"What else?!"
Frank shrugged and pulled out another document.
"According to the terms of the agreement, Mr. Feng Kailu had the right to inherit the Crown Territory. While it's 2,000 square kilometers, that's like a single salmon in the Yukon River compared to Alaska's 1.71 million square kilometers. Plus, it's in the worthless Far North Tundra Region."
"However, at the time, the American Government required Mr. Feng to sign a supplementary agreement."
"This supplementary agreement stipulated that Mr. Feng Kailu would have perpetual ownership of the Crown Territory's land, a high degree of autonomy, and de facto ownership rights, all without any tax obligations. However, he was forbidden from selling the Crown Territory. In the event of no heir, the Crown Territory would unconditionally revert to the American Government."
Perpetual ownership.
A high degree of autonomy.
De facto ownership rights.
WHEW!
Feng Mountain whistled. Though he didn't fully understand the meaning of those three phrases, he figured that Frank searching the world over for him had to be very bad news for the American Government.
"Come on, be serious!" Frank said with an exasperated sigh, grabbing the teacup. Not caring if it was black or green tea, he took a huge gulp and loosened his collar. "Look, man, I'll admit it—that supplementary agreement was a piece of shit, riddled with loopholes. But who could've known that just a few decades later, a 'backward' China would develop so fast?"
"You mean…" Feng Mountain's eyes widened as he seemed to grasp what Frank was implying.
Frank broke into a mischievous grin. "That's right. The document only specifies that it can't be sold. It says nothing about being gifted."
"If you were to gift this land to China, you'd be adding a 2,000-square-kilometer territory to the country. You'd become a hero—a hero who expanded the nation's borders, just like Columbus discovering the New World."
'Who's Columbus?'
But that wasn't important. All Feng Mountain could think about was what would happen if he really did gift the Crown Territory to his motherland.
The next moment.
A fine, cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
'If I really do this, not even being a Witch could save me from assassination.'
'The American Government would never allow this land to be handed over.'
'What would await me would be a bullet from an unknown sniper, a plane crash, or maybe poisoned food.'
'A country has a thousand ways to kill an ordinary person.'
"I see you've thought it through, man!"
"Then why find me? I didn't know anything about this. If your government had just covered up my grand-uncle's death, the Crown Territory would have become yours, wouldn't it?" Feng Mountain asked, shaking his head in confusion.
Frank sighed quietly.
"You can thank the idiot who signed the treaty for that. They actually made four copies of the damned thing. Russia has one, America has one, Mr. Feng got one, and the fourth one is missing—probably stashed in some corner of the world."
"Besides, this involves international relations. If the American Government were to violate the agreement, a certain other country would be thrilled to find out and would publicize it to no end."
Feng Mountain's eyes lit up.
'With so many copies of the document out there, my safety is basically guaranteed.'
'America is notorious for its hypocrisy—it wants to play the whore while demanding a monument to its virtue.'
'They'd never bring this messy business out into the open and let others point fingers.'
"So?"
"So, the government needs you to sign a new supplementary agreement. The terms are simple: you are not to gift the Crown Territory to any third party. Everything else remains the same. Publicly, it will be treated as an Indigenous People's reservation. In return, they'll unconditionally offer you a permanent resident card."
Frank produced another document and placed it in front of Feng Mountain. "All you have to do is sign."
"I'm Chinese. I've never considered changing my nationality," Feng Mountain said, looking at the clauses in the document.
Lawyer Frank rolled his eyes, pulling out an ID card and tossing it on the table.
"So what? I'm an Inuit, a member of the Alaska Independence Party, and a Fairbanks City councilman. That doesn't stop me from loving Alaska."
"Alaska first, Alaska forever, glory to Alaska! Our Independent Party is always trying to get Alaska to secede from the American Government through a public referendum. Welcome to an independent Alaska."
"Man, it's just a green card. Permanent residency. It doesn't change your nationality."
"Fine!!" Rendered speechless by Frank's tirade, Feng Mountain took the pen and signed his name on the document.
"It's in triplicate. You keep this copy. And make sure you keep those documents Mr. Feng gave you safe."
Taking back the signed document, Frank added a meaningful reminder.
Everything was clear without being said.
Feng Mountain had a feeling that Frank was, intentionally or not, trying to help him. From traveling thousands of miles to a foreign country to find him, to explaining the situation with the Crown Territory, and finally, to deliberately hinting that he should hold onto that original document.
'I've cleaned this bus inside and out and haven't found those documents. They're either lost, or my grand-uncle hid them somewhere secret.'
"Negotiations are over. So, what are you treating us to for dinner?" Frank asked cheerfully, putting all the documents back in his folder.
"How about roasted fish and stewed chicken?" Feng Mountain asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Good! Chinese style? Please don't let it be chicken à la king, I've had enough of that!" Frank's face lit up, and then he seemed to remember something. "Oh, those supply boxes outside were purchased by your grand-uncle before he passed away. They were held up at customs in Fairbanks due to a logistics issue, so I brought them along for you."
"Thanks!" Feng Mountain put his copy of the document away, stepped out of the bus, and walked over to the pile of cardboard boxes.
"It's unboxing time!" Frank whooped, attracting Tom's attention. Even Coca-Cola and his new little sidekick came over to have a look.
Feng Mountain took out his pocket knife and gave it a fancy twirl in his hand, earning a loud, admiring compliment from Tom on his "Chai-ni-si Kung Fu."
'I'll "dismantle you to death," alright!'
'Does this guy even know how to talk?' Feng Mountain rolled his eyes at Tom.
He picked the heaviest box, slit the packing tape with the tip of his knife, and opened it.
It was filled with seasonings from China: things like doubanjiang, white sugar, light and dark soy sauce, eight-treasure pickles, well salt, as well as some dried vegetables, dried mushrooms, chili peppers, star anise, and bay leaves.
'Nice. I was just thinking I was about to run out of seasonings, and it turns out my grand-uncle bought a new batch.'
The other boxes held fewer surprises. Most contained sun-dried roots, stems, and leaves. The rest held a few bottles of baijiu, two thermoses, and a tall stockpot.
"Hey man, Mr. Feng used to be the doctor of the Far North Tundra. He cured a lot of people. How about you?" Tom asked curiously, picking up a packet of dried leaves.
'Chinese medicine? Curing people?'
Feng Mountain recalled the scene from his dream: his ancestor, Feng Meng, using Witchcraft Soul Power, performing the Divine Possession Dance and chanting incantations to heal people. 'It was effective, sure, but doing that now would be outrageous. I'd probably be accused of promoting feudal superstitions.'
"I know a little."
"Tom, that's a thermos, not a dumbbell. Take it easy with that thing."
"Listen, you don't have a medical license. Don't even think about treating people outside the Crown Territory, or you'll be in a world of trouble," Frank chimed in.
'I'm not an idiot!'
'Curing people… What a thankless job that would be.'
Feng Mountain nodded, snatched the thermos back from Tom, and began sorting the unpacked supplies.
Just then, the first batch of smoked fish was ready. He opened the door to the smokehouse, and a cloud of thick, fragrant smoke billowed out, carrying the rich aroma of cured meat.
When the smoke cleared, five large, golden-brown fish were hanging on the wooden rack. Feng Mountain took them out and hung them under a wooden shelter to cool and set. Frank, Tom, Coca-Cola, and the puppy crowded around, their eyes glued to the freshly smoked fish.
"They're best after they've cooled down a bit!" Feng Mountain kindly reminded them, only to be met with a stony silence.
'What a bunch of gluttons.'
With no other choice, Feng Mountain took down one of the smoked fish, placed it on a wooden stump, and deftly sliced it into small pieces with his knife. He then picked up a piece and popped it into his mouth to taste.
Mmm!
'Not bad,' he thought. 'The texture of smoked fish is completely different from fresh fish. The fragrance of the fir wood has permeated the meat, adding a smoky aroma. The flesh is much firmer, with a nice chew to it.'
'It's a shame it's lacking a bit in seasoning, but it has a wonderful natural flavor.'
Turning to see pairs of eager eyes staring at him, Feng Mountain shook his head with a helpless laugh and stepped aside.
"Help yourselves!"
In the next instant, man, cat, and dogs all lunged for the wooden stump, hands and paws outstretched.
"Don't touch it! I saw that piece of fish belly first!"
"I want the tail!"
"MEOW MEOW!"
"WOOF WOOF!"
...