51 A Pity

Fifteen minutes later in the sewer, a burly man covered in tattoos stepped through the dirty water, done cleaning the trash. An old man climbed down the ladder. He stood atop the stone steps, gazing around. Dirty water flowed over his leather boots, leaving a yellow stain.

He furrowed his brows. A cigar dangling from his mouth, he looked around. "Which direction did they go in?"

Ten lean, vicious dogs sniffed the air. Their bloodshot eyes glared somewhere into the darkness, they began barking wildly. Muscular men tugged at their chains, but the dogs struggled until the chains pulled taut.

Ghost Hand nodded and asked, "Is it all sealed?"

"Yes, and there are men at every exit." The leader had a shaven head and a swarm of monsters tattooed behind his ear. His face fierce, he said, "Those kids won’t be able to escape."

"Then go. Don’t let them get away."

The bald man nodded. He pulled on the dogs to begin tracking, but realized that the dogs were rooted to their spot.

Suddenly, they stopped barking. As if they had seen a ghost, the fearless hunting dogs dropped down into the dirty water. No matter how hard the humans hit them, they did not dare step forward. 

"Achoo!" Someone sneezed in the darkness. The sound of someone blowing their nose into a handkerchief followed. The person then threw the handkerchief into the ditch and pulled out a new one, tearing it in two.

The handkerchief tore crisply. It seemed to be high grade silk from the East, embroidered with complex flower patterns. Held in the hand, it felt as light as air, as if it would dissolve like fog.

It should have been hanging in a store, shrouded in incense, put up for show, but someone was tearing it apart, stuffing it up their nose.

The man let out a nasally growl. "It smells so bad here! Why do you rats like to go into the sewer?"

The group of men was angered. They hit their metal sticks and swords against the walls, clanging sharply. Some wanted to go over and see what was wrong with the man.

But Ghost Hand stopped them.

Expressionless, he took a lantern from his underling and held it up.

A blonde youth was illuminated. His black formalwear was completely inappropriate in the sewer. He had a tie and even jewels on his sleeves, as if he was going to an elite dinner party.

He sat on a high chair, taken from somewhere. Under his feet was a thick and soft fleece rug. After he was discovered, he glanced over and waited.

His eyes were full of arrogance and irritating provocation.

It was Hermes.

"The Trader?" Ghost Hand asked coldly.

"Oh, Ghost Hand, you’re still alive…" Hermes laughed and raised a hand. "I’m back. Do you want a letter? I can give you an iron pomegranate."

With that, he opened his palm. In it was a circular iron lump. There was a crisscross design on it. At the tip was a thin tube with a small ring.

The ring was like a weird decoration that tempted people to pull it out.

Hermes toyed with the little thing. He looked as if he could not wait to give it to Ghost Hand.

"I don’t need it," Ghost Hand refused coldly, his eyes dark. "Shaman already said that you are forbidden to be in this city."

"Haha! Let the past pass. I accidentally fell into his hands and was a bit humiliated. It’s good to forget those things though, so please don’t mind it too much."

He laughed carelessly, and then paused. As if puzzled, he revealed a little known secret mockingly. "And anyway, hasn’t he been gone for a long time now?"

Everyone gaped.

The burly underlings paused, as if they had heard something incredible. Some shot doubtful glances at Ghost Hand. Some were confused, while others had a dangerous look in their eyes.

But Ghost Hand remained cold and expressionless. "This isn’t something for you to worry about. Even if he’s not here, Avalon is still Shaman’s."

"Oh, really? But I couldn’t seem to find a bit of loyalty in the mafia." Seated on his tall chair, Hermes looked down on Ghost Hand. Shaking his head, he tsked as if seeing a rare toy.

"None of the Corsicans, Caucasians, and Indians doing their business in downtown will obey his orders. That old lady who sells kids in the sewer is trying to find a new path too, isn’t she?

"The Shaman is already out of power, Ghost Hand. The newcomers don’t even know who he is. Only you’re still as loyal as a dog, hugging his leg like it’s gold."

"I don’t want to talk so much." Ghost Hand walked through the dirty water to look at the road behind Hermes. "You should move."

"You want to fight me?" Hermes looked at the black leather glove on Ghost Hand’s left hand. Slowly bending down, Hermes whispered in his ear, "Don’t forget where you bought that hand from."

Ghost Hand said, "The Shaman is looking for two people."

"The person who’s looking for them isn’t the Shaman, but someone with his keepsake, right?" Hermes laughed and hit his head jokingly, as if suddenly thinking of something. "Oh, I almost forgot. Someone bought a keepsake from me too. I think his name was Chang…"

"Trader!" Ghost Hand raised his black-gloved hand, and took out the cigar in his mouth. "You should know the rules here. Don’t get in the way of things."

"Call me Hermes. I like that name." When the blonde youth said the name, his eyebrow arched, and his expression became lively. "As for rules, I’m sorry. I’ve been away for so long that I’ve forgotten everything."

Ghost Hand’s expression became even colder. Hermes reached into his sleeves and pulled out a thick packet, and tossed it down. "Don’t be so impatient. Let’s talk after you take a look."

He caressed the twin snakes on his cane, saying softly, "With me, everything is priced fairly. I never make people lose everything when trading with me."

Without replying, Ghost Hand opened the packet. Illuminated by candlelight, he could see ancient papers. They seemed to have been burned in a fire. More than half were damaged, but one could faintly see blurry words and pictures.

These words and pictures caused Ghost Hand’s irises to contract.

"Avalon’s map? Which Avalon?"

"The real one…For all these years, the Royalty has been looking for it. You can also sell it for a good price. Without the Shaman, no one’s protecting you. Divide it between everyone for a retirement fund. The money should be enough for you all to spend the rest of your life in a brothel or a casino.

"But my condition is—forget about this case."

Ghost Hand looked up at him. After a long pause, he shook his head and returned the packet. "I can forget about the girl, but not the boy."

There was silence. Suffocating silence.

In the silence, Hermes’s smile disappeared bit by bit. His expression became cold and dark, his sharp eyes piercing Ghost Hand like daggers.

He stared at the old man in front of him. His voice gentle, he uttered each word clearly, "Ghost Hand, don’t take my kindness for granted."

"This was an order given personally by the Shaman." Ghost Hand said softly, "He came back a few days ago."

Hermes’s expression changed. His face overcome with shock.

But Ghost Hand’s expression did not change. "Seeing you today, I can let the matter go. I won’t even care if he’s in your shop. But you must know that as long as the Shaman’s order stands, that boy will be our enemy."

"So that’s how it is?" Hermes pondered it. As if finally and suddenly understanding something, the iciness in his eyes melted. He laughed again, bright like the sun. "I suddenly know what the old man’s thinking now."

Saying this, he threw the packet back into Ghost Hand’s arms. "Take this back and give it to the Shaman as a gift. Tell him I hope he gets poisoned and dies in his toilet."

"I will tell him." With one last look, Ghosthand turned to leave, the underlings following suit.

--

When Hermes went back above ground, it was already dawn.

The endless night was finally over.

The sky was dark, but one could still sense weak sunlight filtering in through the mist.

Hermes stood by his carriage and accepted the jacket from Setton. Without a care, he threw his sparkling formalwear, now tainted with the smell of sewage, into the sewer.

Setton sat in the driver’s seat, his large body almost squashing the seat.

After Hermes was done changing, he pulled out a bottle of perfume and used up almost half of it. Finally, he let out a breath. "Ugh, it smelled disgusting…Was there any trouble?"

"Some people noticed and came over, but I took care of it." Setton pointed at the corner of a wall. There were two bags that looked like they were filled with soft mud. Faint red showed through, catching the attention of two stray cats.

Hermes nodded and asked, "Where are they?"

Setton pulled open the carriage door. "Sleeping."

Hermes stood outside, looking at the children in silence.

The wretched boy and girl leaned back in the seat of the ornate carriage, fast asleep. In their sleep, they had almost fully slid down the seat.

Bai Xi leant against Ye Qingxuan’s shoulder. Their white hair was almost entangled.

It was spacious inside the carriage, but they only took up a small corner, supporting each other. Weak sunlight washed over their peaceful features, as if shining into a dream. Their lips seemed to be smiling.

Hermes had saved up so many weird complaints and things to say, but seeing them like this, he could not bare to disrupt them.

After a long time, his gaze drifted to Bai Xi and his eyes softened.

"What a pity. You’d be such a beautiful girl when you grow up."

Taking one last look at Bai Xi, he closed the door and sighed. "What a pity. Not only do you have a saddening talent like ‘Zhaodang’ [1]…You also met someone you’d willingly give yourself up for."

[1] Zhaodang: wandering