Chapter 25 - Parallel Lines

Translator's Note:

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Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

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The name resonated like a clap of thunder. Serg forced a bitter smile as he placed a cup of coffee in front of Vito. "Why tell me this willingly? Does Mr. Taotie want to meet me too?"

 

"Not at all. My master dislikes meeting outsiders, and he's extremely busy right now." Vito stirred a generous amount of sugar into his coffee, finishing it in three quick sips before licking his lips. "I hope you won't take offense—I just want to ensure my master's safety."

 

"Part of your duty?" The memory of yesterday's events made Serg hesitant to handle the knife, so he leaned on the counter, unconsciously tapping a rhythm with his fingers. "But I need to meet Mr. Taotie. This isn't a game—this is important to me."

 

"Mr. Mohammed, you must understand one thing: my master definitely doesn't want to see you because you're a witness." Vito propped his chin in his hand, his friendly smile unchanged, but his tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

 

"You even know about that?"

 

"Miss Saro has already sent word. Otherwise, who would be responsible for the contestants' safety? To protect my master, it's my duty to eliminate any potential threats." Vito's words were subtle, but Serg understood their underlying implication.

 

Back in his homeland, when he was still the crown prince and first in line to the throne, he too had guards who would eliminate anyone deemed "dangerous."

 

Should he call Vito straightforward or a masterful intimidator? Either way, his technique was far more refined than that of the other members of the Brelini family.

 

This carried significant implications—one of which was that Vito's master, Taotie, was bound to be an even more formidable opponent. Serg felt a faint tightening in his stomach; he needed to resolve this matter before Shuai Zhaoming could intervene.

 

Selfishly, Serg didn't want Shuai Zhaoming to have even the slightest chance of winning.

 

"Mr. Vito, I understand your concerns, but I still wish to meet Mr. Taotie." His deep black eyes locked with Vito's bright blue ones, unwavering, refusing to let the other man look away.

 

"Well…" Vito scratched his head, exhaled deeply, and stretched his long arms. "Mr. Mohammed, my master cannot offer you any guarantees. That's exactly why Miss Sara arranged to keep him removed from this. Whether you hope Attorney Shuai wins or loses, my master will not make any promises to you."

 

"Please, let me meet with Mr. Taotie."

 

Serg was always a mild-tempered person, but his stubbornness was just as well-known. Once his mind was set on something, he wouldn't budge.

 

Vito seemed to sense that beneath Serg's warm smile and gentle aura, this man was far from easygoing. Spreading his hands, Vito offered a crooked smile.

 

"All right! When do you plan to meet my master? He wasn't keen on coming to America and hasn't been in the best mood lately. You'll need to be prepared for that."

 

"Is today possible? Yesterday, you mentioned taking a cheesecake tart to him, which I didn't recommend. If it's today, I can make a dessert for Mr. Taotie myself to go with his meal.

 

It was a kind of negotiation, in its own way. Especially when he saw Vito's eyes light up—Serg knew he'd found the right angle of approach.

 

"My master would surely welcome that. Please wait a moment." Lightly hopping off the stool, Vito took out his phone and stepped outside to make a call.

 

Watching the young man's cheerful yet serious expression as he spoke on the phone, Serg distractedly finished the toasted sandwiches. He had just placed the food on the counter when Vito returned through the door.

 

"My master is willing to meet you. If you don't mind, it'll be in two hours." Sitting back down, Vito sniffed the air, his face lighting up at the sight of his breakfast. "Ah! It looks so delicious! If my master finds out I've secretly eaten meat again, he'll probably be upset!"

 

"Thank you." Unsure of what else to say, Serg lowered his head in gratitude. Vito's cheerful demeanor was endearing, and for a moment, Serg couldn't help but imagine him with playful, twitching ears atop his head. Despite himself, he laughed softly.

 

"Don't mention it. I imagine Miss Sara has already caused you plenty of trouble."

 

Serg responded with a bitter smile. He couldn't honestly say otherwise. It wasn't just Sara; there was also Tengshe. And between the two, Tengshe was undoubtedly the bigger headache. Neither he nor Shuai Zhaoming could decipher what that man truly intended.

 

After finishing his prayer, Vito chewed his toast with relish. Meanwhile, Serg used the opportunity to prepare the meal he intended to bring to Taotie and tidy up the workspace.

 

Vito ate quickly but meticulously, leaving his plate spotless. "This was incredible! Mr. Mohammed, may I come again tomorrow?"

 

"You are more than welcome." That lingering look of longing was the highest compliment a chef could receive.

 

"Well then…" Vito extended his hand toward Serg, flashing a bright smile. "Please leave everything to me. You're my guest, and if you need any assistance, just let me know."

 

"Thank you." After a brief hesitation, Serg handed over the carefully prepared items. He cleaned up the counter and utensils before following Vito out.

 

Flagging down a taxi, Vito rattled off an address in a stream of Italian. Then, turning to Serg, he added, "Mr. Mohammed, I must let you know in advance—after today, unless my master allows it, I won't be able to let you meet him again."

 

"Another matter of duty?" It wasn't mockery but a sigh of understanding. Serg studied the bright, lively blue eyes before him and, almost without thinking, asked, "Why does Miss Sara dislike Fitch?"

 

He had overheard Shuai Zhaomin's opinion of Fitch and had met the beautiful boy himself the day before. Delicate as a porcelain doll, both outwardly and inwardly. Even Serg couldn't deny the faint sense of aversion that rose within him.

 

Those breathtaking amber eyes gazed dreamily at Tengshe, as though the entire world—himself included—were disposable, so long as that man existed.

 

That peculiar adoration, tinged with despair, would make any onlooker profoundly uncomfortable.

 

"Do you like him?" Vito didn't answer directly, instead offering a sly smile that left Serg momentarily speechless.

 

The destination was some distance away, and traffic further delayed their arrival. Nearly eighty minutes later, the taxi finally pulled up to a warehouse-like building.

 

Paying the fare and opening the door with practiced ease, Vito led the way inside. Serg, unused to being so thoroughly catered to, found the experience mildly disorienting.

 

"Master, I've brought Mr. Muhammad." Vito's lively voice rang out, his energetic steps echoing across the spacious interior.

 

The temperature inside was a stark contrast to the chill outdoors, closer to the heat of midsummer. A light sheen of sweat quickly formed on Serg's smooth forehead, his milk-chocolate skin taking on a reddish hue.

 

Furnaces, stone slabs, iron pipes, metal stands, cooling kilns—equipment and tools were scattered about. Even Serg, unfamiliar with the craft, could tell this was a glass studio.

 

Who was the renowned artist Tengshe mentioned—Vito or Taotie?

 

"Mr. Muhammad, you might want to remove your coat. It's rather warm in here, and we wouldn't want you fainting from the heat." Vito had already shed his outerwear, rolling up his sleeves to reveal toned, muscular arms.

 

Nodding, Serg removed his jacket, his attention caught by the figure crouched in front of a small furnace. Fiery red hair, like living flames, glowed in the heat. The man's back muscles shifted subtly beneath his dark, sweat-soaked T-shirt. His frame wasn't overly large, but it radiated strength and elegance.

 

"Master, why don't you take a break? You haven't slept since yesterday!" Vito's tone carried a hint of complaint as he approached the man.

 

The man didn't respond, nor did he turn around. His focus was absolute, as if his very soul had merged with the flames. Serg found himself holding his breath, captivated.

 

Vito glanced back at Serg with a shrug, mouthing an apology and gesturing for him to sit down. Serg shook his head, declining the offer. Rarely one to indulge his curiosity, he instead watched the man's movements intently.

 

Serg shook his head, declining politely. His curiosity got the better of him, and he quietly observed the man's movements. The man held an iron rod, his shoulders shifting slightly as he rotated it with precision.

 

Before long, the man stood up. Vito quickly grabbed a wooden bucket and a thick cotton cloth, following him to a nearby metal stand.

 

At this moment, Serg finally caught a glimpse of the man's profile. His slightly long red hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, with stray strands partially obscuring his eyes. However, his nose and lips were sharply defined, exuding a rugged elegance. His slightly thin lips remained tightly pressed together, and he didn't spare Serg a single glance.

 

After a moment's hesitation, Serg moved closer, watching with fascination as the man placed the end of the iron rod into his mouth and blew into it. The fiery, semi-molten glass at the other end swelled like a balloon.

 

Each movement—shaping, cutting, engraving—was executed with fluid precision. Once the piece was completed, Vito cut it off the rod and placed it into a cooling kiln. Only then did Serg dare to take a deep breath.

 

It was his first time witnessing glassblowing, and the process left him a powerful impression. His cheeks flushed with excitement, like a child discovering something magical.

 

"Are you Sergi bin Lama Muhammad?" The man's cool, almost metallic gray eyes swept over him. Beads of sweat rolled down his malt-brown skin, and Serg felt his own nerves tighten in response.

 

"Yes, and you must be Taotie Brelini?" Should he offer a handshake? But Taotie didn't seem inclined to. Just then, Vito returned, holding the toasted sandwich Serg had prepared earlier and handing it over.

 

"Hmm." Taotie gave a slight nod, accepting the sandwich and taking a measured bite. His chewing was slow and deliberate.

 

"I'm here to seek your help." Serg drew in a deep breath, though his voice still betrayed his tension. Taotie's gaze was calm and indifferent, yet it weighed heavily on him, making it hard to breathe.

 

After swallowing his bite, Taotie licked the sauce from his lips, his serene gray eyes betraying no emotion or thoughts.

 

Serg clenched his hands tightly. The workshop's high temperature only added to his restlessness, and his nerves were on the verge of snapping.

 

"You may state your request, but I can't guarantee I'll agree to it." Taotie's voice, as calm and hollow as his gaze, was devoid of hostility or pressure, yet it carried an oppressive weight that left Serg breathless.

 

"Can you… ensure Fitch wins the competition?"

 

"For what purpose?" Taotie's gray eyes locked onto Serg's dark ones, their emptiness suffocating, as if drawing out every ounce of composure.

 

"For my own sake…" Serg replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't want Shuai Zhaoming getting entangled with Tengshe. Even if he could only remain a friend, Serg's love for him was genuine.

 

Tengshe brought nothing but calamity—nothing good could come of it.

 

Taotie neither agreed nor refused outright. A faint hum escaped his lips as he methodically chewed his sandwich. Serg was desperate, but he couldn't bring himself to press the issue. His teeth bit into his lips hard enough to draw blood.

 

Only after finishing the entire sandwich did Taotie finally speak again. "What will you offer in exchange?"

 

"Sergi bin Lama Muhammad."

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