Chapter Ninety-Six: The So-Called Empty Showpiece

Outside Rome, in a remote coastal town, a small harbor was lively and bustling in the deep of night.

The little port was packed with shipping containers, row upon row, pressed tightly together. Between them moved countless busy figures, hurrying to and fro. Every one of them seemed anxious, yet the work proceeded in perfect order, with not the slightest mistake despite the rush.

"Move faster, faster. Time is almost up," said a man who appeared to be the leader, one hand holding a phone, the other directing the workers.

The others said nothing. They only quickened their pace. As the number of containers dwindled, the leader's expression gradually eased.

The moment he let his guard down, several among the workers exchanged glances. Their movements subtly slowed. While watching the people around them and the leader's gestures, they let their right hands drift toward their calves. A flash of cold light sliced through the darkness, and several nearby workers fell silently to the ground. Taking advantage of the moment, they dragged the bodies out of sight.

At the cuffs of their clothing, in the least noticeable place, a single letter was embroidered in gold thread: A.

Hidden where no one could see them, they pressed the buttons concealed in their hair. A tiny red dot blinked once, then went still.

In the villa, Arthur remained elegantly seated on the sofa, reading a newspaper. Opposite him sat a refined man wearing gold-rimmed glasses. The man had an earpiece in place and a computer before him; on the screen was the small harbor, with the workers still moving the cargo. Beside him lay a strangely shaped phone, and a tiny red indicator light on it suddenly flashed once.

The refined man looked up and reported, "Young Master, Newt and the others have sent the signal."

Arthur did not so much as raise his eyes from the newspaper. "Tell them to begin."

"Yes, Young Master." The man answered respectfully and pressed a button on the phone.

At the harbor, one of the men in the corner saw a green light flicker in the hair ornament and exchanged a glance with the others. Then he stepped into the crowd. In their right hands they held suppressed pistols; in their left, daggers. At close range, they used blades; at long range, guns. At the same time, a batch of black-clad men surged out of the shadows, gold A's embroidered on their cuffs.

In an instant, more than a hundred men were wiped out.

When the leader finally realized something was wrong, it was already too late. A chill pressed against his temple. A black muzzle pointed straight at him, and his body froze rigidly in place. Yet his face remained cold and expressionless, showing no sign of submission even with death at hand.

In an inconspicuous spot by the harbor, several men with A's embroidered on their cuffs were surrounding a black Mercedes with guns drawn. Seeing that escape was impossible, the people inside raised their hands and stepped out of the car.

The armed men, their faces unchanged, looked over the people emerging from the vehicle one by one, and a faint crease formed between the leader's brows. He addressed them, "Where is Hills?"

Though held at gunpoint, none of them showed any change in expression. None spoke.

Seeing this, the black-clad man wasted no more words. He fired at one of them at once, and the man dropped dead on the spot. The others grew a little pale at the sight, but still said nothing.

The gun fired again and again. One body after another fell. In the end, only one remained, and even now he refused to yield. The gunman's brows knit tighter and tighter, his lips pressed into a hard line. One of his men bent close and whispered in his ear. A moment later, the grim look on his face vanished, replaced by a smile.

He turned to the man beside him and said, "I hear there is a kind of punishment in China that is rather interesting. It seems they cut off a person's limbs and put the body in a jar. What was that called again?" His tone was full of curiosity and puzzlement.

The man who had been speaking to him answered solemnly, "Bone Drunkenness, sir."

"I see, yes, Bone Drunkenness," he said, enlightened at last. Then he looked at the man who had been defiant only moments before but was now trembling uncontrollably. "You must be curious too, I imagine. Don't worry. I'll prepare a blue-and-white porcelain jar for you."

As soon as the words fell, several figures emerged behind him, each carrying a dagger that glinted with icy light beneath the moon.

One of them said awkwardly, "Hey, didn't you forget? The young lady likes blue-and-white porcelain the most. If you do that, you'll not only insult the porcelain, you'll also upset her."

"Oh, if you hadn't said anything, I would have almost forgotten," the man replied, sounding annoyed with himself. "Never mind. We'll do it first and talk later."

Seeing the men coming toward him, the last man collapsed to his knees in terror, his mouth trembling nonstop. "I... I'll talk... The boss isn't here. I was only sent as cover. I don't know anything else."

The black-clad man at the front heard this, and a flash of ferocity flickered in his eyes. The next instant, a loud crack rang out, and the man fell dead.

The man who had offered the suggestion looked worried. "Sir, what do we do now?"

Just as he was about to answer, the people by the harbor all came over, carrying something in their hands.

"Sir, look—" The leader took the item. A trace of horror crossed his eyes, and his fingers trembled slightly as he switched on a tiny yellow light hidden among the strands of hair.

In the villa, when Charles saw the yellow light come on, he immediately knew disaster had struck. And when he saw the people in the video raise the thing in their hands, his face went white. His gaze shifted away, too afraid to look at Arthur.

Arthur still stared at the newspaper without lifting his head. "What's wrong?"

Charles drew a deep breath and turned the computer screen toward Arthur.

Arthur lazily lifted his eyes to look. The instant he did, a fierce killing aura burst from him. The elegant hand holding the newspaper tensed, blue veins standing out beneath the skin. His eyes darkened, roiling like a storm.

On the screen, the black-clad man was holding up a classical Chinese embroidered pillow, and attached to it was a note with twisted Chinese characters: You always said you liked Chinese culture. This is my gift to you. Do you like it? By the way, there are many more styles and colors in the box. You can choose whichever you like.

The man's hand on the screen was trembling, his head bowed low, too afraid to meet Arthur's gaze.

An embroidered pillow? Charles could not help glancing cautiously at Arthur, then at that bright and alluring face.

Arthur's eyes were full of turbulent waves. Looking at the subordinate who was nervously clutching the embroidered pillow, and seeing that he happened to be holding one stitched with a violet pattern, he suddenly grew calm. Leaning back gracefully against the sofa, he crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands upon his knee. A charming smile curved his lips as he said to Charles, "Charles, call Newt back."

Charles nodded. "Yes, Young Master." He picked up the phone and dialed.

On the screen, the man with the pillow, Newt, answered the call and immediately relaxed. Letting out a heavy breath, he nodded and turned to issue orders to his men. Before long, the harbor, which had been alive with motion, returned to calm.

Charles set down the phone and turned to Arthur. Arthur's gaze was deep, his expression thoughtful. Charles hesitated, unsure how to speak.

Arthur said lightly, "What's the matter? Out with it. You are not usually so hesitant."

At this, Charles's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. He gave a strained laugh to hide his embarrassment. "Heh heh, Young Master, then... what do we do next?" he asked, his face turning grave.

Arthur did not move. A cold aura still surrounded him. After a moment, the corner of his mouth curved, drawing out a seductive line. "Since he likes ancient Chinese culture so much, tell Newt to finish the souvenir he had not completed just now and send it to him. Tell him this is my return gift."

Charles shivered all over. Arthur added, "Oh, and I hear blue-and-white porcelain is the best for collecting. Have Newt pack it in blue-and-white porcelain."

Charles's expression went dead. He hurried to call Newt, fearing he might really faint if he waited any longer.

After relaying Arthur's request, there was a long silence on the other end of the line. Charles felt a little better at once. Sure enough, he was not the only one who could not stand the young master's demands.

Newt held the phone and stared blankly at the spotless ground before him, so clean he could almost see his reflection. Thinking of those people who had just died in a state of utter incomprehension, his face twisted into a bitter grimace.

Seeing Arthur's expression, Charles continued, his voice edged with glee, "As for Newt..." The implication was clear: Newt was in for it this time. He had botched the mission and fallen for the trick, causing the young master to lose face. His days ahead would surely be "colorful."

"If the souvenir is made well, the punishment will be lighter. Otherwise..." Arthur's fingers brushed his smooth chin. "The camp over there has been short-handed lately. He can go there for a while."

Charles could not help the corners of his mouth from lifting. Well, then, Newt was going to suffer. But before he had even finished thinking it through, Arthur added, "If Newt does poorly, you can go with him too. That way he won't be lonely by himself. I know your relationship has always been quite good."

The smile froze on Charles's lips. He groaned inwardly. Young Master, actually, our relationship is not nearly as good as you think.

On the other end of the call, Newt, who had been drenched in cold sweat the moment he heard Arthur's orders, suddenly brightened. He lifted his head toward the night sky and smiled faintly. "The moonlight tonight is beautiful."

The men around him heard this and looked up at the pitch-black sky above them, a sky so dark it seemed ready to drip ink, with not a trace of moonlight anywhere. Their mouths twitched fiercely as they stared wordlessly at Newt.

Sir, there is no moon tonight, all right?

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