Chapter 66: Contact

Anthony’s father was a devout follower of the Orthodox Church, but Zhou Sen, for his part, had never been forced into any faith. At present, he held no religious beliefs at all.

When Anthony adopted him, Zhou Sen was already ten years old. In many families, a ten-year-old child, though not fully mature in mind, understands quite a lot about the world.

The original Zhou Sen had grown up quickly—he was precocious.

Being Chinese, Zhou Sen still celebrated the Spring Festival each year at home. On New Year's Eve, they would have a meal of dumplings.

They would buy two strings of firecrackers and set them off in the courtyard.

There were no ancestral rites or ceremonies—just a simple celebration.

Each year was the same, lacking novelty, dull and monotonous.

This year, after eating dumplings, Zhou Sen went upstairs. Though they had bought firecrackers, he had no mood to set them off. According to the family’s old custom, in homes where the elders had passed away, firecrackers were not lit on New Year's Eve.

Anthony’s father was gone. Though his death was a mystery—neither seen alive nor found dead—Zhou Sen could not believe the Japanese would fabricate such a story to deceive him.

So, in all likelihood, he would never see Anthony’s father again.

The feelings lingering from the original Zhou Sen touched him somewhat, and he felt a bit melancholic.

He opened the book he’d bought earlier that day at “Antique Pavilion”—Russian Fables.

Truth be told, Zhou Sen wasn’t particularly interested in Russian fables. The stories of many nations and peoples have similar meanings.

He was curious about the fable he had heard on the radio, “The Hunter and the Wolf.” Though it resembled the Chinese tale “Mr. Dongguo and the Wolf,” this snow wolf with black eyes was quite different from the Zhongshan wolf.

It did not repay kindness with betrayal; instead, it chose to fight its former pack for the hunter’s sake, ultimately sacrificing itself to save him.

Russians have a different worldview; they even dare to domesticate fierce animals like bears—truly a nation of warriors.

This story could also be interpreted as evidence that wolves possess spirit and gratitude, far superior to many humans with hearts of wolves and dogs.

The hunter saved his own life because of his compassion—a matter of fate and fortune.

What Zhou Sen wanted to know was why this fable was broadcast suddenly in the middle of the night. It was certainly not a supernatural occurrence.

It must have a purpose, but he could not yet unlock its secret. Perhaps the original Zhou Sen could have, but Zhou Sen wasn’t sure whether some memories had been lost in the transfer.

He could only search for answers in the details of the story.

If he hadn’t happened upon this book at Antique Pavilion, he might not have remembered at all.

The table of contents did indeed include a story about a wolf, but the bookstore was crowded and distracting, so he hadn’t had the chance to study it.

Now, finally, he could read without interruption.

Zhou Sen carefully read the fable. It told of the grudges and gratitude between a wolf and a hunter.

In this story, a wounded wild wolf was about to be killed and skinned by the hunter, but the wolf’s pleading eyes moved the hunter. He spared the wolf, brought it home, and nursed it back to health. The wolf returned to the forest, but every so often, someone brought wild game—pheasants and rabbits—to the hunter.

The hunter no longer needed to hunt and lived a life free from want.

The story was short, meant to encourage kindness, but for children, it might even be misleading.

After all, harmonious coexistence between wolves and humans exists only in stories. If anyone believes it, tragedy follows.

Stories, once spread and artistically reworked, told by different people, often diverge from their original versions.

Comparing the details of the two tales, Zhou Sen noticed differences. Both featured wolves, but one was expelled from its pack as a cub, the other was wounded. One emphasized fur and eye color; the other did not. One lived closely with the hunter, the other returned to the wild. Their endings diverged—one fought its former pack for the hunter, the other simply brought wild game as thanks.

Black eyes, driven from the pack...

It almost sounded like himself. Wolves aren’t known for having black eyes; only humans, especially yellow-skinned Chinese, possess that color.

Driven out by the pack—when Anthony adopted him, Zhou Sen had indeed been shunned by a group of beggars, unable to find food, starving to the brink of death.

His experience was almost identical to that of the little snow wolf in the story.

As for what happened later, that had yet to transpire, so there was no basis for comparison. If the hunter was Anthony, then since he was already dead, Zhou Sen had no need to save him.

Suddenly, Zhou Sen was startled by the thought—it seemed too improbable.

If so, why would the Japanese fabricate such a monstrous lie to deceive him?

The more he pondered, the more chaotic his mind became.

Forget it. Maybe he was overthinking. Better to sleep and let it all fade; he had no desire to entangle himself in these matters.

But could he really avoid them?

...

Concerning the plan to expand and renovate the Fragrant Pavilion.

Though he disliked vertical script, there was no choice—people of this era were accustomed to writing and reading this way. One couldn’t simply break convention. (Though horizontal script existed, it hadn’t yet become mainstream.)

Early the next morning, after breakfast, Zhou Sen shut himself in his bedroom—he had no desire to stay in the study.

He began writing at his desk with great speed.

On the first day of the lunar new year, while others visited relatives and exchanged greetings, Zhou Sen was alone. He had few friends, no family to visit.

He had no job to attend to, so he might as well stay home and complete the Fragrant Pavilion’s planning document; he feared missing the opportunity later.

Shut away in his room, ideas surged within him, undisturbed by anything outside. Even Lucy, the cat, merely lay quietly on his lap, not daring to move, lest she disrupt her master’s writing.

“Master Vasim, there’s a gentleman at the door who calls himself Mr. Mikunov,” Irina announced.

“I’m not seeing visitors,” Zhou Sen replied.

“But he claims to be an acquaintance of Mr. Anthony, and says he’s come to pay his respects and wish you a happy new year,” Irina explained.

“Invite him to the parlor and serve tea. Tell him I’ll be down shortly,” Zhou Sen said. He was at a critical point in his writing and didn't want his train of thought interrupted, but he couldn’t turn away a guest, even though he didn’t know the man.

“Yes, sir.”

After fifteen minutes, Zhou Sen descended the stairs, still in his robe and thick coat, slippers on his feet, Lucy in his arms. If the visitor hadn’t claimed to know Anthony, Zhou Sen wouldn’t have bothered to meet him.

The Russian before him appeared younger than Zhou Sen, with a high nose, brown eyes, wavy hair, and two yellow-brown mustaches.

Upon seeing Zhou Sen, he removed his hat and bowed.

This was the etiquette of subordinates to superiors in the days of Tsarist Russia, though it had long fallen out of use.

“Mr. Mikunov, I don’t believe we know each other. What brings you here?” Zhou Sen walked over and sat down on the sofa.

“I am here on behalf of Mr. Rozayevsky to pay you a visit and wish you a happy new year!” Mikunov replied respectfully.

“Let’s get to the point,” Zhou Sen said.

“Mr. Rozayevsky wishes to discuss matters concerning Mr. Anthony Robin with you,” Mikunov explained.

“What is there to discuss? I don’t know him.”

“Master Vasim, perhaps you don’t realize—Mr. Rozayevsky was Mr. Anthony Robin’s loyal comrade and companion,” Mikunov said.

“Is that so? Why has no one ever mentioned him to me?” Zhou Sen asked.

“It may have been a matter of timing. There are things Mr. Anthony Robin didn’t tell you, but now you must be informed. It is your responsibility and duty,” Mikunov shrugged.

“Very well. Tomorrow at ten thirty in the morning, North Restaurant at the Modern Hotel. I’ll wait for you there—if you’re late, I won’t wait,” Zhou Sen considered. He could refuse, but the visitor wouldn’t give up. Better to meet once and hear what he had to say.

“Agreed.” Mikunov accepted readily; his purpose was simply to secure Zhou Sen’s consent for a meeting, and the venue was of no consequence.

Rozayevsky—Zhou Sen had never met him, but as a police officer in Ice City, he knew of him.

He was one of the prominent White Russian leaders in Ice City, notorious for his anti-Soviet and anti-Communist stance, and a lackey of the Japanese.

A legendary Russian traitor.

He also served as deputy director of the Japanese Bureau of Russian Affairs for Ice City’s expatriates—a spy agency, in essence, set up by the Japanese for espionage among Russian expatriates in Ice City and inside Soviet borders.

This man wanted to meet Zhou Sen, undoubtedly because of Anthony’s role as “priest.” Zhou Sen had no desire to assume that position; if someone else would take it up, all the better.

Lunch was a casual affair, then Zhou Sen returned to his room to continue drafting his “planning document.” He had nothing else to do all day.

He wrote all afternoon—his fingers aching from the effort. He had never written by hand so diligently before, except perhaps when composing secret love letters to girls during his school days, those moments when he wracked his brain for words.

Meow!

Lucy was growing impatient. Her young master hadn’t rested at home for a long time, and hadn’t played with her in days. She clawed furiously at his arm.

“All right, Lucy, don’t fuss. Once I finish, I’ll play with you, okay?” Zhou Sen quickly stroked the clingy little creature.

She was quite clever. Without her, Zhou Sen would never have discovered some of the household’s secrets on his own.

For instance, in the case of Sherkin’s murder, Zhou Sen realized the climbing marks inside the fireplace chimney were faked, inspired by Lucy’s own traces from climbing.

The purpose was merely to mislead the police investigation.

Susanna was truly a remarkable woman. Now that she was free, Zhou Sen wondered if she had left Ice City or was lurking somewhere.

He had a feeling he would meet Susanna again.