Chapter 258: You Truly Love England So Deeply

"No, where did you get that watermelon?"

Constantine looked at Ma Ma Zhaodi beside him, utterly baffled: "Where did you pull something that big out from?"

"Does that matter?" Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "We've already walked for over two hours. To be honest, I'm actually fine, but I don't know if you can still hold up."

"Me? I just realized now that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun."

"You truly love England so deeply."

"Don't criticize me, kid." Constantine took a drag of his cigarette: "Those are lyrics written by Noel Coward himself; that old guy even won an Oscar."

"I've learned something new. What's the song called?"

"Mad Dogs and Englishmen."

"."

"Let's put that aside." Constantine turned his head to look at him: "Why don't you have a single drop of sweat on you?"

"Well," Ma Ma Zhaodi tossed the eaten watermelon aside and pulled a frost-white drink radiating cold air from his backpack: "Cold drink. A few sips guarantee no heat for fifty minutes. Want some?"

【Cold Drink

Price: Thirty US Dollar Asset Points

Note: I told the Guild long ago that zenny currency inflation is too severe; making an equipment piece often costs tens of thousands, yet they simply wouldn't listen. Just look at this one-to-ten exchange rate.】

"Where did this magical potion come from?" Constantine frowned as he took the drink, then sniffed it; a faint chill instantly filled his nostrils, making him feel refreshed and clear-headed.

"Have you gone mad from wanting magic?" Ma Ma Zhaodi shook his head: "This is just a heat-avoiding drink with better effects."

So Constantine gulped down several large mouthfuls of the drink from the bottle; a cool sensation instantly spread through his whole body. The fiery sun in the sky suddenly seemed like the warm spring sun, and his body felt light.

He smacked his lips in satisfaction: "I said long ago that modern technology works much better than magic."

"Thank you for your patronage. Remember to give me five hundred US dollars when you return."

"?"

"What's wrong? Since you've drunk it, of course I can only sell it to you."

"Damn it, just hope this thing has a long enough shelf life."

The guide ahead suddenly turned his head and asked Ma Ma Zhaodi: "One hundred? Uncle Wu?"

"Five hundred US dollars." Ma Ma Zhaodi said: "If you're hot too, I can give you half a bottle—as long as you don't sell it."

"Sell it, easy to sell." The guide continued: "Outsiders, afraid of heat."

Ma Ma Zhaodi was speechless; this tour guide was too honest, directly saying the five characters "specializing in ripping off outsiders."

"I just hope there are no guerrillas here." Constantine sighed from the side: "Hiring a guide, taking a plane, and renting a car—I've already spent enough money. If I get kidnapped again, all the money I earned on this trip will be lost."

Ma Ma Zhaodi thought to himself that there was no need to fear guerrillas.

Another three hours passed, and the time had reached dusk. The huge red sun was sinking toward the horizon of the desolate Gobi Desert, its color becoming as glaring and burning as fresh blood.

Crossing the hill, a settlement made of thatch and mud appeared before everyone's eyes.

"Laba, we've arrived at the village."

Constantine looked at this settlement, named "village" but actually a "tribe," where primitive residents with dark skin and wearing long cloth were active. They were emaciated, with cracked lips; some children's limbs were very thin, but their bellies were strangely huge.

Ma Ma Zhaodi asked Constantine in a low voice: "What's the situation here?"

"Malnutrition, eating dirt, eating grass roots, eating sand." Constantine answered: "The land here is severely desertified; farming is impossible to survive on, so they stuff everything they can see into their stomachs. These things cannot be digested; moreover, protein is too scarce, so ascites increases."

"Don't waste your effort. I've been to Africa more than once, so I know these things. You can't help them—every time I come here, I feel like an astronaut, standing in another world."

Ma Ma Zhaodi remained silent.

When the three walked into the settlement, those villagers did not come up to speak. They looked silently and warily at the three shirted intruders, as if indeed looking at another world.

Constantine handed the portrait drawn by Lester to the guide, and the guide began speaking Dinka to them in a mumble, but no one responded to this.

Yet Constantine could see some people's eyes darting away; their dark eyes quickly glanced toward a small hill—there stood a thatched hut, separate from the entire settlement's building complex.

Ma Ma Zhaodi also noticed this detail. He exchanged a glance with Constantine, then left the guide talking with the others in the settlement and secretly slipped over.

When they tiptoed to the thatched hut's door, Constantine was still thinking of observing the situation inside first, but an old voice suddenly sounded from within the hut: "Come in—I originally thought you would arrive earlier."

Ma Ma Zhaodi saw a look of astonishment in Constantine's eyes. The two exchanged a glance, then simply lifted the door curtain and walked in.

"The goat's entrails show that yesterday was the time you should have arrived."

In the dim thatched hut, a skeletal, dark-skinned old man sat cross-legged. The blood-red sunset glow shone into the room, making his outline appear even more eerie and distorted.

His head was shaved bald, with only hair remaining on the left and right sides. His skin was rough and loose, covered with dry cracks and ridges on his forehead and neck. He was naked, wearing only arm rings and a loincloth, with strange, huge ornaments on his ears and a skull of an unknown bird hanging around his neck. His entire expression, under the eerie light, appeared somewhat sinister, looking at the two people before him with a half-smile.

Constantine walked into the room and replied with feigned ease: "Is that so? Ha, these days no divination method is completely reliable, right?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi, somewhat curious, sat beside Constantine and sized up this shaman old man: "Where did you learn English?"

"Did you hear English?" The old man's smile on his face became even stranger: "But I was not speaking English."

"Pentecost." Constantine interjected: "According to the Gospel, the fiftieth day after Easter is Pentecost; on that day the Holy Spirit descended, and priests could speak foreign languages—you really are impressive. The United Nations needs talent like you."

The old man did not take up his topic and continued: "I know, and you know. You are that laughing magician—I have seen you in my dreams."

"Such a fate?"

At this moment, Ma Ma Zhaodi clapped his hands from the side: "Friends, I can understand your feeling of meeting too late and mutual appreciation, but we should talk about something serious now—one of your children has been sealed into an evil spirit. Right now, that evil spirit is causing chaos in London."

"Right now, I only want to know: why did you do this?"

(End of this chapter)