Silver-Haired Old Friend

Chen Guan had figured it out—compared to him, these people were all more concerned about his leopard.

The short-haired woman just said "Oh," didn't ask any more, and went back to drinking her water, head down.

The bald man hadn't said a word the whole time. After wiping his knife, he tucked it under his pillow, lay down, and turned to face the wall.

The tall, thin man hadn't even opened his eyes.

Chen Guan leaned against the wall, fingers resting on his knees, staring blankly at a crack on the opposite wall.

The blank stare was fake.

He was counting the details in this room.

One door, no windows. Ventilation came through the gaps between the iron sheets on the roof. The airflow moved from the doorway inward, meaning the passage outside was the main source of ventilation.

Six cots, but only three people were staying here. With him, that made four. One cot was still empty—either someone else was coming, or it was reserved for shift changes.

Chen Guan made a rough assessment of his three temporary roommates.

Three people, three types. All of them looked like characters who'd scraped by on the fringes of society.

The odd jobs hired by the New Circus troupe really weren't decent types. No wonder White Tiger had sent him here instead of Yin Chen or Hong Yuan—two people he vaguely considered his subordinates.

One of them couldn't hide her pride. The other was too innocent and naive.

The leopard yawned at his feet, revealing a row of sharp teeth, then rested its head on its front paws and closed its eyes.

Chen Guan patted its head as a comfort.

Since his leopard had evolved, it had been getting lazier and lazier, losing that energetic look it used to have. He wasn't sure if it was related to the upgrade.

On top of that, the leopard was a bit dumb—couldn't transform, couldn't talk. It really made a parent worry.

Time passed slowly. The light coming through the iron roof shifted from bright to dim as the sky outside gradually darkened. Sea breeze poured in through the gaps in the roof, carrying a salty, damp smell.

No one spoke.

This silence wasn't awkward—it was a kind of understanding. In a place like this, silence was the safest way to socialize.

After about two hours, the iron door was pushed open from outside.

The person who walked in wasn't the hoodie guy. It was someone Chen Guan had never seen before.

He wasn't tall, and he wore a dusty old jacket.

After stepping inside, he stood at the doorway, let his gaze sweep across the room, and finally stopped when it landed on Chen Guan, lingering for a moment.

The reason was simple—wearing a mask was a bit eye-catching. But the guy didn't seem to mind much. People having quirks was normal.

"Everyone here?" he asked in a voice that wasn't loud but was clear enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The bald man sat up on his cot.

The tall, thin man opened his eyes.

The short-haired woman put down her enamel cup.

"There's a job tonight," the man said. "Pier 3 at the dock. Eleven o'clock. A shipment needs to be unloaded. You're on perimeter security. You don't need to touch the cargo—just make sure no unauthorized people get close during the unloading."

He pulled a few pieces of paper from his pocket and handed one to each person in turn.

Chen Guan took his and glanced at it. It was a rough map of the area, with their designated positions marked.

His spot was at the northeast corner of Pier 3, near a row of abandoned shipping containers.

"Any questions?"

No one said anything.

"Then assemble at the gate at ten-thirty."

...

Ten-thirty.

The iron door swung open, and the group filed out.

Chen Guan and his leopard brought up the rear.

No one spoke.

After walking for about seven or eight minutes, the hoodie guy appeared ahead, leaning against the side of a container with an unlit cigarette in his hand.

"Everyone here?"

"Here," the bald man answered for all of them.

The hoodie guy tucked the cigarette behind his ear, pulled out a walkie-talkie the size of his palm, adjusted the frequency, and let it crackle with static for a couple of seconds before it settled.

"Take your positions. Report in on your walkie-talkies once you're there. Channel three."

He took four identical walkie-talkies out of an iron box nearby and handed one to each person.

Chen Guan took his, weighed it in his hand. It was an old model—signal range was probably only a few hundred meters, but it was enough in an area full of warehouses.

Rustport really was a run-down place, even its communication equipment looked dated.

Knowing his task, Chen Guan headed off alone toward the northeast corner.

The docks at night were quieter than during the day. In that silence, he found his position.

A row of abandoned shipping containers lined up against the dock fence. Their surfaces were covered in rust, and a few doors hung half-open, revealing pitch-black insides.

Chen Guan crouched down with his back against the side of a container. The leopard lay quietly by his feet, its purple pupils barely glowing in the dark—well restrained.

He pressed the talk button on his walkie-talkie.

"Northeast corner, in position."

Voices came through one after another.

"Northwest corner, in position." That was the bald man.

"South side passage, in position." The short-haired woman.

"Southeast corner, in position." The tall, thin man's voice sounded younger than expected.

The hoodie guy said finally, "Copy. Hold your positions. Report any situation immediately."

Then the channel went quiet.

Chen Guan clipped the walkie-talkie onto his belt and adjusted the volume to where he could just hear it clearly.

Peering through the gap between containers, he looked out toward Pier 3. A few lights were on—not many, just enough to illuminate the pier itself and a small area around it. The rest remained lost in darkness.

A speedboat pulled up to the dock.

Then a second one.

People jumped off the boats, moving swiftly, landing almost soundlessly.

The unloading began.

From Chen Guan's angle, he could only see rough shapes. Several figures moved around the pier, carrying something from the boats to the shore.

The boxes weren't big—a person could carry one—but those carrying them moved carefully, as if the contents were fragile.

Chen Guan didn't believe for a second it was anything ordinary, but he wasn't curious either. It had nothing to do with him.

A short crackle came through the walkie-talkie, followed by the hoodie guy's voice. "All positions, report."

"Northeast corner, all clear," Chen Guan said, pressing the talk button.

"Northwest corner, all clear."

"South side passage, all clear."

"Southeast corner..." The tall, thin man's voice paused. "There's movement."

The channel went silent for two seconds.

"What kind of movement?" The hoodie guy's tone didn't change, but he asked quickly.

"Someone. One person. Coming from the southeast. Moving silently."

The tall, thin man's voice dropped very low, as if there was a hint of fear in it.

"Did you get a good look? How many."

"One."

"Sure?"

"Sure. A woman. Short hair. No—long hair. Silver."

The tall, thin man hesitated noticeably while describing it, as if what he'd seen didn't match what he'd expected.

Chen Guan's finger stopped over the walkie-talkie without pressing down.

Silver long hair.

That wasn't a common hair color.

The hoodie guy's command came through the walkie-talkie. "Stop her. Ask for identification. Don't engage—just confirm first."

"Copy."

The tall, thin man's voice cut off.

The channel went silent again.

Chen Guan looked through the container gap toward Pier 3. The unloading crew was still moving things, their pace unchanged, their rhythm unbroken.

It shows that they either haven't received the news over there yet, or they have but don't plan to stop.