Landlord in the Arctic

Inside the diner, people were busy with their own affairs.

Some were on their phones, some were chatting enthusiastically, and a group was gathered around a table playing poker, bursts of laughter erupting from time to time.

In a corner, someone was devouring their food.

The three of them found a table by the window and sat down. A moment later, a young man in an apron walked over with a menu. "Hey, fellas, what can I get for you? We’ve only got Set A and Set B."

Feng Mountain took the menu. The so-called sets A and B were basically just different meats—one was roast beef, the other was fried chicken. Both came with fries, and you could choose between coffee or Coca-Cola for a drink.

"I’ll have Set A with a Coca-Cola. What about you guys?"

Nash also ordered Set A, while Snow got Set B, the fried chicken.

The young man carefully jotted down their orders, then turned with a smile and hurried to the kitchen to place them.

Feng Mountain sat quietly by the window, his gaze sweeping discreetly across the diner as he silently observed the scene.

The diner was bustling with noise, a cacophony of different sounds blending together.

"Xiu Yi, you got a run today?" a loud voice cut through the clamor.

"Don’t even ask!" A rather heavyset white man shook his head helplessly, his face a mask of frustration. He began to complain, "My brakes are shot. I can’t get on the road at all. You know how much a new brake system costs? Half a month’s hard-earned pay, all going into repairs. How am I supposed to live!"

The heavyset man’s words immediately struck a chord with the others.

"Tell me about it! Those bloodsucking capitalists are just too damn heartless!" a big man with a thick beard chimed in, his face full of resentment as he gritted his teeth. "Why don’t they increase the maintenance allowance for winter runs? Everyone knows what the road conditions are like. The roads are slick in winter, and the wear and tear on the trucks is massive."

"That’s right. My situation isn’t any better," another middle-aged man in a baseball cap chimed in, his face grim. His voice was filled with resignation. "I’ve got a problem with my fuel line, too."

Feng Mountain listened to their conversation without showing any reaction.

He could tell that most of the customers in the diner were transport drivers—the ones who drove the giant 18-wheelers parked outside.

Just then, Feng Mountain’s eyes were drawn to a striking figure among the crowd of truckers, who were either boasting loudly or wearing worried expressions: a blonde girl.

She had delicate features and fair skin that seemed to glow. Her soft blonde hair was casually draped over her shoulders, and she exuded an air of fresh, otherworldly charm.

She was a stark contrast to the surrounding truckers, who were covered in grease and worn down by fatigue and the road, making her seem completely out of place.

Perhaps by chance, the girl happened to turn her head, and her eyes met Feng Mountain’s unexpectedly.

Everyone appreciates beauty. Conversely, a handsome man is more likely to attract the attention of a beautiful woman.

Perhaps because she was used to seeing so many scruffy, greasy-looking older guys, the sight of Feng Mountain was like a breath of fresh air, and the blonde girl’s eyes instantly lit up.

Without hesitation, she picked up the still-steaming cup of coffee from her table, walked over to Feng Mountain, and sat down with a confident air.

"Hi, I’m Lisa. Are you a trucker, too?" the girl asked, her voice clear and pleasant.

"Whoa! Jason, your goddess has her eyes on a pretty boy! God, he’s way better looking than you!" a trucker nearby called out teasingly, a mischievous grin on his face when he saw the scene.

"You’re wrong, Ben. Lisa only likes strong men. A guy like me is the kind she can rely on for life. Why don’t you go find your boyfriend for a quickie before you ship out!"

Hearing this, a muscular white man with a bodybuilder’s physique shot to his feet.

His solid muscles tensed, seeming to glisten like metal under the lights. Combined with his deliberately boisterous tone, it sent the other truckers in the diner pounding the tables and roaring with laughter.

Some, as if things weren’t lively enough, started egging them on and catcalling.

"Get some! Get some!" The rising and falling chants made the atmosphere in the diner even more heated.

"Don’t mind them. They don’t mean any harm. If you don’t find some way to have fun out here, you’ll go crazy," the blonde girl explained with a kind smile, turning her head when she noticed Feng Mountain’s slight embarrassment.

Feng Mountain sensed her sincerity and nodded slightly, replying with a smile, "Don’t worry, I actually like this kind of atmosphere. And sorry, but I’m not a trucker."

When she heard Feng Mountain wasn’t a trucker, a flicker of surprise was evident in the girl’s bright eyes. Her mouth fell slightly open, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

But then, as if she’d suddenly thought of something, her expression turned playful. She asked,

"If you’re not a trucker, what are you doing in Levingood? Are you planning to drive the Dalton yourself?"

"Buddy, that’s not a good idea. If it were November, when the weather is relatively stable, you might just be able to manage. But right now, it’s peak season for blizzards and cold snaps. The road conditions are more complicated than you can imagine. Without enough experience, it’s really, really dangerous."

"Hey everyone, come meet a true warrior! This guy’s planning to drive the Death Highway himself!" A trucker nearby with sharp ears had overheard their conversation and, as if he’d discovered a new continent, immediately started shouting at the top of his lungs.

His shout was like a giant boulder thrown into a calm lake, instantly sending ripples through the crowd.

"Oho, all hail the warrior," a red-faced man whistled, his expression a mix of mockery and amusement as he led the jeering.

"Buddy, are you crazy? You’d better give up on that idea, and fast." An old, weathered trucker sitting nearby frowned, his eyes filled with confusion and disbelief.

In his eyes, this was nothing short of a suicide mission.

Another trucker curled his lip, his tone laced with a hint of sour grapes, clearly disdainful of what he saw as the whim of a rich man like Feng Mountain.

"Look at him. He must be some rich guy looking for a thrill."

A burly trucker pushed his way in front of Feng Mountain and stuck out a large hand, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "Hey, buddy. Give me 1,000 US Dollars, and you can ride in my truck to Dead Horse Town. My skills are the best of this whole damn lot."

"Bullshit! Weren’t you the bastard who drove his truck into an ice pit?"

"Kid, you’d better give up this idea. You can drive the Dalton in spring, summer, or fall, but absolutely, positively do not come in winter. This is a road to Hell, leading right to Death’s dinner table."

Although some were gloating, their words filled with mockery and ridicule, there were still kind-hearted people who genuinely tried to dissuade Feng Mountain from this suicidal act.

"Old Man Luo Sen is right. You should give up on this idea," the blonde girl said, nodding earnestly, looking as if she were afraid Feng Mountain wouldn’t listen.

Of course, her earnest pleading wasn’t entirely out of the kindness of her heart; she just couldn’t bear to see such a handsome guy meet a terrible fate.

A faint smile played on Feng Mountain’s lips. In a calm voice, he said, "I’m not going to Dead Horse Town. I’m just driving to Sagewang and then turning back."

’Sagewang?’

’That place has been abandoned for years.’

’The Indigenous Tribe that used to live there relocated to the outskirts of Fairbanks a long time ago for various reasons.’

’There’s nothing left but a barren wasteland.’

The blonde girl tilted her head slightly, eyeing Feng Mountain with suspicion as she tried to discern his true intentions from his expression.

In her view, this handsome man in front of her had probably made some ridiculous bet with his friends to drive the length of the Dalton Highway.

He would stop in Sagewang for a moment and then turn back, just to prove to his friends that he had completed the seemingly insane wager.

Things like that were all too common on the Dalton Highway.

Those rich guys with too much time and money on their hands, with nothing better to do, would intentionally venture onto the Dalton Highway in the winter—when the road conditions were at their worst and the danger was at its peak—just for a cheap thrill.

They would just snap a few pictures along the way and go back to brag endlessly to their friends.

They’d casually describe this perilous journey as if it were just an exciting adventure game.

Meanwhile, people like her and the other truckers in the diner struggled just to make a living, braving blizzards and severe cold every day on this Death Highway, all to earn an income and support their families.

But now, the very place where they risked their lives to survive had become a playground for some people.

She found it unbearable, this attitude of treating life like a game and turning other people’s hard-trodden path into a source of bragging rights.

....