Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"You're always like this, Kanavi! You're always so childish! When will you ever truly grow up? To rely on other people's 'good mood' for your life? Is this your survival wisdom?"

"And what about you?"

Kanavi stood up as well, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. His pent-up emotions erupted at that moment, and he stared directly at his father, who stood high above him.

"Why do you always try to control my upbringing? Why do you always treat me like a child? Why do you always act superior, controlling and judging everything I do?!"

"Shouldn't I care about you?!"

Carlo pointed at Canavie's nose, spitting everywhere, "If I could become a baptist, even if I'm just a shopkeeper now, at least I could provide you with hot milk and white bread, and give you money to learn martial arts! And what are you doing at my age? Still so naive, so impulsive!"

He took a deep breath and began to bring up old grievances, a recurring theme in every argument.

"In high school, you were at the top of your class, and everyone said you were destined for greatness. But what happened? In your third year, your grades suddenly plummeted, and you couldn't even get into a good university! You spend your days idly, doing nothing!"

"Who's making it impossible for me to concentrate on my studies?!"

Kanavi roared, interrupting his father's tirade, "Who told you to divorce Mom? You two argue every single day, from morning till night! During the week I had my exams, you even overturned the table over what plates and bowls to use for lunch! When I was studying in my room, all I could hear was you two cursing each other!"

Carlo was stunned for a moment, then his face turned ashen.

"That's an adult matter!"

"That's my problem! My family is broken!" Kanavi's eyes reddened, his chest heaving. "You say I'm immature, but what about you? As a father, did you ever provide me with a stable environment?"

"Then who should you blame for quitting the training?"

Enraged, Carlo immediately changed the subject, focusing on the thorn in his side. "Even after the divorce, I still pulled strings and asked friends to get you into the Metropolitan Police Department's field operations unit for training! And what happened? You were clearly an excellent marksman, the instructors even praised your talent, but you quit! You gave up the chance to become a sheriff and came back to be an unemployed bum!"

"Because of your ex-wife! My mother!"

Kanavi's voice trembled with tears as he pointed to the door, as if the woman who had died of alcohol poisoning months earlier was still standing there.

"She clung to my legs, begging me! Begging me not to go into the field department! Begging me not to deal with murderers every day! Because my grandfather, your father-in-law, sacrificed himself while apprehending Black Death cultists! She doesn't want to see me brought back as a corpse again! What can I do? Can I kick her away and report for duty?!"

A deathly silence fell over the restaurant.

Only the heavy breathing of the father and son remained.

Carlo looked at his son, who was half a head taller than him, and suddenly felt a little unfamiliar with him.

The child who was always timid and only knew how to hide in his room has grown up without anyone noticing. He has learned to fight back and to use the sharpest words to stab at his weak points.

After a long while, Carlo, furious, laughed instead.

He sat back down in his chair, picked up the now-cold milk, took a sip, and a mocking sneer played on his lips.

"You can always find an excuse, Kanavi. It's always someone else's fault. It's your mother's fault, it's my fault, it's the environment's fault. You're always innocent and helpless."

"You can always look down on me and criticize me."

Kanavi wiped his face, his voice returning to its cold hardness, "They criticize my behavior without ever considering how helpless I am in this situation."

He looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table.

Those hands weren't rough; because of his father's protection, he had never carried heavy loads at the docks, but he still felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

"I did not make the same choice as you, Father."

Kanavi looked up, his eyes filled with a world-weary melancholy. "You didn't have a broken family like mine. When you were my age, your family was harmonious, and no one smashed plates the night before your exams."

He paused, his gaze sharpening as he looked directly at Carlo's proudest past.

"After eight weeks of training at the club, you were noticed by 'Silver Lance Knight' Aldous. That second-tier big shot personally guided you, provided you with resources, and enabled you to complete your baptism in just two years. He even taught you a more powerful breathing technique, allowing you to move out of the slums and live a decent life."

Carlo's expression froze. That was the most glorious moment of his life, and also the basis for his current reprimand of his son.

"And what about me?"

Canavie stood ramrod straight, his hand instinctively resting on the cold grip of the gun at his waist.

"I am your son. If I were in your situation, if I could meet a 'Silver Lance Knight' willing to help me, if I didn't have to struggle in the quagmire of a broken family..."

He stared at his father's astonished face and said, word by word:

"I'm sure I can do just as well as you."

After saying this, Kanavi didn't look at his father again and turned to walk towards his room.

The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

Carlo sat alone at the dining table, looking at the empty plate and the half-eaten egg across from him.

The wind and snow outside the window seemed to be getting heavier, pounding against the glass and making a howling sound.

Inside the room, Kanavi leaned against the door, his body slowly sliding down.

He pulled out the blood-smelling "Pepperbox" pistol from his pocket, pressing the cold barrel against his burning cheek.

He didn't have a nobleman like Aldous.

But he encountered Xiren.

On this cold, snowy night, his blood was boiling hot for the first time!

......

The wind and snow intensified, seemingly burying the night, turning the earth into a vast expanse of white.

Xiren pulled up the collar of her trench coat and buried her chin in her rough wool scarf.

Snowflakes slid down his neck, melting into water on his burning skin, bringing a touch of coolness.

He walked slowly, each step treading in the shadows.

The muscles in my chest are spasming; it's a side effect of pushing the "Iron Wall Breathing Method" to its limit.

Even with expert-level combat skills combined with breathing techniques, the limit is that a bullet can be stopped without damaging internal organs. However, the pain of a lead bullet tearing through flesh and embedding itself in the gaps between ribs is a real physical sensation.

But he didn't stop, and he didn't even lose his breathing rhythm.

Only when he passed a gas street lamp did the dim yellow light illuminate his pale profile and the fine layer of cold sweat on his forehead.

Xilun turned two corners and finally stopped in front of the Golden Rooster Hotel.

This building, located on the edge of a slum, appeared exceptionally peaceful amidst the snowstorm.

He pushed open the heavy oak door.

A wave of warm air from burning coal wafted over me, instantly dispelling the chill.