Chapter Sixteen: Ticket Inspection

It was time to start driving.

The wood gas generator supplied combustible gas, and the engine sputtered a few times before gradually picking up speed.

With a clunk, the driver brusquely shifted gears. The old bus, which had been in service for over twenty years, slowly pulled out of the parking space, left the station, and headed down the highway toward Las Vegas.

As with yesterday, only the city roads in San Francisco had been thoroughly maintained; the rest were beyond the jurisdiction of the garrison. Within just a few minutes, the road conditions sharply deteriorated.

With a creak from the chassis, the bus officially left the San Francisco garrison’s territory and entered the wilderness.

In truth, the imperial court placed great importance on maintaining official roads, but this was not one of them. At the end of this road lay Las Vegas—a city that existed in neither Ming nor Roman records. It was a city rising from the desert sands, constantly fending off the encroaching desert just to survive.

Yet it was also a lawless zone mutually acknowledged by both sides, and that alone was enough.

The vehicle jolted along roughly, causing Shangluo to struggle to hold onto the map. According to it, Las Vegas was not far from San Francisco.

“You say those casinos in Las Vegas make so much money, why don’t they fix this road? Many tourists come to the New World just to visit Las Vegas.”

“Tourists all take airships. Who would ride a slow, long-distance bus? Besides, they don’t even get off in San Francisco; this is a garrison area.”

“True... Gambling has been banned in Jin since the Hongwu era. The Ming Code clearly states that gamblers should have their hands cut off—though they don’t really do that now, but it still means at least six months in prison. What about Rome?”

“Ban gambling? Ha! If the emperor there tried that, the racing thugs at the racetrack would smash down the palace gates the next day. Constantinople always has the moon hanging overhead; it’s a great place to play, a city that never sleeps.”

“By the way, how’s the situation in Rome now?”

“I don’t think it’s looking good,” Apollonia replied grimly. “London and Paris are stirring up more unrest. The Britons and Franks are growing increasingly unwilling to remain vassal states. After all, they once had great civilizations; they deserve their own modern era too.”

“Yes, that’s true... And here, shaping the modern Ming and Rome—so, should I call you a Roman?”

“I’m glad you finally see me as a Roman, and not some monkey from Xiniuhezou.”

“The Monkey King is a mirror; he can become whatever he wishes.”

“I wish I were as free. Unfortunately, my burdens are far heavier than those of the carefree Flower-Fruit Mountain Monkey King... Look, here comes trouble now, doesn’t it?”

“What’s going on?”

“Wait and see, just ahead.”

“Stop the bus immediately!” a sharp voice roared through a high-frequency loudspeaker from behind. The sound, amplified by the speaker, turned into a deafening bellow. The driver slammed on the brake, fearing that stopping any slower might cost him his life—they were genuinely afraid.

Because those who came here were not the police. Ming constables wouldn’t operate in such wilderness.

An unmarked police car pulled up in front of the bus. Two men in trench coats—also red-skinned—stepped out, each holding a law enforcement shotgun.

They both wore medals bearing a dragon and an eagle on their chests, symbolizing their service to both Ming and Rome.

The Pinkerton Detective Agency was Yangzhou’s largest vigilante organization. Their law enforcement power far exceeded that of the escort agencies within San Francisco because Pinkerton’s operations were limited to Yangzhou, and their main income came from vigilante work.

This income was derived from outsourced law enforcement. Neither Ming nor Rome wanted to deploy official law enforcement in the neutral zone—that was too costly. By outsourcing enforcement through bounties, vigilantes like Pinkerton could earn a decent “head money.”

No one dared refuse Pinkerton’s interception. The presence of vigilantes meant there were no real police here. In the wilderness, killing a few people didn’t matter; no one cared. Even losing a whole busload was the same.

One of them, smoking a Furong brand cigarette, boarded the bus. The smoke spread in the cramped cabin, and the driver didn’t dare open the window. He didn’t dare to move at all—if the vigilantes pulled the trigger, he would be shattered beyond recognition.

“Is there a Zhendan person on board?”

“Uh...”

“Is there or not! I’m warning you, this target is extremely important! It’s a direct order from the Zhendan military. You know Pinkerton’s rules—you have two more chances. After three warnings, I’ll shoot!”

“There is! There is!” the driver pointed backward toward Shangluo. “There’s one—he bought a ticket and got on.”

The vigilante looked over. Shangluo’s face was paler than anyone else present, and evenly so—no need for comparison.

“Oh, honored Zhendan gentleman... no, Mr. from Ming.” He rested the gun on his shoulder, muzzle pointing backward, and stepped forward slowly. No one else dared make a sound.

“We regret to inform you that the imperial court has contracted Pinkerton Detective Agency to ‘invite’ you back. Relax, since you bear the status of a Ming craftsman, we cannot harm you under any circumstances; we cannot even arrest you with ropes or handcuffs. But that doesn’t mean we can’t ‘invite’ you back.”

Shangluo stared out the window and said nothing.

“Mr. from Zhendan. Oh, you don’t wear your hair bound—that means you’re still a child.” The vigilante stepped closer. “Your family is looking for you. Please cooperate and don’t cause trouble for uncle here. Uncle has his own work and family to support. If he can’t bring you back, he’ll be fired.”

The gun was still loaded. Though pointed skyward, it could be aimed forward in less than a second.

“Ah.” Shangluo sighed and pulled a token from his pocket. “See for yourself.”

“This is...” The vigilante extended the hand not holding the gun, ready to receive the token.

With a sharp smack, Shangluo struck the token against his wrist.

“Hands off! Who told you to touch it? Use your eyes!”

“Y-yes...” The vigilante tightened his grip on the shotgun but did not lower the muzzle.

He leaned on the seatback and peered to confirm—

“Jinyiwei! Jinyiwei sir!” The characters on the badge were clear as day.

“Don’t call me ‘sir’! Where did you learn that? I’m not your father, and I don’t have a son like you. Since you’re also working for the imperial court, I won’t make things difficult for you. You know the rules, right?”

“Y-yes... I’ll leave right away! Won’t delay your important business! Absolutely won’t!”

The vigilante turned and left immediately. Everyone knew that Jinyiwei without the Feiyu uniform were more dangerous than those wearing it—much more dangerous.

Without a second’s delay, he stepped off the bus, jumped into the car, and floored the accelerator.

An eerie silence fell over the bus.

“Drive. What are you waiting for?” Shangluo called forward.

With a clatter of gears, the driver shifted into first without hesitation but didn’t say a word. It was as if the passengers in the rear seats were weapons of mass destruction.

Literally “great weapons.” After all, many had seen the firelight unleashed by the Jinyiwei during their ruthless sweeps.

No one spoke again until they reached Las Vegas.