In the remote South Pacific, there's an unnamed small island.
The name is quite ordinary, called Guiana.
It wasn't discovered until World War II.
After all these years of development, the island still maintains an ordinary island life.
Due to its remote location, it's not a golden waterway like Struwa; the island has a total population of less than twenty thousand.
Not many people come here usually, residents either sail to nearby islands for supplies or wait for the weekly cruise ship to pass by.
In the northeast corner of Guiana Island, there is an ordinary tropical style residential building.
The small Third Layer rooms are quite inconspicuous, surrounded by large yards planted with various flowers and tropical crops.
At this moment, behind the dense bushes over there, an old man and a young man sit on chairs, talking face to face.
The old man is about fifty, a typical white man, with deep blue eyes that haven't changed a bit with age.
