The Silent Explosion

The battle at Lieyang Fort has come to an end, and Ming De and the soldiers of many battle groups are returning to their respective posts.

What will tomorrow bring to District 54? Xue Ming doesn't know, he doesn't understand.

Just as he himself said, he was only good at breaking things and turning the living into the dead. Meteor once told him that Mr. Luo Ping'an of the Gate of Wonders was once a ruthless executioner, because the demons nurtured on that evil land of Shambhala were far more terrifying.

If we kill the bad and leave the good, will the world really become a better place?

During the duel, George Joshua wasted his breath and time, repeatedly spouting the same truths. But were these social and cultural topics something Xue Ming wouldn't have cared about seven or eight years ago, because he was only in his early twenties then. He just wanted to live a good life, and even if he died, he wanted to die a worthy death.

In the blink of an eye, his child has grown up so much.

What will he say if the children ask him about this someday?

--Live on with hope, and bid farewell to the dark, unclear, chaotic, and evil old era.

This is the answer Xue Ming figured out.

In Westbrook's River Bend district, Mr. Victor and Bloodhound Lady held their wedding right on their enemy's territory, a double celebration following a great victory, with the wedding feast lasting a full week.

The city has gained a new sun. It no longer depends on tariffs from the Kurbo Gold Mine to survive, nor does it need to become a haven for criminals. It can have agriculture, handicrafts, and photovoltaic power stations—it should have everything it needs.

The Vita Imprint cannot survive in the sunlight; the dirty spots on street corners will disappear, and the moldy, smelly dampness that festers in people's hearts will be evaporated by the sun.

After attending Professor Victor's wedding as the female character Glory, Xue Ming's mind became increasingly clear.

Marriage is a mental demon that the teacher repeatedly rejected, one she was unwilling to confront.

Having Wen Bucai, Victor knew all too well the terrifying and alluring power of emotions; they could gradually transform a strong-willed warrior into a cowardly wretch.

During the week-long wedding banquet, Mr. Wen Bucai drank constantly, sometimes laughing maniacally, sometimes crying out in grief. When drunk, he would grab someone at random, hug them, and then lie on the oak planks of the Bay Area Wharf, vomiting his filth into the river.

This immortal man had many wives and children, forming various families in different times and at different historical stages.

He gained and lost time and time again, forgot and forgot again and again, only to remember again in the rituals of weddings and festivals.

As the officiant at Bloodhound Lady's wedding, Xiao Qi was extremely busy these past few days, with only Jack Martin by Mr. Wen Bucai's side. On the last day of the wedding banquet, Glory, out of curiosity, went to Wen Bucai's side.

Wen Bucai was still sitting by the dock, drinking and vomiting intermittently. His jawline was sharp and angular, and his strong chin and neck gave him a very reassuring look, like a male protagonist straight out of a comic book.

His skin was tanned to a bronze color, his cheeks were slightly red, and his eyes were fixed on the distance.

Glory sat down next to Mr. Wen Bucai and casually asked about the past.

"Professor Victor is getting married. It's not a good idea to wail at someone's wedding, Mr. Wen Bucai. Is something on your mind? Perhaps talking about it will make you feel better."

However, the Black Stone people have always had an amazing attraction. They rarely reveal their true feelings. They are overjoyed to listen to other people's stories, but they are unwilling to speak about their own pain.

At that moment, Jack Martin materialized from the void, as if to say something.

"Get out of here! This has nothing to do with you!" Wen Bucai shouted immediately. "Please, let me be alone for a while, please!"

No matter how strong a warrior is, there always seems to be a soft spot in their heart.

Jack made his exit at the opportune moment, but Glory wouldn't listen to any advice. So Wen Bucai picked up the wine jug and muttered something incoherently.

"Victor's wedding reminded me of something, little one—"

He knew Glory's true identity, so he addressed Xue Ming as "[little friend]".

"I know this is wrong, I know, but I can't control myself, I can't control myself."

A flock of grey-green ducks swept down from the upper reaches of the river, returning to Westbrook along with the small fish and shrimp in the shallows. This area used to be Westbrook County, and many holdouts in the urban villages are unwilling to move, still farming in the gaps between high-rise buildings and struggling to survive in dark corners.

Glory asked calmly, "Does it have anything to do with women?"

"No." Wen Bucai wiped his nose while continuing to drink, "It's about what happened a while ago."

Glory took out a water bottle from her bag and asked Mr. Wen Bucai for a drink.

Wen Bucai poured a cup for the War King, and then said--

"--You remember, I've been wandering around the Mimir Hot Spring Market for the past twenty years, haven't I?"

Glory: "Yeah."

Wen Bucai: "In my early years, I worked hard in the industrial park, made many friends, and also got into a lot of trouble. A city without gangs is full of monsters and demons. I sided with the Eastern Governor because he was good to the brothers, he was highly respected, and he was an elder of the Masons."

"Zhao Donglai successfully got a job in the capital, our relationship faded. He was busy bossing people around in the office, while I was working as a volunteer policeman in various places. The last time I met you was eight years ago."

"After we took down the Skull and Bones Society, Uncle Donglai was furious because Baiweifang was his political enemy. These guys were colluding with the Skull and Bones Society to do business with the ingredients of the Disaster Beasts. So I helped him out, using this as an excuse to eliminate his dissidents."

"I watched him grow old little by little, from thirty to forty-six."

"After we wiped out the Skull and Bones Society together, Uncle Donglai finally realized I was no ordinary person and wanted to marry his daughter to me."

At this point, Wen Bucai's tears began to stream down his face uncontrollably.

"--I watched his daughter grow up little by little, from six to nineteen. How could I agree to this? But the feelings are real, the girl and I are mutually in love, unlike Victor who was so shy."

"We got engaged three years later. You should still be on your expedition then and wouldn't know about these things."

"Before the wedding, I went to the Rare People Mansion to ask an old sorcerer to tell my fortune and see if this marriage would have a good ending."

"I can vaguely sense it, I can recall my past. I had many wives and many children, but now they have all left me, scattered to the four winds, never to see each other again. I am afraid."

At this point, Wen Bucai had cried all his tears and stopped crying.

"That old sorcerer said I was cursed by a jinx, that everyone around me would die because of me, and that even my closest friends would meet a bad end."

"I was so angry I couldn't speak, and I smashed his stall. I don't know if it was karma—"

"--My fiancée was killed in a car accident on our wedding day."

When the topic came up, Wen Bucai's emotions inexplicably calmed down, as if he had recalled it too many times. The memory was too deep to forget, and over time he became numb to it.

"It's an internal power struggle between Baiweifang and Shihui. It's about the group of people I killed three years ago. Their children have grown up and want revenge on me and the other faction in the Hung Mun Alliance, the Red Stone People. They arranged for two caravans to pretend to be a wedding procession, sending my fiancée to the railway tracks, then locking the doors and waiting for the train to arrive—"

"--She turned into a meat pie."

Glory grabbed Mr. Wen Bucai's arm, and could feel the rapidly beating heart inside this ultimate life form's body.

Wen Bucai nervously explained, "I don't know how many enemies I have, I don't know. Is it my fault that I don't know? I shouldn't have helped anyone, I shouldn't have fallen in love with anyone, I shouldn't have done this, I shouldn't have gone so far—I shouldn't have killed someone, I can't remember, I can't remember."

For Mr. Wen Bucai, this was not the first time he had experienced something like this.

"And the last time! Many previous times! When I was still [Joe]!"

Fifty-six years ago, this VIP of the Blackrock Senate was still working for Ming De and was not permanently stationed in the Mimir Hot Spring Market.

"I have several good friends. We hunt together, drink together, explore unknown territories together, and go on adventures together!"

Wen Bucai then continued—

"--They gradually grow old, weak, and frail. From young people in their twenties to old men and women in their fifties and sixties."

"After they retire, to commemorate their pioneering years, we take a long trip every six months. I know they refuse to accept getting old; it seems that being with me, this guy who never gets old, will keep them young forever."

"As a result, apart from me, these guys all died one after another on the way, on anniversary after anniversary, on the journey, in the vicious spiritual pressure environment, from physical exhaustion, from complications of various old-age diseases."

Wen Bucai grabbed Glory's hand and also gripped his arm tightly. Finally, he removed Glory's hand.

"The time before last, and the time before that, in these memories of over 150 years, I've always been crying. The further back I go, the more miserable I cry, and the more I lose."

This anonymous man had a similar experience to George Joshua, but the two fought on completely different battlefields.

Wen Bucai's battlefield was facing the United Nations forces, fighting another American Civil War between North and South Korea.

If Joshua's burning, killing, and looting in the flames of war created a demonic face, then Wen Bucai's life in modern Chinese history was a painful process of constantly losing relatives and friends, repeatedly destroying and rebuilding his faith, and becoming utterly alone time and time again.

These hazy memories manifest as recurring bouts of depression. Like Robert Tang Ning, Blackstone people suffer from insurmountable inner demons, including periodic EMO, a pathological feature of brain structure that requires professional medical treatment.

While his wife was away, Glory said to Mr. Wen Bucai, "This can't go on. Why don't you come with me? I'll take you somewhere."

Wen Bucai nodded and silently followed in War King's footsteps. The two, dressed in their Flash Butterfly Armor, left downtown Westbrook and headed southwest towards the old town.

Back at the Old Pipe Alley, the Wulong Fortress was brightly decorated, all celebrating the destruction of the White Shark Association. The steep downhill road was littered with the remnants of fireworks and firecrackers, which had been going off for seven days and seven nights without stopping.

Glory didn't say anything, but pulled Mr. Wen Bucai to the entrance of a small workshop.

She had a conversation with the owner; she had been gathering information through this small car filter shop for the past few days, and it had been a great help.

She pulled out a small stool, asked Wen Bucai to sit down, and went to the butcher shop next door to buy two strings of pork and a rib, which she gave to the owner as a gift to welcome the new year.

Back in the small shop where they made car filters, Wen Bucai still didn't understand Glory's intentions.

There were four little children in the shop, all the owner's children. They were wearing school uniforms and were doing odd jobs to help support their families. A production line was laid out across the muddy floor of the shop. There were wire mesh and filter paper everywhere.

Upon seeing the distinguished guest dressed in Flash Butterfly Armor, the owner smiled and came out from the inner room, carrying two large fruit platters.

Glory switched to Urdu and said, "No trouble at all!"

The owner is a native of Urdu, which is their mother tongue. Occasionally, when they meet foreign guests, the owner will also communicate in English.

Passersby occasionally walked by outside, their eyes filled with curiosity as they saw Wen Bucai and Glory's clothes.

Neither adults nor children had ever seen a real Flash Butterfly Armor; they had only seen it on television and heard about it on the radio. They weren't sure for the time being.

Was it truly an anonymous person? They didn't know, but it seemed somewhat similar to the toys in the roadside shop.

Glory picked up the sheet metal and called Wen Bucai to help her. She sat in front of the press and talked to Mr. Wen Bucai about her ideals.

"This family has helped me a lot. I usually make filter cartridges for them here and ask for information from the uncles and elders who come and go."

"Most of the people on this street are Chinese, because the original landlord of Wulong Fortress was Chinese, and everyone speaks Chinese, so there's a sense of mutual support and assistance."

"I chose this place as a stopover because I was afraid that the Chinese around Wulong Fortress would turn against us. If there were spies from the White Shark Association, things would get complicated. Urdu is a minor language here, so we can probably get a few truthful words out of them."

"Mr. Wen Bucai, why don't you give it a try?"

Glory gave up her workstation so that Wen Bucai could stamp the cover plate of the air filter.

Two simple concentric circles are easy to make; just press one circle around the outer edge and one circle around the inner edge.

Immediately afterwards, Glory led Wen Bucai to the filter screen. The sharp wire mesh could almost cut through the skin. Wen Bucai looked at all this in surprise and saw several children holding pliers, carefully working.

"Put this net next to the gate. There are markings on the floor; just cut along them."

Wen Bucai followed his instructions, cutting forward little by little until he reached another limit mark, and then cut out a suitable rectangular mesh piece.

Glory continued, "Roll it up."

Wen Bucai did as instructed, rolling up the sharp iron mesh.

Glory continued, "Stuff it into the cover we just made."

No more, no less, just enough to become the outer filter screen of the truck's air filter. Next, Glory asked Wen Bucai to make the inner iron mesh, which would support the overall structure of the filter. Filter paper was stuffed in, and the cap on the other side was squeezed in.

"This is casting glue; it can only be done in one go," Glory reminded him earnestly. "Mr. Wen Bucai, you know how to forge steel and make utensils, but the process of making filter elements in this handicraft industry must be very careful."

"This casting adhesive is very cheap; it's an acrylic curing adhesive. Once it hardens, it can't be wiped off, just like life—once the arrow is released, there's no turning back."

"I don't know any grand principles, I just want you to be careful. Once you glue them back together, you can sell them for money."

Under Glory's guidance, Wen Bucai made the cylindrical air filter and placed it next to the shelf on one side of the lobby.

Glory continued, "The boss's children are all under thirteen years old. They're a bit strong, so they go out with the neighbors to deliver goods. These filter cartridges come in bundles of twelve and can sell for sixteen dollars."

"The remaining babies are born with their parents. They come home from school every day to work overtime, making more than two hundred a day."

"I've been sitting at this little workstation for the past few days, cutting sheet metal, cutting filter screens, stuffing filter paper, and chatting with the neighbors."

"I think if this happened in any developed country, the local government would slap themselves hard a few times—but this is Lieyang Fort. How do you explain employing child labor?—You can't send these parents to jail, or even blame them."

"They didn't steal or rob; they wanted to live, they wanted to live bravely."

Glory patted Mr. Wen Bucai's vest.

"--What we're doing is definitely meaningful, and exceptionally so. Mr. Wen Bucai, when they grow up, they won't have to fight the wolves and tigers in the city, they won't have to become thieves, and they won't have to sell themselves into slavery. There won't be another Madness Butterfly Sect."

"Children deserve a new life, unlike us who are constantly on the move, risking our lives every moment."

Homo sapiens are inherently fond of labor. Wen Bucai squatted in front of his workstation and continued working. He and several children assembled filter elements together. After lunch, he stopped drinking alcohol and watched as rolls of iron mesh were unfurled and transformed into appropriately sized filter screens.

One by one, the cylindrical filter cartridges stood up and gradually piled up into a tall tower. In the afternoon, he carried two large bags to the street corner to exchange them for money. Eight hours later, he seemed to have been completely transformed.

The children in the shop cheered and took malt candy from Wen Bucai's arms. When Glory brought this VIP back to the dock, they happened to run into Jack Martin.

When Jack saw the Wen Bucai, his expression was as if he had seen a ghost, and he cautiously asked in a low voice.

"What kind of evil magic did you cast on this guy?"

Glory answered honestly.

"I took him to work illegally."