36: Chapter 36 The Visitor in the Gray Trench Coat

Yan Zheng stepped aside to clear the doorway, gesturing for the visitor to "please enter."

"Welcome, sir, please come in."

The doorbell chimed again. The bald man stepped over the threshold, his single eye sweeping over the shop's furnishings.

The Antique Shop was not large, about forty square meters. Three rows of wooden shelves stood against the wall, scattered with porcelain vases, bronze ware, old pocket watches, and a few ink paintings of questionable authenticity.

There wasn't much dust, indicating the owner took care of it, but not meticulously—it was clearly just a small-time business.

Yan Zheng walked behind the counter, bent down, and took out a white porcelain teapot.

"What should I call you, sir?"

"Burns, Philip Burns."

The bald man opened his trench coat slightly, casually picked up a blue and white porcelain vase from the shelf to check the bottom mark, then put it back. He picked up a folding fan next to it, opened it for two seconds, and put it back as well.

His movements were casual, but Yan Zheng noticed that when he turned the vase, his left hand never left the inside pocket of his trench coat.

Yan Zheng: ( ꉺ ꒳ ꉺ )

A very short prompt popped up in the corner of his vision from the system panel.

[Scan result: Subject heart rate 62, body fat percentage approx 12%, muscle density 40% higher than average, metallic object outline on right waist (suspected compact pistol). Not a Mutant, no occult modification. Assessment: Highly trained military personnel.]

"Mr. Burns, please have a seat."

Yan Zheng pushed the freshly brewed tea to the edge of the counter, his tone as gentle as a waiter in a corner coffee shop.

"My shop doesn't have much, I don't know which category you are interested in? Porcelain, bronze ware, or paintings?"

Burns did not sit down, nor did he touch the tea. He leaned against the shelf, his single eye staring at Yan Zheng for a full three seconds.

"Just looking around."

"Alright, take your time, no rush."

Yan Zheng picked up his own cup of tea, blew on the steam, and observed the other man's movement patterns through the mist.

Burns walked half a circle along the shelves, occasionally stopping to glance at an item, never touching it, just scanning with his eyes.

His pace was interesting; the distance of each step was almost identical. When turning, his center of gravity was always on his back foot, ready to change direction at any moment.

Yan Zheng: ( ˊ ꒳ ˋ )

This was not how a customer browsed a shop; this was how one performed a tactical search indoors.

After completing the circle, Burns returned to the front of the counter and finally pulled over the wooden chair to sit down.

"How long has Mr. Yan been running the shop in Hells Kitchen?"

"Almost half a year."

"How is business?"

"So-so. The rent is cheap, there aren't many customers, but it's enough to get by."

Yan Zheng smiled, placed the teacup on the table, and rested his hands crossed on the surface of the counter.

"Mr. Burns, forgive my presumption, but your attire doesn't look like that of a customer browsing an Antique Shop."

"Oh?"

"A grey trench coat, custom-made, European-cut shoulders, waterproof and windproof fabric—it's not cheap."

Yan Zheng's gaze slid from the man's collar to his cuffs.

"The shirt you're wearing underneath isn't a mass-market brand either; the buttons are metal, not plastic."

"And what does that prove?"

"It means your income is high, but the car you drove, parked across the street, has windows tinted so dark it looks like they have double layers of film. That's non-standard for New York."

Yan Zheng pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, the lenses reflecting the steady light in the single eye opposite him.

"So I guess you aren't here to buy antiques."

The corners of Burns's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but not not a smile.

"Mr. Yan has strong observational skills."

"For those in the antique business, a sharp eye is how we make a living."

Burns took his sunglasses out of his trench coat pocket and placed them on the counter, then crossed his fingers, rested his hands on his knees, and leaned forward slightly.

"Then I won't beat around the bush."

"Please."

"I work for a private security company. We are responsible for tracking and assessing anomalous events globally."

"Sounds very interesting."

Yan Zheng: ( ˘ ꈊ ˘ )

"In the last two months, we have monitored a large amount of anomalous activity in the underground drainage system of Hells Kitchen."

Burns's speaking speed was not fast, and he enunciated every word clearly.

"Infrared satellite scans have detected frequent heat source movements in the underground tunnels, and the biological characteristics of these heat sources are very unstable."

"Unstable?"

"Fluctuating high and low. A few heat sources have body temperatures only half that of the ambient temperature—so low they don't seem like living people."

Yan Zheng picked up his teacup and took a sip, hiding the tense muscle at the corner of his mouth.

"Furthermore."

Burns did not blink his single eye.

"Over the past six weeks, twenty-one known members of The Hand have gone missing near the underground pipes of Hells Kitchen, and not a single corpse has been found."

"The Hand?"

"Mr. Yan hasn't heard of them?"

"Something like ninjas?"

Yan Zheng showed a perfectly appropriate expression of confusion, his brows furrowed slightly, his mouth curved in a "you've got to be kidding me" arc.

"Mr. Burns, this is New York, not Tokyo. I run an Antique Shop; the most oriental elements I usually come into contact with are those imitation blue and white porcelain."

Burns stared at him for five seconds.

Yan Zheng: ( ˘ ꒳ ˘ )

Five seconds was not short; it was enough for a well-trained interrogator to read all the information from the other party's micro-expressions.

Yan Zheng did not avoid the gaze; his eyes were as clear and open as still water.

"You just said the bodies disappeared, what do you mean?"

"Literally, disappeared. No blood, no drag marks, only standing water and scraps of cloth left in the tunnel. It's as if they were taken away by something out of thin air."

"That is indeed quite strange."

Yan Zheng put down the teacup, his tone carrying a sense of sincere curiosity.

"But I don't quite understand what this has to do with my Antique Shop."

"We tracked the activity trajectory of the underground tunnels and found that the start and end points of some routes are all near the intersection of the underground pipes on this street."

Burns tapped his fingers on the counter surface.

"Your shop happens to be directly above this intersection."

"Coincidence."

"Perhaps."

Burns did not press the issue. He pulled a business card from his inner trench coat pocket, held it between two fingers, and pushed it toward Yan Zheng.

It was a piece of white cardstock with no company name, no job title, just a phone number and a name.

Philip Burns.

"Mr. Yan, if you hear anything unusual in the Underground Room or near the pipes in the future, please give me a call if it's convenient."

"Of course."

Yan Zheng took the business card, glanced down at it, and then tucked it properly into his shirt pocket.

"Mr. Burns, not printing the company name on the business card of a security company—is that also an industry practice?"

"We are relatively low-key."

"A low-key security company, tracking missing ninja cases, using satellite infrared to scan underground pipes."

Yan Zheng smiled slightly.

"Your company's scope of business is truly not small."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꉺ ᗜ ꉺ ˵ )

Burns stood up, pushed the chair back to its original position, took his sunglasses from the counter, and put them on.

The moment his single eye was covered by the black lenses, his entire aura switched from "interrogator" back to "ordinary visitor," his movements so smooth it made one want to applaud.

"The tea was good, thanks for the hospitality."

"You're welcome, please come again next time."

Yan Zheng followed him to the door and politely opened the glass door.

Burns stepped over the threshold, stopped for a step outside, and turned half around.

"Oh, right, Mr. Yan."

"Go ahead."

"Hells Kitchen hasn't been peaceful lately; take care of your safety running the shop alone."

"Thanks for the reminder."

Burns nodded, walked along the sidewalk toward the black SUV across the street, opened the door, and got in. The engine started, and the car drove away along the street.

Yan Zheng stood at the door, watching the car disappear at the intersection, then closed the glass door and locked it.

The doorbell chimed one last time.

The shop fell quiet.

Yan Zheng leaned against the door panel, took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and wiped the lenses with the hem of his shirt.

His fingers trembled slightly at the edge of the frames.

Yan Zheng: ( ✦ ᴗ ✦ )

It wasn't fear.

He took the business card from his pocket and flipped it to the back; it was blank, without any additional information.

"No company name, no job title, no address."

"Private security company? Using satellite infrared to track underground pipes? Business covering global anomalous events?"

He held the card up to the light and looked at the surface from the side.

"The cardstock is heavy, the printing precision is business-grade, but it was intentionally made minimalist."

Yan Zheng walked back to the counter, laid the card flat on the surface, and tapped his fingers gently on the phone number.

"Possessing satellite-level monitoring resources, focusing on the supernatural field, acting in a style that is half-official and half-covert."

He put the gold-rimmed glasses back on the bridge of his nose, the lenses reflecting the name on the card.

"Mr. Burns, or rather, whatever your real name is."

Yan Zheng put the card into the counter drawer, the corners of his mouth curving into a very slight arc.

"Does your boss also have only one eye?"