Six-year-old Xu Anlin stood at the entrance of Chinatown in a little black suit. Rain had just poured down from the British sky; his wet bangs fully drooped over his forehead, with delicate features revealing a nearly angry expression. In front of him was a Chinese buffet restaurant, but the owner was an Indian with dark skin and a hooked nose. He spoke with a mix of Chinese and English, gesturing with his hands: “Buffet... two pounds[1]Italicized – Was already English in the raws jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3578533_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3578533_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });, free! Although it’s nominally Chinese cuisine, all the dishes were paired with spicy curry. Compared to his mother’s cooking, Xu Anlin was somewhat unimpressed with the restaurant’s culinary skills. However, the two-pound buffet, while not completely free, was certainly much cheaper compared to other places, leaving him with few options.
After about an hour, he left behind a large stack of plates and looked up at the shopkeeper with mutual contempt. He walked out of the buffet restaurant, burping and spewing the flavor of curry, standing at the door, continuing to wait.
His hatred of the Indian shop owner stemmed from his displeasure with those dishes; many years later, he realized that a cat that could survive in dog territory always had some extraordinary qualities.
Xu Anlin finally saw the person picking him up. It was a middle-aged man wearing a purple silk Tang costume. Xu Anlin looked at the person a bit nervously. He had watched many Hong Kong TV dramas from his wealthy neighbor’s house and vaguely knew that the individuals wearing this costume were either martial artists or gangsters.
He prayed fervently for the former, but in reality it made him realize that the territory he was in was now a place beyond the reach of the Bodhisattva worshipped by his grandmother.
The middle-aged man in a Tang costume led him, turning left and right, into a Chinese restaurant. He then led him around the courtyard, stepping up the creaking stairs into a living room. Before opening the door, he whispered to Xu Anlin, “Don’t speak recklessly when you go in. The Master… doesn’t like others to have too many opinions.”
After he finished speaking, he pushed open the brown wooden door, and another middle-aged man in Tang costume sat inside. He seemed to have already eaten and was sitting there slowly scanning a Chinese newspaper.
“Is this the child of that female cook?” He asked slowly.
Before Xu Anlin could speak, the person dressed in Tang had already replied respectfully, “Ah Nan has already confirmed that he is the child of the female cook when picking him up. There is no one left in the family except for an elderly woman in her eighties.”
The middle-aged man lifted his head. He was a handsome man, but unfortunately, he had three deep Sichuan characters between his eyebrows and sunken eye sockets, which added a touch of hostility to him.
He cast a faint glance at Xu Anlin and remarked, “The features do bear a resemblance— quite pretty.” He folded up his newspaper, took a sip of tea, and added, “Hmm, he’s about the same age as my son, Yusen; he fits to be a stand-in. Take him down and let Yusen have a look.”
─
From start to finish, he did not allow Xu Anlin to utter a single word, while Xu Anlin remained immersed in a state of disbelief and shock.
This was the man—Mom’s new hope, the man she would die for! Several of Mom’s letters were still tucked away in his trouser pocket; inscribed upon them were these words: “Anlin, you are about to have a new home. The skies in England are a brilliant blue; you will fall in love with the white clouds here. You will have a new father—one who will take over the place of your father in heaven and love you.”
Yet, the skies over England are prone to rain at any moment. The man—who was meant to step in for their late father in heaven to love this mother and son—referred to the deceased mother by nothing more than the two words “female cook,” and the life she lost because of him served merely to grant her son the opportunity to die in his son’s stead.
Xu Anlin stood in the courtyard clad in a little black suit, with his fists clenched. His entire body trembled with seething resentment as he fought to hold back his tears.
Just then, Zeng Yusen appeared. Barefoot and clad in a pair of gray overalls, his slightly overgrown black hair fell just low enough to veil his eyes—eyes that seemed to carry a perpetual hint of sleepiness. Trailing behind him was an aged golden retriever with a tawny coat; he walked up to Xu Anlin and asked politely, “Are you holding a funeral today?”
Before meeting Xu Anlin, Zeng Yusen had always considered himself a humorous child.
Xu Anlin threw a punch at Zeng Yusen’s face, but before it could land, he was tackled to the ground by the senior golden retriever; when he came to his senses a moment later, he found himself staring right into the dog’s curious eye and its tongue.
“Get this damn dog away from me!” Xu Anlin twisted his head frantically to dodge the old golden retriever’s tongue.
Zeng Yusen squatted down, gazing at the golden retriever with an expression of sheer astonishment; only then did he lower his head to scrutinize Xu Anlin closely, remarking, “I never would have thought Da Huang would actually take a liking to you. It even seems to think you’re pretty!”
Xu Anlin gave a low grunt; such praise was hardly anything fresh to him.
Zeng Yusen pressed his slender, pale fingers together, tapping them gently against one another as he spoke to Xu Anlin with utmost seriousness: “You must understand—Da Huang is an incredibly narcissistic dog. Aside from his own poop, he never licks anything else.”
For a split second, Xu Anlin felt both disgusted and enraged, his face flushing crimson. For many years to come, he would remain convinced that from the very moment he first laid eyes on Zeng Yusen, he had hated him—a hatred that only grew with each passing day.
After tidying up his black suit, Xu Anlin climbed into the black car heading to school; his heart seething with anger. As the son of a widow, he had few choices. Although his mother was gone, he was still condemned to fall into the very same fate.
Zeng Yusen was still wearing a pair of grimy work trousers, though now he had a pair of sneakers on his feet; he wore a look of such extreme wariness—much like a timid young bride—that it seemed as if even the slightest rise in the volume of Xu Anlin’s voice would be enough to make him feel utterly wronged.
His air of mistreatment garnered sympathy from all the teachers and students; only Xu Anlin knew he was merely putting on an act—he was performing. He was terrified that others might discover he was, in fact, the only son of the Chinatown mob boss. And his own flashy attire served no purpose other than to await his death; for this very reason, the more wronged Zeng Yusen appeared, the more Xu Anlin loathed him.
Xu Anlin did not know English, and his exam scores were abysmal at first. He never expected that Zeng Yusen would actually score even worse than he did; this made him feel considerably better and motivated him to study even harder, refusing to turn off his light and go to bed until well past midnight each night. However, so much time had passed since dinner that he was often too hungry to fall asleep by the time he finally climbed into bed.
As he tossed and turned in bed, he suddenly heard a knock at the door. Zeng Yusen, looking groggy with sleep, stood in the doorway clad in a white bathrobe and said, “I’m starving—how about we go get something to eat?”
Under normal circumstances, Xu Anlin would certainly have wanted nothing to do with him; however, the temptation of food was simply too great.
The two of them circled around the front courtyard and managed to pry open the kitchen door of the restaurant.
Xu Anlin was just about to grab a few random pastries and head out when Zeng Yusen exclaimed excitedly, “I heard today that the fatty head chef made some slow-simmered congee! Have you ever tried it? He cooks it for ages with dried scallops and beef. It’s so fragrant, so insanely fragrant!” He spoke with animated gestures, his eyes that were usually half-lidded and drowsy suddenly lit up with brilliance.
Ignoring Xu Anlin’s hushed urgings, he felt his way along the pots one by one; upon finding one that was still warm, he exclaimed joyfully, “Found it! I found it!”
He paid no heed to Xu Anlin’s suggestion to fetch a stool; instead, he grabbed a ladle and stood on tiptoe to scoop the porridge. However, the moment he applied pressure, the stand beneath the pot wobbled. The pot easily tipped over. Sensing immediate danger, Zeng Yusen instantly darted aside, and the entire pot of porridge spilled across the table and onto the floor.
Xu Anlin was instantly dumbfounded—stunned and terrified all at once. After a few seconds, he stifled a growl: “Zeng… Yu… Sen!”
Zeng Yusen looked as if he had just woken from a deep slumber. After a moment, he clasped his hands together again, tapping his slender, pale fingers against one another as he blushed and murmured, “It needs to be wiped completely clean… It looks like it’s going to take a very long time…”
Xu Anlin fetched a rag. Thinking of how he would explain this tomorrow, and of the schoolwork he had only just managed to catch up on. He paid no mind to Zeng Yusen’s peculiar demeanor and hurriedly began to clean. The more he dwelled on it, the more aggrieved he felt, until tears began to fall onto the floor, one drop after another, out of his control.
“Don’t cry! I have a great idea,” Zeng Yusen said softly, crouching down beside Xu Anlin.
Xu Anlin wiped away his tears and looked at him; Zeng Yusen patted his chest confidently and declared, “Trust me—it’ll work!”
Under Xu Anlin’s skeptical gaze, Zeng Yusen stepped out; a moment later, he returned, dragging a cage full of hens behind him. Before Xu Anlin’s mind could even register what was happening, Zeng had already lifted the lid of the cage and released the flock into the kitchen. The hens immediately began scrambling for the grains of porridge scattered across the floor; some even flapped up onto the countertops to peck at the scraps there.
Before long, they launched an assault on every other edible item in the kitchen, leaving a trail of muddy footprints and stains everywhere they trod. Xu Anlin rushed around trying to catch them, but his efforts only sent feathers flying in all directions, making an even greater mess.
Zeng Yusen watched the scene unfold with a pensive air; finally—under Xu Anlin’s glare, which practically threatened to devour him—he spread his hands and remarked regretfully, “It has been confirmed: this really wasn’t a good idea!”
─
The consequence of the affair was that Xu Anlin was confined to a small room at the back of the courtyard. It was pitch black inside; curling his arms around his knees, he buried his head between his legs.
Outside, rustling leaves brushed against the windows—which had been boarded up tight with wood planks—making a soft, scratching sound; as time wore on, it began to sound like a woman’s sigh. For reasons he could not fathom, this entire atmosphere filled Xu Anlin with sheer terror. He found himself wondering: Had someone perhaps died here once before? And would he, too, meet his end within these walls?
The thought that he might perish right here—in this pitch-black room where he couldn’t even see his own hand—suddenly filled his heart with sorrow. Involuntarily, his mind drifted to Zeng Yusen—the man responsible for landing him in this wretched predicament—and he gritted his teeth in bitter hatred.
Suddenly, he realized that his fear had begun to subside. Yet, the moment he paused, the chilling, sinister air of his surroundings would come gushing back to engulf him; so, he hurriedly began to curse Zeng Yusen in his mind. Before long, he made a discovery: as long as his heart remained consumed by hatred toward Zeng Yusen, he would no longer feel afraid.
Since then—through countless nights—Xu Anlin had consistently employed this method to protect himself against his fear of the darkness, as well as against a destiny he could not control.
After being confined for roughly a day, the door opened. Zeng Yusen—barefoot and clad in cargo pants—grinningly stepped inside; the door shut once more behind him. Xu Anlin was puzzled as to why Zeng Yusen had entered; he heard him fumbling his way across the floor, crawling closer. Xu Anlin gave a dismissive snort, swatting away the hands that were groping blindly at his face, and asked, “What are you doing in here?”
He then heard Zeng Yusen’s voice, dripping with affected coyness, reply, “I just wanted to come accompany you!”
Xu Anlin shifted his body, deliberately turning his back to Zeng Yusen. Hearing a faint sigh drift over, speaking with profound desolation, Zeng Yusen said, “So, it turns out my Xiao Linlin isn’t hungry in the slightest. What am I to do now? How am I supposed to finish such a massive piece of cake all by myself?”
Xu Anlin, dizzy with hunger, heard this and immediately spun around, lunging forward. Fumbling wildly in the dark, he snatched the crumbly piece of pastry from Zeng Yusen’s hand and stuffed it into his mouth, biting and swallowing in rapid succession.
Just as he finally managed to swallow the food in his mouth, Zeng Yusen suddenly threw himself onto him, sobbing as he cried out, “My Xiao little Linlin! I thought you hated me—I never imagined you would actually eat something that has my saliva on it! I’m so incredibly touched!”
By now, the night had grown deep; the wind of the night seeped through the wooden planks of the window, letting out a series of mournful whimpers. Xu Anlin involuntarily shuddered.
“Did you hear that?” Zeng Yusen asked Xu Anlin with a smile.
Xu Anlin retorted, “Hear what?”
“My mom is greeting us!” he said cheerfully—much to Xu Anlin’s shock. “My mom actually died right here in this very room…” Taking the hand of a now blank-minded Xu Anlin, he added, “So right now, we are guests in Mom’s room!”
Xu Anlin felt a sudden pang of fear. He had been too young at the time to clearly comprehend what exactly he was scared of. Yet, through Zeng Yusen’s cheerful tone, a message was being conveyed: another woman had met a violent end. That woman was his own mother; yet, he appeared to feel neither sorrow nor fear.
Grief and terror—emotions so common to ordinary people—seemed to leave not the slightest trace upon Zeng Yusen.
What Xu Anlin feared was precisely what everyone else feared. Xu Anlin even realized that even Zeng Yusen’s own father regarded him with apprehension. Zeng Yusen, for his part, never addressed him as “Father”; instead—in a peculiar manner—he joined the servants in addressing him simply as “Master.”
They rarely interacted, and even when they did, it felt like nothing more than a mere formality.
His father’s brow was perpetually furrowed, making the deep vertical lines etched between his eyebrows appear even more pronounced. “How did you fail your test again?”
Zeng Yusen nonchalantly flicked at his suspenders, while the old man—speaking in a rigid, mechanical tone—simply added, “Study harder from now on,” thereby bringing the conversation between father and son to an end.
Whenever Xu Anlin stood at the doorway watching Zeng Yusen enter the house, the latter would sometimes turn back and flash Xu Anlin a smile, wearing an air of nonchalance. As someone destined to survive in the underworld, it seemed that Zeng Yusen had never been taught the tactics needed for survival, and he seemed content to have it that way.
Xu Anlin harbored a trace of disdain for this unlearned “Prince of the Underworld,” yet at the same time, he felt a twinge of envy toward him.
Upon reaching adulthood, Xu Anlin was swiftly assigned to undergo firearms training. He resisted the order fiercely; he knew that the moment he took that gun into his hands, his own hands would be stained forever, and there would be no washing them clean again.
He was already twenty-two years old. After sixteen years of life within the Zeng clan, he knew, better than anyone else, that the Zeng family was like a machine poised to crush anyone at any moment, every single one of its components stained with blood.
Sixteen years later, the Zeng family seemed to have grown even more powerful. They had moved out of Chinatown, purchasing a villa in the western suburbs along with several surrounding acres of land. The house was a wooden structure with a white exterior; its pitched pine roof featured two stone chimneys, and it boasted a spacious veranda-style balcony from which one could gaze out at the River Thames.
Sometimes, Zeng Yusen would sit out there smoking—barefoot and clad in a black shirt—watching Xu Anlin walk in from outside with a look that was neither a smile nor a frown.
On the occasional evening when he was in a good mood, Zeng Yusen would sit in the living room and play the piano. Although in Xu Anlin’s memory, Zeng Yusen always seemed to be in a good mood, he didn’t actually seem to play the piano very often.
Zeng Yusen played the piano remarkably well; his fingers were long and slender, and he possessed considerable musical talent. Xu Anlin had always regretted not having pursued deeper studies in this field himself, nor had anyone ever taught him how to play.
At times, Xu Anlin would even find himself questioning Zeng Yusen’s intelligence—he would go so far as to suspect that Zeng Yusen was, in fact, a person of exceptional brilliance—though Zeng Yusen’s exam results would invariably cause him to dismiss that notion. Those evenings spent drifting into flights of fancy amidst the passionate fervor of Mozart’s music were Xu Anlin’s most cherished memories of the Zeng household.
When Xu Anlin once again refused to take the gun being offered to him, A-Gui spoke with a hint of helplessness: “This is the Master’s command. If he were to learn that you have defied his wishes… well, you know the Master… he does not like servants who harbor too many opinions of their own.”
A-Gui was now clad in a Western suit—a stark contrast to the traditional Chinese attire he had worn sixteen years ago. Everything had changed completely. The current Xu Anlin spoke fluent English and French, excelling as a top student at an elite academy. Yet, that very same remark A-Gui had made sixteen years ago served as a reminder to Xu Anlin that, beneath the surface, nothing had changed at all.
Feeling a mix of frustration and anger, Xu Anlin replied coldly, “I will not learn to shoot.”
Having watched Xu Anlin grow up since childhood, A-Gui knew that the boy was fiercely stubborn in his convictions and possessed a keen instinct for self-preservation. It was a pity, however, that he did not seem to grasp the fact that in this particular environment, a heightened sense of self-preservation would only serve to invite even greater danger.
“Leave him to me,” Zeng Yusen said, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“You?” A-Gui looked utterly dumbfounded.
“It’s just shooting, isn’t it?” Zeng Yusen asked with a faint smile. “I’ll simply teach him how to fire a gun—that’s all there is to it.”
A-Gui hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked away in silence.
“I won’t learn how to shoot!” Xu Anlin lifted his gaze—his eyes blazing with fury—and stared directly at Zeng Yusen, gritting his teeth as he declared, “I have no intention of becoming your scapegoat!”
Zeng Yusen strolled leisurely to stand before him. Meeting his gaze, Xu Anlin deliberately lifted his chin, locking eyes with Zeng Yusen, who stood just slightly taller than him. Zeng Yusen’s appearance had barely changed over the past decade; his hair remained somewhat long, his bangs falling just low enough to partially obscure his eyes. Those eyes—once perpetually heavy with sleepiness—now held an expression that seemed to hover somewhere between a smile and a smirk.
“You’re truly beautiful. I mean… your eyes—so dark and bright, sparkling like gemstones…” Zeng Yusen leaned closer to Xu Anlin, speaking with a hint of melancholy. “Your eyes always remind me of the past…” He wrapped his arms around Xu Anlin, resting his chin upon his shoulder.
Xu Anlin felt a flicker of discomfort, yet he hesitated—swayed by a rare, profound sadness that seemed to emanate from Zeng Yusen.
Zeng Yusen rubbed his cheek against Xu Anlin’s ear and called out in a cloyingly sweet voice, “Da Huang…”
Xu Anlin was instantly consumed by rage. Just as he was about to reach out and shove Zeng Yusen away, the latter straightened up and—adopting a completely different demeanor—asked in a flippant, careless tone: “You don’t want to pull the trigger because you don’t want to end up as my scapegoat?”
“That’s right!” Xu Anlin roared. His complexion was fair—though of a healthy, vibrant sort—and whenever he grew angry, a faint flush would spread across his face; set against his exquisite, handsome features, this sight left Zeng Yusen entranced, gazing at him with a somewhat dazed look. Xu Anlin, instantly realizing the situation, heightened his guard.
Zeng Yusen remarked with a hint of nonchalance: “Let’s swap identities… no—let’s swap back!”
There are two types of people in this world who always keep you guessing. First are those brimming with inspiration, and naturally, where there is inspiration, there are plenty of ideas. The second are those of exceptional intellect, for the brilliant minds are prone to soaring into the realm of wild fancy.
Zeng Yusen happened to be precisely that—a man of keen intellect, and one overflowing with imagination to boot.
A few days later, Zeng Yusen was suddenly attacked at a Starbucks. As the assassin ascended from the café’s ground floor, Zeng Yusen was leisurely flipping through a magazine. He appeared not to notice the pistol equipped with a silencer aimed directly at his head. Just as the magazine in his hands drifted over to the next page, the shot rang out.
The assassin’s brains and blood splattered all over Xu Anlin’s face; his hands trembled as he clutched the gun. Only then did Zeng Yusen look up, smiling as he said, “See? Learning to shoot isn’t so hard after all!”
He then propped his chin in his hand and furrowed his brows, gazing at the assassin—whose head had been half-blown away—and remarked with utter seriousness: “What a dawdler! You made me wait forever. You know, the coffee here is terrible—next time, be quicker!” Suddenly, as if struck by a realization, he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and murmured, “Oh, right… You won’t have a next time…”
At that moment, Xu Anlin felt as though he would go mad with rage. If he could, he truly wished it had been Zeng Yusen’s head that was blown to smithereens.
In any case, Xu Anlin had learned how to shoot.
Zeng Yusen seemed to have suddenly embraced his true self. Rather than retreating into the shadows after teaching Xu Anlin to shoot, he began to move about under his own name even more frequently. Xu Anlin expected the Master to have something to say on the matter, yet—just as always—there was not a single sound of either approval or dissent.
This made Xu Anlin suddenly realize that, no matter what Zeng Yusen did, the Master seemed to remain silent. However, sixteen years of shared history had forged a wordless understanding between him and Zeng Yusen; he knew that those past sixteen years were merely a prologue, and that the true story had only just begun.
Zeng Yusen was wearing Xu Anlin’s black suit. Being leaner and more slender than Xu Anlin, he cut a uniquely dashing figure in the slightly oversized garment. Leaning against the Zeng family’s vintage black Ford, he smoked a cigarette while watching Xu Anlin approach—his face etched with suspicion, his entire body radiating wariness. Zeng Yusen smiled, then casually tossed aside his cigarette butt.
Xu Anlin could hardly be blamed for his reaction. Whenever one was in the company of a clever man, it was invariable for others to end up paying the price. Over the past sixteen years, Xu Anlin had lost count of how many times he had fallen victim to such schemes. Each of Zeng Yusen’s flashes of inspiration had left Xu Anlin with nothing but memories that made his teeth clench in frustration.
The bodyguards’ vehicle trailed behind theirs; having left the house, Xu Anlin still had no idea where Zeng Yusen intended to go. What neither of them had anticipated, however, was that Zeng Yusen actually wanted to take a yacht out on the River Thames.
Resigned, Xu Anlin followed him aboard. The Zeng family owned a luxurious, two-story ITAMA yacht—a vessel whose hull embodied the design aesthetic of a storied European firm, exuding a sense of vintage elegance. Xu Anlin, however, felt a distinct sense of unease; on several occasions in the past, assuming the guise of the Zeng family’s future heir, he had accompanied the Master here to host a perverted assortment of guests.
The Zeng family was in business, yet unlike ordinary merchants, their trade involved the counterfeiting of currency—a venture that also positioned them as the largest money-laundering syndicate within Britain’s Chinese community. The so-called “dirty money” consisted of funds of dubious origin, as well as the hard-earned savings of undocumented immigrants.
In contrast to his academic pursuits, Zeng Yusen seemed to possess a far greater aptitude for operating vehicles and vessels. Whether behind the wheel of a car or at the helm of a yacht, his handling was as fluid as the piano melodies he played—moving with the effortless grace of flowing water, executing agile turns, and proceeding with scarcely a pause.
Within moments, they had left the bodyguards’ yacht far behind. Xu Anlin suddenly felt a surge of unease. Yet, unwilling to betray this anxiety under Zeng Yusen’s gaze—which held a smile that was not quite a smile—he walked over to the window and feigned interest in the scenery drifting past on the riverbanks.
“Care to solve a riddle?” Zeng Yusen asked with a chuckle.
“Spit it out!” Xu Anlin replied simply, without even turning his head. Zeng Yusen was a man of endless tricks; if he decided to pull a stunt, the best bet was simply to play along—otherwise, he would only end up facing even more of his antics.
“There was once a polar bear in the Amazon rainforest that traveled along the right bank of a river in search of happiness. But one day, it suddenly realized that happiness lay not on the right bank, but on the left…”
Zeng Yusen possessed a voice of magnetic allure; if one listened attentively, one would often find oneself captivated—even when he spoke in a tone of detachment.
“During the rainy season, the Amazon River flows with immense force—and you are a polar bear that cannot swim. Tell me: if you were that polar bear, what method would you use to reach the left bank as quickly as possible?”
“I can swim!” Xu Anlin retorted dryly.
“But what if you were a polar bear that couldn’t swim?”
“I’d walk!”
“That river flows straight into the Atlantic Ocean.”
“I’d wait for the dry season!”
“The Amazon’s rainy season lasts a very long time.”
“Then there’s no need to go!” Xu Anlin scoffed. “If you can’t find happiness on the right bank, how can you be sure it exists on the left?”
“The left has corn!”
Xu Anlin finally reached the end of his patience; he spun around and roared, “Are you bored out of your mind? According to you, the Amazon doesn’t just have polar bears—it has corn, too!”
Zeng Yusen fell silent. As the yacht passed beneath Tower Bridge, however, he suddenly let out another chuckle. Xu Anlin turned back around, his face drawn and sour, and demanded, “What are you laughing at?”
Gazing straight ahead, Zeng Yusen smiled as he spoke: “Do you see Hay’s Galleria? Remember—the most valuable painting inside is the one I left for you.”
Xu Anlin was utterly baffled; he was just about to ask for an explanation when he noticed that Zeng Yusen’s gaze remained fixed unwaveringly upon the two yachts approaching from the opposite direction. Xu Anlin had never before seen a flicker of wariness in Zeng Yusen’s eyes—not even for a fleeting instant.
The other vessels came to a halt, sandwiching their yacht between them—one on the left, one on the right. On their decks stood several tall men clad in black, their handguns concealed beneath their trench coats, watching the pair with cold, impassive stares. Under the silent, icy command of those gazes, Zeng Yusen led Xu Anlin as they stepped aboard one of the yachts.
Seated in the center of the vessel was a towering Nordic man. He appeared to be around thirty-five or thirty-six years old, with a head of silver-gray hair, deep-set eyes, a prominent aquiline nose, and a thin, taut mouth. His facial features were sharply chiseled—a rugged, angular aesthetic that, combined with his tall, lean physique, cast him as a handsome man with the air of a tough guy.
However, Xu Anlin thoroughly disliked the look in his eyes—a gaze that made one feel utterly exposed, as if standing stark naked right before him. To him, it seemed, nothing about anyone remained hidden. His eyes lingered on Xu Anlin for a moment, appearing somewhat struck by her beauty. Yet, after only a brief instant, he withdrew his gaze and let it settle upon Zeng Yusen instead.
He observed Zeng Yusen with evident interest, and Zeng Yusen, in turn, regarded him with equal curiosity. Their eyes locked in a gaze so intense and inseparable—so utterly glued to one another—that they resembled two long-lost lovers finally reunited.
“Pervert!” Xu Anlin fumed inwardly.
“Zeng Yusen?”
“Andrew?”
Andrew grinned, gesturing for Zeng Yusen to take a seat across from him. Xu Anlin, meanwhile, felt a sudden jolt of alarm; Andrew was the ringleader of Europe’s largest money-laundering syndicate, having handled the flow—both in and out—of virtually all illicit funds linked to Nordic terrorism. Compared to them, the Zeng family was utterly insignificant—mere small fry.
What he never could have anticipated was that Zeng Yusen—a man who had never truly set foot in the underworld—would actually pique Andrew’s interest enough to warrant an audience. In an instant, every nerve in his body went taut.
With perfect composure, Zeng Yusen plucked a cigar from the box resting on Andrew’s desk. He cast a leisurely glance at his wristwatch, then smiled faintly. “You only have exactly three minutes.”
Andrew offered a slight smile in return. Suddenly, a loud explosion rang out nearby, sending flames towering into the sky. Xu Anlin stared at the debris of a yacht silhouetted against the blaze, realizing with a jolt that it belonged to the vessel that had carried the Zeng family’s bodyguards. His heart pounded wildly; just as his hand—tucked inside his trouser pocket—tightened around the grip of his pistol, something cold and hard pressed against his neck.
Andrew spoke in a cold tone: “Now, we have more!”
References[+]