SES Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The receptionist transferred an external call to Cen Chunjiao. At first, she listened casually, but soon her expression turned serious, a spark of happiness creeping into the corners of her eyes. She asked repeatedly, “Seriously?”

She hung up, unable to conceal her happiness.

Who knew selling information could be a way to make a buck? She hadn’t believed it herself before. After someone died at the hotel, business fell off, and she switched jobs, waitressing at a restaurant near the central bus station. There were people from all over the place there; rumors flowed faster than the food, and buying and selling information seemed to be a thing—something she’d stumbled upon and gotten a taste for.

Before this, she’d done her homework. The cases at Luoma Lake and another incident were indeed cold.

Cen Chunjiao opened her door and walked out. Almost at the same moment, the door directly across from hers opened, and Li Tan came out.

Cen Chunjiao barely nodded at him and walked straight toward the hotel’s reception with her suitcase in tow. When she reached the lobby, she was a little surprised to find Wàn Fēnghuǒ, Mu Dai, and the rest already there.

Wan Fenghuo was puzzled. Just yesterday, Cen Chunjiao had told him there was a second case in addition to Luoma Lake. So why was she suddenly packing up and leaving? Was she offended by the chorus of “fake” from Li Tan and the rest?

Impossible. Cen Chunjiao was a woman who valued money above all. That morning, she’d gotten into a heated dispute over it.

Still confused, Wan Fenghuo kept his doubts to himself and put on a friendly face. “Leaving already?”

“There’s a bit of an emergency back home. I need to get back immediately.”

Li Tan sneered quietly. To him, Cen Chunjiao was a fraud, pure and simple. But to everyone’s surprise, Cen Chunjiao remained calm and composed, exchanging goodbyes with all of them.

Once Cen Chunjiao had gone, Wan Fenghuo explained to Mu Dai and Li Tan that this kind of information came and went in its own time. Sometimes it fell into your lap; sometimes you’d wait years and hear nothing.

In other words, this meant the trail was gone cold again. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything new.”

Li Tan remained noncommittal. Mu Dai called Huo Zihong. Her voice came back soft and gentle: “If there’s nothing urgent, come back if you want. If you’re having fun in Chongqing, stay a few more days. The shop isn’t busy, and Thirteen is holding things down nicely.”

Mu Dai sighed in exasperation. “Aunt Hong, please, you shouldn’t let him manipulate you.”

Aunt Hong chuckled. “Your imagination is wild. He’s just a kid.”

How naïve. Mu Dai believed Thirteen would manipulate anyone — young or old — if there was a benefit in it. His charming appearance made him seem harmless, which made him all the more dangerous.

“It’s like putting a sheep directly in a wolf’s mouth. Anything could happen.” Mu Dai made a decisive call. “Aunt Hong, I’ll come back in a day or two. Thirteen needs to be kept in check.”

After she hung up, Mu Dai went to Room 108 and asked Wan Fenghuo for Ma Tuwen’s address.

Wan Fenghuo looked her up and down a few times. “Don’t tell me you’re interested in him?”

Mu Dai nodded mischievously. “Maybe I am.”

Wan Fenghuo sighed. “Girls your age are all blind.”

Once she had the address, Mu Dai pressed him further. “Uncle Wan, this trip of Cen Chunjiao’s… How much can she make from it?”

She put on an eager face, trying to blend in. “I’m a restless soul. After graduation, I tried office life — it drove me crazy. Aunt Hong asked me to help in the bar, but I’m not interested in that. If this kind of gig brings in a nice paycheck, will you connect me with someone?”

Wan Fenghuo liked Mu Dai and was willing to talk honestly. “About tens of thousands.”

Mu Dai drew in a deep breath. “Tens of thousands!?” Wan Fenghuo was a middleman who took a cut, which meant the actual payout was even more.

Wan Fenghuo seemed to read her thoughts. “Kiddo, information’s worth depends on who you find to buy it. And you shouldn’t feel bad for your Aunt Hong — she’s not the big spender here.”

Mu Dai was about to press further, but Wan Fenghuo held up his hand — a clear signal it was time to pay if she wanted more.

Not Aunt Hong… then it must be someone else.
…
When Mu Dai arrived at Ma Tuwen’s place, it was close to noon. The neighborhood was worn-down and noisy. Ma Tuwen stood at the entrance to his building with a guitar, tilting his neck back and singing: “I want to fly higher… fly higher… oh, oh…”

He fell flat on those high notes. It sounded like someone was tugging on his neck and tying it in a knot.

Two young punks nearby applauded. “Excellent! Brother Ma is amazing!”

Mu Dai remained unfazed and glanced around. There was nothing unusual, and the vehicle Cao Yanhua had described hadn’t appeared. It seemed Luo Ren hadn’t arrived yet.

Relieved, Mu Dai wandered nearby. Toward evening, a few food stands opened up in the neighborhood — a tofu stall, a small wonton place with a few tables set up outside. Mu Dai sat down and ordered a bowl of wontons. She was quietly spooning up the broth when she heard wheels from a suitcase grinding against the pavement behind her.

A woman asked, “Is this Building 3?”

Cen Chunjiao!

Mu Dai kept her head lowered, staring into her bowl of broth and dried shrimp. The realization struck her all at once — no wonder Cen Chunjiao had suddenly decided to leave. She hadn’t gone home; someone else had gotten there first and cut her off.

For someone who was obsessed with making a profit, bypassing the middleman made perfect sense.

Mu Dai remained in her seat, casually glancing at Cen Chunjiao from the corner of her eye. As expected, Cen Chunjiao walked toward the building across from them and soon disappeared up a dimly lit staircase with her suitcase in hand.

Ma Tuwen lived on the third floor.

All the pieces were in place. Now it was just a matter of waiting for Luo Ren.

About 9 p.m., Mu Dai saw a black Hummer pull into the complex. She hadn’t recognized the car immediately, but something about it seemed aggressive and wild — a dramatic contrast to the worn-down neighborhood. The driver was Luo Ren.

Mu Dai’s first thought was: nice driving skills. The roads were a mess, yet he’d gotten in smoothly.

Luo Ren parked and walked directly toward Ma Tuwen’s building. But just before entering, he suddenly grew suspicious and glanced in Mu Dai’s direction.

Mu Dai tightened inwardly. She hadn’t gotten close; instead, she’d chosen a clever angle, reflecting the entrance in a nearby car’s rearview mirror. That meant her back was to him, not staring directly — yet somehow… Luo Ren seemed to sense something.

Her master once said two kinds of people were especially vigilant to abnormalities in their surroundings: those who’d gone through countless dangerous situations and developed a sixth sense, and those who’d trained in martial arts, their senses sharper than ordinary people’s.

Luo Ren seemed… to be both.

Once Luo Ren entered the building, Mu Dai walked around back. The rear was more secluded; there were no buildings directly across from it, which meant less trouble if she tried something.

Mu Dai put on gloves, pressed against the wall, and kicked off the ground. Turning gracefully, she pressed her hands against a windowsill nearly two meters up and quickly hopped up.

The window hadn’t been closed tightly. Inside, Mu Dai heard Cen Chunjiao’s voice, faltering at first, then growing more composed.

“Luoma Lake was the first. Liu Shuhai said there were two cases… But I’m not sure why there were years in between.”

Luo Ren asked quietly, “Where did the second incident happen?”

“Inner Mongolia — near Erenhot, close to the border. But the details were unclear. He said it was a wilderness.”

“The victim was a herder?”

“Yes, a nomad.”

“And the killing was the same?”

“Yes — strung up similarly. But this time, there were four people in a tent. According to him, it seemed one was covering his face in fear, another was raising a knife as if to attack, a third was trying to separate them, and a fourth stood farther back, hands cupped to his mouth, as if shouting.”

Luo Ren nodded quietly. “What kind of rope?”

“It was a lasso made from a horse’s lead, unwound. The tent hadn’t been staked; a knife cut it, and the rope was threaded through, tying it all together.”

Luo Ren fell silent.

The silhouette against the window grew taller — it seemed someone was approaching. Mu Dai pressed herself against the wall and held her breath.

Luo Ren opened the window, a little frustrated, and said to Ma Tuwen, “Hand me a smoke.”

A trail of smoke wafted into the night air. Inside fell into silence, except for the rhythmic puffs of smoke.

Mu Dai pressed her eyebrows together. Was Luo Ren a heavy smoker or what?

A little while later, Mu Dai felt something was off. She held her breath and peered in. The room was empty. A single cigarette burned on the windowsill, alongside the ashes of another that had already gone out.

Mu Dai’s face darkened. She hopped into the room, nearly slipping on a discarded beer can. She barely kept her balance. The small room was easily visible in its entirety, and the main door stood ajar — everyone was gone.

Luo Ren!

Mu Dai could picture him signaling to Ma Tuwen and the rest to quietly withdraw, then casually lighting up a smoke — all while she remained outside in freezing air, thinking herself clever.

If the wall were made of something soft, Mu Dai felt like slamming her head against it.

The phone suddenly rang.

Mu Dai noticed it sitting on the coffee table beneath a pile of junk. Few people keep landlines these days. She meant to ignore it, but something made her answer it anyway.

Luo Ren’s voice came through the phone, light and amused, alongside the rush of passing cars. He’d gotten back into his vehicle. There was no point in trying to chase him; it was already too late.

The voice seemed to cut through Mu Dai’s nerves.

“Hey, you poor thing. It must be tiring, dangling from that wall all this time. There are strawberries on the table — help yourself. Wash them first.”

Before Mu Dai could respond, the phone clicked off.

Mu Dai glared at the strawberries in indignation.

The strawberries seemed to say: “Don’t blame me.”