“Qi Yan,” Jiang Hansheng said. “You broke your word.”
“I promised I wouldn’t touch that woman,” Qi Yan said. “I said nothing about not killing the man.”
Jiang Hansheng. “……”
“Mr. Jiang, if I were you, that bullet just now should have gone right here.” He smiled, tapping his own chest. “There’s no walking out of this alive anyway — might as well take one down with you. What a pity. Such a fine opportunity, and you didn’t seize it.”
A fury unlike anything he had ever felt slammed into Jiang Hansheng’s reason. He endured it until his eyes burned red. Then, with a clenched jaw, he erupted with the explosive force of a cornered beast — and lunged at Qi Yan.
Jiang Hansheng clenched the gun frame and brought it crashing down hard against Qi Yan’s forehead.
Seeing this, Feng He and the others moved instantly, wrenching Jiang Hansheng back and laying into him with punches and kicks, cursing as they did.
“Stop. Stop.”
Qi Yan was breathing heavily. He propped himself up on his elbows and told them to stand down.
For Qi Yan, breaking a person’s spirit was far more satisfying than any physical suffering. Looking now at Jiang Hansheng — disheveled and battered — his mood actually lifted.
Blood ran down from Qi Yan’s temple. He wiped it away with his hand. The more the wound hurt, the wider he smiled.
“This is exactly how it should be. Helpless, degrading resistance — that’s what makes it interesting.”
……
Back in the room, Jiang Hansheng’s breathing turned rapid and labored. His arms were shaking. His body convulsed briefly.
Seeing that he had reached the limits of what he could bear, the hypnotist gave a swift, measured instruction: “Jiang Hansheng, you have already been rescued. You are safe now. Relax — relax… Good. On my count, wake up now!”
Jiang Hansheng’s eyes opened quickly. His expression was dazed, his gaze wandering blankly across the empty ceiling.
“Let’s rest for a moment,” said the hypnotist.
With permission given, Zhou Jin pushed the door open and came in.
She walked quickly to Jiang Hansheng’s side, rested a hand on his arm, and asked softly, “How are you?”
Jiang Hansheng steadied his breathing. Images from deep within his memory had been stirred awake, coming gradually into focus.
It was as though he had been transported back — back to that time, that place, that decrepit, filthy warehouse.
Had there been anything unusual then — something he hadn’t noticed at the time?
“……”
After a pause of several seconds, Jiang Hansheng’s entire body went rigid with shock. He said, his voice full of doubt and disbelief, “There weren’t four of them?”
Zhou Jin frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Not four people.”
When Feng He had cleared the table, the food containers he carried away had not numbered four — they had numbered five.
In that dimly lit warehouse, there had been another pair of eyes — watching everything from the shadows.
……
From a high vantage point with a wide, open view, the faint sound of ocean waves could be heard.
A instrument case was opened. Every component of the gun had been arranged neatly inside. The man removed each piece in turn and assembled them with practiced efficiency.
He raised the sniper rifle, reached up and removed the dark sunglasses from the bridge of his nose. The lines of his face were cold and hard.
It was a face identical in every way to Qi Yan’s.
Through the scope, his field of vision swept across Jingang Wharf. A black vehicle came to a slow stop.
A young man stepped out.
Viewed from a distance, his shoulders carried a sharp, defined line — tall, striking, with the kind of commanding presence and confidence that came only to those who occupied positions of power.
Qi Yan gave a leisurely whistle, piqued with sudden interest. “…What was the name — Jiang Cheng?”
He confirmed the name a moment later. A cold smile crept to the corner of his mouth.
“The game is about to begin.”