The man pushed the door open and walked in, his movements unhurried. He wore a dark fisherman’s hat, its brim pulled low, almost covering his eyebrows. A pair of black sunglasses obscured most of his face.
He was dressed in a dark trench coat, paired with ordinary khaki pants and a pair of worn-out sneakers. He looked like an utterly ordinary middle-aged man—the kind no one would glance at twice on the street.
That was probably his skill.
Gu Wangshu waved to him.
Upon seeing her, the man gave a slight nod and made his way over, passing several empty tables.
“The friend I arranged to meet has arrived,” Gu Wangshu said, turning to Uncle Chen.
Uncle Chen tactfully stood up. “Alright, you two talk first.”
The man sat down opposite Gu Wangshu, removed his fisherman’s hat and placed it on the table, then took off his sunglasses, folded them, and set them beside the hat.
The face revealed was that of a man around forty years old—square-jawed, with a slightly dark complexion, high cheekbones, and small but sharp eyes. His lips were thin, and when pressed together, the corners naturally turned downward, giving him an unapproachable air. A faint scar ran along the outer edge of his left eyebrow, barely noticeable unless one looked closely. His hair was cut very short, almost a buzz cut, with scattered white strands at the temples.
The moment he sat down, his gaze swept quickly across the entire shop before returning to settle on Gu Wangshu’s face.
“Mr. Liu, I presume?” Gu Wangshu spoke first.
“Just call me Liu Xun, Miss Gu,” he replied crisply. “We spoke on the phone before.”
Liu Xun was the private detective Zhang Ziyu had recommended to Gu Wangshu.
According to Zhang Ziyu, Liu Xun had worked as an investigator at the Independent Commission Against Corruption for eight years, handling several major cases. One of them involved bribery by executives of a listed company, which had caused a city-wide uproar at the time and made headlines for two consecutive weeks.
Later, for reasons unknown, he resigned. Some said he had offended higher-ups, while others claimed he simply didn’t want to continue. After leaving, he opened his own agency.
The man had a bad temper and wasn’t particularly smooth-talking, but he was reliable, discreet, and, most importantly, tight-lipped.
Uncle Chen brought over a pot of Pu’er tea, two white porcelain cups, and a small teapot. The tea was a deep, rich color.
Liu Xun poured himself a cup, took a sip, and nodded.
Then he set the cup down, pulled an envelope from his trench coat pocket, and placed it in front of Gu Wangshu.
It was a plain brown paper envelope, unmarked, sealed with tape. It didn’t look particularly thick, but it wasn’t thin either.
“Miss Gu,” he said in a businesslike tone, “on the phone, you mentioned wanting to investigate someone. This is the information I’ve gathered.”
Gu Wangshu glanced at him, then without hesitation, reached for the envelope, tore open the tape, and opened it right in front of him.
Inside were several sheets of paper, along with a few black-and-white photos. The images appeared to have been taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, slightly grainy but clear enough to make out the people and scenes.
She flipped through the pages quickly, her eyes scanning each line at a rapid pace.
It had to be said—Liu Xun really had some skills.
In just a few days, he had uncovered more than Gu Wangshu had expected.
Yang Zhi’s background had been thoroughly laid bare.
This person’s resume was essentially a chronicle of idling away his time. He was the son of Yang Huijuan’s eldest brother, and Yang Huijuan had managed to get him into the Shenzhen branch of Xinda Group.
Nominally, he was the manager in charge of property management, but in reality, he did no proper work at all, relying entirely on a few honest subordinates to cover for him. All his energy was spent elsewhere.
He was well-versed in every vice—eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling.
Liu Xun’s report laid it out clearly: Yang Zhi had gambling debts on both sides of Shenzhen and Hong Kong, totaling several hundred thousand yuan—no small sum.
He was a regular at an underground casino in Hong Kong, and on one particularly bad night, he lost eighty thousand yuan in a single session, only leaving after signing an IOU with the casino owner.
He also took on private jobs on the side using Xinda Group’s name, diverting some of the group’s building material procurement channels to his own connections and pocketing the price differences. Just from the few deals Liu Xun had uncovered, the kickbacks amounted to over a hundred thousand yuan.
Gu Wangshu finished reading the last page, neatly arranged everything back into the envelope, placed it seal-side down beside her, and looked up at Liu Xun, a slight curve forming at the corner of her mouth.
“You truly get what you pay for,” she said, a hint of appreciation in her tone. “Although Mr. Liu’s fees are high, his efficiency is indeed impressive.”
Liu Xun picked up his teacup, took a sip, his expression unchanged, though the corners of his mouth relaxed slightly.
“More like a fortunate coincidence,” he said, setting the cup down, his voice low. “Mainly because quite a few people are keeping an eye on this guy. With all the debts he owes outside, his creditors have more informants than I do. Just ask a couple of people, and you’ll know when he goes out, where he goes, and who he meets.”
“Besides, everyone knows he’s the nephew of Chairman Gu of Xinda Group. The things he does can’t be hidden. People like him, relying on their powerful backing, don’t bother covering their tracks at all, which actually makes investigating them easier.”
He paused here, tapping his fingers lightly on the table twice, the rhythm shifting.
“However, the other matter Miss Gu entrusted to me will likely disappoint you.”
Gu Wangshu’s expression remained unchanged. “Oh?”
Liu Xun’s gaze sharpened slightly, taking on a professional scrutiny.
“That Mr. Zhong from Shenzhen you asked me to keep an eye on over the phone,” he slowed his pace, “Miss Gu, isn’t that a bit unfair? That Mr. Zhong has quite the background, doesn’t he? You didn’t mention that beforehand.”
Gu Wangshu’s hand rested on the table, her fingertips lightly touching the rim of her teacup, unmoving.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Liu Xun leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice further.
“He’s been in Hong Kong for two days. Yesterday, he went to the Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch.”
As he said this, he watched Gu Wangshu’s face closely, observing her reaction.
Gu Wangshu’s eyelids twitched slightly, but nothing else showed on her face.
Xinhua News Agency Hong Kong Branch.
She certainly knew what that place was—nominally the Hong Kong branch of Xinhua News Agency, but in reality, it was the highest representative office of the Chinese government in Hong Kong.
In 1987, Hong Kong was in the transitional period before its handover. The Sino-British Joint Declaration had been signed less than three years prior, and various forces were quietly vying for influence behind the scenes.
“Also,” Liu Xun continued, “he’s been followed by people from the Bai family all along. Yesterday afternoon, after leaving Xinhua News Agency, he went to a private club in Central. In the evening, he had dinner at The Peninsula Hotel. There were two other people present, but I couldn’t find out who they were. That private room was too tightly controlled—people were watching everyone coming and going.”
After finishing, he leaned back slightly and looked at Gu Wangshu.
“Miss Gu,” his tone was not heavy but very serious, “had I known this was such a business, I would never have taken it on, no matter what.”
The subtext of this statement was clear: I’m a private detective, not an intelligence agent. Investigating a prodigal son who indulges in drinking, gambling, and womanizing is one thing; keeping tabs on a high-ranking Beijing official who has dealings with Xinhua News Agency is another. The former might at most earn you a beating, while the latter could very well cost you your life.
Gu Wangshu did not rush to reply. She picked up her teacup, took a sip, and then set it down again, her movements calm and unhurried.
“I’ll increase your fee,” she said.
The corner of Liu Xun’s mouth twitched slightly.
“Miss Gu is straightforward,” he smiled faintly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “I like straightforward people like you. However, every profession has its rules, and I need to clarify something in advance—”
His smile faded, and his expression turned serious again.
“These are sensitive times, and there are certain principles I won’t touch. If this Mr. Zhong you’re asking me to watch is involved in matters at that level, then no matter how much money you offer, I won’t take this job.”
He said this calmly, but Gu Wangshu could tell this was his bottom line.
“Mr. Liu, rest assured, it’s just a personal grudge.”
“I only want to know what he’s doing in Hong Kong, who he’s meeting, and his general itinerary. You don’t need to feel pressured either. Since he has people from the Bai family around him, it won’t be easy for you to follow him closely. Just knowing the general picture is enough. I don’t need you to take any risks.”
Liu Xun looked at her, his small but sharp eyes lingering on her face for a few seconds.
He had been in this line of work for some years now, and his ability to read people was no worse than it had been during his time at the Independent Commission Against Corruption.
This young woman before him—he couldn’t quite figure her out. He had seen news about her on TV and in the papers, and she didn’t seem like the type to die for love.
But that wasn’t his concern. His job was to find out what his client wanted to know. What the client did with that information afterward was their own business.