A pair of black knee-high boots walked in, one step at a time, keeping pace with the whistled melody.
Jiang Hansheng could not see, but he knew the one who had returned was Qi Yan.
Immediately after, a young man began making muffled cries. His mouth had been stopped up, leaving him unable to produce any clear sound — he could only struggle desperately, trying to call for help.
At the same time, a young woman was weeping, paralyzed with fear.
The sudden commotion shattered the warehouse’s silence. The whistling stopped. Only the sound of footsteps echoed in Jiang Hansheng’s ears — unusually distinct, as though the pleas and sobs of those two people were being ground beneath each step.
“Shh——” Qi Yan raised a finger to his lips. “Stop making noise. It’s not safe to carry on like this.”
The couple knelt on the ground, their hands bound behind their backs, leaning against each other for support, trembling beneath the hollow eye of a gun barrel.
They were beside themselves with terror. Qi Yan was entirely unhurried. The stark contrast was deeply unsettling.
Qi Yan had taken new hostages?
The thought formed slowly. Jiang Hansheng tilted his head back in dawning realization, his throat moving in a dry, painful swallow beneath pale skin.
This was his third day in captivity — and the first time he had felt something close to despair.
Because he no longer had the capacity to save anyone.
Thud. Thud. Thud. — the sound of a head knocking against a hard floor, over and over again.
The young man was kowtowing before Qi Yan, biting each word out as clearly as he could, begging for his life again and again.
Watching such a pitiful display, Feng He burst into wild laughter and said to Qi Yan, “Young Master Qi, this kid is pleading for his girlfriend.”
Qi Yan was perched on a stack of freight boxes, turning a handgun over idly in his hands, paying no attention to him.
Feng He said, “We’ve been stuck in this godforsaken place for nearly a month. I’m going stir-crazy. Young Master Qi, what do you say…”
He pointed his gun at the young woman.
The other two accomplices caught Feng He’s implication and broke into suggestive grins. One of them swore, “Are you the sort of man who can’t stop thinking about that even when you’re half-dead?”
Feng He’s voice turned slick. “To die beneath a peony blossom — even as a ghost, one dies with style.”
Qi Yan neither agreed nor objected.
Feng He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, grabbed the young woman by the hair, and began dragging her behind the stacked freight boxes.
The young woman screamed, fighting back and struggling with every last ounce of strength she had.
Jiang Hansheng’s ears rang. His mind reeled. He pressed his cracked, dry lips together and said, “Qi Yan.”
His voice was low, but it carried — cutting clean through the piercing screams that filled the warehouse and pressing them down.
Qi Yan’s expression remained blank. He raised a hand, signaling Feng He to stop.
He leaned forward, studying Jiang Hansheng with interest. “So you do know how to speak?”
“Don’t harm innocent people,” Jiang Hansheng said.
His throat was badly hoarse.
What right did a fish on a chopping block have to make demands? Feng He found Jiang Hansheng’s request so absurd it was laughable. He cackled. “If I take her, what are you going to do about it?”
Feng He paid him no mind and continued hauling the young woman away.
Bang!
A sudden gunshot — fired into the ground right at Feng He’s feet.
Including the young woman, everyone fell instantly silent.
Feng He’s face drained of color. When the shock finally caught up to him, his legs went weak with fright, and cold sweat broke out down his back.
“I — Qi — “
Qi Yan pressed the still-hot barrel against Feng He’s forehead, dragging it slowly across. The light passed over the metal and cast a small, cold shadow in the hollow of his eye socket.
He said in a low, steady voice, “I didn’t tell you to move.”
Feng He released his grip all at once and stood there frozen, not daring to budge. Whatever desire had driven him had been frightened clean away by that single shot.
Qi Yan asked, “You want to save her?”
“……”
“Makes sense. You police types always think you can save everyone. But in reality — none of you can save a single soul.” He walked over and pressed the barrel against the back of Jiang Hansheng’s head.
No reaction at all.
Three days in captivity. Drugs had been ravaging Jiang Hansheng’s body to the point where survival itself was agonizing — yet he had shown not a single sign of breaking down, not a flicker of fear.
This displeased Qi Yan greatly.
He tilted the gun to one side and looked the weapon over carefully, then smiled. “Mr. Jiang, how about I give you a chance? Let’s play a game.”
Qi Yan directed Feng He to come over, untie Jiang Hansheng’s bindings, and remove the black cloth covering his eyes.
Jiang Hansheng narrowed his eyes slightly, adjusting to the light inside the warehouse.
Not far away, a rectangular table had been assembled from freight boxes. Feng He picked up the food containers that had been sitting on it and cleared the surface quickly.
One of the criminals shoved Jiang Hansheng and barked, “Move it! Do you even know how to walk?!”