Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 133: Su Xiaoquian’s Spring Strategy (7)

Dragon Raja 4

Suddenly, she remembered a strange dream. After listening to Shao’s confession that night, she had a dream where she left a foolish monkey in the wilderness and ran away without looking back.

Was this that foolish monkey’s embodiment? He had walked through the storm, wandering the streets, all just to find her. He was both angry and heartbroken, betrayed by someone he trusted. He bared his teeth as if he wanted to bite her, but at the same time, he was pouting, full of grievance.

Do all abandoned monkeys search the world for their Tang Sanzang? And if they can’t find him, do they continue wandering the wilderness forever?

“Nono? Nono, are you still there?” Caesar’s voice called from the phone.

The line had suddenly gone quiet, but Nono’s breathing could still be heard.

“Why can I go directly to Rome to find you, but Lu Mingfei has to go back to the college?” After a moment, Nono finally spoke again.

“Because I’m protecting you. I can’t let you face the Council of Elders and the Execution Bureau.”

“And who’s going to protect Lu Mingfei? You won’t let him off, will you? You’ll brand him as a lunatic, a murderer, maybe even a Dragon King. You might exile him or even kill him.”

“Don’t use Lu Mingfei’s logic against me!” Caesar’s voice suddenly grew stern. “You have no idea how serious this is. I can’t save everyone; I can only save you!”

He had been holding back his emotions while speaking to Nono, knowing how stubborn she could be. If he said something she didn’t like, she might really hang up the phone. He just needed to get through these three minutes, convince her to get on the plane, and then he could deal with Lu Mingfei. But something must have happened on her end. Everything was going smoothly, and then suddenly, her stubborn streak kicked in again.

“I know you mean well, but Lu Mingfei once told me something. He said, ‘If there really was someone named Chu Zihang in this world, and everyone forgot him, he’d be screaming in some forgotten corner, “Someone help me, I’m Chu Zihang… Someone help me, I’m Chu Zihang…” But no one would even remember his name.’ He couldn’t let that happen, so he couldn’t forget Chu Zihang. For the same reason, I can’t let Lu Mingfei cry for help without someone answering. And if no one else answers, then I’ll be the one to respond.”

“What do you mean?” Caesar was both shocked and angry. “Stop being so stubborn!”

“Lu Mingfei is my friend. I’m not helping him for fun—it’s because he reminds me of myself when I was younger. If I don’t help him, it feels like I’m abandoning my younger self.” Nono hung up the phone.

The call ended at 2 minutes and 58 seconds—just two seconds short. Caesar slumped into his chair, only to stand up moments later and, in frustration, smash a glass with a wave of his hand.

Parsi lifted his head from his tablet. “We were two seconds short. We couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, but we confirmed that the call came from a city in southeastern China, which happens to be where Lu Mingfei’s hometown is.”

The three-minute window refers to the time needed for an exact trace of the call’s location. However, to determine the country or city the call was made from, it takes significantly less time.

“Good. Prepare the plane and gather our available forces in the region,” Caesar ordered as he stood up.

“There’s something troublesome happening in that city,” Parsi said, setting the tablet in front of Caesar. “It’s likely an elemental vortex. Something big might be emerging there.”

The tablet showed a satellite image of a swirling black vortex cloud covering a small area in southeastern China. Despite its size, the cloud was dense, resembling a black hole.

“Damn it… Damn it!” Caesar finally recalled what Nono had mentioned about the storm, but at the time, he hadn’t paid much attention—he had been focused solely on keeping Nono calm.

“That city has an airport, but planes can’t land there anymore. Both air and sea routes are closed. The only way in and out is through one remaining highway,” Parsi added. “It might be a hatching ground. Going there now is extremely dangerous.”

“If it’s dangerous, that’s all the more reason to go—Nono is still there! Find the nearest available airport and have an off-road vehicle ready for me when I land!”

“Shall I accompany you?” Parsi offered.

Caesar hesitated briefly. “You stay. I need eyes and ears on this end too. As for help, contact the college immediately and have them send Abbas to China. Have him land at the same airport as me.”

“Since the incident with Lu Mingfei, Abbas has also become a person of interest to the college. The Execution Bureau may not release him unless he agrees to act privately.”

Caesar opened his drawer, revealing the pair of Desert Eagles that had been dormant for a long time. “Then tell him that Caesar Gattuso needs his help.”

Nono stepped out of the phone booth, snapping the phone card in half and tossing it into the rain. The water, littered with fallen leaves, flowed across the empty street. Outside the booth, there was no boy.

Of course, the foolish monkey from her dream wouldn’t really show up in the real world, shouting at her. Everything just now must have been a hallucination. What was that line from some book? There are no external demons—it’s all in your mind.

“Lu Mingfei, I actually fell for your nonsense,” Nono sighed softly at the sky. “Looks like I’m really going to be broken off from my engagement now, huh?”

At Cassell College, inside Amber Hall, Lionheart president Babré hurried up to the top floor. The top floor housed an attic with a triangular roof. Since Norton Hall had returned to the Student Union’s control, Amber Hall had become the headquarters of Lionheart. Over the years, Lionheart had recruited several wealthy members who donated generously to the organization.

The previous Lionheart president, Abbas, was now residing in the attic. Abbas didn’t have high standards for his living conditions, nor was he using his old position to reap any benefits from Lionheart. However, he had a large following on campus, and it would have been inappropriate to house such a prominent figure in a regular dormitory. If Abbas had stayed in a standard dorm, students would knock on his door every night for advice, and since Abbas wasn’t the type to refuse, he would’ve spent every night chatting with people and solving their academic or emotional problems. Over time, he would have transformed from an Execution Bureau elite into the campus counselor. So Babré had decided to move Abbas into Amber Hall without asking for his opinion.

Babré opened the door to the attic, revealing a bright little suite with simple furnishings and a triangular window overlooking the lawn. Sunlight bounced between the glass and mirrors, creating a dazzling display.

A wool sweater and scarf lay tossed on the couch, indicating that the resident was a bit of a slob. The air smelled of citrus and mint, the fragrance wafting from a hookah on the table, the scent still strong as if the owner had just set it down.

“President! President!” Babré called.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” A man dressed in a patchwork leather jacket and wool hunter’s garb burst out of the storage room, lugging a large travel bag, his hair a disheveled mess.

Babré looked him up and down. “The Student Union president has been styled like an old aristocrat, but you, president, look like you’re the cleaning staff we hired.”

“No, no. You’re the president now. I’m just a graduate student squatting in Amber Hall,” Abbas laughed, flashing a mouthful of white teeth.

Most people, upon hearing the name Abdullah Abbas, assumed he was a formidable Middle Eastern warrior, given the Arabic-sounding name and his leadership of one of the strongest brotherhoods at the college. They expected him to wear robes, brandish a scimitar, carry a Quran, and pray five times a day.

In reality, Abbas was a clean-cut, slightly shy young man with refined features, large, deep-set eyes, and a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. His coffee-colored hair and messy bangs gave him a look that could be mistaken for either an Iranian or a Brit. His mannerisms were gentle and polite, full of apologies and excuses, somewhat reminiscent of a chatty Japanese person. He didn’t have any clear religious affiliation and lived an easygoing life. It wasn’t uncommon to find him in the library, rubbing his messy hair as he combed through books. If you wanted to meet him, all you had to do was tap him on the shoulder and strike up a conversation. Thus, people often said that while the Student Union president was a noble among the students, Abbas, the president of Lionheart, was like a wandering swordsman.

The strange thing was, despite being a noble and a wandering swordsman, Caesar and Abbas were good friends. It was not uncommon to see the two sharing a meal in the cafeteria, discussing topics that others could barely understand.

“But Babré, you should knock before entering! I have my own privacy, too!” Abbas hurriedly moved the hookah out of sight. As the former president of Lionheart, he didn’t want people knowing about his lazy habit of lounging in the window, smoking hookah with bare feet in the sunlight.

After a moment, Abbas returned to the table. “Sorry, things are a mess right now, can’t even offer you tea. So, is it the Execution Bureau that’s deploying me?”

“Why would you think that?” Babré asked, staring into Abbas’s striking green eyes, the most dazzling feature of his appearance.

“Because there’s an elemental vortex over a city in southeastern China. I wrote a small program that taps into global weather data to predict where large elemental vortices might appear. I don’t have a high enough clearance in the Execution Bureau, so sometimes they don’t send me the latest intel right away,” Abbas said as he pulled out a comb from nowhere, attempting to tame his messy hair. “And since I have nothing to do right now, it’s likely they’ll send me, so I’ve been packing, just in case.”