When Eddie's consciousness returned to his body, he didn't feel particularly exhausted.
The last time, after breeding the coral polyps, he had been completely drained, but that experience seemed to have strengthened his mental energy. He figured his spiritual strength could be trained—tempered and enhanced over time.
Lying on the bed with nothing better to do, Eddie chatted idly in the group with Gao Xueqiang and the others. Then, on a whim, he decided to check out the night market in Farewell Town. Amid a chorus of ridicule, he dropped a line—"I'm off to enjoy Canadian nightlife, losers!"—and disappeared.
Class monitor Zhao Heng, now a traveling salesman, had been all over the country. He wrote in the group: "You idiot, Beast! Canadian nightlife? What nightlife? That place is empty for miles—just old folks doing yoga and drinking herbal tea. Stay here and keep chatting with us like a good boy. Don't go wandering off!"
Eddie didn't believe him—until he drove into town and saw for himself. Sadly, Zhao Heng's jinxed words proved all too true. Canadian nightlife was indeed boring—especially in a small, underdeveloped town like Farewell.
It was barely past 8 PM, and nearly every household had shut their doors. Eddie wandered around for a while before finally spotting a bar that was still open.
It was called "Shining Star." After parking, Eddie stepped inside and saw that the place wasn't chaotic at all. The bar spanned about 400 square meters, yet only about two dozen people were scattered around drinking. In the central dance floor, just four or five young people were messing around, dancing aimlessly.
It was clear that most of the people inside knew each other. Farewell Town was small, and its population was limited—there was no avoiding familiarity.
As soon as Eddie walked in, everyone turned to look at him. One of the young white men on the dance floor exaggeratedly shouted, "Oh my God, I haven't seen an Asian in years! Dude, you're Chinese, right? You're Chinese?"
Eddie was just glad the guy didn't mistake him for Japanese. Overseas, Chinese were often wrongly assumed to be Japanese. He waved a casual greeting and headed straight to the bar. "One ice wine, with a shot of whiskey," he ordered.
It was a combo Little Blake had told him about earlier that afternoon. The ice wine gave it a rich, mellow flavor, while the whiskey added a spicy kick—an intriguing combination.
The bartender, dressed in a black vest and white shirt, looked at him curiously. "Hey, buddy… You're not Old Eddie's grandson, are you?"
Eddie was stunned. Had word spread that quickly? How did people in this random town already know about him?
When Eddie confirmed it, the bartender suddenly grinned and nodded to the DJ. He called out, "Play Ice Age! Everyone, let's raise a glass to welcome Old Eddie's grandson to Farewell Town!"
"CHEERS!" the whole bar erupted in a roar, raising their glasses.
Eddie stood up and bowed slightly in thanks, feeling a bit amazed. Back in China, he'd heard countless stories of white folks discriminating against Asians—developed nations looking down on Chinese. But here in Farewell Town, everyone seemed warm and welcoming.
Grateful for the gesture, Eddie raised his own glass toward the crowd and called out, "Give everyone another round, bartender—it's on me!"
Nothing fires up the bar crowd like an open tab. The moment Eddie finished speaking, howls of excitement echoed throughout the bar.
The bar was obviously pleased, and Eddie paid right away, tossing a $50 tip to the bartender, which made him even happier.
Swaying to the pulsing music while sipping his icy cocktail, Eddie thought, This isn't a bad life at all.
Just then, a burly man stumbled over and dropped onto a barstool. "Neil, where's my drink?" he demanded. "Didn't Eddie say it's on him? Why didn't I get one?"
The bartender, Neil, gave him a glance and snapped, "Shark, you're not getting a drink. Eddie paid for one for you, but I credited it toward your tab. Don't forget—you still owe me over five hundred bucks."
Eddie shifted slightly away. This man was about 6'3", thickset and broad like a wall of muscle. His chin bristled with coarse, steel-wire-like stubble, and his sheer bulk overwhelmed the bar. He wore only a denim jacket despite the chill of Newfoundland nights in April, his chest exposed beneath it, a thick thatch of curly hair spilling out like overfed weeds. His pecs bulged like two melons stuffed under his shirt.
To put it bluntly, this guy radiated violence. He looked more like a human-shaped bull than a man.
Eddie figured he was probably some sort of thug. He didn't want to get involved. Even though merging with the Heart of the Ocean had given him greater strength and speed, he didn't have the confidence to go toe-to-toe with this kind of bruiser.
The big man stared at Neil, and the atmosphere in the bar instantly changed. It felt like a fight could break out at any second. Eddie clenched instinctively.
Neil, however, didn't care. He didn't even glance up as he polished a glass.
Seeing he was being ignored, the big man turned his gaze toward Eddie.
Here it comes, Eddie thought, muscles tightening. Just like in a TV drama, the thug was probably going to demand he buy him a drink, and if he refused—boom, fists would fly.
Neil spoke first. "Alright, Shark, drop the act. Eddie was brought here by Mr. Creeper himself. If you piss Eddie off, Mr. Creeper won't be happy. And you know… Alice idolizes Mr. Creeper."
Eddie was thrown off by the string of names. Alice? Who's Alice?
But Neil's words worked like magic. The big man sighed and scratched his messy hair, grumbling, "Dammit, why would I mess with Eddie? Old Eddie helped me so much… Honestly, Neil, I just wanted a drink."
Neil said, "Don't do this, Shark. You really want to start drinking again? If Alice finds out you're getting drunk every day, what do you think she'll say?"
Shark groaned, raking his hair again. "I can't even make enough for Alice's tuition right now. The whole d*mn fishing business is shot. I've barely caught anything in a week. I can't even cover fuel costs. D*mn it, I don't know what to do anymore!"
With that, he staggered off to a corner table and slumped over.
Eddie finally let out a breath of relief. He turned to Neil and asked, "Who is that guy? What's his story?"
Neil sighed. "That's Shark Suddinson, Farewell Town's best fisherman and trapper. When he was younger, he caught a tiger shark solo on a one-man boat—that's why he changed his name to 'Shark.' But now? The fishing industry's collapsed. There's no money in it. He's struggling to get by."
"Why doesn't he get another job?" Eddie asked.
"Because of his daughter—Alice. She's not in good health. He has to stay home to care for her."
Eddie rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Shark Suddinson, right?"
After getting a nod from Neil, he stepped outside and called Creeper.
"Hey, old man. You know a guy named Shark Suddinson? What's he like? I need some help, you know."
Shark certainly looked the part, but Eddie didn't know about his character. That was something only Creeper could answer.
"Shark? He's a good man. Bit hot-tempered, a bit stubborn, but reliable… though are you really in that much of a rush to hire someone? I'd suggest waiting. Your fishing operation isn't even up and running yet."
But Eddie didn't listen to Creeper's drawn-out advice. He hung up and walked back into the bar, went straight to Shark's table, and gave it a solid tap.
"Hey buddy, I've got a job for you. Interested?"
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