books44 Chapter 300 [Empire] Homeless People
Chapter 300 [Empire] Homeless People
The streets were still ablaze with lights on Christmas Eve. Neon signs and shops draped in colorful lights shimmered in the night, and the air was filled with a lively and warm atmosphere. But for me, it felt like an impenetrable fog. The once bustling streets, tonight, left me feeling a sense of silent loneliness and alienation.
At this moment, I seem to have really become that homeless person.
Wen Ya probably won't have time to go home tonight. Seeing his rapt attention at the concert, I know he has his own preoccupations and passions, and these, perhaps, are worlds I'll never be able to enter. And that villa... I don't want to go back there for even a second. It's synonymous with oppression, the mess that man has been entangled in endlessly, more like an inescapable plague. I can't go back, and I don't want to.
I wandered aimlessly, my steps unconsciously leading me to the mercenary street. The night here was completely different from the day. During the day, it was noisy and busy with shops and mission stations, but at night, it was filled with a different atmosphere.
Occasionally, a few mercenaries in military uniforms could be seen on the streets, their weapons heavy and sturdy, but their expressions were surprisingly relaxed, as if blending in with the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood. Neon lights lit up one by one in the bars, cafes, and casinos tucked away in underground corners. Their entrances were adorned with a variety of slogans, seemingly constantly attracting those who lingered at night.
These places, once safe havens for those who couldn't escape the life of combat and mercenary warfare, now served as a temporary refuge for me to escape reality.
I walked through the bustling streets, mingling with the crowds, occasionally brushing past a few people. They seemed to pay no attention to me, not even to my uniform or my identity. It was as if everyone had their own goals and destinations, no one caring about anyone else. Suddenly, I felt an unfamiliar sense of peace. That feeling of being undisturbed and unexpecting made me unconsciously slow my pace.
I felt empty inside, not knowing why I came here and why I walked into this neighborhood where I didn't feel like I belonged.
Whatever it is, today, Christmas Eve, I'm still lonely. The Christmas decorations on the streets seem increasingly extravagant, but I can't find a true sense of belonging. Without a home, no one to greet me, I feel like an abandoned shadow.
I continued walking, my steps growing heavy. Outside the bar on Mercenary Street, a group of people gathered at the doorway, discussing a mission. Some laughed, others spoke hurriedly. I couldn't tell if I was looking at them, or if they were looking at me. Suddenly, a sense of emptiness filled my heart, as if I were listening to voices far, far away. Suddenly, a cold wind blew, and I couldn't help but shiver. The once warm air turned chilly.
Just then, footsteps suddenly sounded. I turned and saw a figure walking out of the bar. It was a man in a dark windbreaker, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes a bit tired, and he seemed to blend in with the night scene.
He stood at the door, took out a cigarette, and slowly lit it, the smoke curling into the night air. At that moment, I was a little stunned. I don't know why, but I felt that this man seemed familiar.
His eyes swept across the street, and as if he noticed me, they met mine instantly. His expression remained unchanged.
"What? You're not going home for Christmas?" His voice was low and a little hoarse, as if squeezed out from his throat.
I was stunned, confused, and didn't know how to respond. He didn't seem to expect any response from me, just standing there, smoking, with a dazed look in his eyes.
"Do you think this place is better than your 'home'?" He suddenly spoke with an understated tone, as if he was talking to himself rather than to me.
I didn't answer, but lowered my head and looked at the street below with mixed feelings.
Yes, compared to my cold, indifferent villa, this place is nothing. The bustle and noise here actually give me a vague sense of belonging. At least here, there are no heavy expectations, no constraints that tie me down.
He seemed to notice my silence and smiled faintly. Smoke rose from his mouth like circles of deep fog. He spoke again, his tone still calm: "But sometimes, you really shouldn't run away. Do you understand?"
"Nightingale, aren't you here to attend a concert? Why do you look so drained? Is the concert also your mission objective?" I squinted my eyes slightly, with a hint of contemptuous smile on the corner of my mouth.
Nightingale lowered his eyes, as if I had stung him somewhere. He pursed his lips slightly, frowned slightly, and after a moment of silence, he spoke softly, "You're right. The concert really has nothing to do with my mission."
His tone didn't sound defensive or dissatisfied as I'd expected, but rather strangely calm. It seemed that no matter how I provoked him, he could handle it easily, or rather, he didn't care about my reaction at all.
"However, I still want to take a break from these tasks occasionally." He added calmly, his tone calm but with a hint of helplessness, "Everyone gets tired."
I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, the irony fading a bit. I knew Nightingale was a man who could control his emotions very well. I'd never seen him lose his composure or experience any real emotion when I was with him. He seemed to be someone who always wore a mask.
"So, you get tired sometimes too?" I teased deliberately. "It doesn't look like it."
He smiled faintly, seemingly unaffected by the sarcasm in my words, and said softly, "Everyone has their own weaknesses and difficulties. No matter how you look at it, no matter how strong someone appears, there are inevitably some fragile parts inside."
At that moment, I seemed to understand the meaning of his words.
"Is this line of work so profitable? You can even afford a concert of this level." I continued to tease, with a hint of temptation in my eyes, trying to find out Nightingale's background through this sentence.
Nightingale raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly unsurprised by my question. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, and he replied calmly, "It's not particularly expensive. After all, concert tickets come in different tiers."
He paused, casually glancing at the surroundings, and then added, "However, if it's for a mission, spending money is nothing."
His words seemed unremarkable, but his unhurried tone gave me a vague feeling that there was more to them. Clearly, he wasn't about to reveal too many details about his income and mission, but rather subtly guided my speculation by slightly deflecting the subject.
"For a mission?" I couldn't help but repeat myself, a hint of curiosity brewing in my heart. "So you specialize in this kind of 'special mission'?"
Nightingale didn't seem to expect that I would ask so directly. He was silent for a while, looking away slightly, as if he was considering how to answer.
"There are many different types of missions, and the areas they cover don't necessarily have to involve violence. Some missions are simply about obtaining information, or...keeping someone 'quiet.'"
This time, his tone wasn't as relaxed, but rather carried a subtle calmness and silence. It seemed as if, in that instant, I saw a depth and complexity in him that didn't belong to an ordinary mercenary.
"Oh?" I was a little surprised. "That's quite interesting. It seems you are more than just a 'mercenary'."
Nightingale didn't answer directly, but instead chuckled softly, seeming to find my words amusing. "Everyone has their own story. It doesn't matter what job you do; what matters is where you end up."
"Where to?" I repeated, and suddenly felt that this sentence was quite meaningful.
He didn't continue the topic, but turned and looked off into the distance, his expression somewhat silent. "If you ask more, you might learn more."
Nightingale was not the kind of person who would easily reveal himself. Every word he said seemed like a hint, guiding me to understand the secret behind it, but cleverly leaving me more room for my own guesses.
Cautious and tactful.
"But Mr. Mercenary, it seems that we are all in the first row." I didn't give up and continued to inquire about the price. Although I felt that I was being presumptuous, I couldn't help but want to know whether this ticket was worth it.
Nightingale chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Boy, you're quite well-off, too." He didn't answer directly, but instead teased me, his tone light and mocking.
I raised an eyebrow, curious as to what he was trying to get out of me. "It seems you're quite interested in my financial resources, Mr. Mercenary," I said, still teasing. Even though I knew he probably didn't truly care, I couldn't help but want to know what he was thinking.
Nightingale shrugged casually, clearly not intending to delve further into the subject. "Whatever you think," he said with a playful smile. "I just think that a young person like you needs some 'capital' to come to a place like this."