Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The wind and snow howled, like countless cold knives scraping across the alleyway.

Canavie stood amidst the mess, his Adam's apple bobbing violently, making a "gulp" sound.

He stared intently at the corpse on the ground. It was one of Irma's men, the gunman who had just tried to ambush Xiren from behind. Now, there was a bloody hole in his head, and the red and white substance was rapidly congealing in the low temperature.

At the edge of the horizon, Xilun's figure had already blended into the swirling snow. The hem of his black trench coat flashed around the corner, disappearing cleanly and decisively.

Effortless, carefree, and ruthless.

Kanavi looked away, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest, a lingering excitement after extreme fear.

He lowered his head, his gaze sweeping across the ground, his pupils suddenly contracting.

Beside the body of another gunman, a short-barreled pistol lay silently amidst the blood.

Without any hesitation, Kanavi lunged forward and grabbed the heavy weapon.

The cold metallic touch pierced his nerves through his palm, giving him a shiver, yet also bringing an unprecedented sense of security.

He quickly stuffed the gun into his clothes, hiding it against his sweat-soaked inner lining.

"No...don't kill me..."

A faint plea for mercy came from the corner.

Kanavi turned his head sharply. The girl who had been dragged into the private room and humiliated by Erma was huddled in the corner, her clothes disheveled, her face covered in tears and fear, her hands clasped together and trembling.

She witnessed the whole thing, from the black-clad killer slaughtering the entire Razorback elite like chickens, to Kanavi's finishing shot.

Kanavi gripped the gun handle in his pocket, his gaze lingering on the girl's face for two seconds.

He remained silent for a moment, said nothing, and walked into the snowstorm.

……

On Baisuren Street, warm lights shone through shop windows onto the snow.

As Kanavi pushed open the door, a rich aroma of food wafted out, instantly dispelling the chill and stench of blood from his body.

The stew pot on the stove was bubbling away, and Father Carlo, dressed in a faded pajamas, was cutting bread with his back to the door.

Hearing the door open, Carlo didn't turn around, but the knife in his hand paused for a moment.

"Go take a shower."

Carlo's voice was calm, revealing neither joy nor anger.

Kanavi's muscles were tense, and he only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming that he had not given anything away.

"it is good."

He crawled into the bathroom, where hot water poured over his head, washing away the cold sweat and the sticky, murderous feeling from his skin.

Looking at his pale yet youthful face in the mirror, Kanavi's eyes flickered.

In the past, he would have gone weak in the knees when faced with something like this.

But today, he fired the shot.

The recoil in that instant seemed to shatter some kind of cowardly shell within him.

When I came out of the shower, there was already hot milk, two peeled hard-boiled eggs, and thick slices of white bread on the dining table.

Kanavi sat down, his throat parched. He picked up the milk and gulped it down; the warm liquid slid down his esophagus into his stomach, slightly soothing his spasming organs.

He grabbed the egg again, swallowed it in two or three bites, choked so badly his eyes rolled back, and then gulped down a mouthful of milk.

Carlo sat opposite him, holding a newspaper in his hand, but his eyes went beyond the edge of the newspaper and landed on his son's face as he wolfed down his food.

"Eat more if you're hungry."

Carlo put down his newspaper, his tone tinged with concern.

Kanavi slowed down his chewing.

He looked down at the bread crumbs on his plate, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him.

"Father."

"Um?"

"I just..." Kanavi gritted his teeth, raised his head, and looked directly into his father's eyes, "I went to find Irma."

The air froze instantly.

Carlo's pupils contracted sharply, and his previously calm face instantly darkened. He slammed his hand on the table, causing the milk in the glass to slosh.

"Are you crazy?!"

Carlo's voice rose, "How many times have I told you, you don't need to worry about the family business! Who is Irma? He's a mad dog of the Peaky Blinders! You want to go see him? What do you have to offer him? Your life?!"

Faced with his father's rage, Kanavi did not shrink back as usual. He calmly looked at his furious father and said softly, "Irma is dead."

Carlo's roar came to an abrupt halt.

His mouth was agape, his expression frozen, as if he had heard some absurd joke, but the calmness in his son's eyes made him realize that this was no joke.

"What...did you say?"

"Irma is dead," Kanavi repeated, his voice steady, beginning to weave the lie he had prepared on his way back. "I went to the Dragon Bar, intending to beg him to leave our family alone. But he was harassing a girl... and then, a middle-aged man barged in."

"A middle-aged man?" Carlo frowned.

"Yes, he was wearing a black trench coat and a hat, so you couldn't see his face. But he was strong, very strong." Kanavi's mind flashed with the ghostly figure of Xiren and the heavy punch that shattered his sternum. His body trembled involuntarily. This real physiological reaction made the lie impeccable.

"He didn't use a gun, only his fists and a knife. The men of Irma were like paper in front of him. That man killed everyone, and Irma had his chest shattered by a single punch."

Kanavi concealed the existence of Siron and also the fact that he had fired the shot.

Carlo fell silent.

As a former first-order baptist, he fell into deep thought.

"One punch shatters a sternum...that's a master of hand-to-hand combat." Carlo muttered to himself, his brow furrowed, as he began searching his mind for possible culprits. "That kid Irma's been arrogant; he's offended too many people. Maybe an old enemy, or an assassin hired by another gang..."

He sat back down in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table, the anger in his eyes subsiding.

"It's good that he's dead. This kind of scum would have died a violent death in the streets sooner or later."

Carlo let out a long sigh of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

But he immediately raised his head, his gaze turning stern again as he stared intently at Kanavi.

"Why are you going alone? I didn't ask you to do these things!"

"I don't need to live entirely according to your will." Kanavi lowered his head, cutting the bread on his plate, his voice soft but with a hint of stubbornness.

"What did you say?" Carlo's eyebrows shot up.

"I said, I want to help you, I want to help this family." Kanavi looked up. "I don't want to see you humbling yourself to beg those bastards for that little bit of supplies."

"Do you think your actions will move me?"

Carlo sneered, his tone filled with disappointment and mockery. "No, I just think you're immature! Utterly childish! You're a student who hasn't even mastered the basics of breathing techniques, what right do you have to go to a place like that? If that assassin had arrived a moment later, what would have happened to you? You would have died there! To risk your life for that laughable pride, is this your 'helping me'?"

"There's always a chance if you try." Canavie's fingers, gripping the knife and fork, turned white. "Maybe Irma's in a good mood, maybe he just wants to humiliate me and then let us go. At least... at least I tried."

"effort?"

Carlo seemed to be stung by those two words, and he suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the narrow restaurant, his voice growing louder and louder.