Ning Zhuo snorted softly.
He didn’t take the kid’s words seriously and lightly tapped the brim of his hat with the tip of his whip, tilting it to the side. “You? How old are you? And you dare to say something like that to me?”
Xiao Bai didn’t say a word, just stared at him steadily.
Ning Zhuo looked back at him and read a bit of burning spark in his eyes.
Brighter than the sparse stars in the sky.
Ning Zhuo took off his hat and saw his gaze more clearly.
Bright, calm, and intense.
Ning Zhuo turned his head, sure that he had made the wrong judgment.
…Xiao Bai might be the most suitable person for mercenary work that he had ever met.
Over there, Xiao Bai was still unconvinced, muttering under his breath, “I’ve grown up.”
Ning Zhuo let out a sound of acknowledgment. “If we count by full years, you’re 13. If we count the lunar years, you’re 14. Round it up; you’re 15. If you get sick, you’ll still need to go to the pediatric department.”
For once, Xiao Bai showed a rare burst of anger: “You—”
In the past, he had been as obedient as possible in front of Ning Zhuo, almost to the point of being ingratiating.
This was the first time he had shown this kind of expression in front of Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo guessed that height might be his sore spot.
Ning Zhuo teased him with interest, “Little thing, when you stand in front of me, I can see the back of your head. Tell me, how do you plan to kill me with your own hands?”
Xiao Bai angrily turned his head away, ignoring him.
Seeing him like this, Ning Zhuo found it amusing.
His younger brother had been born on a snowy day like this.
Later, he and their mother died in a fire together.
In the social news section, their story only took up a brief sentence: “A small piece of charred remains in a baby stroller.”
Ning Zhuo had read that sentence over and over again, almost obsessively.
He hadn’t had the chance to hear his brother call him “gege,” and he didn’t know what kind of personality or appearance his brother would have grown up to have.
If he could have turned out like Xiao Bai, that wouldn’t have been bad.
Thinking of this, Ning Zhuo placed a hand on Xiao Bai’s fluffy, slightly curly hair and gently rubbed it.
Before Xiao Bai could say anything, Ning Zhuo was already feeling so embarrassed that goosebumps rose all over his body.
He tried to withdraw his hand, but it was held down by a warm hand.
…Xiao Bai pressed his head into the palm of Ning Zhuo’s hand, rubbing against it obediently.
Ning Zhuo froze.
He didn’t like physical contact, but this time he didn’t mind.
His palm felt warm, like drinking a perfectly hot cup of water on a cold day, the heat traveling all the way to his heart.
Ning Zhuo held onto that warmth for a long time before grabbing a handful of loose snow to cool down.
He looked up at the sky, feeling more at ease than ever before.
Ning Zhuo had always thought that Xiao Bai’s true personality wasn’t that obedient, that there was a half of his soul hidden inside that he wouldn’t let Ning Zhuo see.
That’s why Ning Zhuo never let his guard down around him.
Today, he had seen the part of Xiao Bai that had been carefully hidden away.
Though it was a bit unexpected, it wasn’t so bad.
Ning Zhuo thought maybe he could treat Xiao Bai a little better.
In the end, because they stayed out in the snow for too long, Xiao Bai, who was supposed to go to the pediatric department, was fine, but Ning Zhuo caught a fever from the drastic temperature difference between inside and outside.
The fever came in the middle of the night.
Ning Zhuo, experienced in this, simply closed his eyes without saying a word, waiting for the fever to pass.
But someone stayed by his side without taking off their clothes, taking his temperature, boiling hot water, getting medicine from Min Min, and using a cold towel to reduce the fever, busy and meticulous.
Ning Zhuo kept his eyes closed, knowing who it was.
Xiao Bai stood by the bed, holding the medicine, and waved to turn on the bedside sensor light, intending to get Ning Zhuo up to take the medicine.
Ning Zhuo, his voice hoarse, refused, “Don’t bother. I’ll be fine by morning.”
Xiao Bai insisted, “Seeing you like this, I can’t be fine.”
Ning Zhuo wanted to say more, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his breathing became heavier.
He pressed his hand against the wall, turned off the bedside light, and collapsed heavily onto the bed in the darkness.
Amidst the intense ringing in his ears, Xiao Bai’s panicked voice reached him, sounding somewhat distorted.
“Ning-ge! Ning…”
Ning Zhuo’s fingers dug into the hollow of his right shoulder, and he pressed his head hard into the pillow, every bone in his body creaking under the strain.
When he cut off his own arm back then, he hadn’t expected it would bring him such long-lasting pain.
The recurring phantom pain often dragged him back to that fishy-smelling warehouse.
Countless heavenly fires rained down from the sky, hitting every corner of his body, burning his flesh and bones to ashes.
Ning Zhuo panted heavily, his fingertips digging deeply into the joint where his flesh met the mechanical prosthetic, tossing and turning like he was dying, struggling to capture the thinning oxygen in the hallucination.
Suddenly, Xiao Bai’s voice rang clearly in his ear: “—Ning Zhuo!”
Damn it, so rude!
Ning Zhuo’s eardrums buzzed painfully as he squeezed out a word through clenched teeth: “Get lost!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Xiao Bai not only didn’t leave, but threw himself on top of him. “Don’t be like this; you can’t die!”
Ning Zhuo almost laughed at how mad he was.
But oddly enough, as soon as his fractured mind was stimulated, the phantom pain slowly left him, healing faster than it ever had before.
Once Ning Zhuo’s lungs stopped aching from over-expansion, his first reaction was to slap the back of the silly boy’s head and ruffle his hair. “Try cursing me again, see what happens!”
Xiao Bai still wouldn’t leave him, clutching the corner of his blanket tightly. “You… you’re okay now?”
Ning Zhuo sat up, easily lifting Xiao Bai with one hand and setting him down firmly on the floor. “Old problem.”
Xiao Bai sniffled. “I thought you were going to die.”
Ning Zhuo replied, “Didn’t I promise I’d die at your hands?”
After saying this, Ning Zhuo was a little surprised.
How many years had it been since he had joked with someone without malice?
He didn’t speak further, and Xiao Bai also remained silent, but Ning Zhuo didn’t feel awkward.
Being with Xiao Bai, he always seemed to have endless things he wanted to say.
Ning Zhuo glanced toward the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand, reflecting on this faint warmth that spread from his heart. He was about to lean back when he noticed that Xiao Bai’s figure beside the bed was trembling slightly.
He asked, “Scared?”
Xiao Bai didn’t respond.
Ning Zhuo gave a command to the bedside lamp: “Turn—”
“Don’t.” Xiao Bai twisted his hands and interrupted Ning Zhuo. “Don’t turn it on.”
Ning Zhuo asked, “Aren’t you scared?”
Xiao Bai softly said, “You don’t want me to see how you look right now. Let’s wait a little longer, until you’re better.”
Ning Zhuo didn’t argue with him: “Turn on the light.”
In the gentle light that filled the room, Ning Zhuo got out of bed. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Xiao Bai protested, “You still have a fever.”
Ning Zhuo pried open his right hand.
In his palm, a small white pill was nearly melted from being clutched too long.
Ning Zhuo swallowed the bitter pill directly. “Ten minutes, I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
At night, *Hai Na* was a maze of crisscrossing metal corridors, cold and desolate, with each step echoing in the empty space, as if the vibrations and reverberations reached into his chest.
“It’s too plain,” Xiao Bai commented quietly. “You should install a system, maybe something with murals that change every day.”
Ning Zhuo said, “What, you think this place is your home?”
His tone wasn’t harsh, more playful than anything.
Xiao Bai looked up at him, saying nothing.
Perhaps seeing Ning Zhuo’s episode tonight had scared him. For the first time, Xiao Bai realized that Ning Zhuo wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t live past eighteen—there was truth behind it.
Xiao Bai asked, “Ge, how did you lose your arm?”
Ning Zhuo lowered his head, flexing the steel fingers. “Someone tricked me.”
Xiao Bai’s face filled with indignation. “Who did it?! I’ll go find them!”
Ning Zhuo pointed to himself. “Got a problem with me?”
Xiao Bai froze, staring at Ning Zhuo, his eyes suddenly lighting up with admiration.
Ning Zhuo: “…”
He thought there might be something wrong with this kid’s sense of excitement.
Xiao Bai looked away, gazing into the seemingly endless closed corridor ahead. “Ning-ge, don’t you like the outside world?”
Ning Zhuo: “What?”
Xiao Bai said, “Why do you hide in the mountains? The moon must look great from up there. Staying too long isn’t good for your health either.”
He tugged on Ning Zhuo’s sleeve. “You need fresh air, it’ll do wonders for your mood.”
Ning Zhuo looked down at his fingers, not saying anything.
Xiao Bai was unusually talkative tonight. “Ning-ge, what do you think the world outside is like? Let’s build a ship and sail out there to see.”
Ning Zhuo didn’t tell him that once his plan was complete, he planned to die.
For all these years, the only thing keeping him alive was his burning rage.
But over time, he had gained more and more attachments, and the original plan had become so large that, if executed, it could turn the entire Silver Hammer City upside down.
He had no other way to live.
The future Xiao Bai rambled about—Ning Zhuo had never even thought about it.
Not knowing how to respond, he simply chose the least important point: “…I’m not sailing.”
Xiao Bai was curious. “Why not?”
Ning Zhuo hesitated, looking away. “Just not sailing.”
Xiao Bai thought for a moment. “Is it because of what happened to the Columbus a year ago?”
Ning Zhuo fell silent.
The Columbus incident had shaken all of Silver Hammer City, leaving a deep scar in its collective memory.
A group of young people, unwilling to be born, live, and die on this island, had gathered an expedition team to explore the outside world.
Silver Hammer Island had limited resources, and its technological development had always focused on serving the people on the island. No external routes had ever been established.
The authorities claimed that no signals had ever been received from the outside world, and no messages had been sent back.
The old world had long been shattered into pieces.
Once they left Silver Hammer City, their logistics, safety, and future prospects could not be guaranteed.
Yet, despite knowing they would likely never return, facing certain death, these young people still signed multiple death and liability waivers, overcame countless obstacles, and set out on their hopeful journey.
Two months later, the Columbus encountered a storm in the depths of the ocean and sank.
This outcome was no surprise to anyone.
But when the news finally came, even the Silver Hammer Daily observed a day of silence.
Xiao Bai continued to guess: “Ning-ge doesn’t like sailing? Doesn’t like water? Or does he get seasick?”
Seeing no response from Ning Zhuo, Xiao Bai muttered to himself, “If you don’t want to sail, fine, but how are we going to get out then?”
As Ning Zhuo listened to the child’s hopeful and whimsical ideas, he felt they belonged to a world completely different from his own.
So distant, in fact, that even the thought of “trying” seemed both extravagant and unattainable.
Suddenly, Xiao Bai clapped his hands together and looked up, smiling: “Ning-ge, I’ll build you a bridge!”
This idea was so absurd that it surpassed anything Ning Zhuo could have imagined.
He looked confused: “What?”
“I’ll build a bridge.” Xiao Bai gestured, “Starting from Silver Hammer, connecting to the land, then to the next land…”
Ning Zhuo lowered his head and gave him a soft smile.
Xiao Bai, who had been talking excitedly, was suddenly stunned by Ning Zhuo’s smile.
Afterward, Ning Zhuo averted his gaze and strode forward.
Xiao Bai snapped out of it and hurriedly followed suit.
Ning Zhuo walked faster and faster, trying to leave behind this absurd and laughable dream.
He couldn’t tell a child that not only had he never considered the possibility of a bridge spanning the ocean, but he didn’t even have any plans beyond his desire for revenge.
He didn’t know if his deteriorating body would last long enough to see Charlemagne make a mistake.
So, mountains, seas, the moon, bridges—these were all things he had never thought about.
Xiao Bai quickly sensed Ning Zhuo’s subtle rejection and hastened his steps to catch up.
Ning Zhuo’s long legs made it difficult for Xiao Bai to keep pace, and eventually, Xiao Bai was almost running to keep up.
Not knowing why he had “angered” Ning Zhuo, Xiao Bai hurriedly apologized: “Ning-ge, I’m sorry. I won’t daydream anymore. I know it was stupid, I just… I was just thinking… I—”
Ning Zhuo suddenly stopped in his tracks, gently placing his hand on Xiao Bai’s head: “It’s not stupid.”
In an unusually gentle tone, he whispered, “You’re allowed to dream.”
But Xiao Bai, without stopping, threw his arms around Ning Zhuo’s waist and hugged him tightly.
Ning Zhuo stumbled backward, completely perplexed.
“Ning-ge, if I did something wrong, please tell me. Don’t walk so fast.”
Xiao Bai’s hands tightened behind Ning Zhuo’s waist, gripping him with growing intensity.
His body was naturally warm, and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead as he pressed against Ning Zhuo’s chest, both damp and hot: “I’ve been abandoned by people who were important to me. They always chose their own path… I never stopped them; I just… I was never their first choice.”
He lifted his head, full of hope and longing: “You chose me, so please don’t abandon me, okay?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t reply.
After a long pause, he bent down, lifted Xiao Bai onto his shoulder, and strode back the way they had come.
“You’ve got a mouth, and short legs, just say something if you can’t keep up.” Ning Zhuo said, “Don’t try to chase.”
On Ning Zhuo’s shoulder, Xiao Bai kicked his legs straight and protested loudly: “They’re not short!”
Time passed like water flowing by.
Xiao Bai settled in comfortably, making himself at home by Ning Zhuo’s side.
He struggled through grueling combat training but gained significant progress. After two or three months, he could spar with Ning Zhuo in a well-formed manner, showing a knack for adapting and improvising that even made Ning Zhuo wary at times.
His talent for marksmanship exceeded anything Ning Zhuo had ever seen.
Ning Zhuo finally experienced the joy of raising a child.
He took Xiao Bai to the simulated battle room, teaching him how to manage his team, allocate roles efficiently, and complete a variety of simulated missions like encirclement, assassination, and raids.
Xiao Bai, in turn, introduced Ning Zhuo to movies.
Not the ones produced by Interest Corporation—anything related to Interest Corporation, aside from necessary informational software like the Silver Hammer Daily, was forbidden within the Haina base.
Instead, he showed Ning Zhuo films people had watched two hundred years ago.
Unfortunately, Ning Zhuo wasn’t the romantic type. Before the protagonist had even spent ten minutes moving around on the small screen, Ning Zhuo was already fast asleep.
And so, this simple happiness came to an end with the arrival of spring the following year.
That day, Min Min entered the training room: “Ning-ge, someone’s here to see you.”
Ning Zhuo had just kicked a steel dummy’s neck, leaving a dent. He picked up the towel around his neck and wiped away the sweat: “A client?”
Min Min hesitated for a moment: “…Yes.”
She lowered her voice: “Something’s off about them. They specifically asked for you.”
Ning Zhuo raised an eyebrow.
It wasn’t unusual for people to seek him out and offer high prices for his services, so he didn’t think much of it.
He glanced at Xiao Bai in the corner.
Exhausted from training, Xiao Bai was clinging to a suspended punching bag, swinging lazily.
The moment Ning Zhuo’s gaze swept over him, Xiao Bai quickly scrambled higher, trying to hang himself out of sight.
Ning Zhuo walked over in a few strides and pulled him down.
Caught, Xiao Bai immediately flashed a sweet smile, with his signature dimples, folding his arms in front of him as he pleaded: “Ning-ge, are you thirsty? I’ll go brew you some wolfberry tea!”
Ning Zhuo pulled off Xiao Bai’s boxing gloves and noticed his knuckles were red—not entirely lazy after all. He set Xiao Bai down on the floor: “Go ahead.”
Like a little rabbit, Xiao Bai happily hopped away.
Ning Zhuo quickly changed into some more formal attire suitable for receiving guests and, guided by Min Min, headed to the VIP room where clients were received.
Boss Fu was already there.
He usually attended these meetings but never introduced himself, always smiling and serving drinks.
Almost every visitor mistook him for a tea server.
This time, there were two visitors. One was a long-faced man, dressed like a butler, standing next to the head of the household without taking a seat.
The main guest, the one who had asked for Ning Zhuo, sat in the main seat. When Ning Zhuo entered, the man politely and elegantly nodded at him.
The man was dressed in traditional Chinese attire, appearing to be about thirty-five or thirty-six years old. He was in good shape, with a clean and handsome face that looked vaguely familiar.
Once Ning Zhuo entered, the man who looked like a butler stepped forward and politely handed him a business card.
The material of the card was unusual, warm to the touch like jade. In the upper left corner, two thin and sinewy characters were printed in seal script:
Tangdi.
The man in the traditional Chinese robe spoke softly, “Tangdi, Shan Rong’en.”
The name of that biotech company was well-known—it specialized in producing prosthetics.
…Ning Zhuo had used prosthetics from this company in the past.
Ning Zhuo nodded slightly, betraying no emotion. “Hello, Mr. Shan. What can I do for you?”
“Recently, I’ve been busy with the acquisition of a company, and I really can’t afford any negative news. So, I apologize for being a bit late.”
Shan Rong’en wore the kind of businessman smile that Ning Zhuo loathed the most, a bright and ingratiating one. “I hope my Feibai hasn’t caused you too much trouble?”
Ning Zhuo froze, his blood cooling inch by inch.
He finally realized why Shan Rong’en looked familiar.
His nose was high and straight, with a slight hump.
It looked just like… Xiao Bai’s.
The butler picked up the conversation eagerly, “Our second young master is spoiled. You’ve had quite a task on your hands these past few days.”
The curve of Shan Rong’en’s smile was precise and restrained, “I heard you went through quite an ordeal to save him. But really, it wasn’t necessary.”
“Those filthy kidnappers were only after money. They would have put on a bit of a show, at most removing the tracker from the back of his neck. There’s no way they would actually kill him… But perhaps you didn’t know that, so you ended up putting yourself through unnecessary trouble.”
“May I ask, how much is your usual fee? We can pay the maximum. Or, you can name your price, and we can negotiate from there.”
Seeing that Ning Zhuo had lowered his head and wasn’t responding, Shan Rong’en raised his teacup towards him with a slight nod, “Ah, the passion of youth.”
The fine red tea, clear and bright, gave off rising steam. It reminded Ning Zhuo of the blood he had spilled while saving Xiao Bai—one of these little cups wouldn’t be enough to hold it.
The day after his second son entered “Haina,” Shan Rong’en already knew his whereabouts.
He had people watching “Haina” for a long time. Once he was sure they weren’t planning to blackmail him, but also weren’t returning his son, he finally came in person to retrieve him.
In the ensuing silence, Boss Fu suddenly spoke, “What was their ransom demand when they kidnapped him?”
Shan Rong’en was momentarily speechless, not expecting a mere water-server to speak up.
Uncertain of the internal hierarchy of the mercenary group, he didn’t rebuke him, but instead responded with a calm, distant smile, “They didn’t get the chance to ask.”
Boss Fu replied, “But there must have been an estimate.”
Shan Rong’en smiled at Ning Zhuo, his gaze questioning why this person was being so rude.
When he saw that Ning Zhuo had no intention of acknowledging him, Shan Rong’en turned to Boss Fu and took a sip of his tea, “Who knows?”
Boss Fu smiled back, his expression friendly, “If you don’t know, we’ll just go with the market average. It must have been at least a million.”
He held up one finger.
Upon closer inspection, his hand was well-formed, with long, slender, and strong fingers. “Our Ning Ning is worth a million and one.”
The smile on Shan Rong’en’s face immediately froze.
Ning Zhuo hadn’t been paying attention to Boss Fu’s quote.
He knew Boss Fu was standing up for him, smiling as he metaphorically slapped the other man in the face.
But he didn’t care.
All Ning Zhuo could feel was the old wound on his shoulder from three months ago aching faintly.
…What a pointless waste of time.
__
Author’s Note:
Silver Hammer Daily
Today’s corporate interview.
Tangdi is a well-known biotech company in our city, responsible for 60% of the island’s prosthetics production. Their prosthetics are known for their stability and have received widespread acclaim. The company was founded by Shan Yunhua, a woman, and her husband took her surname after marriage. They later had their son, Shan Rong’en, the current head of the family.
…
Interviewer: Let’s interview the young heir. What is your name, and how old are you?
Shan Feibai: Shan Feibai. Fifteen years old.
Interviewer: Could you tell us what you know about your family’s business?
Shan Feibai: Our family? Our prosthetics are great. A few years ago, I was kidnapped by someone whose entire body had been modified. He severely injured the person who came to rescue me, using one of our family’s prosthetics. (laughs)
Interviewer: …Hahaha. Mr. Shan, you sure know how to joke.
Shan Feibai: Mr. Reporter, do you like prosthetics? Would you like to try a demo model? (laughs)
