My hotel is full of emperors throughout history.

As Chen Mo and his group stepped out of the airport, they immediately felt a chill.

The white breath exhaled by Chen Mo quickly dissipated in the dim light.

Before me lay an empty asphalt road, flanked by tall, bare birch trees whose branches stretched out under the leaden sky like countless withered arms.

Further away, there are rows of monotonous five- or nine-story corn-shaped buildings, their gray-yellow walls appearing even darker in the humid air, and many balconies have been converted into cluttered cubicles or piled with miscellaneous items.

Occasionally, a boxy Lada or Volga would drive by, its engine making a somewhat rough sound, and its exhaust fumes condensing into white smoke in the cold air.

"Is this the Northern Alliance?"

Zhu Yuanzhang squinted, surveying the scene, which was completely different from any city in later generations of China or in his memory.

Neat, spacious, and monotonous, it carries a sense of oppressive order, yet reveals a decay caused by poor maintenance.

They were nothing like what Chen Mo said on the plane; in fact, in terms of their mental state, they were inferior to his Ming Dynasty.

"Hey Chen, where is the person you contacted?"

Chen Mo rubbed his hands, which were a little stiff from the cold, took out a piece of paper with an address and code written on it from his pocket, and then dialed the number.

He heard a long waiting tone through the receiver, followed by a series of Russian prompts he couldn't understand, and finally a busy tone.

I dialed again, and it was the same.

Chen Mo's heart sank.

"What's wrong?"

Li Shimin keenly noticed the change in Chen Mo's expression.

"Unable to contact."

Chen Mo put down his phone, his voice a little hoarse.

"Perhaps... the number is invalid, or perhaps... something happened to the person."

"It's alright."

Liu Che, on the other hand, remained calm, even displaying an attitude of "since I'm here, I might as well make the best of it."

"Now that we've come this far, there must be another way. Let's find a place to stay first, and then discuss things further."

The idea was wonderful, but the reality was harsh.

The group stood there, unsure of what to do.

Zhu Di was alright; he found someone to talk to, but the person just glanced at him and muttered a lot of things under their breath.

Zhu Di didn't understand any of them, but he vaguely heard the phrase "Sukabul".

Left with no other option, the group could only stand around and wander about, trying to find a suitable guide or hotel.

But soon, trouble arrived unexpectedly.

Two constables, dressed in heavy dark blue overcoats with their hats pulled low, noticed them.

After all, this group of people was too conspicuous—several middle-aged and elderly men with Asian faces, whose temperament was quite different from that of typical Eastern tourists or delegations, wearing not particularly thick jackets, which looked rather thin in the early winter wind.

More importantly, they stood there without a tour guide or a sign, simply observing in silence. Their eyes lacked the bewilderment of ordinary travelers; instead, they held a deep sense of scrutiny—which, in their view, was itself worthy of suspicion.

"Identification documents!"

The tall policeman walked over, his tone curt, his hand already on the leather holster at his waist.

His companion stood slightly back, his sharp eyes scanning everyone.

Although they couldn't communicate verbally, gestures and the atmosphere were enough to convey the message.

Chen Mo's heart tightened; he knew that one of the worst-case scenarios had occurred.

He tried to make his expression appear confused and harmless, and handed over the passport he had prepared beforehand.

The police officer glanced at the passport, raised an eyebrow, and then put it away.

"Откуда? Куда? Цель визита? (Where do you come from? Where are you going? What is the purpose of your visit?)"

The questions came at him in rapid succession, but Chen Mo's Russian was so poor that he could only barely understand a few words. His answers were stammering and full of holes.

The atmosphere suddenly became tense, and the short policeman even slightly unhooked the holster.

Ying Zheng, Liu Che, and the others narrowed their eyes almost simultaneously and slightly adjusted their center of gravity.

Chen Mo's forehead was covered in cold sweat.

A direct confrontation or conflict is the worst possible strategy.

In a flash, he remembered the "rules" that prevailed in certain places.

He gestured for them to wait a moment, turned around, and quickly pulled out two stacks of green banknotes from his waist pouch. Then, almost accidentally, he stuffed them into the seemingly open pocket of the tall policeman's heavy coat.

The tall policeman paused noticeably when his fingertips touched the texture of the stack of banknotes.

He gave Chen Mo a deep look, then glanced at the faint green edge in his pocket. The sternness on his face melted away as quickly as ice meeting a hot iron, even twisting into an expression that tried to be friendly.

"No problem, comrade. It was just a small misunderstanding."

He managed to squeeze out broken Russian, trying his best to put on a friendly and harmless smile.

After saying that, he even reached out and shook hands with Chen Mo in a friendly manner.

The short man walked over.

He paused for a moment when he saw the tall man wink at him, and the wariness in his eyes was replaced by a knowing glint.

"Хорошо, хорошо…(Okay, okay…)"

The tall policeman cleared his throat, stuffed the passport back into Chen Mo's hand, and even helped straighten the corners.

"Welcome to Winter Market. Be careful."

Chen Mo pondered for a moment, then pulled out a few more sheets and asked questions using his mobile phone's simultaneous translation.

"Are there any guides, translators, or reliable people? We want to buy some things."

After saying that, Chen Mo made a hand gesture.

The tall man and the short man looked at each other.

The magic of money has once again been revealed.

The short policeman looked around, quickly pulled out a crumpled little notebook from his pocket, tore off a page, wrote down the name "Сергей (Sergei)" and a phone number, and handed it to Chen Mo.

He lowered his voice.

"He... might be able to help. He said he was introduced by Dmitri."

After receiving the note, Chen Mo felt a little more at ease and handed over a few more US dollars as a token of his gratitude.

The two constables quickly hid the money and turned to leave as if nothing had happened, as if the inspection had never occurred.

As a result, Chen Mo successfully found Director Xiang.

When Chen Mo made the call, the voice on the other end was initially hoarse and cautious, but after Chen Mo mentioned the name "Dmitri," the attitude immediately became "enthusiastic."

Sergei's efficiency was astonishing.

Less than an hour later, an inconspicuous gray Volga sedan pulled up in front of them.

Sergei himself matched the impression he made on the phone.

He was short and stocky, with a rugged face, shrewd eyes that were slightly menacing, and a body that smelled of engine oil and cheap tobacco.

He gave Chen Mo and his group a quick look.

He lingered on the emperors for a few extra seconds, a hint of surprise and apprehension flashing in his eyes, but he didn't ask any further questions.

"Dollar?"

He asked directly in heavily accented English.

Chen Mo nodded.

Sergei grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow from tobacco: "No problem. Leave everything to me."

What followed went more smoothly than expected.

Sergei was clearly very familiar with this process.

The group arrived at an old building that looked somewhat decent, located in a quiet neighborhood.

This place looks more like an internal guesthouse for a company; the entrance is inconspicuous, but there is a security guard.

The check-in process was so simple it was almost hasty.

Sergei whispered a few words to a plump, middle-aged woman at the front desk who wore bright red lipstick, and then slipped her a small roll of US dollars.

The other party then produced the keys with a broad smile, without even registering anyone's identification.

The room was in a typical Soviet style, with bulky furniture, ample heating but a bit too hot, and old but clean bathroom facilities. Most importantly, it was secluded and quiet.

"It's safe here."

Sergei accepted the latest "settlement fee" from Chen Mo and put it in his pocket with satisfaction.

"No one will ask any questions. Call me if you need anything. Food, drinks, or... other 'fun'?"

At this point, he winked, making a pointed remark.

But Chen Mo refused outright.

Sergei pondered for a moment, glanced at the group, nodded as if he understood something, then patted Chen Mo on the shoulder and said in English.

"I understand!!! Don't worry, there's not much of a crowd around here, so even if we make a lot of noise, it won't matter!"

Chen Mo: ? ? ?