To perform a divination, he needed a personal item related to Little Pete from the day of the incident.

But the man had been gone for two years. Even if such an item existed, there was no telling where it had been lost.

Feng Mountain furrowed his brow and looked at Wawa. "You and Little Pete were close?"

Wawa nodded sadly.

"Yes, we were born on the same day and were together since we were kids. We swore that when we grew up, we’d go venture into the big cities together, to see what white women tasted like. Since Little Pete died, I haven’t set foot outside of Point Laya."

"Then do you have any of Little Pete’s belongings from that day? For example, clothes, a knife, a lock of hair, something like that." Feng Mountain’s eyes lit up as he asked hopefully.

Wawa narrowed his eyes.

He sized up Feng Mountain with suspicion.

’Shouldn’t an investigation be about asking for clues like the time, place, and circumstances of the murder? Why is this Sheriff asking for Little Pete’s belongings instead?’

"Sorry, Old Pete burned all of Little Pete’s belongings."

’He burned them all?’

’Then what the hell am I supposed to divine with?’

Feng Mountain’s heart sank, feeling that his first case was going to end in failure.

Just then, Wawa pulled a small animal-skin pouch from his pocket.

"However, I have a bullet that was taken from Little Pete’s body. This is a bullet of honor, and I’ve sworn to get my honor-bound revenge."

’Honor-bound revenge.’

’Why are the Inuit doing this too? Isn’t that an Indian tradition?’

’But having the bullet is good enough. The bloodstain is Little Pete’s, and the bullet is the killer’s. I can do a dual divination—double insurance.’

"If you don’t mind, could I borrow it?" Feng Mountain held out his hand. "If you want to avenge Little Pete, that is."

"Of course." Wawa handed over the skin pouch.

He took the pouch, opened it, and saw a blood-stained bullet head lying quietly inside.

Feng Mountain took out his old friend: a thin grass rope.

He pinched the bullet head in one hand while his other quickly tied a knot in the grass rope. In less than a few seconds, the knot was complete, and a direction appeared in his mind.

The killer was to the south.

"Found him!"

He returned the bullet head to a stunned Wawa.

Feng Mountain smiled silently. ’As long as the killer is on this planet, he can’t escape my divination.’

He turned and left the beach.

He passed by Vera, who was still sulking, ignored her, and climbed over the snowdrift to find Nash, who was still resting.

Seeing the keys still in the ignition, Feng Mountain started the ATV and drove toward Point Laya Village.

"Hey, that’s my vehicle!"

"Sheriff!"

Vera and Wawa appeared on the snowdrift, shouting after the retreating ATV.

Feng Mountain had just driven to the airport and was about to board his plane when Vera and Wawa caught up, blocking his path.

"Sir, did you find a clue about the killer?" Wawa asked excitedly. "I know you must have found a lead. Please, take me with you."

"Sheriff, you didn’t actually find the killer, did you?" Vera’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

"It’s not convenient for me to say." Feng Mountain only had a vague direction; he couldn’t pinpoint the killer’s exact location yet.

"Please, take me with you!" Wawa suddenly knelt before Feng Mountain, tore open his winter coat, and pulled off the clothes underneath, revealing a man’s face tattooed on his chest. "This is Little Pete. I swore at his grave that I would avenge him."

"Khilla, let’s take him. This is a warrior’s honor," Nash said softly, stepping up beside Feng Mountain.

’Huh?!’

’Nash has never had a good word to say about the Inuit.’

’Even when Old Swan was cutting down trees in the Crown Territory for half a month, they exchanged no more than a few sentences.’

Feng Mountain hesitated for a moment. "My plane only has seats for two. If you’re coming, you’ll have to stay in the cargo hold."

Wawa nodded repeatedly. "No problem, the cargo hold is fine."

"Alright then, go get your weapon. We’re leaving immediately!" Feng Mountain tacitly agreed to let Wawa come along. ’One more person means more strength.’

"Sheriff... what about me!" Vera began hesitantly in a low voice.

Feng Mountain raised an eyebrow and said flatly, "If you also have a tattoo of Little Pete’s face on your chest, I’ll take you too!"

’A tattoo on her chest?’

’How is that possible?’

Vera’s eyes went wide, and she stomped off to the side in a huff.

A short while later, Wawa came running back with an AR-15 slung over his back. "Sheriff, I’m ready!"

"Let’s go!"

The Carnation started up, its propeller roaring to life and kicking up the snow on the runway.

Feng Mountain pushed the throttle, and the plane soared into the clouds, disappearing into the azure sky.

Because the divination only gave him a direction, he had no other choice. For safety’s sake, Feng Mountain could only fly along the coastline.

This way, if he ran out of fuel mid-flight, he could land at a nearby town or community in time.

This nearly aimless flight was not just painful, but torturous.

The first stop was Kivalina, a 230-kilometer flight. After landing and refueling, he hurriedly took off for the next stop before Old Swan could arrive.

The second stop, Narvik, 180 kilometers. Refuel, continue south.

The third stop, Wales, 344 kilometers. Refuel, continue south.

The fourth stop, Nome, 176 kilometers. Refuel, continue south.

The fifth stop was Kotlik, across Norton Bay, 187 kilometers. Refuel, continue south.

The sixth stop, Mangting Village, 105 kilometers.

No need to refuel and fly south anymore.

Because Feng Mountain simply couldn’t fly any longer. It had been over 1,100 kilometers, and because he had an extra person, the flight had taken a full eight hours.

By the time they landed in Mangting Village, it was already around 8 PM.

When he climbed out of the cockpit, both of his legs were stiff.

An airport worker saw the three of them in their animal-skin coats and smiled. "Fellas, where are you from?"

"Point Laya. Where’s the nearest inn? All I want to do right now is sleep." Feng Mountain had no energy for small talk.

"Hmm, you can go to the Red Salmon Bar. Their pan-fried salmon is pretty good, they have their own home-brewed rum, and the rooms aren’t bad either." The worker could also tell the three of them were travel-worn and had probably been flying for a long time.

"Thanks!" Feng Mountain pulled a 20 US Dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the worker as a tip.

’Hey!’

’I just said it offhand, I didn’t expect to get a tip.’

The worker grinned. "Leave the airport, turn left, cross two streets, and you’ll see the sign. Go inside and mention my name, Kael. Demi will give you a complimentary order of fried salmon tails."

"Thanks. And do me a favor, give the plane some maintenance and fill it up with fuel." Feng Mountain waved and led the other two out of the airport.

The so-called "two streets" were just two dirt roads.

With the streetlights to guide them, you could walk it with your eyes closed.

But then again, the environment in Mangting Village wasn’t bad. The entire village was situated on the banks of the Yukon River. Winter hadn’t yet descended upon the village, and lush green trees were everywhere.

Silvery moonlight spilled across the water’s surface, shimmering like countless tiny jewels.

A gentle breeze swept by, sending ripples across the river. The dancing light on the water was a breathtaking sight.

The Red Salmon Bar.

The sign was very conspicuous: a salmon carved from wood, decorated with a circle of small red lights.

Feng Mountain walked to the bar’s entrance and pushed the door open.

With the clear DING-DONG of a wind chime,

a wave of smells—alcohol, music, and the cheerful laughter of people—washed over them.

At the same time, the people inside the bar turned to look at the door. Seeing three strangers in animal-skin coats, they paused for a moment before turning back to their drinks and conversations.

The wooden tables and chairs were arranged neatly. Patrons were either chatting in small groups or swaying gently to the music.

The interior had a dated decor style. Various animal head trophies hung on the walls. Farthest in was the bar, made of dark wood and lined with a dazzling array of liquor bottles and bartending tools.

Dim light spilled onto the bar, adding a touch of mystery to the old objects. The whole space was filled with an ancient, rustic atmosphere, as if transporting people back in time.

Here, people seemed to be far from the hustle and bustle of modern society, immersed in a primitive and tranquil ambiance.

Feng Mountain and the other two found a place to sit.

A waitress with a freckled face and an apron came over. "Hi, eating or drinking?"

"Both. What do you recommend?" Feng Mountain didn’t see a menu on the table and guessed they probably didn’t have many dishes.

The freckle-faced waitress seemed accustomed to this kind of exchange. "We have Meal A and Meal B. Meal A is fried salmon, mashed potatoes, and french fries."

"And Meal B?" Feng Mountain asked curiously.

The freckle-faced waitress gave a sly smile. "Meal B is french fries, mashed potatoes, and fried salmon."

’So the only difference between Meal A and Meal B is the order she lists them in.’

"Alright, we’ll have three orders of Meal A." Feng Mountain smiled. "And to drink?"

"Rum, of course, pal! Are you gonna order a Coca-Cola or something?" a scruffy-looking brute at the next table laughed loudly.

Feng Mountain ignored him and looked up at the waitress with a smile. "Bring us a bottle of your best rum, thank you!"

"The best? Are you sure?" the freckle-faced waitress asked with a grin.

WHISTLE!!

"So he’s a rich man, eh? Tundra savages can afford rum now?" The scruffy man let out a provocative whistle and jeered, trying to get the attention of others in the bar.

Unfortunately for him, his plan backfired. The other patrons in the bar seemed to want nothing to do with him.

Seeing that no one was backing him up, the young waitress told him to shut up directly.

"Jim, if you’re not going to drink, then get out."

The scruffy man sullenly raised his beer bottle and took a sip, but his eyes kept wandering over to Feng Mountain.

When they got off the plane, the three of them had put their long guns in the plane’s security case, only carrying their handguns with them.

Nash, however, was not pleased. ’An insult to Khilla is an insult to my own beliefs.’ He was about to get up and teach the man a lesson, but Feng Mountain held him down. "Ignore him. He’s just a drunk."

Soon, three orders of Meal A were brought to the table.

It was basically fried fish and boiled potatoes—nothing that required much skill.

The saving grace was the freshness of the salmon. The pieces of fish had an enticing sheen, as if they still carried the scent of the Yukon River.

The french fries were golden and crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, while the boiled potatoes retained their original texture. Served with a secret sauce, they had a unique flavor.

The three of them, already starving, picked up their forks and began to wolf down the food.

"Fellas, did you just escape from a refugee camp?" It was that same loud-mouthed, scruffy man again, mocking them once more as he watched them eat.

’Provoking me again and again... does he really think I’m a pushover?’

Feng Mountain looked coldly at the scruffy man. "If that mouth of yours is useless, I can help you tear it off and feed it to the dogs."

At the same time, Nash and Wawa also put down their forks, their expressions turning menacing.

’Three against one.’

’Anyone with half a brain would know to back down.’

Fortunately, the scruffy man did have a brain—maybe not a big one, but enough for him to tell who had the upper hand.

He shut his mouth and went back to mumbling and drinking his beer.

He’d been nursing that same bottle since they walked in, and by the time Feng Mountain finished his meal, it was still more than half full.

...