Part 1

As soon as the flaring king of the sky casts its glorious blinding glory unto the heap of ashes and brittle charcoal remains of the once functioning yet crude experimental oil extraction facility, our motley crew of thugs and disciples led by the duo, Artemis and Ricardo, start rummaging the ruins to save anything of value.

Despite the deafening noises; the random loud banging, dumping, and throwing of junk and debris on the grounds; oddly, we hear not a word from the master. His lips are shut tight, as if glue holds them together.

He furrows his eyebrows and stares into the void, punching, drilling, and piercing another dimension out of thin air. He’s comforted time to time by the warm hugs and rubs in the back given by his super assistant Lynn and her fellow disciples.

I’m really bad at relating to people, especially in tragedies and especially in times I faced and survived the very same predicament they suffer. That gives a sticky feeling in the nape, the awkward sensation tingling in the roots of my nerves that stops me from talking or doing anything in particular, thinking it may be seen as offensive and stupid though it may not necessarily be. For the heck of it, I’ll keep quiet.

“Kid, look here.” With blindingly sparkly smile, as we can all expect of him, Ricardo draws our attention. Like a bomb sniffing dog does, he reports finding the darkened and collapsed remnants of the bronze and copper distillation equipment.

By the looks of it, the thin long copper piping in the condenser coil have failed, severed, bursting like a flower in full bloom. I should have figured I’m not exactly a physicist, like Blaise Pascal would figure that even the benign hydrostatic pressure from a thin long pipe coiling downwards and a cup of water can blow a thick, heavy, and robust wooden barrel clad in braces of iron into pieces. Dealing with fluid pressure and behavior is a damn complicated and messy business.

It depresses me. I may be at fault by not explaining enough to the master and his disciples some basic principles in classical mechanics and thermodynamics. The laws governing gas, fluid, and pressure in relation to heat could have at least help the creative process of the master in making the equipment failsafe. Heck, even a simple spring pressure release safety valve would have helped prevent the explosion.

With a pale face, a disciple screams, “Gnarly! It’s Roger!”

The motley crew drags their fellow disciple’s deteriorating corpse out of the heap of charred debris. He’s stiff solid and partly cooked, and his silken clothes are in tatters, burnt black and brown in the edges and smeared heavily in black and gray by coal and dirt. Out in the open, flakes of white ash particles slowly glide in the air and settle over the poor guy’s corpse.

The guy seems to have stayed behind the laboratory watching the distillation process, but falls asleep. I can’t verify that, really. Who cares? Who knows, even?

Dark storm clouds of guilt slowly creep my conscience. Pale faces of dead ghost starts appearing in my mind, slowly opening their slimy pale mouths and void dark eyes, blaming me guilty of the acts of death affecting the plain of living.

I’m not an evil person, and certainly am not that awful, but just a bit, stop!

I give myself a good and loud smack in the temple to brush away the lurid images. I clear my throat and conscience, drinking the clean water Nina hands me. I’m deeply touched.

Considering how nice this Gordon’s daughter behaves these days, I can’t believe she is the same crude person who gave me a smack with a mallet in the head in our first meeting. Must be the fruit of journalism. Some self-reflection must have taken root in her conscience. Now she has transformed, looking immaculate and pure beyond belief or let me hope it goes that way.

As water runs and moistens my drying throat, warm comfy cushions envelops and rubs against my back and a steamy warm ticklish breath softly touches my cheek. Artemis, her face’s an inch away from mine. She wraps her supple arms around my bony chest and whispers silently to my ear, “Kid, you’re not exactly innocent. Your eyes strip her bare to the bones. Interested? How about you let this big sister teach you a couple of tricks?”

Smirking, she mischievously dampens my cheek with a light kiss from her soft and wet lips. An electrical storm, my neurons fire randomly, throwing a fit, causing all my bodily hairs stand up stiff. Like those of a hawk, her long and slender fingers slowly release their grip of my shoulders.

I wipe the venom clean and push her and her temptation away from me. I cast myself a purification spell, thinking of historical figures, philosophy, and numerical equations.

Across, the master calls our attention, pulling his thinning frizzy white hairs in frustration. He loses patience and kicks the salvaged condenser bucket, causing it to roll and tumble weakly against the gravel. He palms his face, mentioning in a weak and sick voice that repairing the damaged equipment is difficult if not impossible due to the cost of materials. He reveals that the experimental project is a huge investment on his part, using up most of the alchemic materials and tools he gathered his entire life in the court.

Investment, the word initiates a spark of lightning to strike the frozen network of inactive neurons in my brain, unlocking new applications of ideas never considered to be a part of this little experiment I have with Master Kong. Who would have thought, Faye Bismarck and Richmond Bluth, those individual traders my father recommended must have a thing or two about investment in things other than crops and metal crafts. This little experiment on crude oil must also be of interest to them.

I tell the master of the novel idea. Life and energy returns in his eyes. He returns to his usual self, yelling, regaining command of his disciples – and disciplined, the squadron neatly and snappily assemble in rows, in front of the master, attentive, waiting for instructions.

The master gesticulates wildly like a wizard, drawing and casting invisible lines, circles, triangles, and squares in the air as he instructs and inspires them disciples to rebuild the premise destroyed by fire. He includes a minor modification of building a massive school in the plan, which the disciples receive warmly with a loud applause.

Energized, the disciples recover from the demolished store shed tools that survived the fire. They swiftly dive into the woods, followed by the motley hooligans to gather timber to be used for the construction.

The master figures that the construction will finish in about a month or two, which may set us back a fortune. In fact, the act of rebuilding the premise is just a brave bluff to stir the disciples, other DK Oils employees, and potential customers. They have no knowledge that the master and I do not have enough gold in stock to finish the construction. We hope that we get enough investments to cover for the cost, which can only be done by putting brave front, acting as if we know exactly what to do.

Sure enough, some merchants in Mercantium are amiable enough to be lulled in the scheme. The day following the reconstruction, the master and I break the news to our partners in trade with a promise of building the distillery bigger and stronger. We then auction stocks of the company to gather enough money for the construction.

In hopes that they will get the investments back in six months, the miscellaneous bunch of traders receive the securities in exchange of a few gold coins. We even have to buy fresh paper and ink to write new notes to give to our investors.

As the day closes, we gather enough money to cover the construction cost of the property, excluding the distillation equipment. Officially, the DK Oils incorporated become a public traded company in Mercantium.

Speaking of the advanced equipment, on redrawing, I modify the master’s design to include the needed safety valves, which will ensure that even in the event of negligence, the equipment won’t fail. But the caveat, the cost of materials becomes untenably high, much like the Gutenberg style screw press both the master and I dream of having.

To finish the construction of the improved distillery, we need investors bigger than the ones we have here at Mercantium. And surprisingly so, the master wants to join me in the journey to Nexus to help me secure deals with more traders and metal craftsmen who can do a better work on the distillery and the printing press. He deputizes his trusted super assistant Lynn to oversee the operations in the grounds.

Similarly, I deputize Artemis to oversee the bunch of goons with the few remaining silver dollar coins in stock. I instruct her to follow Lynn’s orders.

Shortly after in the riverbanks, Master Kong, Ricardo, Nina, and I, along with a few barrels of crude oil and refined oil products, board a boat headed to Nexus. We set sail, commencing our journey in hopes of starting things anew.

Running and waving by the banks, the silhouettes of the disciples and our motley crew of employees steadily shrink. They make an effort to see us off, especially Artemis, who never fails to give me the sticky feeling. The wanton woman sends off a flying kiss before she totally vanishes from vision. And even though imaginary, the kiss leaves a sticky smell and a stale aftertaste. How dare she ruin this young man’s innocent soul and dreams. Should I fire her for harassment?

A stream of gentle and cool wind blows in our direction. It brushes against my hair and enters my nasal cavity, washing away the unpleasant feeling of rot brimming in my mouth. Coupled with a beautiful scenery of greenery in the banks, clean translucent blue waters in the river splashing against the boat, and birds gliding and flying freely in the air, the sight signifies a new beginning.

To conclude, things are not so bad after all. I hope everything works out in Nexus.

Part 2

Like sardines, balls of hair of different lengths and colors quickly populate to fill the deck we once partly monopolized. The tight packing of warm and sweaty bodies stands to filter the stream of fresh and clean breeze, instantly infusing it with a vinegary, salty, and cheesy smelling odor.

Not to get caught in a stampede, the master, being old, asks to remain with the cargo until all the people have dispersed. He strokes his beard, sensibly suggesting for Nina and I to go ahead so that we can use the time to find a place to safely store the cargo.

In agreement, I ask Ricardo to wait with him. The fellows slowly retreat to the cargo section of the boat.

Splash! The boat drops anchor in water. The sea of people on deck are astir, rushing to get off the boat. Like excited molecules, they rub and slide past against one another, putting Nina and myself in a tighter squeeze. Her ribs start to embed itself to my cheek.

Slowly, the crowd start to pour out in waves, mightily flowing down from the deck to the dock like a flood. The strong current gradually pulls us away and apart from each other. So not to lose the lass, I give her soft, warm, sweaty, and silky hand a tight squeeze. Together, we are washed to the dock by the great tide, soaked in sweat and vinegary odor.

Nevertheless, the unstoppable swarm continues its advance, leaving us behind.

Like tiny grains of pepper, they spread out, and disperse, joining the greater chaos ahead, the populating stalls, the busy and noisy shops, and the tall, towering, and cramped structures of stone and heavy wooden masonry inhabited by thieving dark crows, nesting, nestling, and flying about. Ah Nexus, she gives me a strong and familiar impression of the old city I used to live in.

I tug on Nina’s soft and delicate fingers. Cautiously, we approach a curious bunch of dried fish dealers by the dock. It will not be strange if these people know a thing or two about warehouses.

Busily repacking the dried fish from crates to smaller boxes, one of them salty and fishy fellows give Nina a curious look. “Lost, young man?”

Nina stops, shakes, and grits her teeth, tightly squeezing my hand. I know very well how she dislikes the remark. She may as well yell at the man for misgendering her, but keeps her calm, smiling irritably with her eyebrows knit.

In the first place, the man addresses the wrong person, so I sort out things in Nina’s stead. I give her an elbow to the rib, reminding her of her temper and ask the rude fellow about warehouses. Not that it surprises me any longer, but my conduct and speech, as usual, stir the odd fellows’ eyebrows to rise in curiosity.

Having explained my business to them, the salty and fishy smelling brothers respond with bewilderment. Nevertheless, they fail not in giving the information.

The rude brother points his finger across the street, and gestures to us directions. And a bonus, he is kind enough to give recommendations and information about Faye Bismarck and Richmond Bluth’s business. Indeed these traders are knowledgeable of business around these parts, and a tad too nice for their own good.

So I give the fellow a jar of oil to say thanks. Delighted by the present, he hands Nina a paper bag of smelly dried fish as a gift, expressing his interest to partner up in business in the future. Dinner is secured. I give the rough man a fist bump and wave goodbye.

Following the direction, we traverse a few streets and alleys to find our warehouse. Within the cramped and claustrophobic walls of stone and brick, many a children run amok, playing chase and fencing. To add to the trouble, some of those tiny squeaky critters join the chase, squeezing through the cracks, crawling speedily on Nina’s boot.

She screams and jumps in fright, kicking in an attempt to shake the gray rodent away. Accidentally, she loses her balance and falls to her rear. Grimacing, she rubs the sore part while seated on the pavement with her back leaning against a mossy stone wall. And hastily, she scans the surroundings, checking left, right, up, and down for the squeaky critters, I presume, as she confirms, “Uhm! Hmm! Rrr… rats? Where?”

For her tough disposition of being a pirate crew, she’s now looking more like a normal girl than ever. So I assure her that all’s well.

Holding my hand, she pulls herself up from the ground. She stands up and brushes all the dirt on her garment and trousers, except for the back, which got wet and dirty from the incident, smeared with green and black stains. Even so, she can’t hide from me her anxiety. Her legs shake still.

And from that point on, she can’t help but be overly cautious of the surroundings. With every step that we take, she checks every crack and crevice on the walls to make sure they’re safe. Fortunately, we find ourselves in front of the busy warehouse after a few more steps, ending her little paranoia.

Nastily, an evil little gremlin whispers to my ear, tempting me to tell her how warehouses usually house the little squeaky little critters, though I keep my mouth shut being full aware the tease may delay us.

On the recommended warehouse, a short chinky fellow comes forward to receive us. He is not as surprised or as baffled as the dried-fish-folk we talk with, earlier. He shook my hand, having settled a deal with him with a handsome commission of a few silver coins. Smiling, he pulls and plays with his teeny little mustache. He then raises his right hand, gesturing a few burly men to come.

For a low price, he recommends their help in transferring our cargo to the warehouse.

I cannot turn down the offer, considering that these men will accept a rate lower than the ones I give to my thugs in Exteris. With a few coins at hand, the squad of burly fellows obediently tail us back.

By the dock, a curiosity greets us. A thick wall of people blocks our vision and the way ahead.

Nina asks one of the odd fellows standing, whom at the moment watches an amusement, munching on a baked potato. Agitated, he turns to her and expels spit and flying potato bits from his mouth, telling the lass not to miss out on the latest thing on the dock, a fight between men. He swiftly turns his gaze back towards the direction of the oddity.

I look back at the porters tailing us. They shrug shoulders as if there nothing can be done but wait. And since nothing can be done, why not enjoy the spectacle much like the onlookers do?

I call the tallest of them at the back to come forward and borrow his shoulders, so that I could sit on them. Towering taller than anyone else, I get a clear view of the amusement. With a smack, my palm meets my forehead once more.

“What happened, Sir Linus?” Nina asks.

“It’s Ricardo.” I drop my shoulders, sighing heavily.

“What!” Like a cat in a fight, her hair stands up. Ghostly blood red steam comes off her skin and mixes gently with the air, rising steadily like smoke. With flaring eyes and darkened face, she charges in and squeezes herself against the wall of people ahead.

I jump off my man’s shoulders and used them as a springboard to catch up to the lass. As a result, I land and make it inside the encirclement of people before she does.

On sight, Ricardo argues with a few burly and rough looking fellows. Clutching his halberd in both hands, he points its sharp glimmering tip to the odd fellow next to him. “Look! My luck is good, and I know it. It’s your fault you lost. Your luck is bad.”

“Dam’ you bugga’ tol’ me I won’ lose bettin’ on dose car’s. ‘tis your fault. Man up and pay up!” The fellow grits his rotting teeth having yelled at Ricardo.

A third fellow, clad in an impressive suit of armor, draws a blade and point it at the two. The metallic implements catch sunlight and gleams golden. Frowning, he uses his dark and low pitched voice to warn the two, “I don’t recall telling you to gamble off my money. And you, old man, I don’t care what happened between you two. Drop your spear and suit of armor as payment.”

Again, my forehead meets my palm in a collision. Isn’t this a gambler’s spat?

“Old Dog! You!” Like a bullet out of a gun, Nina at a tremendous speed and force, breaks the crowd’s encirclement. She launches a fiery and smoking fist at the old man.

But Ricardo being in a serious mood dodges the attack by precisely bending his body an inch to the side, throwing the lass off balance. Nina fails, diving into the dirt like a baseball player would, stirring clouds of dirt in the air. Clearly, she’s out of commission for this battle.

And instead of helping, her sudden entry worsens the feud, triggering the odd fellows to attack Ricardo. As savvy as he is with fighting and his polearm, he easily dodges the fist sent by the first rough fellow. He gives the pole in the face to counter, making the fellow stop and cover his face. And with a knee to the stomach, the poor guy is taken out of the fight, curling down on the ground like a beetle, covering his belly whilst grimacing and cursing.

Not wasting a moment, the armed fellow swings his sword at our man, Ricardo. Clang! Ricardo parries the blow with the pole arm and points its sharp steel tip at the neck of the attacker. He blinds the fellow with his sparkly smile. “You’re just one step away from your demise. Drop your weapon and I’ll spare yah.”

The fellow drops his weapon, concluding the fight. “You!”

He runs away with his tail tucked between his legs and the crowd cheers wildly, throwing hats in the air for the old man. I knew beforehand that nothing matches the old man in a street brawl, so I bother not to help. And I didn’t want to stand out.

In a hush, I pick Nina up from the dirt. I worry that she may have gotten abrasions and scratches from the fall. But nothing to worry about. This un-cute and uncouth lass of mine, covered in her usual baggy outfit, isn’t affected at all. She stands up and brushes the dirt off her clothes like nothing happened.

“Ricardo, you will get a pay deduction as a result. Man, I don’t have to preach all the time not to cause other people trouble.”

“But they started it, Kid! Not my fault.” Ricardo reasons childishly.

“The old fool deserves it.” Nina gives Ricardo his usual boot to the shin. He jumps, cursing the lass and her ancestors.

“Erm!” The master coughs, pokerfaced as usual.

Wind blows and storm clouds gather above. The crowd parts and gives entry to a procession of men heavily clad from head to toe in thick blackened armor. They are led by a youth, whose golden wavy long and light mane dances with the wind. His cold and sharp blue eyes reflect the brightest spark of lightning I have ever seen. He halts commanding the armor clad fellows to do the same. Next to him stands the fellow beaten to the ground earlier by Ricardo.

“It’s him. It’s them, sir! Those barbarians cause trouble in the docks.” He points to our group.

“Silence! Before I make an arrest, I want to hear your explanation.” The blonde youth points at Ricardo. I presume he must be police or something?

I cover Ricardo’s stupid mouth before he runs anything that will worsen the situation. “Pardon my ignorance, my good sir, but before my companion answers to the accusation, may I know what position of authority you hold?”

As if I made a mistake in dropping the question, the crowd go wild, chattering loudly to themselves.

“My boy, I can clearly tell you’re not from around here not to know about the Brotherhood of Nexus. I, Freddie VIII, the son of the Count of the Capital Region, Lord Frederick VII, lead this peacekeeping force whose power of authority emanates directly from the crown. I take this business seriously, and as your judge, I command you, do tell me your involvement in the disturbance of peace in my dominion.” With the back of his hand, he brushes his wavy bangs and hair to the side.

My nerves tingle and crawl under my skin. I can’t help but cringe hearing the nobleman proclaim his authority in such grandiosity.

“Your honor, I and my friend hasn’t done anything wrong. We’re just travelers, looking for an opportunity to trade in your dominion, Nexus. While that man over there started all the trouble. I swear, I saw with my two naked eyes how he swung his sword against my friend, who only reacted to defend himself.”

“Either way, your friend is involved in the scuffle, and I don’t take testimonies from kids. You should know better, boy, where to stand. I’ll make the arrest and investigate the matter, privately.” Then don’t ask me to tell you anything, you dolt!

While I busily grind my teeth, secretly cursing the illogical youth, his armor clad escorts put their hands on Ricardo.

And Master Kong raises his hand. Freddie’s eyes widen, looking at the ancient relic. “What business does the revered teacher have in such a place?”

“Young man, the boy is right. That man, Ricardo did nothing wrong. He’s my bodyguard. He’s only acting out of self-defense.”

“If it’s you, I cannot argue. I apologize for the mistake. Teacher, please do drop by our place with your companions by tomorrow. I’ll make an arrangement.”

“Very well.”

Freddie brushes his bangs and long hair to his side and walks away, tailed by the armored fellows, escorting the real troublemaker away from the scene.

Part 3

Our crew of burly men take the barrels of crude oil and extracted oil products with them to the warehouse, leaving only a few gallons of oil behind. Following the directions given by the fishy fellows, we step deeper into the busy market place, carrying the few gallons of oil with us.

The fright of ancient market places, the place reeks of a salty and unpleasant rotting odor from the fresh animal products laid by the vendors on the sidewalks. I worry that the foul odor sips to our clothes. I bet I worry a bit too late. Nasty odors have long penetrated our clothes, starting with our rough landing here in Nexus.

My complaints aside, the vendors and people shopping don’t seem to mind the smell as if it’s the most natural thing about markets. Should I be given the chance, I’d redesign the market place to have a good drainage system and an adequate supply of running water.

And I am not alone, the master seems to share my sentiment, covering his nose with his long draping sleeve. I might tell him my proposal later.

After jostling with people, shoulder to shoulder, strenuously carrying the hefty gallons of oil and enduring the foul stench of the marketplace, we arrive at our destination. A gigantic “Bismarck’s” sign hangs from atop the spacious brick and mortar store. Traders and consumers alike flood the popular and populous place, leaving only but a narrow passageway for people like us who would like to get inside.

Ricardo leads, pushing and parting sea of people to make way for the rest of us. Thanks to his effort, we make it to the counter far at the back.

“I’m Linus Daedalus, the son of Julius of Solus. I’m here to discuss business with Faye Bismarck.”

The lady adjust her blurring spectacles and gives Nina, Ricardo, and the master a curious look, asking which one of them is me, Linus. After a protest, I get her to look at the right direction. With a bright glare on her pair of glasses, she demands I give her a letter of the proof of appointment and identity, which I regret informing her that it burned in the terrible incident.

She crosses her arms, telling me she cannot arrange for me to meet her master at that point, even if my excuse is valid.

“The lad’s the real deal. Look, here’s my face, lady. You will rarely get a wholesome view of the renowned Silver Wolf, whose talent rivals Julius of Solus’.” My daddy to Ricardo, no way. Throwing his signature sparkly smile, the man makes a fool of himself, holding and kissing the bespectacled lady’s hand as if he’s proposing.

The freckled and bespectacled lady swiftly pulls her hand from the Ricardo’s grasp. She wipes it with a clean hanky. And suddenly, her shoulders start trembling as if irritated. She bends down the desk, slamming her hands against it. Shaking and struggling, she raises her head up and looks in our direction. A flood of tears collect in the corner of her eyes.

My god, what did we do wrong? My palm strikes and sticks to my forehead automatically as if magnetized.

“OUCHHH!!” Nina drops a boot at the man’s toes, filling the store with the man’s insufferable scream.

Unable to contain her emotions, the bespectacled lady bursts in laughter. “HAHAHAHAHA! Yes, it’s you! That Silver Wolf, twelve years ago! Are they jewels fine? Did you have children after that? HAHAHAHA!” She points a finger, mocking the old wolf.

“Shut up!” Ricardo’s face reddens in shame. Even the revered master is struck with a mystified look, not knowing a thing or two about context.

Still weakened with laughter, the lady retreats to the back room, limping. And a loud laughter ensues from the unknown people at the back room.

The bespectacled lady comes back with her face still soaked in tears of madness. Snickering, she limps, escorting us in the back room. With a red face, Ricardo clenches his fist, popping them. Nevertheless, it doesn’t affect the bespectacled lady from snickering, she hides her laughter behind her hanky, reminding me of that vile retriever from that story, buck hunt.

Upon entry, a brunette in a frilly purplish dress suddenly tackles me out of nowhere, wrapping her soft, warm, and silky arms at my back. She rubs her cheek against mine and pinches them sharply. Staring at me eye-to-eye with her purplish pupils, she opens her mouth. “You… I saw you three years ago. You’re looking more and more like your mother? Sooo cute!” She squeezes me in a tight, tight hug.

“And you? What! HAHAHAHA! The nerve you go after one of my apprentices. Are you alright, Ricardo, after all those years? Did the nest re… re… recover? HAHAHAHA!” Looking Ricardo, she cracks down, spewing tears of madness everywhere.

All red, the old man covers his ears and storms out of the premise like a bat out of hell.

The purple eyed lady tugs on my arm. “Don’t worry about him. He’s quick to recover. Anyway, to the table.”

A stereotype it maybe, but like Lynn, the freckled and bespectacled apprentice in her frilly maid apron quickly puts the place in order, serving tea and snacks on the table.

The brunette suddenly wears a black hoodie jacket on, covering her head and her face in shadow, leaving only her glowing purplish eye visible. She reminds me of the time before the pirate attack. This guy. “Remember, little Linus? Welcome to my place, I’m Faye Bismarck. Let’s talk business.”

****************

Journey Day 13

DK Oils Distillery burns, a Disciple dies

Mercantium, east, DK Oils distillery, burned down in an accident resulting to the death of Roger, one of Master Kong’s disciples.

The fire, fed with petroleum oils, raged uncontrollably, consuming Master Kong’s house with it.

The disciple, Roger, reportedly was in the distillery when the fire broke out.

Upon investigation, the Young Master Linus found out that the fire was caused by negligence. He explained that the stove left with burning coal caused the pressure in the apparatus to spike up, which led it to explode and burn.

Despite the tragedy, the young master remained optimistic. He said, he had a plan to make the equipment operate more safely and at a higher efficiency.

Linus Daedalus eyes Nexus for DK Oils’ expansion

Mercantium, east, the Young Master Linus proposed to Master Kong the business prospect of involving a big trader in Nexus.

The revered master agreed, optimistic that proposed solution will bring enough investment to revive and expand the operation of DK Oils incorporated.

In addition, the young and the revered master sold stock in Mercantium market, convincing investors to put money in silver and gold for the revival and expansion of the business.

Their business efforts paid off, initiating the construction of the new facility in Master Kong’s premises.

He said, “If anyone is interested to partner, contact my disciple Lynn. She’ll give you information about the project in my absence.”

Aboard a boat, the young master and the revered master set sail for Nexus, bringing with them sample products to entice the rumored trader in Nexus.

They aimed also to recruit people other than the rumored traders.