Chapter Six: Fangs
In the dead of night, the docks in East London are always filled with a suffocating smell of rust, salty seawater, and rotting wood.
The fog was not still; it was like a living, gray behemoth, crawling and flowing among the skeletons of abandoned cargo ships, the labyrinth of rusted containers, and the oily puddles on the asphalt road, greedily devouring the already scarce light and distorting sounds into indistinct sobs.
This is the city's forgotten appendix, a breeding ground for shady deals and dirty deeds.
Sia crouched atop the narrow cab of a gantry crane that was several meters high, like a shark that had temporarily folded its fins, silently hovering in the shadows.
He was dressed in a dark gray work uniform that blended almost into the night, and his signature, torch-like red hair was now tightly covered by an old worker's hat of the same color, with only a few stubborn strands peeking out from under the brim.
His eyes were the only sharp point of light in this gray world, like the most precise instrument, slowly and carefully scanning the Warehouse No. 3 area below, where illegal arms transactions were scheduled to take place.
He is "Whale Shark," the sharp blade in Xu Yue's hand that always draws blood when unsheathed, and the most direct and violent executor of the organization's expansionist will.
Tonight's mission is clear and ruthless: a batch of weapons from continental Europe that attempted to bypass the channels controlled by the Syrian Moon Organization and smuggle into the Eastern District, along with that reckless arms dealer who dared to steal from the "Salt Crocodile's" territory, and those small gang representatives who fantasized about challenging the existing order with a few new guns, all need to be thoroughly "cleaned up".
Xu Yue's instructions are always concise: confiscate the goods and eliminate the participants. The purpose is not only to reclaim the profits, but also to serve as a bloody warning to all those secretly watching: who sets the rules for these waters, and what the consequences of crossing the line are.
For West Asia, this mission is far more straightforward than diplomacy or negotiation that requires intrigue, compromise, and balancing.
Violence was not his preferred strategy, but rather a form of expression akin to his native tongue, the most direct and effective grammar for maintaining the order established by the narrative.
His understanding of loyalty and order was centered on the will of the Moon. Any deviation must be corrected in the most thorough way.
Below, several beams of furtive flashlight beams pierced the thick fog, flickering beside the rusty side door of the warehouse, where several figures gathered like cockroaches afraid of light.
The transaction has begun. Sia spoke into the miniature bone conduction microphone hidden under her collar, her voice extremely low and perfectly calm: "Target confirmed, side door of Warehouse No. 3."
Six people; a long, rectangular package is visible, possibly containing weapons. 'Jellyfish poison,' in the eastern passage. 'Octopus,' in the western alley. 'On my signal, seal off and clear out.'
Two short, clear taps came through the earpiece, indicating receipt. The net laid out by West Asia began to silently close.
He himself, like a real shark that has smelled blood, leaped from the top of the gantry crane, which is more than ten meters high.
He didn't fall directly, but used the steel frame of the building and the rough cables as cushions and leverage points. In a few leaps, his figure, like a weightless feather, silently landed in the shadow of the oil-staining waste.
He made no attempt to conceal his presence. As his figure seemed to solidify from the mist itself, walking step by step toward the group of traders who were thrown into a panic by his sudden appearance, the chilling killing intent emanating from him was the most effective weapon in itself.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” Sia’s voice rang out on the empty dock, with an almost polite cruelty. “It seems someone forgot to send their visiting cards.”
Panic erupted among the six like a plague.
Some people instinctively reached for their gun holsters, while others retreated in panic.
But West Asia acted faster than they reacted.
He was like a red ghost; despite his somber attire, his sharp aura, like color itself, cut into the crowd.
His fighting style is devoid of any frills; it is a deadly dance honed in the struggle for survival on the streets, with every move aimed straight for vital points—the Adam's apple, the temples, the solar plexus, and joint locks.
The cracking sound of bones dislocating, the dull thud of a fist hitting a target, the gurgling sound of someone being choked—all these sounds created a brief but cruel symphony of death in the thick fog.
As soon as a guy tried to sneak up on him from behind, the cold glint of his dagger flashed, but as if he had eyes in the back of his head, Xiya delivered a swift and precise elbow strike to the guy's nose, the sound of cartilage collapsing was sickening.
The other man had just raised his pistol when his wrist was gripped by West Asia's iron-like fingers, twisted in the opposite direction, and the gun was knocked out of his hand. He then received a heavy punch to the temple and collapsed to the ground like a limp rag doll.
The whole process took less than ninety seconds. The six guys, who had taken a chance, were all lying unconscious or groaning in pain in the filthy water.
Xiya stood in the center, her breathing not even noticeably disordered.
He bent down, took the key from the pocket of the man who seemed to be the leader, and opened the back door of the dilapidated truck next to him.
Prying open the wooden crate, the brand-new rifles and pistols gleamed with a cold, pale blue luster in the dim light.
"Clean up the site," Sia calmly told her subordinate, her tone as indifferent as if she were ordering the disposal of routine garbage. "Send the goods back to 'Nest.' 'Jellyfish,' report back."
"Unobstructed access, whale shark. All targets are incapacitated. Area sealed off."
"very good."
Mission accomplished. Efficient, ruthless, and in line with the "whale shark" standard.
The path back to the organization's underground core stronghold, "Nest," was fixed, but tonight, when Xiya was still two streets away from the stronghold, her steps unconsciously veered off course. The thick fog still hadn't dissipated, and the glow of the streetlights shimmered into blurry yellow patches within the mist.
He turned into a narrower, darker alley, at the end of which a small record store called "Nocturne" was still lit with warm yellow lights. The storefront was old, and a few outdated jazz records, covered in a thin layer of dust, were displayed in the window.
Xiya stopped in the shadows at the alley entrance, completely merging herself into the darkness.
His gaze pierced through the mist and shop windows, landing on the figure inside the shop who was tidying up the shelves.
She was a young girl, who looked to be no more than twenty years old. What was most striking was her hair—a peculiar hazy blue base, like the ever-present sky of London, interspersed with strands of light purple like the sunset and bright pale yellow, like an overturned palette, vibrant and full of life.
She wore a simple sweater and long skirt, and nimbly sorted the records. Occasionally, she would pick one up, gently brush the dust off the cover, and listen to what seemed like a silent melody.
Against the backdrop of a gloomy and dilapidated environment, she and the small world she guarded stood out incongruously, yet were also remarkably conspicuous.
universe.
Xiya didn't know her name, but he called her that silently in his heart. He couldn't remember when this habit started.
Perhaps it was a chance encounter after a mission, or perhaps it was an unconscious wandering earlier. He found that whenever his hands were stained with blood and his heart was filled with violence, looking at this girl with strangely colored hair, who seemed to be forever immersed in the world of music, from a distance for a while could strangely calm that restless destructive urge.
This became a secret ritual in his dark life. He never thought of approaching her; the glass window seemed to be the boundary between two worlds. He was "Whale Shark," a being living in shadows and bloodshed; while she was an unexpectedly clean corner in this filthy city, like an unreal phantom.
He simply watched, like a weary ship gazing at the faint but steady light of a distant lighthouse, knowing it was unattainable, yet able to use it to confirm its direction and gain a moment's respite.
After pausing for about three minutes, Xi Ya took a deep breath of the cold, damp air, which seemed to carry a faint pine scent—perhaps just a whiff of something he had imagined—from the record store. He then quietly turned around, disappeared back into the thick fog, and headed towards the entrance of the "Nest."
He took out the silver pocket watch that Xu Yue had given him, which had slight wear on the edges, and glanced at the time in the faint light of the distant lighthouse. He had plenty of time before his scheduled return.
A barely perceptible loosening swept across his perpetually taut jawline.
When they returned to the entrance of the organization's underground core stronghold, "Nest," the London sky was already tinged with a sickly pale dawn.
The world above ground begins to awaken, while the underground kingdom remains immersed in the secret rhythms of the night.
"Nest" is a complex network of underground air-raid shelters and abandoned subway tunnels. Its ventilation system emits a low hum, mixed with intermittent radio static, the sounds of punches coming from a distant combat training ground, and a distinctive smell that is a mixture of dust, engine oil, and a faint trace of disinfectant.
Xiya did not go to rest immediately, nor did she participate in the hustle and bustle of the morning activities that had already begun at the stronghold.
He first went to the equipment room, and as if performing some kind of sacred ritual, he disassembled, wiped, oiled, and reassembled the modified pistol and dagger he used, performing each action meticulously.
Then he walked to the large bathroom shared by the members and turned on the shower. The warm water washed over his bronze skin, washing away the grime of the dock and the faint smell of blood, but it could not dispel the aura of the dark world that had seeped into his bones.
Water streamed down his muscular back, covered with old and new scars. He closed his eyes, letting the water wash over his face. The absolute focus and ruthlessness he had been in during the mission were slowly fading away, and another, more complex and tender emotion began to surge like an underground current—an almost anxious anticipation mixed with a cub-like dependence that he only showed in front of a specific person.
After changing into a clean black cotton shirt and trousers, Xiya ignored the few peripheral members who passed by and greeted him with awe, and headed straight for the deepest and quietest area of the stronghold—where Xuyue's private study and command center were located.
He knew that at this time, Xu Yue was most likely still awake. She seemed to never need the long hours of sleep that ordinary people did, as if the energy contained within her slender body was enough to sustain her endless control over this ever-expanding underground empire.
Xiya stopped at the entrance to the relatively independent passage leading to the Xuyue Study, where two core members took turns guarding it.
They recognized Xiya and nodded slightly in acknowledgment, their eyes showing respect for "Whale Shark" and understanding of the special relationship between him and their leader.
"Is the teacher inside?" Xi Ya asked, her voice unconsciously lowered a few decibels than usual, carrying a hint of barely perceptible caution.
“Yes, I just finished talking with Mr. ‘Ram’,” one of the guards replied in a low voice.
Xiya took a deep breath, subconsciously straightened her already neat shirt collar, and then raised her hand to gently knock on the heavy, soundproof wooden door with her knuckles.
"Come in." From inside the door came Xu Yue's unique voice, calm yet carrying an unquestionable authority.
Xiya pushed open the door and entered.
The study was furnished in a practical and austere manner. Numerous filing cabinets, a wall covered with marked maps, and communication devices flashing various indicator lights occupied the main space. The air was filled with the scent of old paper, high-grade ink, and a trace of the cool cedar and amber notes that Xu Yue often used.
Xu Yue sat behind a large ebony desk, her eyes lowered as she reviewed a document. The light from the desk lamp cast a soft yet distant halo over her sharp jawline.
Yan Daosi—the man known as "Gongyang"—had just finished his report and was standing solemnly to one side. When he saw Xiya enter, a very faint, almost elder-like gentleness flashed across his calm face. He then nodded slightly to Xuyue, quietly withdrew, and carefully closed the door behind him.
Only Xiya and Xuyue remained in the room.
In an instant, the "whale shark" that had been reaping lives like the Grim Reaper on the dock seemed to have never existed.
Standing in front of the desk, Xi Ya stood ramrod straight, yet with an almost imperceptible stiffness. Her hands hung limply at her sides, her gaze fixed on Xu Yue, a mixture of intense focus, barely perceptible timidity, and an almost primal dependence.
At this moment, he was not like a fearsome warrior, but more like a large dog waiting for its master's judgment after completing a command. Beneath his fierce exterior lay complete surrender and a trace of fear of negative feedback.
Xu Yue didn't look up immediately, her slender but well-defined fingers turning a page of a document. The subtle sound of paper rubbing together was amplified in the overly quiet study, stirring Xi Ya's sensitive nerves.
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and finally, unable to hold back any longer, he spoke in a tone that was clearly tinged with a desire for credit, yet also tried hard to sound calm and reliable:
"Teacher, everything at the East Wharf has been taken care of."
Xu Yue slowly raised her eyelids, her gaze falling on Xi Ya. Her eyes were deep, as if they could penetrate all appearances and look straight into the depths of the soul.
She looked him up and down, as if to make sure he was unharmed, before asking in a flat voice devoid of any emotion, "Was it alright?"
“Successfully!” Sia replied immediately, his speech slightly faster due to urgency. “All six guys were dealt with properly. The goods were all seized, nothing was missing.” He omitted specific details of the fight; he knew Xu Yue didn't care about the process, she only cared about whether the result met her expectations.
Xu Yue nodded almost imperceptibly, her face showing no expression of approval or criticism.
But that's enough for West Asia.
Her calmness was the greatest affirmation of his actions.
His taut shoulder line relaxed by a mere millimeter.
"Are you alright?" Xu Yue asked again, her tone still calm, but Xi Ya was like the most sophisticated radar, instantly capturing the extremely subtle concern hidden beneath the calmness.
This made his heart suddenly warm, a warm current quickly surged through his limbs and bones, even bringing a slight dizziness like being slightly intoxicated.
"No! Not a scratch at all." He quickly assured her, even unconsciously straightening his back as if to show her that he was completely unharmed. "Those bastards are no match for me."
Xu Yue's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, perhaps forming the beginnings of a smile, or perhaps just an illusion created by playful light and shadow.
She lowered her head again, her gaze returning to the documents, and said in a voice that revealed neither joy nor anger, "Hmm. Well done. Go and rest, it's almost dawn, and I have things to do for you tomorrow."
A few words—"done cleanly"—were like the best reward, instantly filling the void in West Asia's heart, which had been somewhat hollowed out by years of killing.
All the bloodshed from the mission, the emptiness after the adrenaline receded, were dispelled in this moment by this simple recognition. He had received what he craved most: affirmation from Xu Yue, even if it was just the most understated kind.
"Yes! Teacher, you should get some rest too." A hint of barely suppressed joy crept into Xiya's voice. Like a child who had received the sweetest candy, he was contentedly and almost tiptoed backward, preparing to leave this space that he both revered and longed to be a part of.
However, just as his fingers were about to touch the cold brass doorknob, Xu Yue's voice rang out again. She still didn't look up, her gaze remaining fixed on the document: "Xi Ya."
Xiya's movements froze instantly. With an almost instinctive speed, he turned around and stood as straight as a javelin: "Here!"
Xu Yue's voice came steadily, piercing through the air: "Remember, fangs are pointed at the enemy, don't let blood cloud your eyes and point them at your own people."
These words were like a cold needle, piercing the nerve endings of Xiya's excitement unexpectedly, making him shiver.
He suddenly remembered that on the dock, when the last guy was pleading with tears streaming down his face, he had indeed felt a fleeting, uncontrollable, violent urge to crush him completely.
Was it because that cowardly expression stirred up some unpleasant memories? Or was he simply indulging in the absolute power to control the life and death of others? He thought he had concealed himself perfectly, but he never expected that nothing could escape Xu Yue's all-seeing eyes.
A mix of fear, shame, and deep self-reproach gripped him. He lowered his head, his voice becoming muffled and hoarse: "I remember, teacher. I'm sorry."
"Go." Xu Yue didn't say anything more, she just waved her hand.
This time, Xiya truly left the study, gently closing the door behind her.
Leaning against the cold stone wall outside the door, he let out a long, silent sigh.
Outside the door lies a vast, complex, and perilous world of organizations, where he is the fearsome "Whale Shark"; inside the door lies the domain under Xu Yue's absolute control, where he is "West Asia," yearning for recognition and guidance.
This stark contrast in identity constitutes the entirety of the meaning of his existence and the unity of contradictions.
Xuyue is his salvation, his beacon, his only recognized refuge, and the strongest reins on his wild nature.
He willingly allowed himself to be bound by these reins, because without them, he didn't know what he would become—perhaps, he would revert to that red phantom known as "Red Wolf," living in the mud and garbage of the streets, driven only by hatred and the instinct for survival.
This time, Xiya truly left the study, gently closing the door behind him. Leaning against the cold stone wall, he let out a long sigh. Outside the door was the organization's world, where he was the fearsome "Whale Shark"; inside was Xuyue's world, where he was "Xiya," yearning for recognition and guidance.
This stark contrast constitutes the entire meaning of his existence. Xuyue is his salvation, his beacon, and also the strongest collar around his neck. He willingly accepts this bondage because without it, he doesn't know what he would become—perhaps, he would revert to that red phantom struggling in the muddy streets, left only with hatred and instinct.
He clenched his fist, deeply imprinting Xu Yue's admonition in his heart.
Then, he began to walk towards the members' rest area. The physical exhaustion finally set in, but more than that, he felt a sense of emptiness after completing his mission, and a restless nerve that desperately needed sleep to soothe it.
Only where Xu Yue's gaze fell could he find temporary solace for his lost soul. The record store girl with the hazy blue hair was like a glimmer of starlight in this endless darkness—distant, quiet, a faint light he dared not touch, yet couldn't help but gaze upon amidst the bloodshed.
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