National destiny: Starting with a coffin, building an aircraft carrier is broadcast live globally.

"I've come to discuss a business deal with you."

"Business?"

Wonka narrowed his eyes slightly behind his glasses, a fake smile appearing on his round face, showing no intention of opening the door.

"I'm sorry, the 'Narwhal' is for enjoyment only, not for worldly matters. If you're in the mood, we can certainly have a few more drinks at the banquet tonight."

"It concerns that 'main course' you've been longing for."

Wonka's smile froze slightly, and he tapped the door twice with his fingers.

"Still not..."

Before the word "了" could be finished, a sudden change occurred.

His right hand, which was hanging casually at his side, suddenly flipped over, and a gleaming silver dagger fell into his palm out of thin air.

Without moving an inch, he reversed his grip on the short sword and thrust it backward with a powerful motion.

"Pfft—!"

The chilling sound of a sharp blade piercing through fabric and flesh.

Noah was standing relaxed with his hands in his pockets one second, and the next second he felt a chill between his ribs.

He slowly lowered his head, staring blankly at the knife that had sunk into his left chest, leaving only the hilt visible.

"you......"

The moment he opened his mouth, blood gushed out, dripping like a stream down the hem of his black clothes onto the thick carpet.

He looked up in shock, his emerald pupils reflecting Ren Yi's cold, indifferent back, and...

Wonka's face showed surprise, followed by excitement.

Noah didn't utter a sound. His body went limp as if all his bones had been removed, and he leaned against the wall behind him, slowly sliding down and falling silently onto the carpet.

The blood seeped out very quickly.

In just a few seconds, a large dark puddle appeared on the carpet beneath him.

"Shall we talk?"

He casually sheathed his short sword, not even glancing at the freshly laid corpse on the ground, his eyes fixed on the round face that was fully exposed at the doorway.

The gold-rimmed monocle had slipped halfway down, hanging comically on the bridge of his nose.

To know.

The blood that flowed on this ship could fill an entire lake. Wonka was certainly not afraid of death, but that powerful creditor who was always hanging around him...

How many times...

Can't beat them, can't drive them away—

This guy, taking advantage of his lack of rules, mocked his plans and watched him fail.

Every time the game restarts, this persistent ghost appears in the audience right on time, puffing on his tattered cigar!

And now this trouble has been betrayed again, leaving him like a background character without any lines.

"Mr. Zhang's style of doing things is really..."

Wonka's Adam's apple bobbed. "Unique."

What is desired is precisely the "accomplice effect".

When the victim is the other party's enemy, even if it's just a performance, it creates the other party's illusion that "we are all in the same boat".

A sense of identification built by exploiting the psychology of complicity.

— Fragile but efficient.

Wonka quietly stepped aside, making way for the visitors outside the door to enter.

Before entering, he casually glanced back at Klaus, then his gaze drifted towards the corpse on the ground.

Klaus nodded upon receiving the signal:

"I'll wait for you outside."

The double doors were closed and locked with a "click," isolating the secret inside. The corridor returned to calm, leaving only light and the heavy smell of blood.

The captain's casual glance just now clearly conveyed two words:

deal with.

Klaus sighed resignedly, walked around the corpse twice, and tried to find a suitable solution for transporting the large pieces of garbage.

Carrying it on my back is impossible, so I can only drag it away.

However, delaying is now also a technical challenge.

The collar and trouser legs, the two easiest places to grab onto, are now covered in blood. I can't just grab this person by the hair; that would be too inhumane.

Just as I was struggling with this decision, a sudden inspiration struck me.

Klaus pulled a half-meter-long crowbar from his sleeve. The crowbar quickly stretched, thinned, and softened in his hand, eventually twisting into a chain!

"Creak—"

He wrapped the chain between his hands and stretched it tightly; it was very strong. Then he tightened the chain around Noah's ankles.

Get it done.

Klaus grabbed both ends of the chain, made sure it was secure enough, and then, like dragging a large, stubborn dog that refused to walk on its own, he walked downstairs to apartment 303 without looking back.

"Swish...swish...swish..."

Noah's "corpse" was dragged across the carpet, leaving a two-foot-wide dark red trail behind him.

"Hmph...hiccup!"

Just as they turned down the stairs and reached the third floor, a drunken guest staggered out, leaning against the wall, and almost bumped into Klaus.

The man's face was flushed, his neck was thick, he walked unsteadily, he reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were glazed.

Klaus's heart was pounding in his chest, but he maintained his cool expression. As he stood still, he pulled Noah aside to make way for the guests.

The drunkard swayed, squinting as he carefully examined the object for a long while:

"Oh, this... isn't this Mr. Noah? *hiccup*!"

He hiccuped and asked indistinctly.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He drank too much, so I took him back to his room."

The drunkard shook his head, his gaze shifting downwards, then he pointed to the bloodstain, "And on this ground..."

"The red wine is spilled." Klaus didn't even blink.

"oh oh!"

The guests clicked their tongues enviously, then, leaning against the wall, turned and slowly made their way downstairs, slurring their words as they exclaimed:

"It's good to be young... you can fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, unlike us old folks who can't even fall asleep when we want to."

"..."

Klaus watched his retreating figure disappear at the end of the corridor, remained silent for a moment, and then continued dragging the corpse forward.

......

Wonka's room is actually more like a small private museum.

It smells of staleness mixed with floral fragrance.

The walls were made of elegant dark teak, and the carved cabinets held all sorts of nautical instruments.

Sextant, telescope, compass...

It was wiped spotless, yet inexplicably only death energy remained, which would never be used again.

"Please sit down."

Wonka pointed to a pair of armchairs by the window, and then took out a bottle of red wine of unknown vintage and two wine glasses from deep inside the wine cabinet.

"It's rare to have guests... The furnishings here are all Jasmine's work; she likes things from the old era."

These words, though seemingly casual, clearly reveal his praise for his wife.

Without sitting down, he openly surveyed his surroundings.

Finally, I noticed a wooden photo frame on the desk. In the photo, I could vaguely see a simply dressed but beautiful and gentle woman, leaning weakly against the headboard, holding two swaddled babies in her arms, smiling lovingly and contentedly at the camera.

Jasmine?

The one in the photo is quite different from the one I saw in the greenhouse last night...

Wonka's display of old photos speaks volumes, boosting his confidence in the upcoming negotiations from 50% to 80%.

"Mr. Wonka".

He interrupted the other person as they were about to pour the wine.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Besides, I'm not here as a guest... Let's skip the formalities, shall we?"