A German Artist in Distress

Aircraft of this era had very limited range. No plane could possibly make the five- or six-thousand-kilometer journey across the Atlantic Ocean to Europe, so the slow steamship was Chen Mo's only option. Naturally, lacking identification, Chen Mo chose to sneak across the border.

Chen Mo realized that ever since infiltrating Zhou Tianhao's villa, he had grown increasingly fond of playing the roles of assassin and thief—and he had been doing quite well at both.

Strength, agility, and perception near the limits of human capability and several times greater than those of ordinary people allowed Chen Mo to infiltrate with ease without being discovered. On top of that, his spatial storage let him carry ample tools and weapons and easily take away large quantities of items, making infiltration, assassination, and transporting supplies far more convenient.

Of course, those were merely objective conditions. The main reason was that Chen Mo preferred achieving his goals at the lowest possible cost. Reckless brute force was not his style.

After opening the last safe, Chen Mo packed up his tools and began taking stock of his haul. There was more than 120,000 dollars in cash, along with a small amount of gold bars and jewelry, several kilograms of drugs, and, to Chen Mo's greatest delight, two M1911 pistols.

This pistol had served in the US Army for over seventy years and was a classic high-powered handgun. Its large 11.43-millimeter caliber gave it unmatched stopping power. Its magazine held seven rounds, and it was powerful, accurate at long range, reliable, and unlikely to malfunction. Its drawbacks were its relatively large size and weight, low magazine capacity, and heavy recoil, which affected shooting accuracy. But for Chen Mo, with his astonishing strength and spatial storage that allowed him to swap magazines instantly, none of those were problems.

More than ten days later, after a long voyage, the cargo ship finally reached the port of Liverpool. Having been cooped up in the hold for so many days, with only the occasional chance to sneak onto the deck at night for some air, Chen Mo had been stifled badly. Before nightfall, relying on his sharp hearing and perception, Chen Mo easily avoided the crew and slipped off the ship. He hailed a taxi outside the harbor and headed straight for a hotel.

Though alone, Chen Mo booked the finest suite, with two bedrooms and a spacious living room. Through the windows, he could see Liverpool's beautiful classical streetscape and the vast coastline in the distance. Chen Mo lay down on the soft, oversized bed and quickly drifted into sleep.

In the morning, fragmented sunlight filtered through the white gauze curtains and fell across Chen Mo's face, its warmth rousing him from deep sleep.

After enjoying a rare, peaceful night's rest, Chen Mo felt completely refreshed. He stretched lazily, rose, and slowly walked to the window. When he pushed it open, a gust of cold wind mixed with the morning dampness blew in, jolting him awake.

It was already January 1942, yet Chen Mo, who should have set out immediately, instead strolled leisurely through the streets of Liverpool.

When World War II broke out, a group of Germans fled to Britain for refuge. Most of them were Germany's elite: Jews persecuted for their race, Communists hated by Hitler, and "degenerate artists." There were doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and artists among them, but in Britain, they were merely refugees from an enemy nation.

After arriving in Britain, they did not have an easy life. First, they were used as laborers to help the British build defensive fortifications. Then they were sent to the desolate Dartmoor moorlands, where they struggled to survive amid dense fog and torrential rain.

After being tossed from place to place, and out of fear of Germany, which had swept across Europe, the British government confined all these "unstable elements" on several small islands near Liverpool.

It was not until the Pearl Harbor Attack broke out not long ago that the nearly thirty thousand Germans on those islands were released. Most of them joined the British military, but quite a few remained in Liverpool.

However, as people from an enemy nation, they were not particularly welcome among the British. Unable to find steady work, most drifted through the streets and lived in great hardship. Chen Mo easily found an elderly German artist in the square making a living by drawing portraits for others.

The old man's hair was gray, and he wore a somewhat worn but exceptionally neat dark-gray suit. Hardship had not crushed him. Instead, it had made him calmer and more open-minded. There was not the slightest trace of pain or suffering on his face, only the freedom and serenity of someone who had seen through life and made peace with death.

The old man sat on a battered wooden stool, one hand steadying the drawing board propped against his legs and the other holding a charcoal pencil. At his feet rested an old leather suitcase containing all his worldly possessions.

"Sir, would you like a portrait?" the old man asked with a gentle smile.

"Why not?" Chen Mo sat down on the stool in front of him. The old artist studied Chen Mo carefully, his charcoal pencil swiftly moving across the board. Before long, he completed a lifelike portrait sketch.

It had to be said that the old artist's skill was truly superb. With only a few simple strokes, he captured Chen Mo's gaze and expression with remarkable vividness.

Unlike before, Chen Mo had reined in his edge. Having experienced killing, a plane crash, and travel through time and space, Chen Mo's strength had steadily increased, and his mindset had changed as well. Once he cast off his restraints, his entire bearing became sharp and fierce. His eyes were bright and profound, his gaze keen, and he gave off an air of naked, unsheathed sharpness.

Only after seeing the portrait the old man had drawn did Chen Mo realize how much he had changed without noticing it. Still, he preferred this current freedom and uninhibited ease. Constant restraint and concealment were not conducive to the growth of his strength.

This is the real me, Chen Mo thought as he looked at the sharp, transcendent figure in the portrait.

After Chen Mo explained his purpose and offered ten dollars a day with food and lodging included, the down-on-his-luck old artist readily put away his drawing board, picked up his suitcase, and happily followed Chen Mo back to the hotel.

The old man's name was Eddie Albert. He was a painter and sculptor of no great fame who had devoted his life to artistic creation. He had never married and had no children. Though already in his sixties, he was still alone.

Though his wandering, rough life had given him more creative inspiration and insight into life, his body could no longer hold up so well. Although he had come to terms with life and death and prepared himself to die in a foreign land, Chen Mo's appearance still gave him a glimmer of hope, and he chose to seize it.

He could tell that Chen Mo was no ordinary person. His presence was unique. Though Albert had met countless people, he had never seen such qualities in anyone else.

After returning to the hotel and arranging for Albert to stay in the other bedroom of the suite, Chen Mo took the old man to the finest nearby restaurant for a lavish meal as a welcome. The old man's dining manners were elegant, making it impossible to associate him with a destitute refugee. He seemed more like a refined nobleman.

From that day onward, Chen Mo began studying sketching, oil painting, and sculpture under Albert. His highly developed brain and precise control over his body revealed a formidable artistic talent. Under Old Albert's serious and rigorous instruction, it did not take long before Chen Mo's painting and sculpting skills reached a rather impressive level.

What amazed Albert even more was Chen Mo's talent for languages. Unlike English, which Chen Mo already had some foundation in, German was completely unfamiliar to him, and he had started from scratch. Yet after only a month, Chen Mo spoke it so flawlessly that even Albert, a German himself, could not find the slightest fault.

If those things had only left him amazed, then what happened next made him feel terrified.