Landlord in the Arctic

Feng Mountain jumped, startled by the sudden sound.

His brow furrowed instantly. He turned his head in displeasure, his reproachful gaze fixed on Old Tom, who had just turned on the music.

Old Tom just grinned, the wrinkles on his face bunching together like a crumpled piece of paper. He looked just like a comical, blooming old chrysanthemum.

Sensing Feng Mountain’s disapproval, he quickly reached out and lowered the volume.

The blare of heavy metal music immediately softened, losing its eardrum-shattering force.

Old Tom then slowly cleared his throat and began to explain why he’d put on the music.

"Friend, this highway is also called the Lonely Road. When you’re driving on it, there’s no one around for miles. All you see is endless desolation. That kind of atmosphere can easily drag you down. We’ve had people get affected by it and end up in accidents."

Old Tom paused for a moment before continuing.

"That’s why people who drive this road usually crank the music up. You use the noise to fight off the oppressive loneliness and desolation, to keep yourself sharp so you don’t get swallowed up by this damned silence."

"Still, it didn’t have to be that loud. My eardrums were about to burst!" Feng Mountain grumbled, rubbing his ears.

Still, he gave a silent nod, acknowledging Old Tom’s good intentions.

’After all, I was just getting affected by it myself.’

He then reached out and adjusted the volume to a more tolerable level.

But Old Tom’s expression remained grave. "This is just the appetizer. The real danger starts when we hit the Death Highway. Only the bravest of souls dare to drive the Death Highway in winter."

"You have to be extremely careful entering the Tundra. This time of year, if you get into trouble on the highway, there’s still a chance of rescue. But once you’re out on the empty Tundra, there’s no cell service, the conditions are unpredictable, and it’s a hundred times more dangerous than the Death Highway itself."

Old Tom kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, shaking his head slightly as he spoke.

He seemed deeply worried about Feng Mountain’s planned journey.

"Don’t worry, I understand," Feng Mountain said with a slight nod, turning to look out the window at the world of howling wind and snow.

Seeing that Feng Mountain was still determined to cross the Tundra, Old Tom could only shake his head in resignation. He knew further persuasion was useless and focused on driving.

Time slipped by in the tense atmosphere.

「2 hours later.」

The convoy finally reached Levingood Town, the last supply point before the Dalton Highway.

The town seemed exceptionally quiet amidst the snowstorm, its few dim, yellow streetlights casting a faint glow through the flurries.

As the convoy rolled slowly into town, they saw massive 18-wheelers parked neatly along the roadside.

The behemoths were like steel beasts lying in wait, their bodies covered in snow, which did little to conceal their imposing presence.

According to Old Tom, the Dalton Highway was originally built to service the Northern Oil Field.

For three months every winter, the road freezes solid, becoming strong enough to bear the weight of these giant trucks. They travel back and forth to the Northern Oil Field without stop, shouldering the critical task of transporting supplies and oil. These trucks are the lifeblood of this highway, maintaining the flow of goods between the oil field and the outside world.

Moreover, these giant trucks have the absolute right-of-way on the Dalton Highway.

Old Tom stressed that if you’re not prepared to yield to them on the ice-covered road, you’re putting yourself in extreme danger.

After all, these trucks weigh tens, sometimes even hundreds, of tons, making them incredibly difficult to brake on ice and snow.

Their massive inertia means that even if a driver slams on the brakes, they can’t stop effectively.

A collision with one of them would have unimaginable consequences. It would be a death sentence.

So, when driving this highway, you have to stay alert at all times and give these "juggernauts" a wide, respectful berth.

Of course, the drivers capable of handling these giant trucks risk their lives for a massive reward, earning as much as 120,000 US dollars in just three winter months.

But high pay comes with high standards.

Becoming a driver of one of these trucks requires exceptional skill and passing a series of rigorous evaluations.

Even so, since the Dalton Death Highway first opened, more than 400 drivers have died on it.

Led by Old Tom, the convoy slowly pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop diner.

This was their last stop before heading onto the Dalton Highway. They needed to give the vehicles a thorough and detailed inspection.

This was especially true for the two snowmobiles. They were brand new and hadn’t been properly broken in or tuned yet.

In an environment like this, a snowmobile breakdown on the desolate Tundra meant coming face-to-face with the Grim Reaper. You might literally end up "spending Christmas with Death."

Yves understood the gravity of the situation. He, Ma Wei, and Old Tom began to meticulously inspect every part of the vehicles.

Meanwhile, Feng Mountain led Snow and Nash into the diner.

Through the large glass window, they could see the place was bustling and packed with people.

The moment they pushed the door open, a choking cloud of smoke hit them. The thick smell was so strong it almost brought tears to their eyes.

"Shit! Who opened the door? Get in already, it’s freezing!" an angry voice barked from inside.

Feng Mountain hurried into the diner and quickly shut the door behind him.

Despite their unfamiliar way of dress, the trio’s arrival didn’t seem to affect the lively atmosphere in the slightest. No local toughs came looking for trouble.