.
No matter what they are dealing with, the old man cannot harvest things that could harm people’s lives to exchange for money.
Unlike those young n, he lives one day at a ti, uncertain of when he might be eting the Silver Moon Goddess, making it unnecessary to tarnish his virtue for a bit of petty cash.
Besides, he isn’t short of money.
Long ago, when Witch Todd was still around, he rented out three ancestral hos.
As for why he’s still drifting in the reeds, one reason is that he can’t stay idle; the other is that the city hall gave him new work, to clean up the "dirty things" in the reeds.
This work can only be handled by experienced old fishern.
When he encounters people floating on the water, he pokes them twice. If there’s movent, he rescues them.
If not...
Of course, he still fishes them out.
He recalled that a few days ago, researchers from the Alliance ca over, scooped a cup of Everflow River water, shook it and then shook their head.
Since then, he knew this river had completely deteriorated...
Twilight descended.
After swaying in the reeds the entire day, he was preparing to head ho, when suddenly in the depths of the grass, there was a commotion, like a startled wild duck.
Of course, there were no wild ducks on this river, so the old man imdiately poled back with his bamboo stick and indeed saw soone struggling in the river.
Perhaps entangled in the reeds or sothing, the person’s face, soaked in the river water, looked pale and struggled desperately.
"Grab it!"
The old man extended the bamboo stick he held, and finally, when the person grasped it, they beca sowhat calr, ceasing their wild struggle.
Once the person was exhausted, the old man gradually approached and finally saved the middle-aged man, about forty, onto the fishing boat.
He fetched a blanket from the cabin and handed it to the man soaked to the skin.
"Cover yourself, it’s cold as the wind picks up."
The man shivered as he received the blanket, his face filled with fear, akin to a frightened rat, one that escaped from a trench, having survived machine gunfire.
Covered in wounds, fortunately only grass cuts, not gunshot wounds.
Consider it a stroke of luck.
The old man had seen too many swollen corpses these days, not entirely drowned, rely decomposed by the river water.
The man trembled, speaking in a stuttering voice.
"Don’t, don’t kill ..."
"Don’t worry, no one here will kill you."
The old man reassured him with a smile, gently patting the man’s shoulder, and handed over his thermal flask, indicating he could drink a bit if he didn’t mind.
Of course, the man didn’t mind, rather worried the old man would mind him. After thanking him profusely, he finally unscrewed the cap and drank the hot water heartily.
The old man lit the heater, placed it at his feet, then poled towards the shore while leisurely chatting.
"What’s your job, friend?"
"Fishing..."
Oh, a fellow fisherman.
No wonder he could swim over here.
But seeing his flustered appearance, probably his wife and children fell behind...
The old man chuckled as he spoke.
"Being proficient at fishing is good. Once you land, tell the person who registers you. They’ll arrange work for you at the dock. There are quite a few sea fishing boats there. Although it’s a bit different from river fishing, you’ll get the hang of it once you’re familiar."
The man nodded, saying only thank you and not much else.
The fishing boat drifted with the twilight towards the dock; earlier, the kids who were netting fish had returned fully loaded, pushing their carts toward the market.
Gazing at the bustling street market in the distance, the man with the blanket suddenly couldn’t hold back and started weeping.
The old man squatted down, patted his shoulder, and comforted him.
"Alright, alright, we’re about to land. Why the tears?"
Perhaps thinking of others who died on the journey, he couldn’t stop his sobbing, choking as he spoke.
"I only hate that fate is blind, misfortune always befalls those destined for a bitter life."
The old man saw him but smiled and said.
"Would fate really let you be here if it were blind? Be content."
The man remained unsatisfied, expressing his resentnt.
"But I don’t understand why, despite being kind all my life and never committing any wrongdoing, the hardships of the world have spared not one bit."
The old man shook his head.
"Kind all your life... Haha, what does it an to be kind? Not stealing, not robbing, not cheating, being earnest and honest qualifies as kindness? Then I see the fish in the river as kind, the birds in the sky are even kinder, and the snakes and insects in the grass are the most kind of all."
The middle-aged man’s face turned red.
"You can’t say that, humans are not the sa as snakes, rats, insects, birds."
"Yes, how can you set the standard of kindness on par with snakes, rats, insects, birds?" The old man said with a smile, "You’re not young anymore, how can you live so confused, mistaking re survival for kindness."
The man looked at him confusedly.
"Then... what is kindness?"
The old man thought for a mont, unsure how to answer, only letting out a gentle sigh.
"Maybe it’s... soone truly bound for Hell thinks you’re a fool."
Fate isn’t really blind.
Karma does exist.
And it arrives sooner than imagined...
The man hung his head, pondered for half a day, then suddenly looked up at the old man, his Adam’s apple moved, he said.
"Is there a way... to avoid going to Hell?"
The old man was taken aback, then laughed and said.
"That... how would I know."
Looking at the dispirited man, the old man was silent for a while, sighed, and said.
"On the shore, there’s a chapel with a crescent moon hanging, near the chapel, there are many cats basking in the sun... You go find a pastor nad Mr. lgio, he might know."
...
Tiandu.
The celebratory atmosphere concealed a sense of foreboding.
General Grov returned to Tiandu full of pride, speaking boastfully at the eting, only days later, as Sava had predicted, he was taken down by Zayed.
However, the subsequent plot went exactly as the head of the Kaba Committee, Sava, had guessed.
In the end, Gopal, the "Gray Wolf," still preceded "Iron General" Grov.
Enraged youths blocked Gopal in his own residence, no one was allowed in or out, including the curry Gopal ate daily.
Soon after, people raided his ho and found an animal chess set from the West Winds era.
Upon hearing word from his servant, Gopal knew his end was near, filled with sorrow and indignation, he finally decided to rally his old Gray Wolf troops for a desperate fight, only for the plan to be exposed, and a few ill-tid phone calls to beco the last straw that broke the cal’s back.
Utterly disheartened, he arranged an escape route for himself and his family, pretending to head to Jinjaron Harbor, while secretly preparing a small boat at West Sail Port, intending to flee to General Mclen.
But perhaps because he had committed too many wrongs, there was a heavy rain that day, accompanied by thunder and lightning.
The people who ca to arrest him arrived half an hour early, and those ant to pick him up arrived late.
"Heaven wants dead!"
Seeing the soldiers entering through the front door, Gopal looked ashen, like a stray dog.
With no way out, he could only feign going to the toilet, intending to escape through the backyard wall, only for his plans to be discovered by the soldiers arresting him.
The young man saw Gopal already on the wall, grabbed a bamboo pole and jabbed him on the rear, accidentally jabbing too hard, causing the frantic Gopal to fall off, headfirst onto the stone path.
"Boom——!"
Perhaps it was too many vengeful spirits seeking him, even heaven couldn’t tolerate it.
A thunderclap echoed through the air, its light illuminating the damp alley.
Covered in mud and water, he lay twitching on the ground, trying to struggle up, but choked on the muddy water.
"Help... ..."
Even then he still had a breath left, if soone had just helped him, he would’ve survived.
But lantably he saw, the neighboring households all shut their doors and windows, pretending nothing had happened outside.
What a pity.
Two people, on a rainy night, one stood and died, the other ended like a stray dog.
A generation’s "military deity" Gopal died so miserably against the wall behind his backyard toilet...
The next day.
News of Gopal’s death spread throughout the city.
The people clapped joyfully, cheering that the Gray Wolf was finally dead, just as they had cheered when he entered the city.
General Grov, confined behind the iron bars, heard the sound of drums and gongs outside, wondering what joyous occasion it was, he softly asked the soldier at the door.
"Sir... could you tell , what sound is causing all this noise outside?"
The voice was timid and unassuming, utterly lacking the domineering air of the "Iron General," resembling instead an old man prematurely aged.
The young soldier looked at him coldly, his gaze seed to say "who’s your sir," but he still responded coldly.
"Gopal the traitor is dead."
Grov’s head buzzed, as if a 200-pound bomb had exploded beside him.
Perhaps in grief of death ca pain.
He was shocked, clutched the iron bars with his hands and shouted.
"Go, Gopal is dead?! How is that possible?! How did he die? I disagree! No—he was a traitor! I am innocent! Zayed understands , please give him a call! I beg of you..."
The iron bars shook creakingly under the skinny wrists, but the soldier seed to have heard nothing.
In matters of "who can be kicked when they’re down, who needs to be let off," most Poluo people had a consensus, it was like spiritual energy, needing no words to explain.
Gopal was finished.
Could Grov still survive?
Even the kids in Tiandu knew, once the wolf at was finished, the dog should be killed...
...
The wolf is dead.
The dog is dood.
Prince Sava and his ritorious ministers also sat on the fire pit, restless and uncomfortable as the heat seared their seats.
Tiandu seed to have turned into a battlefield without gunpowder, and for the first ti, those who only knew how to fight realized how clear guns are easy to dodge, while hidden arrows are hard to defend against.
However, what truly shattered Gale’s worldview wasn’t Gopal’s miserable demise.
It was the fate of Kaba Committee mber, whom he had always looked down upon and even hated to the bone.
It was a bright and sunny morning.
Although Tiandu had turned into a scorching pit, the raging fire had not yet reached the gates of Tiandu University.
Sitting in class, Gale was bored and drowsy, reminiscing about the taste of female students from the night before, when suddenly a "bang" startled him awake, causing his textbook to fall to the ground.
Fortunately, the stick didn’t hit him on the head but struck Kaba Committee mber’s head instead.
Ever since the joint school run, this education committee mber had been both principal and professor, unwavering amidst the bombers’ roars, yet this ti his nose bled onto the podium.
Kaba Committee mber seed never to have expected this day would co, staring blankly at the children holding the sticks, then at the adults behind them.
In the end, he said nothing, simply picking up the textbook that had fallen onto the desk in silence.
"Students, turn to page 37 of your textbooks. Today we will discuss ’Mr. L,’ a painstaking work by one of your teacher’s old acquaintances—"
Smack!
Like the wind, the stick whirled and swept over him, knocking him to the ground.
"We’re asking you questions!"
"In the theater that day! What did you say? And why didn’t you applaud?"
Kaba said nothing, as if the ones pumling him didn’t exist, reaching for the textbook filled with countless efforts, only for it to be snatched away and torn apart.
He stopped reaching for the textbook and tried to stand and speak, but was knocked down again, and again as he stood, until he was battered and bleeding, even breaking several sticks in the process.
His bones were indeed tough; he finally stood up.
The twelve-year-old child furrowed his brow, stubbornness mixing with temper, raising a broken stick to deliver the final blow, but was stopped by the man behind him.
The man stood still, looked at the students in the class, and coldly said.
"Students, you are Kaba’s students and understand him best. Since he refuses to confess his cris and reflect on his problems, you shall speak for him."
"One by one."
The classroom was silent.
Everyone was scared stiff.
Including Gale.
It felt like his brain had been shot, leaving him bewildered and unable to co to his senses.
Kaba...
It was him who should hate this guy. This guy’s so-called exams embarrassed him, stealing his rightful opportunity and giving it to so peasants, these inferiors... Why should they hate him for him?
Why...
It makes no sense.
He couldn’t understand it.
Maybe because he’s too normal, or perhaps because he’s read himself stupid.
And then, suddenly, he rembered Nayak—his smart younger sibling, who was like a demon, and what he said before leaving.
’I have generals A, B, C, and D... I know I will have to kill them all eventually.’
’Once you’re back, hide yourself... If you can cower, then cower... Imagine yourself as a soft maggot...’
Gale suddenly regretted.
Maybe he should have left with him back then, but now it’s too late to change his mind.
However...
Why leave?
Suddenly, Gale smiled internally because, at that very mont, he realized he was surrounded by a flock of earth-eating sheep.
Such good sheep.
The master wants to eat at and is afraid the master will not be full, not even needing to sharpen his knife.
They voluntarily slaughtered the unsociable sheep and offered its flesh to him.
He rembered Nayak’s third sentence.
’It will be your turn, I said.’
Gale inexplicably stood up, with all eyes in front and behind the classroom turning to him.
Including Kaba committee mber.
That swollen, bleeding face still had that defiant, hostile look.
He actually had ways to survive.
But he insisted on choosing to stand and die.
In that case...
Why not die aningfully.
"Teacher... Safe travels."
Gale silently recited in his heart, gazing into those eyes, wearing a sincere and honest expression.
This was the first ti he recognized this guy as a teacher and the first ti he used an honorific to address him.
And it was heartfelt.
Kaba looked at him, his eyes with a cold smile as always, as if saying, "You dare call teacher," but unfortunately, he could no longer speak.
However—
That might not really be a cold smile.
Perhaps it was a form of protection.
Or even kindness.
Standing on the podium, Gale exchanged a glance with a familiar-looking man and accepted a stick from his hand.
That was his father’s soldier.
He could recognize him whether he was in uniform or not.
Gale tightly gripped the stick in his hand, as if holding a blazing torch.
Looking at those indifferent eyes, he softly murmured with his inner voice.
"Borrow your life for a bit."
"Your revenge—"
"In fifty years, I’ll avenge you."
...
Jinjaron Harbor, by the Everflow River.
The red soil had vanished, and the sugarcane fields of the Nihack era had transford into a bustling market.
After leaving Lowell Camp, Night Ten, along with Dora and the others, arrived here.
Busy with official duties, Mayor Yoder had already returned to the city hall.
However, he did not leave the group unattended, assigning his secretary to act as their guide, extending the hospitality of Jinjaron Harbor’s people.
Staring at the grilled fish on the food stall, Dora swallowed hard with a face full of desire.
Though Potato Harbor had plenty of barbeque, the cooking style and flavors were completely different.
The spices here were sprinkled as though they didn’t cost a thing, teasing out her cravings once more.
Night Ten was also tempted, ready to buy, but was stopped by the local guide appointed by Mayor Yoder.
"That’s freshwater fish."
The guide fumbled awkwardly, reluctant to reveal the truth, rely mumbling.
"Not very sanitary."
Night Ten gave him a peculiar look, feeling odd hearing the word ’sanitary’ from a local, yet heeding the advice and led Dora away from the grilled fish stall.
There were plenty to eat here, with other choices.
"How about grilled corn? And pork?"
"No problem," the guide smiled apologetically, "but you need to check the fish and shrimp, whether they’re from the river or the sea."
Recently, news reports had ntioned people getting sick from eating fish, with the council discussing legislation to ban bringing river fish to the market, though the related laws had yet to catch up.
Night Ten understood and nodded, then picked up the nu and ordered about 100 silver coins worth of barbeque.
silver coins equals 1,000 gallons, sufficient for the dozen or so of them to eat their fill.
By this ti, the sky was gradually darkening.
Watching the distant hot air balloons, Night Ten suddenly recalled his confusion upon arriving at the harbor and asked the guide sitting across the table.
"What are those balloons for?"
The guide followed his gaze and then chuckled.
"Oh, those are organized by the pastor at Silver Moon Church, a man nad... lgio, I think."
lgio.
He felt the na was familiar, probably seen on the forum, but couldn’t recall when that was.
"So they’re from the Silver Moon Sect." Night Ten nodded in realization.
No wonder those balloons had two tufts on top, turned out to be cat ears.
Pretty abstract indeed.
Watching the hot air balloons, the guide’s face bore a hint of reverence, mixed with admiration.
"Speaking of Mr. lgio, he’s quite a local celebrity... Ever since he moved here from West Sail Port, he’s done nurous good deeds, including building churches, assisting migrants, and teaching literacy to the poor. Though I don’t believe in the Silver Moon Goddess, he truly is a great person. Can’t understand why the folks from the west wanted him gone."
"West?" Dora blinked.
"It’s West Sail Port." Looking at the balloons in the sky, Night Ten sighed and said, "Those Vellante people sure are harsh, even tearing down a church."
The guide forced a bitter smile without speaking, casting his gaze to the distant sunset.
"Mr. lgio knows so... decent Vellante individuals and so citizens who made money early on. They created hot air balloons, packed dry food in them, and let them drift west. When the fuel runs out, the balloons drop like parachutes, landing wherever fate takes them."
Night Ten looked at him in surprise.
"How many people can this save?"
The guide shook his head and said.
"Saving whoever we can, perhaps soone will need just that one al to survive?"
Dora asked confusedly.
"There’s no food there?"
The guide shook his head.
"Not really."
She suddenly rembered needing money to buy food, and ekly asked.
"Then... is there no money?"
"Not that either."
"Then it’s—"
"Don’t ask." Seeing the guide’s reddened eyes, Night Ten wisely patted Dora’s shoulder, "Tomorrow we’re heading to Silver Moon Bay... By the way, you should try to perceive—can you sense any lairs here? Or anything similar?"
The latter part was his sudden thought, a subject that’s long been debated on the official forum.
Although it’s said Poluo Province has no lair, rumors claim Red Soil’s design process involved referencing and modifying mutated sli fungus DNA.
Dora paused for a mont, closed her eyes, ditated briefly, then reopened them and shook her head.
"No."
"Nothing at all?" Night Ten was still hopeful, "What about the soil? It—"
"I can sense they are alive; this soil is actually living, it’s truly amazing..."
With a face full of wonder, Dora continued in a very soft voice.
"But it seems... it’s just alive."
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