Devoted Father and Son

What the hell was this?! Ji Jue was thoroughly rattled. He had finally managed to show his face in Xinquan, and before he could even arrange any work, the moment he stepped into the cafeteria, a man with disheveled hair and scruffy stubble lunged right at him. The fellow clutched Ji Jue's legs, weeping and wailing at the top of his lungs. Ji Jue had nearly been startled into unleashing Jingzhen! It was only when he got a clear look and recognized Minkler that he barely held back. Under countless bewildered stares, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. *Can't kill him, can't kill him. This is a client, this is a client—and a fat sheep of a client who pays promptly and generously!* After coaxing, cajoling, and finally kicking the man away, Ji Jue at last sat down in his office. Seeing the fellow showing signs of lunging forward once more, Ji Jue hurriedly raised a hand to hold him back. "Fear not, my child. Your father is here." He forced out a benevolent smile. "What happened?" Minkler's eyes welled with tears, his voice dripping with utter desolation. "My dad died." *You motherfucker—* Ji Jue's fists clenched tight. *Did you come here just to pick a fight?!* Fortunately, Minkler's look of grief was impossible to fake, and everything he said was completely true. His old man, Old Minkler, really was dead. A stroke. At his advanced age, upon hearing great news, he had been overwhelmed with joy. After downing some booze and popping a few pills, the old codger decided to indulge in a bit of youthful wildness—and dropped dead right in bed. How should one describe such a death? It was truly beyond words. Publicly, it was announced that he had worked day and night, worrying for the state until he succumbed to mental and physical exhaustion—well, might as well pretend it was for the nation and the people. Regardless, the old bastard was no saint to begin with. Dying like this might actually do more good for the Seven Cities than anything he had accomplished while alive. However, with his sudden demise and the family plunged into chaos, Minkler's position instantly became precarious. How many covetous eyes were fixed on his post, waiting for him to make the slightest blunder so they could yank him down and replace him with some younger, more promising commander? Under normal circumstances, he could have endured it, gritted his teeth, and weathered the storm. But as ill luck would have it, that "good news" Old Minkler had heard had now turned into a death sentence for the entire family. Because the Grand Leader of the Seven Cities Alliance was dead. The veteran alliance leader who had personally united the seven islands and seven cities—Pucheng, Luo Island, Macheng, Xi Island, Dancheng, Yamen, and Xiangzhou—had finally passed away of old age in his private hospital after living for more than a hundred and thirty years. Consequently, the Seven Cities was now in utter turmoil. Internal conflicts erupted completely, and the other six cities and six islands were all eyeing the position of Grand Leader with predatory greed. A grand battle royale was about to begin. As everyone knew, no matter the game, once the rules collapsed and things entered a zero-sum stage, the first to die would inevitably be the weakest—or the strongest. Unfortunately for Minkler's family, they happened to be both. Among the Seven Cities, Xiangzhou held premier financial power, essentially wealthy beyond measure. Yet right at this crucial juncture, the family patriarch had dropped dead, leaving internal affairs a tangled mess. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth branches of the family took the stage one after another, locked in endless infighting to seize power. It was entirely foreseeable that once the situation spiraled out of control, they would be carved up and devoured. At such a critical moment, if Minkler took a single wrong step, let alone falling from grace, he and his entire clan might be completely wiped out. To make matters worse, the noxious wind season that struck once every ten or twenty years was fast approaching, sending waves of panic across the entire Endless Sea— And the thought that his glorious future had collapsed entirely because of his own father's drunken revelry drove Minkler to tears of complete despair. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Your birth father may be gone, but you still have an adoptive one. An adoptive father might be even better!" Ji Jue chuckled, patting the man's head like a dog's, and said slowly, "Fear not, my son. How about I pass down bootleg Federation missiles to you? Satellite-guided, beyond-visual-range strikes to obliterate everything?" "Huh?" Minkler froze, struck dumb with shock. "W-won't we get hammered for that?" In recent years, standard-issue Empire and Federation weaponry had been scattered everywhere. Even on the most remote island in the Endless Sea, you might casually pick up a Rhino firearm just walking down the street. So the question was—was the technical threshold for such weapons really so high that no one else could produce them? Technical barriers might be part of it, but the bigger reason was that nobody dared! If you bought them honestly through regular channels, you might only offend one or two rivals. But if the batch numbers on your weapons didn't match records from either side, plenty of people would come knocking at your door for a "talk." "Worthless piece of junk." Ji Jue shook his head and sighed. How could one use cheats while fearing a ban? If you're scared, don't play; if you play, don't be scared! Hedging and dithering—where were his manners? Seeing how cowardly Minkler was, Ji Jue spoke again. "Then what if I teach you the Red Nation's method of calling reinforcements? The Swarm Knights—advancing without retreat, fighting to the death without return. How's that?" "No, no, that won't do!" Minkler shook his head vigorously again. "No matter how formidable Swarm Knights are, they fight on land. Out on the water, unless they can fly, naval guns reign supreme!" After so many years of conflict across the Thousand Islands, there were plenty of Celestial Chosen. But on the high seas, individual heroism wasn't enough. Even if one could fly, how far could they fly, and for how long? In the end, it all came down to ironclad ships and mighty cannons! Ji Jue clicked his tongue. "Then how about I get in touch with the Dragon Bone Fleet for you?" "No, absolutely not!" Minkler shook his head frantically. "That's simply inviting the wolf into the house!" Those Northerners had been driven crazy by poverty and ravenous with hunger lately, fighting to the death against the Northern Alliance. At this juncture, even if they had the spare energy to send aid, would anyone dare accept it? The moment the Dragon Bone Fleet sailed into the Seven Cities, Minkler would instantly become a traitor to the Seven Cities, despised by all and targeted by every warlord across the lands. His death would be unimaginably gruesome and tragic! Ji Jue grew exasperated. "You don't want this, and you don't want that! You little brat, are you here just to make a fool out of me?" Minkler wiped away his tears and looked up expectantly, waiting for Ji Jue to produce a disciplining ferule to rap him three times. But seeing Ji Jue haul out the sword Pan Ying instead, his face drained of color, and he hurriedly held him back. "Wait! Adoptive Father, this isn't right, this won't do—past relati—" "Stop bringing up the fucking past!" Ji Jue clamped his mouth shut like a dog's muzzle and demanded, "Old Ming, ah, Old Ming, we're acquaintances here. For Brother Feng's sake, I don't treat you like an outsider, so don't you treat me like an easy mark. Give it to me straight! What in the world do you actually want?!" "It's not about what I want..." Minkler choked up, speechless. To tell the truth, he was truly at the end of his rope. He had exhausted every possible avenue, kowtowing his way all the way to Xinquan. And what he pinned his hopes on wasn't even Ji Jue himself. "Dad, you have to show me a way out!" Tears filled his eyes, words hesitating on the tip of his tongue. "At this point, could you ask the Federation to show some mercy and back me up...?" Noticing the shift in Ji Jue's expression, he rushed to add, "Money isn't an issue, whatever the price, we can discuss it!" Ji Jue gave a cold sneer. *Ah, so that's what you were waiting to spring on me?* Hoping Ji Jue would pull strings and lobby on his behalf, getting the Federation to back Minkler as king of the Seven Cities— Ji Jue simply asked, "Do you think money can sway the Federation?" True, the Seven Cities had money, but what good was money? A string of numbers—could that really move the Federation? Even if they squeezed every drop out of your Seven Cities, how much would it be? Even if the Federation were tempted, that brought up another question: why should the Federation's money bear your name? Who the hell are you to negotiate business with the Federation?! "I wouldn't dare dream of the Federation, but Haizhou... could Haizhou perhaps..." "Keep dreaming!" Ji Jue scoffed. "You've knocked on the wrong door, Old Ming. My Xinquan is just an agricultural machinery factory. I don't have that kind of clout, nor can I afford to meddle in your Seven Cities' grand affairs. You'd better find someone better qualified!" Minkler tried to say more, but Ji Jue was resolute, not even waiting for him to lay out his bargaining chips, completely uninterested in stepping into the quagmire of the Seven Cities. In business, the greatest taboo was getting personally attached to a client. Best not to indulge in any tender sentiments. Minkler's eyes flooded with tears again. "Why is my life so miserable?!" "If yours counts as miserable, what about the scrappers working out by the windows?" Ji Jue scoffed. "No matter what, at least you're still alive." Even if the Seven Cities were at each other's throats, as long as he didn't insist on leaping into the pit and acted sensibly, he had enough family wealth to change his name, lay low, and live comfortably as a rich man for the rest of his life. Heck, if he knelt fast enough and flattered diligently enough, whatever scraps the new victor dropped from their fingers would probably be enough for him to live in luxury. "How could I possibly survive?" Minkler sobbed and snuffled. "Once the noxious wind season arrives and the winds blow across the sea, I'll probably end up fed to the calamity beasts—and even if I manage to survive by sheer luck, I'll be made the scapegoat and dragged into court—" "Hold on!" Ji Jue's motion paused for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing. "What did you just say?" "Uh—" Minkler blinked. "Miserable life?" "Not that!" "Noxious wind season?" "Right, after that, the next sentence!" "Calamity beasts..." Minkler looked bewildered. Every few decades, or as short as ten-odd years, the Endless Sea would usher in a period rampant with disasters. Wherever the bizarre weather phenomenon known as the noxious wind passed, all calamity beasts would enter a state of frenzy, waking, hunting, mating, or going stark raving mad— Dangerous creatures gathered in swarms, slaughtering one another while launching attacks on densely populated settlements. Beasts didn't care about politics or niceties; if there was meat, they ate it, and no amount of reasoning would help. The Federation and the Empire didn't worry about such problems at all—they still had the Heavenly Overseer and Earthly Warden watching over them. But the Thousand Islands suffered rotten luck. With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, they could only grit their teeth and endure it—suffering catastrophic losses every time. Countless remote islands were picked clean during the noxious wind season, completely wiped out without anyone even knowing for years afterward. At this juncture, the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Seven Cities Joint Defense Navy was essentially a fiery pit, and Minkler couldn't step down even if he wanted to—not to mention whether his subordinates would even follow orders! He had repeatedly submitted reports begging for people, money, and subsidies, but the Seven Cities Council stalled day after day, telling him to keep up the good work, try harder, and that everyone supported him. Aside from empty words of encouragement, they offered not a shred of actual support. They were clearly setting him up as a sacrificial lamb! Once the noxious wind season ended, the reckoning would begin. By then, Minkler would be branded the shame of the Seven Cities, blamed for incompetent command and the ruin of their fine navy—no one would care whether his damn navy was operating with century-old junk, they just needed him to balance the books! Thinking of this, Minkler felt a sudden urge to hang himself from the front gates of Xinquan. Since he was doomed to a horrible death anyway, he might as well end it right now— "Is that all it is?" An arm swung around his shoulders with extraordinary warmth. Ji Jue grinned broadly. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Since when have we, father and son, grown so distant?" "Huh?" Minkler stared blankly. "Noxious wind, was it? Calamity beasts, was it?" Ji Jue patted his shoulder, beaming from ear to ear. "Then you've come to the right man, Old Ming! I'm an expert at that!" "Ah?!" Minkler was utterly at sea. "I can't settle the Seven Cities, and I can't be bothered with your family, but keeping you alive? Easy as pie!" Ji Jue poured hot water to steep some tea, wiped Minkler's face for him, ushered him to the seat of honor, served him the finest brew, and thumped his own chest, making a solemn vow: "Rest assured, my son. So long as your father draws breath, I will guarantee you a lifetime of peace and security!" "Ah?!" Minkler began questioning his very existence. Was... was this right? It was right... right?