“Is this a joke? Why are we boarding the plane from such a remote spot?” Finger loudly complained. “Aren’t we on official business? Why are we in economy class? Even if it’s not first class, it should at least be business class! We’re flying out to sacrifice ourselves for humanity, after all!”
“I heard tickets for the other flights were already sold out, so this is a late-night charter flight. Securing the last three economy tickets wasn’t easy,” Chu Zihang said calmly.
“And they didn’t prioritize Caesar’s group?” Finger seemed pleased. “It looks like we’re getting special treatment this time!”
“I heard Caesar requisitioned one of his family’s ‘Gulfstream’ jets and took off an hour ago.”
“Really? Shouldn’t you be saying that through gritted teeth? You look like a second-generation rich kid; don’t you feel ashamed that you’re just a poor rich kid while Caesar is a wealthy rich kid? You don’t even have the will to fight him to the death!” Finger remarked seriously. “I think our group might lose if we lack that fighting spirit.”
“My father is just a chauffeur,” Chu Zihang said expressionlessly as he handed over his boarding pass.
The flight attendant smiled warmly as she took the pass, tearing it and handing half back to Chu Zihang. “Welcome, new faces, huh?”
Chu Zihang looked at her through his sunglasses, remained silent for a few seconds, then nodded. “Understood. Hello.”
The massive cabin of the Boeing 747-400 was packed. It seemed to be a chartered flight for a tour group—the passengers all seemed familiar with one another, chatting, playing with kids, or flipping through newspapers.
“The seats are really cramped,” Finger muttered as he eyed a beautiful woman with a high bun not far away.
Lu Mingfei was somewhat surprised. He had never thought of Finger as particularly robust. The guy always wore loose shirts and walked hunched over, making him look a bit frail. But stuffed into the economy seat, it was obvious—Finger was quite large, filling the seat completely.
“This flight is nonstop. We’ll be flying over the Bering Strait, close to the Arctic Circle. It’ll take about fourteen hours,” Chu Zihang said, handing over two small packs—each contained an eye mask and earplugs. “It’s best to get some sleep. We’ll need to start working as soon as we land.”
“Oh, it’s like having a nanny!” Finger said happily.
Lu Mingfei absentmindedly took the set and swiftly put on the eye mask and earplugs. He hadn’t been feeling himself these past days, but his mind kept flashing with messy, unwanted thoughts. If he could fall asleep, maybe he would think less. The eye mask and earplugs seemed to isolate him in a dark space. He could vaguely hear Finger’s loud voice: “Hey, when’s the meal service? Do you guys have beer? Can I get a double serving?”
Suddenly, he remembered how, three months ago at the end of summer, he had also laid there with an eye mask on in the darkness, rain pattering on the airplane’s outer shell. He had been touching the phone in his pocket, wondering if, in the next half hour, he would get a birthday message from someone.
Actually, the engagement… it must have already happened by then, quietly. It was just that he didn’t know, so he still felt there was a glimmer of hope. That’s why he had such a foolish dream on the plane.
“Damn, this seat is really breaking my back.” Finger grumbled, taking off his eye mask and standing up to stretch his shoulders.
The plane had already ascended above the clouds. Outside was the deep night, and inside the cabin, the lights were dimmed. Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei were sleeping side by side, dead to the world.
After drinking two beers, Finger inevitably felt the need to use the bathroom. He stumbled to his feet, humming an off-key rap, swaying as he made his way to the lavatory. Satisfied, he entered the restroom, and upon looking up, his eyes widened in shock, almost popping out of his head!
On his way to the lavatory, his back was to the passengers, but now he faced them, and he could clearly see in the dim light that faint golden pupils were glowing like pairs of fireflies. Even the sleeping boy with a bear plush had a faint golden glow in his barely open eyes. An elderly man reading a newspaper noticed Finger’s gaze and looked up coldly—golden light flashed fiercely in his eyes, as sharp as blades!
“I must be running a fever…” Finger muttered, touching his forehead.
“Can’t find your seat, sir? Please return to your seat quickly; we’re flying through strong air currents,” the flight attendant said softly behind him.
“You probably have no idea what kind of passengers you’re flying to China, do you, innocent little bunny?” Finger muttered, turning around—only to see that the beautiful flight attendant he’d looked at a few times before had eyes blazing with a golden glow, like champagne illuminated by a gas lamp!
The flight attendant patted Finger’s face, pinched his slightly open mouth, and smiled, “Handsome, don’t you know what kind of plane you’re on? Those without bloodline can’t get on this plane.”
This was a flying… dragon’s nest!
Caesar woke up in bed, the sky outside the porthole pitch black. The Gulfstream jet had three full-sized beds, just enough for the three of them to rest. He glanced at his watch—there were four hours left until they arrived in China, and they were flying over the Arctic Circle.
Caesar loved this private jet; the bed’s firmness was adjusted to his preference. But the sleep had not been good—there was an unsettling feeling in his dream, as if something was approaching.
He looked out the porthole for a long time. The blinking red lights on the wing illuminated the clouds below, the red light splashing like blood.
He estimated he wouldn’t be able to sleep again, so he opened his bag, took a look at the crossbow and bolt set, and saw a faint glimmer in the artificial crystal on the arrowhead. He pulled out his laptop and connected to the internet, accessing a frequently visited website from his bookmarks—“Hunter’s Market.”
Only a select few knew Caesar Gattuso’s other identity: he was a hunter. He had been a hunter even before entering Cassell College, with an ID on Hunter’s Market since he was fifteen. Of course, he didn’t need to work for bounty rewards; even the most generous bounty could only cover the cost of his private plane’s fuel and some casual pocket money. He simply enjoyed the thrill, and there were many interesting people among the hunters. His ID was “Gallic Governor,” named after the dictator Caesar who once conquered Gaul.
The post offering a bounty for the Dragon King was pinned, with thousands of replies. It seemed many hybrids had IDs here—previously silent users were all now active. Some expressed astonishment, some remained calm about the rumor, some speculated on how many people would head to Beijing to claim the huge bounty, while others just posted trash comments. It was bustling, like a lively public gathering. It seemed that hybrids had at least inherited humanity’s love for gossip. Caesar scrolled through the page, skimming over the junk posts to read the valuable replies. Unlike Cassell College’s internal news site where every ID could be traced, here it was possible that family leaders were hiding behind ordinary IDs.
Caesar had no leads on the Dragon King himself, so he put his hope in this chaotic website.
Suddenly, he stopped scrolling. There was a reply with no responses yet: “Selling information related to the Dragon King, $200,000 in cash.”
This kind of post was not rare; there were always people on Hunter’s Market trying to sell information, but most of it was fake. It was like the advertisements that pop up on regular websites—regular users just ignored them. But for some reason, seeing this particular reply made Caesar’s temple twitch slightly. Something was off about it as an advertisement, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.
He reread the reply several times, analyzing each word, but still couldn’t find the oddity. He figured he was being paranoid, so he decided to move on.
Then he noticed the poster’s ID—“phoenix.”
He finally understood what was wrong. He had never seen this ID appear on Hunter’s Market before, but an ID like “phoenix” should have been registered long ago. It was an old ID that had surfaced just to sell fake information?
Caesar clicked on “phoenix’s” profile. On Hunter’s Market, profile pages were usually blank, but this one retained some entries. For example, the registration date—it was registered twenty-three years ago, when the global internet was still in its infancy. Hunter’s Market was probably still a beta version, and this ID was already taken. It was the seventh ID ever registered on the platform.
Caesar pondered for a moment, then sent “phoenix” a private message.
His attention was focused on the screen, so he hadn’t released his “Kamaitachi.” As a result, he didn’t notice the sea-like clouds below the plane starting to boil, shadows blowing away the clouds, rising silently, and following behind the Gulfstream jet. Below the clouds, a massive Arctic ice floe cracked open, and similar shadows emerged, taking off with a heavy impact that shattered the ice. A flock of shadows followed the private jet like a formation of fighter jets.
They resembled a swarm of bloodthirsty bats.
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