Landlord in the Arctic

The laughter was like a stone tossed into a calm lake, sending out ripples that brought smiles to more and more faces.

Some of the more mischievous crewmen secretly pulled out their phones, tapped the screens, and started recording.

Nearby, a nervous-looking Natalia shook her head with a wry smile and put down the phone she had been about to use to call for help.

By now, Feng Shan was so drunk he was practically incoherent, his unfocused gaze unable to fix on anything.

He staggered forward, suddenly reaching out and grabbing Natasha's delicate cheeks. He pulled them lightly to the sides, mumbling incoherently.

"Wha're you laughin' at... Laughin'... No... no laughin'. I told you to dance... or else... I'll spank you, jus'... like yesterday..."

OOH!!

Frank, who had been standing to the side and observing silently, couldn't help but let out a loud gasp when he heard this.

His thick eyebrows shot up, and a look of dawning realization spread across his face.

No wonder Natasha had been walking strangely when they got back from their horse ride yesterday, limping slightly. Everyone had been wondering what was wrong.

Now the mystery was solved. It turned out Feng Shan had spanked her.

If this news ever got back to Leng Wan, jaws would drop.

Natasha was already fuming over Feng Shan's absurd antics, but having her embarrassing secret blurted out made rage boil up inside her.

Using all her strength, she struggled fiercely and broke free from Feng Shan's hands.

Immediately after, she raised her hand high and swung it viciously toward Feng Shan's face.

But who could have predicted it? Feng Shan staggered, his body lurching to one side like a kite with a snapped string. The slap missed completely, and the momentum nearly sent Natasha stumbling to the ground.

Feng Shan's legs gave out, the strength supporting him instantly gone. Unable to stay upright any longer, he crumpled like a sack of potatoes and collapsed drunkenly to the ground with a THUD.

The people around them stared in stunned silence for a moment, then burst into a flurry of chaotic activity.

Some rushed forward to check on Feng Shan, while others gathered around Natasha, trying to calm her down.

The once-lively party dissolved into chaos.

...

This drunken episode from Feng Shan, the head of the Crown Territory, had caused quite a stir.

But the Christmas party couldn't just stop there. Frank, as the second-in-command, stepped up and loudly announced that the party would continue.

As for Feng Shan, they just left him lying by the fire. He was wrapped in a thick fur coat, and with the warmth of the flames, he would be fine.

And just like that, the crowd quickly returned to their merrymaking, continuing to drink and celebrate the annual Christmas Eve.

In the center of the party, Feng Shan lay sprawled on his back by the fire, his mouth hanging slightly open as he let out thunderous snores.

As people passed by, anyone with a free hand would pull out their phone, aim it at Feng Shan's "elegant" sleeping form, and snap a picture for posterity.

"Your Highness, please don't be angry," Natalia said gently, standing beside Natasha with a concerned expression. "Feng was just drunk."

Natasha, however, just shook her head gently. Her clear eyes, like tranquil autumn pools, drifted toward the blazing fire and the man lying next to it, a hint of confusion within them.

"I'm not angry, Aunt Natalia. But did you notice? The fire just now was strange. Why was it able to shift into all those different shapes?"

"Maybe... maybe Feng put something in the fire beforehand. That technique, creating patterns with flames, is quite common in China," Natalia replied after a moment's thought, her brow furrowed slightly. She didn't sound very sure of her own answer.

"I misjudged him. This man is a master actor." Natasha's gaze sharpened instantly, becoming like two daggers fixed on the snoring Feng Shan. "Look at those Indigenous People's chiefs. If Feng had demanded they throw me into the fire just now, those barbarians would have done it without hesitation."

She couldn't help but shiver at the thought, her wariness of Feng Shan's methods growing even stronger.

Hearing this, Natalia also looked toward Feng Shan, a complex light flickering in her eyes as she fell deep into thought.

In a corner on the other side of the Christmas party, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the lively celebration in the center. A gloomy haze seemed to hang over this area, thick with tension and hostility.

Chief Welta, the Bear Tooth Chief, and the Inuit Tribe chiefs were gathered together, their faces grave and their eyes glinting with different emotions. A fierce argument was about to erupt.

"Chief Welta, the Inuit must be part of the plan for the Holy Land," an Inuit Tribe chief said, breaking the silence. His voice was low but firm.

"That's right. We Inuit were the ones who met Feng first. The buildings here in Crown Camp were built by our Kivalina Tribe, including Feng's house and the airport runway."

Old Swan of the Kivalina Tribe quickly chimed in, his chin raised slightly with a hint of pride, trying to leverage these facts to gain more influence for the Inuit Tribe.

As he spoke, he pointed toward the camp buildings across the Melting Ice River, as if to emphasize who they belonged to.

An elder from the Bear Tribe, his eyes widening in anger and his face full of disdain, heard this and snarled, "Bullshit! It was the Spirit of All Things that guided Nash and led Khilla to the Holy Land. What does that have to do with you whale-and-seal-eating barbarians?"

"What's wrong with eating whales and seals? Don't you Indians eat raw reindeer meat?" the Inuit chiefs retorted, not to be outdone.

The Bear Tooth Chief snorted coldly. "That's still better than you Eskimos."

The word "Eskimos."

It instantly enraged the Inuit chiefs. Every one of them trembled with anger, their fists clenched.

"You bastard! Don't you call us Eskimos! We are the great Inuit people! Are you Indians trying to start another race war?"

"Bring it on! You think we're afraid of you? Ten thousand years ago, our ancestors drove you to the Arctic. This time, we won't even leave you the Arctic!" Bear Tooth shot back, not backing down an inch. He took a step forward, puffed out his chest, and adopted a dueling stance.

The crowd gathered in the corner grew more and more agitated. The Indian and Inuit chiefs faced off, arguing until they were red in the face. At the peak of their shouting match, they were even spraying spittle on each other.

Seeing the argument about to spiral out of control, Chief Welta—the chief of the largest Indian Tribe in Alaska and the eldest man present—could no longer stand by.

His old face dark, he slowly walked between the two groups and raised a hand, motioning for both sides to calm down.

Then, scanning the angry faces before him, Chief Welta spoke with contempt.

"Dogshit. What are you bunch of Redskins arguing for?"

"Is there anything that can't be discussed calmly? What's the point of attacking each other?"

"Buddy, the Indians are the Redskins, not us," Clyde Gissing, the chief of the Noatak Tribe, reminded him pointedly after a moment of stunned silence.

The term "Redskins" literally means "red-skinned people" and originates from the skin color of the Indians. In the United States, it's considered a deeply disrespectful and even insulting term, which was why he was so quick to distance himself from it.

Hearing this, Chief Welta realized his gaffe. His already dark face became as black as the bottom of a pot.

Turning to see the group of Inuit chiefs snickering, his annoyance flared, and he bellowed.

"Enough! Did I insult you by calling you Eskimos?"

Just as he expected, the smiles on the Inuit chiefs' faces froze instantly.

They deeply resented the old term "Eskimo," viewing it as a sign of misunderstanding and disrespect toward the Inuit people from the outside world.

Now that Chief Welta had thrown the word back at them, their smiles stiffened. The atmosphere fell into a brief stalemate, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing.

"Enough nonsense. We're here to discuss serious matters." Chief Welta's expression grew stern as he bypassed the awkward and inflammatory topic. His gaze swept over every chief present as he spoke calmly, "We, the Alaska Indians, have confirmed that the Crown Territory is the Sacred Land of the Spirit of All Things. What do you Inuit think?"

Hearing this, Julian, chief of the Wayne Wright Tribe, instantly furrowed his brow.

After a moment of contemplation, he slowly began to speak.

"We Inuit also believe the Crown Territory is the sacred land of the Inuit."