They drove from the suburbs to the Polar Star City District.

Snow on the streets had been shoveled to the sides of the road, and pedestrians walked cautiously on the somewhat slick pavement. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

The windows of the roadside shops were covered in frost flowers. The warm light from inside filtered through the ice, emitting a soft, enchanting glow.

The Pickup Truck drove by slowly, its wheels crunching over the packed snow.

The moment they parked on the side of the road, two muffled gunshots rang out. Feng Shan immediately slid out of the passenger seat, crouched down, reached into his coat, and pulled out a Glock.

Tom, on the other hand, acted as if Feng Shan were overreacting. "Buddy, don’t get worked up. Relax."

’Relax?’

’Didn’t he hear someone shooting?’

Feng Shan had to admire Tom’s sheer nerve; he didn’t even seem worried about a stray bullet hitting the Pickup Truck.

"The Free United States of America, a shooting every day. Buddy, you gotta get used to it." Tom consoled Feng Shan like a veteran, then rolled down the window and called out with a grin to a passerby hiding behind a car, "Hey, which shop got hit this time?"

"Daisen Studio," the passerby replied quietly, looking back.

Hearing that name, the gloating smile on Tom’s face instantly twisted into fury.

"Shit! Robbing Daisen’s shop? They’ve got a death wish!"

After cursing, he grabbed a pistol from the storage compartment, threw open the door, and charged out.

With Tom charging out, Feng Shan certainly couldn’t just stay back and watch the show. He followed, gun in hand, and ran out of the truck.

The two of them crossed the sidewalk and ran toward a shop with a tribal-style design.

Just then, the shop door was pushed open from the inside. Two men in winter gear, their heads covered by balaclavas that exposed only their eyes and mouths, ran out in a panic, clutching a cardboard box.

The box seemed heavy, making them stumble as they ran.

They ran right into each other, face to face.

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze. Time seemed to stop.

The four of them locked eyes, their gazes filled with surprise, confusion, and tension.

In that instant,

Feng Shan instinctively raised his pistol and smashed the butt of it into one man’s face. The move was swift and decisive. He followed up by kicking the other man square in the stomach, the blow powerful enough to whistle through the air.

AARGH!

CRASH!

The first sound was the unlucky bastard clutching his face, his pained howl echoing down the street.

The second was the other man being sent flying, shattering the glass shop door.

The sound of shattering glass was sharp and piercing as the man’s body slammed heavily to the ground, sending shards flying.

Tom, finally reacting, quickly kicked away the pistol that had fallen to the ground. He raised his own gun and furiously brought the butt down on the unlucky bastard’s body, putting all his strength into every blow.

"You dare to rob someone? I’ll show you robbing."

"Shit! Fack! You stinking sewer maggot!"

"That’s enough! You’re going to kill him." Feng Shan, not understanding why Tom had suddenly gone berserk, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back. Onlookers were already raising their phones.

"Let me go!" Tom flailed wildly, seemingly determined to beat the robber to death. His face was red with rage, he was panting heavily, and he struggled desperately to break free from Feng Shan’s grip.

Just then,

A man’s voice, deep and powerful, came from inside the shop.

Then, a sturdy, middle-aged man with a ponytail and a hide apron walked out.

"That’s enough, Tom!"

"Daisen! Thank God, you’re okay!" Tom immediately stopped struggling and took a couple of quick steps to the man with the ponytail, his face overflowing with joy.

"I’m not dead yet," the man with the ponytail snorted coldly. He pushed Tom aside, walked over to the robber who was on the ground, head in his hands and moaning in pain, picked up the cardboard box, and went back into the shop without a backward glance. "You’re the one who beat him up. You deal with the police."

The man’s words were ice-cold, devoid of any warmth, leaving Tom standing there looking awkward and helpless.

Feng Shan stood to the side, a little confused.

His gaze shifted back and forth between Tom and the shop.

’Their relationship seems complicated. Definitely not friends... more like enemies.’

WEE-OO WEE-OO!!

The righteous police car appeared, drifting stylishly on the icy road before crashing into their parked Pickup Truck and finally screeching to a halt.

Two police officers scrambled out of the car, pistols in hand, and nearly slipped and fell on the slick ground.

Tom turned to Feng Shan. "Buddy, you can go inside the shop for a cup of coffee. I’ll handle things out here."

’So he’s trying to get rid of me.’

Feng Shan pursed his lips, holstered his pistol, pushed open the broken door, and stepped over the unconscious robber into the shop.

A glance around the workshop revealed all sorts of animal hides.

Fox pelts, black bear hides, brown bear hides, wolf pelts, reindeer hides, bobcat pelts—they all exuded a unique scent, a mixture of leather and the animals themselves.

Hides were layered on the walls and the floor, taking up almost every inch of space.

In the center of the workshop was a huge workbench piled with tools and unfinished pieces. The man with the ponytail from before was now focused on cutting a piece of hide.

His eyes were focused and steady, the scissors in his hand moving nimbly across the hide, every motion revealing his skill and precision.

Feng Shan deliberately made his footsteps audible to let the man with the ponytail know someone had entered.

"Hand-tanning hides is 10 US Dollars an hour. Machine tanning is 300 US Dollar per piece. For custom-made hide clothing, the price depends on the material," the man with the ponytail said without looking up.

’Those prices...’

’He actually charges by the hour for hand-tanning.’

’Hand-tanning a single hide usually takes months.’

’That brown bear hide back at the camp has been in the works for half a month, and we’ve only just finished the second brain-tanning. It’s still a long way from being done.’

’That’s 240 US Dollar a day, or 7,200 US Dollar a month.’

’Even at the fastest pace, it would take at least two months.’

’Tsk tsk.’

’What an easy way to make money.’

Feng Shan pursed his lips and casually picked up a fox pelt.

The fur was soft and smooth to the touch, like stroking fine silk.

He brought the pelt to his nose and caught a faint scent of leather with no pungent odor, a testament to the superb tanning process.

A closer look revealed that the roots of the fur were firm, with no signs of shedding. The fur was fluffy yet dense and orderly. He flipped it over; the leather side was clean and smooth, without any blemishes or damage.

Feng Shan put down the fox pelt and picked up a reindeer hide. The quality was just as impeccable.

’He’s a master!’

Just then, Tom walked into the shop, grumbling, "Daisen, I helped you out this much, and you don’t even have a cup of coffee for me?"

The man with the ponytail coldly put down the leather he was holding, turned, and pulled a few cans of coffee from a pile of hides, setting them on the workbench.

His expression was one of take-it-or-leave-it.

"Shit, can’t you even afford a coffee pot?" Tom picked up a can of coffee, pulled the tab, and chugged the whole thing down. GULP GULP GULP. Only then did he point at Feng Shan.

"Bring out that Wolf Fur Coat. Its owner is here."

A flicker of emotion finally crossed the ponytail-wearing man’s indifferent face. He stared at Feng Shan for a moment, then bent down and pulled out a cardboard box from under the workbench—the very same box the robbers had just stolen.

After opening the box, the man hung a fur coat on a rack.

Instantly, Tom and Feng Shan were stunned!

This Wolf Fur Coat exuded a primitive, wild aura, as if it had walked straight out of the ancient wilderness.

The coat’s collar stood high, its edge inlaid with a row of fine, wolf-fang-shaped decorations, sharp and fierce. The front was tied shut with thick, crisscrossing leather cords, like an ancient tribal rope art.

The shoulders were broad and thick, the sleeves wide and long. When they swayed, they looked like the limbs of a running wolf.

A wide belt of the same material was cinched at the waist, inlaid with crude bone ornaments that added to its wild charm.

But the most striking feature was its hood, which was made from a complete Black Wolf Head.

The Black Wolf’s eyes glared furiously, radiating a mysterious and imposing aura.

When the hood was worn, the wolf’s facial contours fit perfectly over the head. The sharp fangs and pricked ears instantly transformed the wearer into an upright-walking Werewolf.

...