After speaking those words, * immediately hoisted the bulging backpack from the table onto his shoulders, then flung open the window and slipped out.

Hearing the window snap shut, Nobita shot upright again, exclaiming, "Damn! The kid really left?"

With that, he ripped off the covers and leaped from **, throwing on his clothes in a flash.

I permitted myself a slight smile, thinking this boy still couldn't let * go, and quickly dressed as well.

We tumbled out the window one after the other, only to freeze dead in our tracks.

The blizzard outside was ferocious; the wind howled, and the snowflakes were as large as goose feathers, stinging our faces.

*'s retreating figure was only ten-odd meters ahead, yet the snow made him hard to discern.

I shivered, remarking to Nobita, "It was clear skies just yesterday, and now suddenly such a heavy snow—this weather is truly bizarre!"

Nobita rubbed his nose, hunching his shoulders, and called out loudly, "Let's hurry and follow him, or we’ll lose him!"

I nodded and followed with Nobita at a brisk pace.

However, * always moved with agile steps, even unfazed by the snow, and since we didn't want him to notice us, we maintained a distance of about ten meters.

Shielding my forehead with one hand as I pushed forward, I glanced at the strange weather, suddenly recalling the story André told yesterday—that first snow when Lauren rescued Zoya from the ruins must have been just as heavy, right?

It seemed Lauren truly was an emissary of the snow and wind...

We trailed behind *, walking through the dimly lit village. The snow reflected the ambient light so brightly that I thought it must already be nearly morning.

kept to the dirt road, heading toward the port. Thick layers of snow frequently slid off the chestnut and fir trees lining the path, creating strange thudding sounds.

By the time we reached the harbor, the normally pale yellow beach was entirely coated in ice and snow. Large flakes hitting the seawater didn't melt immediately; as the waves washed them back onto the shore, it looked like a spilled slushie, churning up white foam.

Out on the water, the motorized fishing boat, easily three meters high, cast a bright beam toward the edge of the blizzard. White smoke plumed from the tall smokestack at the center of the vessel.

Clearly, the engine was running; we could hear the put-put-put of the motor over the wind and snow.

Unaware that we were trailing him, * tightened the straps of his backpack and sprinted toward the boat.

Just as he neared the water's edge, a wave surged toward him. But * executed a nimble leap, clearing the spray before it could soak his trouser legs.

A three-meter gunwale was nothing to him; I’d seen him effortlessly scale a four-meter wall before.

He grabbed the stern rails and swung himself over the back of the boat.

At that very moment, the fishing boat sounded a long, drawn-out blast of its horn and began to slowly pull away from the port.

Nobita and I panicked and hurried forward, watching the boat recede further into the distance.

Then, * stood up from the stern, actually raising both hands to wave goodbye to us.

Nobita waved back, signaling for him to be careful.

From the distant deck, * seemed to nod once, then lowered his profile, disappearing behind the stern.

Nobita and I stood motionless in the blizzard, watching the fishing boat leave until it vanished into the vast whiteness.

After a long silence, Nobita asked me, "He'll be alright, won't he?"

I shrugged, replying, "He has to be. In terms of skill, neither of us is his match..."

Nobita seemed to find solace in my words. He clapped me on the shoulder, sighed, and said, "Let's go..."

I noticed a faint dampness around his eyes, so I remained silent too.

was headed toward great peril, and I understood the anxiety in Nobita’s heart.

We turned back onto the dirt road and arrived at the doorstep of the Rabilovitch house. We glanced toward the square but saw no sign of the wolves—clearly, just as André had said, the pack had retreated the previous night.

We brushed the snow off our clothes and slipped back through the rear window.

Closing the window, we were greeted by the welcome warmth of the hearth. Nobita declared he needed to catch up on sleep, but I couldn't settle down. I sat at the desk beside the fireplace, listlessly flipping through the books piled there.

I couldn't decipher the titles of these books; they were filled with dense blocks of Russian text, not a single illustration among them.

Flipping near the bottom, I actually discovered a small book titled 'Beginner's Common Russian Phrases.'

I realized this must have been BEY’s room. In his quest to find evidence of Ivan in China, it appeared he had been studying Chinese diligently at home.

Judging by the publication date, this book had been bought seven or eight years ago, yet it was timeless.

Recalling the few Russian phrases I’d learned previously, I cross-referenced the book with the Chinese-Russian guide and found my pronunciation wasn't half bad.

So, I settled in earnestly with the book, resolving to use the quiet time to learn some Russian.

Everyone says Russian is one of the hardest languages to learn—so many sounds, tricky pronunciation, and specialized terminology that is difficult to grasp.

Indeed, I recognized this truth, but I also possessed a natural talent for languages—I had concurrently studied Korean and Japanese in university, earning professional-level certificates in both. Furthermore, for some inexplicable reason, I felt a strange sense of familiarity with the local dialect of Chukotka, making it surprisingly easy to pick up.

By the end of the morning, I had managed to learn over two hundred common phrases—a speed comparable to André's progress in learning Chinese. Perhaps we truly were kin in spirit.

Noticing the sky outside growing brighter, I put the book down and rubbed my eyes.

A glance at my watch showed it was already twelve noon.

I stood up, nudged the snoring Nobita awake, and then went out into the main room alone.

Seeing smoke rising from the kitchen, I knew Mrs. Rabilovitch was cooking. Eager to test my newfound Russian skills, I walked into the kitchen and addressed the busy woman in Russian: "Madam, is there anything I can help you with?"

Mrs. Rabilovitch paused, turning to look at me, clearly surprised. "Young man, when did you learn to speak Russian?"

I smiled, replying, "I just learned it..."

She gave me a thumbs-up. "You speak very well!"

I sheepishly rubbed the back of my head, feeling a little smug. I then said to her, "Thank you so much for everything these past few days. We’ve eaten and stayed here without offering any help."

The lady shook her head. "No guests have come to this village in a long time, and you come from such a distant country... I..."