After the song, Tawana smiled, holding the microphone, “Hello, everyone, I’m Tawana Swift. I’m thrilled to join you all at this party. Thanks to the White Horse Group and Mr. Bernard Elno for the invitation. I hope we can share an unforgettable night on this beautiful tropical island!”
The fans went wild.
Bernard Elno and his wife took the stage, microphones in hand, smiling, “Miss Swift is truly the world’s most beloved singer. Her live performance is so captivating, even an old man like me can’t help but sway to the rhythm. So, esteemed guests, do you want to hear more of Miss Swift’s enchanting voice?”
“Yes!”
The bar’s guests cheered in unison.
Tawana smiled, “As you may know, I recently held 20 concerts in China. I came to White Horse Island to rest and relax. Since Mr. Bernard Elno is here and invited me to this party, and you all want to hear more, I’ll sing a few more songs. But the next one isn’t mine, it’s by Miss Gu Qiuyi, whom I collaborated with in China. Her song ‘Assassin’ had me hooked, and I hope you’ll love it too!”
The crowd roared, but Xiao Churan’s face paled.
Though the earphones’ volume was low, to Ye Chen, it was as clear as if it were next to him. Hearing Tawana was about to sing “Assassin,” he grew restless and said to Xiao Churan, “Honey, I’m going to sit on the deck chair outside for a bit.”
Xiao Churan nodded awkwardly, “Oh, okay…”
On the villa’s rear terrace, under a sky free of light pollution, the Milky Way shimmered like a scattered pearl tray, countless stars dazzling in a deep, majestic cosmic scene.
Lying on the deck chair, Ye Chen gazed at the vivid Milky Way, recalling two times he’d been captivated by the stars with Lin Wan’er: once by Dian Lake, searching for the birthplace of the Mother of Pu’er Tea, and once in the Arctic, witnessing a starry sky with mysterious auroras forming handprints.
Yet, those damn handprints he dared not use anymore. He’d thought they generated spiritual energy, only to learn they drained his own energy completely, useless to him.
Lost in thought, he gazed at the stars, thinking of Lin Wan’er, who’d looked at these skies for three or four centuries in an era without light pollution, a solitude too profound for words.
As he drifted, he suddenly heard the distant roar of speedboat engines and the sound of hulls slapping the sea.
Instantly alert, he recalled the many yachts and seaplanes he’d seen in the Maldives, dozens or even hundreds circling White Horse Island during the day. But those were luxurious yachts, not particularly powerful.
The engines he heard now were fast, incredibly powerful, as if dozens of engines were roaring, speeding towards White Horse Island.
He’d seen such boats in coastal cities, used for smuggling, known as “big flyers,” designed for high speed under heavy loads to outrun patrol boats, the faster the better.
But the Maldives was a tourist nation, the nearest mainland being India. Who’d be mad enough to smuggle goods 600-700 kilometres across the sea from India?
And what could India have worth smuggling to the Maldives? Besides its residential islands, the Maldives’ hotels had consumption levels higher than Europe or America, importing luxury goods from Europe, water from Fiji, and top ingredients globally, not Indian goods.
So, Ye Chen was certain these boats weren’t smuggling.
What, then, were so many high-speed boats racing to White Horse Island for?
Though he couldn’t pinpoint their intent, he was sure they meant trouble.
Frowning, he mused, “If they’re up to no good, who are they after? Bernard Elno? Possible, he’s a former world’s richest man, kidnapping him could net a fortune. Or Tawana, she’s no saint either. Back in Japan, killers targeted her, maybe these people are after her too!”
