Zhao Jingwan pressed her lips together and said softly,
“I wouldn’t dare. I’m not sure what you’re looking for is even there. I…”
She hesitated, unsure whether she should say it out loud. After a moment of thought, she whispered,
“I was thinking… if you find what you’re looking for, could you… could you let my friend go?”
He hadn’t expected that even now, she’d still be trying to negotiate with him. Luo Jin let out a light chuckle.
“She’s not here.”
The girl had stabbed someone and been dragged back. He’d gone to that man surnamed Liu to ask for her, but he’d arrived too late—she’d already been sold off. As for where she’d been sold to, he hadn’t bothered to ask further.
Saudi Arabia, Israel, Southeast Asia, or Japan—there was no telling.
Zhao Jingwan looked at him in shock. When she confirmed the man was serious, she burst into tears again.
So after all that, she’d been wasting her effort. Chu Ning wasn’t in his hands. Not only had she failed to rescue anyone, she’d gotten herself tangled up with this man instead. Just thinking about it was enough to make her feel hopeless.
Seeing her little face wet with tears again, Luo Jin’s brow furrowed slightly.
“What are you crying about? She’s not in my hands, that’s true. But if what you said is real, and I get what I want, I can help you find your friend.”
Finding one person wasn’t hard for him.
Whether she’d be found dead or alive, though—that was another matter.
That part, Luo Jin didn’t say. He had a feeling that if he did, the person in front of him would probably cry even harder.
A woman crying was really an ugly sight.
“Really?”
Her sobbing gradually quieted, her tone carrying a hint of hope.
Luo Jin grunted impatiently in acknowledgment, released her, turned around, and went back inside.
Watching the man’s retreating figure, Zhao Jingwan lowered her eyes, lost in thought.
That night, she slept alone. The man seemed to have gone out on business and was nowhere to be seen for days.
But this time, she wasn’t locked in her room. She could move freely around the estate.
Saito would come by occasionally to check on her. Every time he came, he’d find her behaving herself.
See, he’d thought as much—a soft, delicate-looking girl like her, what kind of waves could she possibly make?
He couldn’t help but feel contempt for Zhou Zheng’s inexplicable worry. How could anyone fear a doll with no attack power whatsoever?
Still, even though he thought she was harmless, Saito made time to visit her now and then. Not for any particular reason—just because Zhao Jingwan was Chinese.
Every time he came, he’d learn a few phrases of Chinese from her. The girl spoke gently and had endless patience, teaching better than the Chinese tutors he’d paid good money for.
This afternoon, after finishing his mission, he came to the estate for his lesson again.
Zhao Jingwan was in the living room practicing her basic skills. She couldn’t let her training slip.
Even after passing the exams, she had to practice every day. Laziness bred rust.
The fundamentals of Chinese dance were very different from other dance styles—some movements even incorporated elements of Chinese martial arts.
She’d just finished a few sets of movements and hadn’t yet pulled her legs back in when a startled exclamation reached her ears, nearly making her throw out her back.
Saito stared in disbelief at the girl’s astonishing movements, unable to stop himself from exclaiming,
“Oh my god! You know Chinese kung fu?”
He walked over in a few steps, his tone shocked, his eyes full of anticipation. He’d heard long ago that all Chinese people knew kung fu!
Zhao Jingwan was extremely embarrassed. When she studied classical dance repertoire, some movements did indeed touch upon what might be called Chinese martial arts?
But it wasn’t the same thing he was talking about.
“It’s Chinese dance,” she explained.
“Oh, Chinese martial arts.”
Zhao Jingwan gave up trying to explain. How was she supposed to educate a foreigner who only knew how to fight and couldn’t even learn Chinese properly about the difference between the two?
The other party wore a knowing, mysterious expression that left her speechless.
Saito withdrew his envious gaze and pulled a book from his chest, handing it to her.
Zhao Jingwan looked at it—it was a third-grade elementary school Chinese textbook.
He pointed at the ancient poem on the page and asked her to explain it. For her, this task was a heavier burden than a whole day of dance practice.
But besides that, Saito also brought her an important piece of news.
Tomorrow, that man would take her to the villa. If the goods were really there, the man had promised to let her go on the spot.
“Don’t worry. Once the stuff is found, you’ll be free.”
That much, Saito could guarantee.
He sat down on the carpet in front of the sofa, casually tossing his phone onto the coffee table, showing no wariness toward the young woman at all.
Saito held up the Chinese textbook and buried his head in the lesson.
Zhao Jingwan lowered her eyes in thought for a moment, then walked into the kitchen. Before long, she came out carrying a bowl of hot soup and brought it to the studying man.
Saito took it without a second thought. These past few days, whenever he came, he’d get to drink the soup the girl made—it was delicious, and the flavor was different every time.
But before his outstretched hand could even touch the rim of the bowl, the person holding it let go.
The bowl of hot soup spilled all over his pants. The scalding heat sent him jumping up from the floor with a yelp, sprinting straight into the bathroom.
Zhao Jingwan confirmed that his figure had disappeared, then turned her gaze to the phone on the coffee table.
Some meeting room in the Saudi royal palace.
The royal family had an order with Barrola that hadn’t been finalized yet. Now that Rodell was dead and the heir, Sheikh, was missing, the deal had naturally fallen through.
The neighboring country was once again in turmoil, and weapons were urgently needed to replenish their arsenal. Prince Asala personally approached Luo Jin to discuss business.
But after a week of haggling, no deal had been reached. Luo Jin’s price was outrageously high, and he refused to budge even a single cent.
The royal family certainly wasn’t short on money, but the prince was deeply displeased with the man’s arrogant attitude. Signing the order like this would be a loss of face, wouldn’t it? The honor and status of the royal family were not to be questioned—this wasn’t about money.
So after several rounds of negotiations, the order ultimately remained unsigned.
On the flight back to Dubai, Luo Jin sat calm and composed, not the slightest bit anxious. He was certain the other party would eventually cave—he had all the time in the world to wait. With Rodell dead, he had no competitors left in the Middle East. Such a massive order—who else had the capability to take it on?
Unless they were willing to split the order among multiple arms dealers, but that would mean bearing more risk. The other party clearly wouldn’t make such a foolish choice.
The next day, Zhao Jingwan finished washing up and came downstairs. A black-clad figure walked into the living room. She looked—it wasn’t Saito, but the Chinese man who always stayed by Luo Jin’s side.
Zhou Zheng noticed her limping and asked casually,
“What happened to your leg?”
Zhao Jingwan explained awkwardly.
“I was stretching my legs and didn’t control the force well. I might have pulled a muscle.”
He didn’t doubt her explanation—he’d been keeping track of her movements these past few days. He nodded and got to the point.
“Let’s go. The boss is waiting outside.”
Two cars were parked outside the villa. Zhou Zheng led her to the one in the back. Zhao Jingwan’s gaze swept over the front car—the rear window was half-open, revealing a man’s nonchalant profile. Beside him, a woman with wavy long hair tossed her locks back, then straddled the man with a seductive smile.
Zhou Zheng opened the car door. Just as Zhao Jingwan was about to duck inside, the man’s gaze swept over and met hers directly.
Luo Jin raised an eyebrow, seeing her looking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes. The girl’s gaze turned slightly panicked, and she guiltily looked away.
She lowered her head and got into the car, then gently patted her own fluttering heart, unable to resist muttering inwardly—he’s really terrifying.
Watching the girl’s timid, soft demeanor—and the fact that she’d gone and injured her leg in just a few days—Luo Jin let out a scoff. People this foolish were truly rare.
He withdrew his gaze and looked coldly at the woman sitting on him, who was gazing up at him with an innocent expression.
“Get off.”
Luo Jin said flatly. The woman pouted in grievance, opened the car door, and reluctantly climbed out.
The car reached their destination shortly after.
Zhao Jingwan handed the keys she’d brought to the driver in front.
“The villa has a basement. The entrance is behind that oil painting.”
Zhou Zheng looked confused, and the girl explained in a low voice.
“Could you tell him I won’t go down? My leg really hurts…”
She pressed her lips together, her face slightly pale, looking genuinely unwell. Her frail, delicate appearance was enough to stir anyone’s sympathy.