Searching for someone in northern Myanmar, and you call that earning tuition fees?

The Northern Railway Central Station of the Ice Fog Kingdom is like a concrete fortress rising from the frozen ground.

Thick icicles covered the gray Soviet-style building's exterior, and the cast iron lampposts on the platform had their paint scraped off by the wind and snow, revealing their rusty interiors.

Su Ming bought three cups of hot cocoa from the only vending machine still in operation in the station.

He handed one of the cups to Old Zhao.

Old Zhao took it with both hands, held it in his palms, and felt the warmth from the plastic cup, which made him relax completely.

"Su Ming is such a thoughtful kid," Old Zhao mumbled, taking a sip of hot cocoa.

As soon as he finished speaking, he glanced around the waiting hall and stopped holding the cup at his lips.

A middle-aged woman from the Ice Mist Kingdom, wearing a heavy fur coat, was knitting on a bench. Beside her was a floral fabric handbag, the zipper not fully closed, revealing a section of bright yellow metal chain inside.

Old Zhao squinted and examined it for two seconds.

That's not a necklace.

That was a 12.7mm heavy machine gun ammunition belt.

Old Zhao's hand trembled, and he almost spilled all the hot cocoa.

He looked around—there were only about twenty people scattered around in the waiting hall. A large-bearded man in a bearskin coat leaning against the wall had a shotgun without a stock across his knee and was tapping cigarette ash off with the barrel. In the corner, two young men in camouflage pants were dozing back-to-back, with a military-green ammunition box between them, labeled "Fragile."

"Is this a train station or an arms trade fair?" Old Zhao's voice was strained.

Li Changfeng took the cocoa from Su Ming, glanced at it, and said calmly, "The northern part of Ice Mist Country is a military gray area, and there is no formal law enforcement force along the railway line. This cross-border train passes through three disputed areas, so it is common for passengers to be armed."

"Normal?" Old Zhao nearly bit his tongue. "This is normal? What are the three of us then? Running around naked?"

He looked down at himself—a military overcoat, a dog-skin hat, a thermos, and Buddhist prayer beads.

Then look at that older woman—knitting, elastic chain, floral fabric bag.

The older woman's firepower was miles ahead of his.

"Old Li," Old Zhao lowered his voice, leaning close to Li Changfeng's ear, "Did you bring a gun?"

Li Changfeng leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes closed.

"no."

Old Zhao's hand froze in mid-air.

"No?" His voice rose a half-octave. "You, a top soldier, on an escort mission in the Arctic Circle, and you didn't bring a gun?"

"The approval letter for the foreign affairs exemption channel only covers cold weapons and communication equipment." Li Changfeng opened his eyes and calmly corrected, "Firearms entering the country require the joint seal of the Ministry of Defense of the Ice Fog Nation, and the process takes at least 48 hours. Su Ming is leaving this afternoon, so there's no time."

"Too late?" Old Zhao's heart, which had been beating for over forty years, started pounding again, much to his dismay.

He pinned his last hope on Su Ming, who was squatting next to the vending machine studying the change dispenser.

"What about Su Ming? He must have brought something powerful with him, right?"

Su Ming stood up, pulled a stack of papers from his canvas bag, and waved them in front of Lao Zhao.

A4 paper, printed.

The heading on the top page reads: Article 37 of the International Asset Preservation Law – Protection of Legitimate Rights and Interests in Cross-Border Inheritance.

Old Zhao stared at the stack of papers, his eyes wide open, as if he had been struck by a pressure point.

"Law...legal documents?"

"Yes." Su Ming stuffed the documents back into his bag, then casually picked up the book "Introduction to Polar Meteorology" and tucked it under his arm. "Let's go, the train is arriving at the station."

Old Zhao didn't move.

He turned to look at the passengers in the lobby carrying shotguns and ammunition boxes, then looked down at the thermos in his hand.

Others carry guns, he carries cups.

Others bring ammunition boxes, Su Ming brings legal documents.

The scene looked exactly like three lost independent travelers from a travel agency who had stumbled upon a mercenary rendezvous point.

"Old Zhao, get in the car." Li Changfeng had already taken more than ten steps.

Old Zhao gasped, pulled a medicine bottle from his pocket, expertly flicked two nitroglycerin pills into his mouth, and chased after them.

The train was an old broad-gauge passenger car, its dark green paint worn smooth and pitted by wind and sand, and its windows covered with a layer of frost that wouldn't melt.

Su Ming found their compartment by checking their tickets—carriage number seven, B03.

The soft sleeper compartment has four berths and independent heating.

As soon as Old Zhao entered the room, he touched the heating pipe; it was scalding hot.

He let out a long sigh, plopped down on the lower bunk, and slammed his thermos onto the small table.

"That's alright." He finally showed his first smile since arriving in the Ice Mist Kingdom. "At least I won't freeze to death."

Su Ming placed the canvas bag on the upper bunk and turned to look at the direction of the next private room.

Li Changfeng noticed his gaze: "Where is the person who commissioned you?"

"Next door, B04."

"Have you seen her?"

"I've never seen him before. There was no photo in the commission documents, only a secret code."

Old Zhao perked up: "What code?"

Su Ming pulled a slip of paper from the pile of documents and read it aloud: "'Are you here to fix the heating?' Answer: 'No, I'm here to claim my inheritance.'"

Old Zhao was stunned for two seconds.

"Which genius came up with this code?"

"The principal himself/herself."

"..." Old Zhao opened his mouth, then closed it again.

A thought popped into his mind: the person who commissioned this, who could come up with such a code in the military gray area of ​​the Arctic Circle, probably had a brain circuit that rivaled Su Ming's.

Li Changfeng placed the tactical pack under his bunk, took out an electronic device the size of a fingernail from his side pocket, and stuck it to the inside of the compartment door frame.

Old Zhao recognized the device—a miniature vibration sensor. It would silently vibrate to warn someone if they lingered outside the door for more than three seconds.

"Su Ming," Li Changfeng lowered his voice, leaning against the door, "what's your contingency plan? The intelligence our employer gave us says that the 'Arctic Fox' mercenary group has extremely strong firepower, and all members have special operations backgrounds. We don't have any firearms right now. If we're surrounded on the train, how do you plan to handle it?"

Old Zhao pricked up his ears.

Su Ming opened the book "An Introduction to Polar Meteorology" without looking up: "Let's start with the principles."

"Reasonable?" Li Changfeng raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Su Ming pulled out the stack of legal documents from his canvas bag, patted them, and said, "Article 37 of the International Asset Preservation Law states that the right of inheritance shall not be interfered with by local armed forces. Article 12 of the Convention on the Mediation of Cross-border Civil Disputes states that any personal injury to a legitimate heir constitutes an international civil crime. I'll read these to them first so they know the legal consequences of taking action."

Li Changfeng stared at him for three seconds.

"What if they deny it?"

Old Zhao chimed in, his voice carrying the seasoned experience of someone who had survived a close call: "Old Li, have you forgotten that warlord in Africa who had Su Ming force him to sign a bankruptcy agreement? He said if you're reasonable, the other side has to listen. As for whether you'll still have your fingers on your hand afterward, that's another story."

Li Changfeng didn't reply, his eyes darkening.

"Old Zhao, don't compare those African rabble to the Arctic Foxes." His voice was low. "The Blood Axe guys have terrible marksmanship and their tactical skills are practically zero. The Arctic Foxes are different. Their core members are retired Soviet special forces personnel who have been tempered in Chechnya and Syria. Their close combat and team tactics are textbook-level."

There was a two-second silence in the private room.

Old Zhao's smile froze on his face.

Su Ming closed the book and looked up.

"Then I will let them know that reasoning with them is their only way to survive."

Old Zhao shivered, but this time it wasn't from the cold.

He decided to change the subject.

"Who exactly is that person who made the request, Ah Xue? The information says she's an orphaned overseas Chinese girl, all alone in this godforsaken place. Why didn't she just call the police or contact the embassy?"

Su Ming's gaze fell on the howling blizzard outside the window. The train began to move slowly, and the lights on the platform stretched into blurry bands of light in the icy fog.

"Because her grandfather's heavy industrial conglomerate is involved in the allocation of mineral resources in three northern states of the Ice Fog Kingdom. Local oligarchs have infiltrated the local administrative and judicial systems. The embassy can save her life, but it can't protect her legacy."

"But what she needs is not just to come back alive." Su Ming patted the stack of documents on the bunk. "She needs to take the inheritance certificate and, as a legal heir, complete the asset transfer in person on the oligarch's territory."

"Isn't that like pulling teeth from a tiger's mouth?" Old Zhao's voice became shrill again.

"Pretty much." Su Ming nodded. "That's why the fee was set at fifty million."

Old Zhao took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. His old heart was pounding in his chest, each beat a reminder to him—you've got yourself on the wrong track again.

The train entered a tunnel, and it was pitch black outside the window. The creaking of metal joints echoed from the connecting parts of the carriages, and hot water gurgled from the heating pipes.

"You fucking told me this train was safe at the airport?" Old Zhao suddenly remembered something and glared at Su Ming.

Su Ming turned a page of the document.

I'm talking about the theory.

"Theoretically?" Old Zhao almost jumped up from his bunk.

"Trains are transnational public transport vehicles and are protected by international railway transport conventions. In theory, any armed group committing acts of violence on a train constitutes a violation of international conventions."

"You're talking about international conventions with those people who boarded the train carrying shotguns?"

Su Ming thought for a moment: "It's not impossible."

Old Zhao fell silent. He quietly unscrewed his thermos, poured two nitroglycerin pills into his mouth, and swallowed them dry.

Just then—

"Tap, tap, tap."

Three knocks on the door, neither hurried nor slow, with a steady rhythm.

The three people in the private room stopped moving at the same time.

Li Changfeng's right hand was already gripping the folding baton in the side pocket of his tactical bag. Old Zhao's thermos cup was at his lips, the steam from the goji berry tea obscuring half his face.

A young woman's voice came from outside the door, clear yet tinged with probing.

"Excuse me... are you here to fix the heating?"