church
The kitchen was filled with steam, and Milo stood quietly in front of the stove with his back to the living room.
The rich broth simmering in the pot was bubbling gently, releasing a fragrant aroma. Milo silently watched the boiling broth, occasionally stirring it with a spoon.
Once the broth had reduced to the perfect consistency, he turned off the heat, picked up a soup bowl, and instinctively filled it to the brim. Then he picked up another bowl, filled it to the brim as well, and even carefully skimmed off the surface oil.
Milo snapped out of his daze when two steaming bowls of soup were placed side by side on the porcelain table. He stared blankly at the two identical dishes, the aroma in the air suddenly becoming pungent. He stared at the two bowls of soup, his gaze gradually hardening from confusion to coldness.
Milo turned around and poured the soup back into the pot, then poured the entire pot of soup into the sink, turned on the tap, and started rinsing it. Watching the last wisp of steam rise from the sink and dissipate, Milo's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.
Footsteps sounded in the room, and Blaise emerged wearing an open, dark bathrobe. He followed the sound, reached out to turn off the faucet for Milo, and glanced at Milo out of the corner of his eye, noticing the residue in the drain. He looked at Milo with some confusion.
“It’s ruined, the taste is wrong.” Milo turned around, his face expressionless and his voice flat. As he spoke, he walked around the kitchen, using the excuse of getting water to distance himself from Blaise.
Blaze didn't ask any questions, just nodded. He took the water glass Milo offered, his fingertips brushing against Milo's fingers, and felt they were slightly cool. He couldn't help but wonder if he had gone too far last night, and with the air conditioning running all night, Milo wasn't feeling well this morning? But Milo didn't say anything, and he didn't press the matter.
As for their current way of getting along, Blaise is gradually figuring things out. As long as he doesn't show too much aggression or dominance, they can maintain a peaceful relationship.
The two moved to the living room and sat down. International news was playing on the television. General Zowin had successfully wiped out drug lords, and the footage showed government troops escorting drug traffickers and seizing drugs.
"Over in Gan Valley," Milo said, his voice flat as he looked at the screen, "is it really appropriate for you to just stay here with me instead of going back?"
Blaze turned his head to look at Milo, tilting his head slightly, a rare occurrence for him, and gestured: You want me to leave?
Milo picked up his glass of water, his fingertips tracing the cool rim, and said in a light voice, "If I say you can't leave, will you stay? Then stay, better yet, for the rest of your life." With that, Milo chuckled and turned to look at Blaise. "Hiring those people cost me a lot of money for the final payment. If you were here, that would be so much better. Trading your body for money is more worthwhile than trading cash."
Milo deliberately spoke in a hypocritical and sarcastic tone, but these hateful words seemed to be naturally filtered out by Blaise, whose mind was filled with the scene of Milo shedding tears amidst the raging flames.
That was Milo's true self. He could see and feel the emotions in those tears. Blaze subconsciously reached out and gently wiped Milo's cheek, as if wiping away the tear he had imagined.
Why are you crying? I've never seen you cry before. Are you crying for me?
Blaise ultimately didn't ask, simply letting herself enjoy Milo's company in the quiet atmosphere.
Looking into Blaise's eyes, Milo instinctively wanted to look away, but that ambiguous warmth began to spread like poison.
As they drew closer and were about to kiss, a faint reflection flashed through the window.
Blaze's eyes instantly turned cold. He grabbed Milo's shoulder and silently took his place at the window. He glanced sideways at a certain spot, giving a cold, hard warning look, precisely locking onto a dark window in the building across the street.
A chill ran down the spine of the sniper rifleman on the opposite building.
Blaise then drew the curtains.
The living room was once again enveloped in soft lighting, but the chilling murderous intent from just a moment ago seemed to still linger in the air.
"What's wrong?" Milo immediately noticed something was wrong, his eyes sharpened, and he instinctively wanted to turn his head to look out the window.
Blaise, however, pressed down on his shoulder again, stopping him from moving, and quickly and clearly signed: Don't look.
"Why?" Milo's voice turned cold, his doubts growing rapidly, the warmth from before vanishing completely. "Whose person?"
Blaise remained silent.
Milo considered countless possibilities, but only one remained in his mind. This time it wasn't Miles, nor the drug dealers on Mount Chira. The only person in the world who could make Blaise only defend and not attack was probably Sigon.
"Ring ring—" The crisp sound of the doorbell rang out abruptly.
Milo walked to the smart monitor by the door, where the figure of a person standing outside the door was clearly displayed.
Nonai was dressed casually, with a low-key baseball cap on her head. Her beautiful face under the brim was facing the camera, and she gave a bright, almost dazzling smile. She even raised her hand and waved her five fingers at the camera: "Hello."
Milo turned around expressionlessly and looked at Blaze behind him. Blaze's face instantly darkened as he stared intently at Nona on the screen.
“Blaze, aren’t you being too clingy? You’re always following me around, don’t you get tired of it?” Nona’s voice came through the access control system, with a relaxed laugh. Then she changed the subject, “Milo, I’m here to invite you. The old gentleman wants to see you, right now.”
Blaise almost immediately reached out and grabbed Milo's wrist tightly with great force, with an undeniable determination to stop him.
Milo didn't pull away; instead, he gripped her hand back: "I can't stay indoors forever."
Blaise still didn't let go.
"But you have a way to guarantee my safety, don't you?"
Upon hearing this, Blaise's fingers loosened almost imperceptibly.
Milo looked into Blaise's eyes and said, word by word, "With you here, I'll be fine, right?"
St. Seville Cathedral is a typical Gothic Revival building left over from the colonial period, with its soaring spires reaching towards the sky and stained glass windows casting colorful and sacred light and shadow in the afternoon sun.
Milo walked alone into the empty church, his footsteps echoing clearly on the stone floor.
The church dome is covered with exquisite frescoes, and rows of dark wooden pews are neatly arranged on both sides of the central aisle, extending all the way to the altar at the far end. A faint scent of candles, old wood, and dust fills the air, creating a solemn and tranquil atmosphere. Afternoon sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows, casting long, shifting beams of light down the aisle.
Milo's gaze swept past the rows of empty benches and landed directly on the front row.
On the first row of benches in front of the altar sat an old bald man, with Chatsai beside him, his face stern and cold.
“I thought you’d spend your whole life as a ‘local tyrant’ in the deep mountains of Gan Valley.” Milo approached slowly, his voice echoing in the empty church.
Xigong chuckled, turned his head, and his cloudy but sharp gaze fell on Milo: "So, you are indeed more capable than many people, actually forcing me to personally come out of Gan Valley to see you."
“You didn’t come to see me just to talk about this?” Milo sat down on the bench next to Sigon, keeping a distance that wasn’t too close or too far. “What do you want?”
Sigon's answer was quick and clear: "Peace."
“Peace?” Milo’s lips curled into an undisguised sarcasm. “For this ‘peace,’ your sister Suma’s life was sacrificed. Now, it’s my turn to grant you your ‘peace’?”
Xigong's eyes remained unwavering: "I've seen your methods, quite impressive. I can tell he loses his mind whenever it involves you." He paused, his voice lowering, "I can't interfere in how you play your games, but don't overstep your bounds, don't cross the line. You're a smart man, you should understand what I mean. The affairs of Gan Valley are none of the business of outsiders."
Milo met his gaze head-on, unyielding: "Mr. Natawa, is your crackdown on Mengtuo truly for the sake of 'peace' in Gangu? The cooperation between Pomlasong and General Zowin in the anti-drug campaign, with operations along the borders of five countries, isn't that the clearest warning to you? They've been watching Gangu's pharmaceutical factory for a long time; do you really think they don't know what you're producing? Everyone thinks you're just after money..." Milo leaned forward slightly, "Actually, what you want is political capital. What you want has never been nominal autonomy, but true, complete political independence. You want to turn Gangu into a state within a state."
Sigon's face remained calm, but Chachai, standing beside him, suddenly became heavy-hearted, his eyes filled with shock and a hint of barely perceptible fear.
Milo continued, “I’ve never understood why, six years ago, the bio-based drug my father and Suma were developing was a ready-made path to help Gan Valley break free from drug addiction and move towards industrialization. It was priced extremely low, solely for saving lives and alleviating poverty. Their philosophies were perfectly aligned, and the contract was signed. Why did it ultimately fall apart?” He stared intently into Xigong’s eyes. “Now I understand. It’s because Suma is a reformist. She wants economic development, a future for Gan Valley to integrate into the modern world. But you, you are a complete revolutionary, or rather, a power-hungry individual. You want absolute control over Gan Valley, a closed, self-contained kingdom of power. Suma’s development path is fundamentally at odds with the political oppression you pursue. She’s no longer your sister; she’s your biggest political enemy on the road to power.”
The church was deathly silent, and a faint hint of gloom finally crossed Sigon's wrinkled face.
“Theo Green,” Sigon said slowly, his voice even colder than before. “I came here today with a genuine desire to shake hands and make peace with you, after all, I didn’t want to completely break ties with that brat.” He frowned slightly. “But now, you are going to die.”
Milo didn't budge, instead leaning back in his chair, a defiant smile playing on his lips. "Is that so? Too bad. It seems my life is worth quite a bit with Blaze. You can take a gamble, whether your men kill me first, or Blaze's bullet—" Milo's gaze swept across a shadowy spot in the church, ""piercing your heart first?"
Almost simultaneously, an extremely fine red laser beam, like the gaze of death, precisely pierced through the stained glass window of the church and landed steadily on Sigon's chest.
Chachai was horrified and instinctively drew his gun to protect his master and find a sniping position.
"Don't move!" Sigon shouted sharply, raising his hand to stop Chatchai's movement. His face was ashen, his eyes fixed on the red light, his voice carrying a hint of suppressed anger and fear, "It's no use, you're not as fast as him." He knew all too well what Blaze's marksmanship meant.
Xigong slowly stood up, his gaze returning to the composed Milo, a twisted smile creeping across his face. "Good, very good. Young man, you're ruthless and bold." Xigong picked up a hat from the side and put it on, obscuring most of his face. "However, let me warn you. Some knives may look incredibly sharp, but they may not be easy for you to handle. Forcing things can backfire, leaving you wounded. He has the blood of Gangu flowing in his veins. Even if he cares about you now, do you really think he would completely abandon his roots, his people, his family for an outsider like you?"
Just before leaving, Sigon paused at the heavy entrance of the church, as if remembering something, and slowly turned around.
Backlit, the wrinkles on his face cast even deeper shadows.
“Barton’s youngest son is arriving in Wanyang tomorrow. I heard that the kid is like a mad dog, relentlessly pursuing Steven’s autopsy report, and even managed to get his hands on a special out-of-town investigation order from the Lanman National Police.” Xigong gave a cold smile. “The bigger the tree, the more the wind blows. You’re too flamboyant.”
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