On the high platform, in the VIP box, a man raised a glass of red wine. Watching Jill Young, who was happily fighting in the cage, his eyes glimmered: "Interesting, truly interesting." Swirling the wine as if it were a glass of fresh blood, he beckoned his subordinate over and whispered, "Go ask her manager—how much for one night?"
The subordinate obeyed and left, returning a short while later to whisper, "Manager, the other side won’t name a price. They refused."
"Refused?" The man was surprised—no one had dared reject him in ages. "Did you tell them who I am?" After his subordinate confirmed, the man looked at the cage, where Jill Young delivered a spinning kick that sent her opponent onto the blade. Blood splattered, the crowd cheered, and Jill Young wiped the blood from her face, looking dangerously alluring.
"Everything’s for sale, as long as the price is right!" Fire lit in the man's eyes. "Tell them, the price is negotiable—I must have this woman!"
The subordinate left again. After a long while, he returned, still shaking his head. "Manager, they’re firm—the owner is The Phantom."
"The Phantom?" The man snorted, finally dropping the matter. The Phantom was notorious in Asia—ruthless and powerful. Best not to cross him.
Down below, the host fired off: "See, not introducing that guy was the right call—he died instantly. Looks like his manager needs a new fighter. The winner: The Queen!"
Amid the cheers, Jill Young stepped off the cage. Bobby Brooks and Glasses Girl rushed over, brimming with excitement.
Charlie appeared with a stiff face, speaking in a low voice: "We won fifty thousand. I’m not the manager, so my status isn’t high enough—I can only bet on the sidelines, not in the core betting circle."
"There’s always some kind of social barrier, huh? Whatever, let’s just make as much as we can." Jill Young glanced at Bobby Brooks. "By the way, where did Jonathan Black go? Losing money for nothing isn’t his style."
At the same time, in Kansas, USA. On the other side of the world, it was night. Kansas isn’t exactly a bustling place—just endless plains and long highways. Out in the vast fields, a car sped through the starlit darkness. Soon, it reached a small town and parked in a hidden spot. A shadowy figure stepped out.
The figure glanced around warily, then slipped into the night, heading for the town’s only church. Inside, the lights were still bright. Beneath the crucifix, a man dressed as a priest sat in the front row—a slightly aged white man.
"Father, I’m here." The figure lifted his hood, and sure enough—it was Jonathan Black.
Father Michael stood up, scrutinizing Jonathan Black. "Alright, now can you tell me why you had to threaten me just to meet in secret?"
Jonathan Black stared intently at Father Michael, enunciating each word: "April 23, 1992. Does that date mean anything to you?"
Father Michael’s eyes flickered with shock, and he instinctively stepped back. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"You’re lying!" Jonathan Black strode forward, voice fierce. "Twenty-two years ago, at the Zade Family mansion—a woman’s funeral! You personally raised her gravestone. Tell me, what was her name?" Jonathan Black grabbed Father Michael’s shoulders, his angry roar echoing through the empty church.
"Oh my God, you’re..." Father Michael stared at Jonathan Black in shock. "You’re Jonathan Black? You’re her child? But we’ve never had any contact, never met—how did you find me?"
"Because I remember you. Every detail, every moment—I remember it all."
"You remember? But you were just a child back then!"
"Listen, Father, I know you were my mother's friend." Jonathan Black let go of him. "I remember—she almost didn’t get a grave, but thanks to your efforts, she at least had a brief funeral. I’m not here to ask about anything else. As her child, I just want to know my mother’s name. Please, Father, I’m begging you."
Seeing Jonathan Black’s pleading eyes, Father Michael took a couple of deep breaths and finally nodded. "Alright, child. That’s your right."
Jonathan Black took a deep breath, steadying his swirling emotions. "Thank you, thank you, Father!"
"Actually, everything about your mother was tightly covered up by the Zade Family. No records were allowed to remain—her name, life, history, all erased." Father Michael sounded anxious. "Honestly, I don’t know much. The only name I was permitted to know was Sophia."
"Sophia?" Jonathan Black murmured, then shook his head. "No, that’s not her real name." Just days ago, Jonathan Black had received his genetic test results, which clearly showed he was half Han Chinese. "She was Chinese—she must have had a real name."
"Yes, she was Chinese, but I never knew her real name. In fact, everyone there was only allowed to use code names. We all called her Sophia—that’s all I know." The old priest spread his hands helplessly, unable to help further.
"That place?" Jonathan Black pressed sharply. "Which place?" If he could learn the location, maybe he could trace more clues.
Father Michael looked like he regretted letting it slip, flustered. "No, it’s nothing."
Jonathan Black frowned, suddenly struck by inspiration. He demanded, "Was it Tiberia?"
"How—how did you know!" Father Michael cried out in shock.
"I knew it." Jonathan Black grabbed Father Michael’s shoulders again. "Tell me, what is Tiberia? Where is it?"
"No, I don’t know." The old priest shook his head, sweating profusely.
"Damn it, for God’s sake!" Jonathan Black spun the old priest around to face the crucifix, whispering in his ear: "Look at God, search your conscience, and then tell me—what does Tiberia mean?"
On the crucifix, Jesus suffered, eyes full of compassion. The old priest stared blankly at the suffering deity, bit his lip, and finally slumped in defeat. "Sorry, Jonathan, I can’t say. I really can’t."
Jonathan Black clenched his jaw—this answer really set him off.
Suddenly, a lazy voice sounded at the church door: "Let go of that useless old man. He won’t talk—unless he doesn’t care about the lives of his entire family."
"Who?" Jonathan Black whipped around. The church door had been pushed open, and a young man with blond hair and blue eyes walked in. He wore an elegant white suit, and there was a hint of resemblance to Jonathan in his features.
"You’re... Donald?" Jonathan Black frowned.
"How arrogant, Jonathan! After all these years, you’re still so rude—calling me by name." Donald, dressed all in white, walked over slowly, forming a stark contrast with the black-clad Jonathan. "We may be brothers, but one of us is Apollo, the other is, at best, Perseus. One is a lofty god, the other, a bastard born of a harlot."
"You!" Jonathan Black clenched his fists, his hair and beard bristling.
"Ha! Got angry, did you!" Donald waved, and a group of men in black silently entered. They grabbed the old priest, expressionless, and escorted him out. The priest’s face was ashen, but he said nothing.
"Come, my brother, this is for you." Donald squinted with a smile and pulled out a white envelope from his chest. "A plane ticket back to Hong Kong, so you can crawl back to your doghouse. And an expulsion order—personally signed by the Zade Family patriarch, our father: Jonathan Zade is forever banned from American soil and forbidden to investigate Sophia. Any violation will be considered treason, your surname will be stripped, and the rest of the family may be executed at any time."
Two men in black flanked Jonathan Black, while Donald slipped the envelope into Jonathan’s jacket pocket, patting his chest and leaning in to whisper, "Actually, I know all about Sophia—her real name, her origins, everything. But I’m just not telling you."
Jonathan Black’s muscles tensed, and in a flash, the men beside him toppled to the sides. Staring, teeth clenched, face flushed, Jonathan glared at Donald as if ready to kill. But Donald remained perfectly calm, smiling, utterly unafraid.
"Hmph." Jonathan Black finally just snorted and walked out of the church. In the shadows of the church corner, several men in black lowered their guns.
"Tsk tsk, the anger of mortals is the amusement of gods." Watching Jonathan Black leave, Donald finally opened his eyes, revealing cold, snake-like pupils. "Jonathan, you’re such a fun toy."
As for Jonathan Black, his eyes were sharp and resolute. Banished, insulted—none of it could shake him. The American lead was cut off, but he still had another, even bigger clue. "Investigate the origin of 'The Queen,' urgent." A coded message crossed the ocean, landing straight on Bobby Brooks’s phone.
Stripped of my surname? I never wanted it anyway! (Three chapters done, quality guaranteed—almost nine thousand words in total. Only managed this much because I’m in the zone today. Alright, time for a break~)