Chapter 44

After Ruan Ning sent the message, she saw a "typing..." indicator pop up on the screen immediately, but when she waited a while, Bai Xingmiao still hadn't replied.

It seemed her invitation had caught him off guard. To be honest, Ruan Ning was a bit surprised at herself for daring to invite Bai Xingmiao so boldly.

After accepting his suggestion to hold off on claiming her reward, she hadn't dared to leave his side for even a moment, shamelessly racking her brain for ways to stay close to him. If anything went wrong, she could immediately claim the reward and finish her final task.

Clearly, he was taken aback by her boldness.

【Why?】

Ruan Ning's fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed out a long message and sent it.

【My birthday is November 16th, and the National Convention Center happens to have a comic convention that day. Certain Death's official booth will be there too, with tons of offline perks. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but I don't have many friends. Could I ask you to come with me and look around?】

After sending it, Ruan Ning felt nervous. Usually, when someone used their birthday as a reason, people found it hard to refuse.

Even if it bordered on emotional blackmail, she was giving it her all to create a chance to be alone with Bai Xingmiao.

【So, could I trouble you to accompany me through the convention and help me have a meaningful birthday?】

Ruan Ning pressed again with a pitiful tone, carefully concealing the smugness in her heart.

The other side seemed to let out a long sigh before slowly typing out a line.

【11.16 is my mother's birthday.】

Ruan Ning's eyelids twitched. Huh?

November 16th was also Bai Fuzhou's birthday? A flicker of delight at sharing a birthday with a celebrity passed through her heart, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of disappointment.

【Ha ha, what a coincidence? Then wish your mom a happy birthday too.】

Ruan Ning awkwardly said it was no problem, wished Bai Fuzhou a happy birthday in advance, and quickly found an excuse to log off.

Bai Xingmiao's gaze lingered on their chat history, his dark eyes unreadable.

The outskirts of Salem, the capital of Country B.

The weather was clear, and the air was dry.

The warm currents from the ocean made this harbor city, built on a tropical savanna, hot all year round with distinct wet and dry seasons.

Salem's rainfall was concentrated in the spring; late autumn was the hot and dry season.

After over two hundred years of careful governance by Country A, downtown Salem was filled with towering skyscrapers and bustling traffic, with urban planning and convenience comparable to most capitals in the world.

Throughout Salem, stone carvings and architecture left over from the colonial era stood tall, and signs and landmarks uniformly used Country A's language and script. At first glance, one might think they were strolling through the streets of Talun.

However, a few more steps would reveal the ant-nest-like slums hidden behind the upscale apartments, office buildings, and residential areas—dense and cramped. They formed a striking contrast with the glass skyscrapers that shot straight into the sky.

The children of the slums wore hand-me-down clothes from adults, their faces dirty, running barefoot and shrieking with laughter as they kicked a soccer ball, seemingly unaware of what worry meant.

In recent years, the people of Country B had grown increasingly disgusted with every trace of the colonial era left by Country A, to the point of opposing anything related to Country A. The only thing the entire nation didn't dislike was the soccer brought over by the suzerain state.

Here, there were no music gatherings, no video games—just a round leather ball was one of the few things that could bring joy to the poor without costing a cent.

A small pickup truck drove out of downtown Salem, passed through the main urban area lined with high-rises, and headed into the outskirts.

On the vast, endless desert, heat shimmered off the ground, distorting the straight road ahead.

On both sides of the road, there was nothing but barren wilderness, with only sparse shrubs and thorns. A small lizard cautiously crawled to the edge of the road, preparing to cross, but suddenly felt the vibrations of wheels on sand and, startled, scurried back into the grass behind it.

The car was extremely shabby, with most of its paint peeled off and all four windows sealed shut. It had clearly changed hands who knows how many times.

Fortunately, the car's performance was still intact. It sped forward at full throttle the entire way, trailing a swirling cloud of dust behind it.

After driving for a few hours, the car passed a small, run-down gas station and slowed down to pull in for fuel.

The driver stopped beside the pump and prepared to refuel himself, only to find that the pump was an old model from over a decade ago that required manual refueling.

He glanced warily at the car, then stuck his head out the window and shouted in Country B's native language, "Boss, give me 200 yuan of gas."

The gas station was tiny, with only two pumps. The boss was in the small shop, no bigger than a breakfast joint, scrolling through his phone. Inside the shop, a barely functioning LCD TV with half its screen cracked was playing the news.

Although the boss used a phone that Country A had already phased out of the market, it was still a rare treasure in Country B. He was too absorbed in scrolling to hear the customer outside calling.

He lived in a remote, impoverished area, earning a living one customer at a time, so of course there was no service quality to speak of at such a small gas station.

Even when a customer arrived, he refused to tear himself away from his phone.

The driver had no choice but to urge him again, more forcefully: "Boss, gas—"

Irritated by the nagging, the boss finally grudgingly replied, "Do it yourself."

"How am I supposed to do it myself if you don't turn on the pump?" the driver snapped, twisting the car key out of the ignition and storming into the shop in three steps, slapping a 200-yuan bill hard onto the counter. "Hurry up, I'm in a rush."

The boss looked up and gave the driver a sidelong glance, then stuffed his phone into his pocket and slowly shuffled out to refuel.

It was scorching hot, and the pickup had no air conditioning, making the cabin feel like a sauna.

The driver took the chance to step out for some air while the gas was being pumped. He wandered over to the snack and drink counter in the shop, browsed for a moment, grabbed a few energy drinks, and cracked one open, planning to settle the bill when the boss returned.

He took a swig and happened to catch the sports news on TV, which was introducing the upcoming A League clubs' matches.

The driver laughed, enjoying the spectacle, and said, "I heard the main players of several A League teams aren't participating this year. Let's see how they'll manage."

Country B descendants now dominated half of Country A's football scene. The top scorers at big clubs like RQ and Leigun were players of Country B descent.

After the oil crisis broke out in Country B and was suppressed by the local government and Country A's garrison forces, many football stars of Country B origin took to the internet to voice support for the people back home, and some even staged strikes by refusing to play.

If they went on strike, it would have an earthquake-like impact on the A League season, and people everywhere were speculating on how the year's schedule would unfold.

The boss, who was pumping gas outside, chimed in casually: "You said it. Bottom line, RQ and Leigun rely entirely on us Country B folks to hold up their teams."

"I don't know who holds up the A League, but the guy holding you up is about to face his end." A mocking, cold voice cut through the air, and a chill shot down the driver's spine.

Sensing something was wrong, he turned and bolted for the door, but two burly men suddenly emerged from the narrow doorway, blocking his path.

Terror slowly consumed the driver's eyes as Bu Chen stepped out from the shadows of the back door of the shop. His tall silhouette loomed like a demon from hell, freezing the very atmosphere around him.

"Wh-Who are you?" the driver stuttered, finally remembering to reach for the gun in his pocket, but the two burly men had already moved first, pinning him down on the counter.

"Don't move! Stay put!"

The underlings subdued the driver while Bu Chen stood motionless the entire time, watching his men work.

The gas station boss outside had no idea what was happening. Suddenly, a group of Country A men swarmed out with submachine guns, surrounding him and the pickup. He dropped to his knees with a thud, hands raised in surrender.

"Gentlemen, I'm just a guy scrolling on my phone. I don't know anything. Please, have mercy and let me go."

Bu Chen had received reliable intel that Galiman had snuck back into Country B and was in Salem, extremely weakened. His accomplice, disguised as a driver, was smuggling him to the southern rebel zone.

So he had rushed to Salem at the first opportunity and come to Country B personally to capture Galiman and make amends for his past failure.

Bu Chen's subordinate kicked aside the trembling boss, raised his weapon, and opened the car door. Galiman had stayed awake for fifty straight hours for the smuggling operation, utterly exhausted, and had passed out in the vehicle.

The subordinate made a gesture and shouted, "We've caught the prey!"

One of the underlings came in to ask Bu Chen for instructions: "Would you like to take a look in person?"

Bu Chen waved a hand. "No need."

The driver was an intelligence agent for the southern rebels stationed in the capital. With no time to report, he had risked everything to bring Galiman alone to the safe zone. He had been careful the whole way, slipping past Country A's checkpoints, only to have Bu Chen ambush him mid-journey.

He thrashed violently against the restraints, struggling to break free from the grip behind him, and shouted furiously, "You Country A dogs! Rot in hell! You can't kill all of us Country B people. As long as a single drop of blood remains in us, we'll kill every last one of you demons and take back our land!"

"Shut up, you filthy slave!" Without waiting for Bu Chen to speak, one of the underlings contemptuously ordered him taken away.

The driver, arms pinned behind his back, kept struggling and kicking, his voice ringing with defiance: "Even if I go to hell and turn into a vengeful spirit, I won't let you go! As long as I have one breath left, I'll use every ounce of my strength to drive you thieves back!"

The driver's shrill cries circled like a blood-crying falcon over the silent desert. The strike team, riding high on their victory, enjoyed watching the driver's desperate struggle.

Bu Chen's expression remained unchanged, his emotions unreadable.

Catching the rebel leader was bound to give the duke something to be satisfied with, and the strike team was buzzing with excitement.

Bu Chen usually managed his men well, treating them like brothers, so after completing the mission, everyone relaxed. They chatted casually while wrapping up and preparing to leave.

The gas station boss remained on his knees at the side, not daring to lift his head, silently praying for these thugs to leave quickly.

As it happened, the TV station was broadcasting RQ's first-match lineup, and the face of the new player Jiang Yihao filled the screen.

One of the underlings exclaimed in surprise, "Who the hell is this Zhang Hao? Never heard of him."

"What the hell? Gang Mahaya and Duolin aren't playing at all, and they're putting some unknown nobody in? How's RQ supposed to win?"

"Yeah, the kid looks soft and pretty. Does he even look like football material?"

Everyone chimed in with casual banter, not noticing that the one standing above them, watching the TV, had gone silent.

Bu Chen looked at Jiang Yihao's photo appearing in this foreign land thousands of miles away, flashing that trademark grin of his, laughing like an idiot. On the faded, cracked screen of the old TV, he still looked as sunny and carefree as ever.

Since the two had fallen out, Bu Chen had never returned to the private club and hadn't exchanged a single word with Jiang Yihao.

Jiang Yihao was the same. Both were proud, high-self-esteem people, and especially when it came to Ruan Ning, neither would ever back down.

"The kid's still wet behind the ears; his footwork's probably shaky too. RQ finished ninth last season, and without any big names this season, they're probably doomed."

A subordinate came in to report that everything was ready, and Bu Chen gave the order: "Let's go."

The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang almost simultaneously. He squinted at the screen—it was Jiang Yihao calling.