Chapter Three Hundred and Fourteen: Mr. Fang "Sukayu! Hurry up, hurry up!!" The kitchen helper, rushing orders for the back kitchen, burst through the door, shouted a few curses, and quickly ran out. In the kitchen, an old kitchen hand in a dirty apron was hunched over, swiftly cutting fruit with a chef’s knife. He made an incision in a watermelon, then inserted the head of an egg beater, twirling it to liquefy the pulp. He then stuffed in a handful of ice cubes and garnished it with seven or eight strawberries. Just like that, a so-called signature discount fruit beverage was made. There were already several of these beverages lined up on the counter in front of him. The young helper darted in from outside, then swiftly carried the finished items from the counter to serve them. The old kitchen hand caught his breath, walked to a side door of the kitchen, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. "Sukayu, no resting! We have lots of guests tonight! Don’t be lazy, you old goat!" the young helper yelled from behind. Sukayu didn’t look back, casually flipping him the middle finger. These waiters and helpers out front get tips, so of course they’re in a rush. But what does that have to do with me? Whether I cut watermelon for one drink or a hundred, the pay is the same. This was a small diner near a tourist area in Bangkok, serving seafood barbecue and cold drinks in the evenings. Tonight was especially busy. He wasn’t any kind of head chef... just a kitchen hand. A small place couldn’t afford to hire a proper one. The actual "chef" was just the guy in charge of the barbecue, and the grill had already been set up outside the shop. At the moment, Sukayu was alone in the kitchen. His evening job was to cut watermelon for their signature special drink or prepare fruit platters. After finishing his cigarette, the young helper came in again, angrily urging him on. This time, Sukayu didn’t refuse, as the boss also poked his head in with a dissatisfied glare. Sukayu went back to cutting watermelons. Then, like a seasoned pro, he passed the buck: "We’re out of strawberries! Get someone to wash them, quickly!" The boss, predictably fooled, grumbled a few curses at the young helper, who was unhappy but had no choice but to comply. Shortly after, a large bowl of strawberries was brought in. Clearly, the so-called ’washing’ was just for show—they’d likely just given them a quick rinse with a hose after putting them in the bowl. Sukayu didn’t say anything. After all, he wasn’t the one eating them. With swift, practiced knife work, he soon finished several more signature specials. This time, he genuinely had nothing left to do. Sukayu walked to the kitchen door and stealthily observed the restaurant’s business. Business is good tonight; the boss should be happy. The small shop was packed. Even the rattan tables outside under the makeshift canopy were full, and they had even hastily added two extra tables. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝘯𝘦𝘵 As a small establishment, the boss couldn’t afford resident singers or a band, so music played over the speakers. Sometimes, guitar-toting artists would come looking for business, and merry, generous patrons might pay a little to request a song. Sukayu hid his body in the shadows behind the kitchen door, silently observing for a while. Because of the recent rapid economic growth in Huaxia, there was a boom in tourism to Southeast Asia. Places like Thailand were swarmed with tourists from Huaxia. The small restaurant was no different in the evenings, filled mostly with Huaxia tourists. Even the street performers had shrewdly begun to cater to the preferences of Huaxia tourists, learning Chinese songs. Under the canopy outside the shop, a local street performer was energetically strumming a Chinese song. His Mandarin, however, was terribly off-key. Sukayu squinted, listening twice before recognizing it as "Too Soft Heart." "Sukayu! Come out and help!" The boss shouted a few times, pointing at a table that was being cleared. Sukayu rolled his eyes but still turned and went into the kitchen, quickly returning with a plastic basin. He scraped the leftover food and cutlery into the basin, wiped the table with a rag, and then, limping, carried the basin back to the kitchen. Yes, he was limping. The nightlife in the tourist city lasted very late. It was past three in the morning when Sukayu finally finished his kitchen chores. All the customers had left. The boss had already gone home to rest. In the kitchen, two female workers were vigorously scrubbing several basins piled high with dishes and bowls. Sukayu greeted the boss’s wife at the counter and then limped out of the restaurant. The restaurants on this street all catered to tourists, and most were closing up by this hour. Sukayu walked along the street, past the closed shops, his figure seeming to melt into the shadows as he limped slowly forward. The streetlights were mostly broken—nine out of ten didn’t work. The government couldn’t be bothered to fix them; after all, at night, the neon signs of the street-front restaurants and taverns provided enough light. But now, with the shops closed, the street was dark. After walking for a few minutes, Sukayu turned two corners and entered a narrow alley. The stench from the roadside garbage cans assaulted his nostrils, and he quickened his pace slightly. In front of a row of dilapidated houses, Sukayu climbed a rusty staircase to a small door at the end of the third-floor landing. He took a key from his pocket and let himself in. The room was small, only about ten square meters. A bed, a rundown wardrobe, an electric fan. At the foot of the bed, there was also an old-fashioned, small CRT television set. He closed the door. Sukayu fished a bottle of beer from a basin of water on the floor. No refrigerator. The beer, soaked in cool water all day, is barely drinkable. He casually switched on the television, tuning it to the channel with the clearest signal and least static. Then, he slumped onto the bed, squinting at the screen and occasionally taking a sip of beer. Soon, the beer was finished. He carelessly placed the empty bottle on the floor, slumped over, and closed his eyes. At daybreak, the light filtering through the window evidently made Sukayu uncomfortable. He tossed and turned twice, then finally got up. Sukayu sighed, turned off the television, and switched on the electric fan. It was still hot, but at least the air circulated a little. After staring at the ceiling for a while, Sukayu rolled over, stood on the bed, and pried loose a wooden panel in the ceiling. From the space above, he retrieved a small, old, rusty biscuit tin. Opening it revealed a neat stack of banknotes: Thai Baht, Huaxia Currency, and some small-denomination US dollar bills. After carefully counting the money again, Sukayu glanced at the time, then stuffed all the cash into his pocket. He got up and rummaged through the wardrobe for a clean T-shirt. As he changed, taking off his dirty clothes, Sukayu glanced at his reflection in the mirror. On his emaciated frame, ugly scars were still clearly visible. He ran a finger over one of the raised scars; the welted flesh was slightly red. Sukayu raised an eyebrow, finished dressing, and left the room. At two o’clock that afternoon, Sukayu hopped off a motorcycle taxi. He tossed a few coins to the driver over his shoulder and then dashed into a narrow alley. He emerged about fifteen minutes later. Sukayu looked noticeably more relaxed. He walked out of the alley with his head down but was quickly intercepted by several men on the street. Several young men in floral shirts surrounded Sukayu. Soon after, a sedan pulled up to the curb. A hint of ferocity glinted in Sukayu’s eyes, and his fists clenched. But then, one of the men lifted his shirt, revealing a knife tucked into his waistband—and even a gun! Sukayu squinted, and his fists unclenched. He was quickly pushed into the car. It drove off, and the young men on the street scattered rapidly, as if nothing had happened. "Where is he?" Cha Wang roared furiously at his subordinate. His subordinate stammered out an explanation... Cha Wang swore violently. Actually, he’d been a bit sly. He had withheld something from Chen Nuo: after Chen Nuo left, Cha Wang hadn’t given up looking for the old man in the photo. Instinctively, Cha Wang felt this was no simple matter. A person an Ability User was looking for couldn’t be ordinary. Maybe there was some benefit to be gained. Even if he wasn’t qualified to fight for it, he was a local big shot. If he could find the man and keep him, he could use him as a bargaining chip to get some favors from that mysterious young Ability User. That would be good. And a local big shot he was. After mobilizing all his men to search, he had indeed dug up some information. Cha Wang’s men found five or six people who resembled the man in the photo. One by one, they eliminated the useless targets: those with clean backgrounds, spotless records, or who were simply locals. Just yesterday, his men had gotten a tip. A document forger had provided a lead: an old man had ordered a fake ID, and his photo bore some resemblance to the target. That afternoon, Cha Wang sent his men, and they indeed captured the old man and got him into a car. However, something went wrong on the way back. A car crash. Of the three men in the car, the driver died instantly from a broken neck. The other two were knocked unconscious. Only the old man they had captured, he had vanished. Cha Wang, having lost men and failed, immediately realized he was in deep trouble. Concealing the information and acting on his own would have been fine if he’d caught the man. But now the man had escaped! If that mysterious Ability User found out and thought Cha Wang was deliberately sabotaging his efforts... or suspected him of scheming for his own gain... After kicking his subordinate seven or eight times in a rage, Cha Wang had the unlucky man dragged out of his office. He smoked two more cigarettes to calm down, then sighed. There’s no other way... Better to go grovel now than to face retaliation when he finds out later. Chen Nuo received Cha Wang’s call an hour later. After their previous meeting, Chen Nuo had left his phone number with Cha Wang, telling him to call if he found anything. It had been a long shot, really. He hadn’t actually expected a follow-up. When Cha Wang called, Chen Nuo was in his hotel, lying in wait. The one he was waiting for was, naturally, that old lecher from the Son of the Sun! This LSP... Chen Nuo had tried to find him yesterday after returning to the hotel, but unexpectedly, the man wasn’t there. Who knew where he’d gone off gallivanting. Chen Nuo didn’t have the Son of the Sun’s contact information, and Vanel was also currently unreachable. However, since LSP hadn’t checked out and his luggage was still in the hotel, he was bound to return. So, Chen Nuo simply tossed Gray Cat into LSP’s hotel room to wait, instructing the cat to stall him by any means necessary when he returned. Then, Chen Nuo headed out to meet Cha Wang at the "hospital." It was called a hospital, but it was actually just a small private clinic. It was one of Cha Wang’s own establishments; after all, as an underground boss, he needed a place to treat injuries that couldn’t be taken to a proper public hospital. The small clinic was located in a dilapidated two-story building in a slum. It had only three rooms in total. There was even a "doctor." This "doctor," however, struck Chen Nuo as rather... familiar: bald, with a brutish, fleshy face. He looked more like a butcher than a physician. When Cha Wang saw Chen Nuo, his attitude was extremely respectful, his posture almost deferential. Cha Wang explained that his men had found a lead on the old man in the photo. While staking him out, his men had "taken it upon themselves" to capture him. (Chen Nuo merely scoffed at this, saying nothing, while Cha Wang, looking guilty, quickly changed the subject and continued.) "They caught him, but he escaped during a car accident on the way back." Chen Nuo listened, his expression unchanged, and nodded. "Men taking it upon themselves," huh? Chen Nuo saw right through that. This cunning, cowardly, yet greedy local boss must have sensed potential profit in this and wanted to grab a bargaining chip. Ignoring Cha Wang’s attempts to curry favor, Chen Nuo personally examined the two injured men and the corpse. The two injured men were still unconscious. After his examination, Chen Nuo frowned, lost in thought. The unlucky driver who died had a broken neck, a result of a high-impact collision. The problem is, driving within city limits, the car shouldn’t have been going that fast. As for the two injured ones... "Stab wound between the right ribs..." Chen Nuo sighed. "He wasn’t trying to kill them. Otherwise, if the blade had been off by just a bit, it would have punctured the liver. And moreover..." Chen Nuo paused, then decided against saying more. Cha Wang whispered, "Was it the old man who did it?" "Yes." Chen Nuo recalled the location of the injuries. It must have happened during a struggle inside the car. If Electric General’s men had found him, the fight would likely have occurred outside, and the injuries would be different. This Mr. Fang... he’s quite skilled. Cha Wang continued, "We’ve gathered more information. The guy was hiding out, working in a small restaurant. Those kinds of places attract all sorts; the owner doesn’t do much business, doesn’t care much about IDs, and doesn’t pay well either. I sent my men to ask around and put the fear of God into the owner. He didn’t dare hide anything and told us everything. The old man started working at his shop last month, hadn’t even been there a full month. He lived nearby. I had his place searched too. Didn’t find much, just some ragged clothes and the like. No leads." "What about the ID?" Chen Nuo asked. "Didn’t he try to buy a fake one?" "Ah... yes." Cha Wang handed a folder to Chen Nuo. "The forger gave me the master copy. It’s all here." Chen Nuo took it, looked it over, and sighed. This Mr. Fang... it seems he was preparing to return to the country! Working for a month... He appeared suddenly... So, can I assume Mr. Fang only escaped from some kind of confinement about a month ago? That would also explain why he hasn’t contacted his family in over ten years. Then... what about Electric General? Chen Nuo frowned.