“Who could it be?!”
Meng Fushan whipped his head around, desperate to identify who had been behind him. But another gust of wind swept through the passage, forcing him to squint. When he opened his eyes wide to look at the shadow’s position, there was nothing there.
No one. Nothing. Even the shadow he had seen just a moment ago had vanished.
“What are you thinking about?” Chen Jiashu asked.
“…Nothing in particular,” Meng Fushan replied, startled as he looked up.
The bright lights of the revolving restaurant reflected off the silver plates and fine china, casting rainbow-like shimmers. On the giant screen, the shameful, laughable drama of the scammers continued, and the well-dressed gentlemen around them remained immersed in the spectacle, thoroughly enjoying themselves.
They had only been back from the spider-web-like corridors for five minutes.
The corpse covered in white cloth, the whistling sea wind, the cold plop of a body hitting the water, and the shadow that appeared and vanished as abruptly as a ghost—all of it had receded, as if kept behind a pane of frosted glass, tucked away in a corner of his brain.
It felt like a dream. But it wasn’t a dream. Someone had certainly been standing behind him. And perhaps, that person wasn’t one of Mr. Liu’s men. If they were, and they had seen him sneaking around, there would be no reason for them not to confront him directly. Choosing to avoid being seen suggested they, too, were there in secret, observing.
Chen Jiashu said nothing more. After finishing his meal, even though the “after-dinner entertainment” hadn’t concluded, he led Meng Fushan and A-Bin out of the restaurant. As they left, a waiter handed him a platinum invitation.
Opening it, he saw that Mr. Liu had invited Chen Jiashu to a banquet tomorrow at noon. This was clearly the formal meeting to discuss their cooperation.
Tomorrow at noon. The final window of time… What can I do to sabotage the cooperation between Chen Jiashu and Mr. Liu?
Judging by the situation tonight, both Chen Jiashu and A-Bin had underestimated some of the darker realities of the ship… Regardless, this was a golden opportunity—a far better one than during the day!
Meng Fushan unconsciously gripped the pendant on his chest. It jumped out from under his shirt; due to years of friction against his skin, the red “safe-knot” was fading, and the paint on the metal boy’s face was chipping away. Time had not been kind to this treasure, leaving indelible marks upon it, but he cherished it nonetheless.
He gripped it tightly, like a lucky charm, then turned and knocked on A-Bin’s door.
A moment later, the door opened, and A-Bin looked at him inquiringly.
Meng Fushan offered him a cigarette. “Smoke?”
“No,” A-Bin refused.
“Not going to invite me in?”
A-Bin finally stepped aside to let him enter. Though his host’s attitude could hardly be described as welcoming, Meng Fushan didn’t mind. He put the cigarette between his lips, took a deep drag, and exhaled. Amidst the smoke, he said, “I want to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Is Boss planning to cooperate with Mr. Liu?” Meng Fushan got straight to the point.
“I don’t know,” A-Bin said. “Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”
Meng Fushan scoffed through his nose. “Making decisions is Boss’s job. As his subordinates, we just need to listen. Why worry about it?”
A-Bin didn’t answer, but his expression clearly showed that this was his own sentiment as well.
“But this time is a little different,” Meng Fushan continued. “Mr. Liu is very powerful—much more powerful than Boss.”
A-Bin’s lips twitched; a rebuttal seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. But in the end, the man remained silent, only watching Meng Fushan. Conversing with A-Bin was often like performing a solo act. But the act had to go on.
“And he’s not honorable,” Meng Fushan said, acting as if to himself. “When I was outside, I saw them disposing of the body of the woman who died accidentally tonight. They just tossed her into the sea like a bag of trash.”
“And?” A-Bin asked.
“There’s an old saying: ‘Let the dead rest in peace.’ Those young ladies have brought Mr. Liu plenty of clients, haven’t they? The one who died today was killed only because she reported a guest for breaking the rules—she was loyal to Mr. Liu until the very last second.”
Meng Fushan observed A-Bin’s expression closely. A-Bin might not care about the death of a woman he had never met, but people are always moved by values they hold dear.
“If that’s the end of those who are loyal, it’s truly chilling.”
“You’re overstepping,” A-Bin said.
“Maybe.” Meng Fushan finished his cigarette and ground the butt into the ashtray. “You’re right. I’m just worried that if Boss cooperates with someone so lacking in integrity, it won’t be safe. Plus… well… he might suffer damage to his reputation.”
He stood up to leave. A-Bin stopped him. “What kind of reputation damage?”
“That’s not important.”
“Speak.”
“Boss is famous for his loyalty. Mr. Liu has not a shred of honor about him. If they get too close, the weaker one will inevitably be pulled in by the stronger one… But the times have changed. Now it’s a world of money. It’s Mr. Liu’s world.”
Meng Fushan said this with a look of disdain. That disdain stung A-Bin’s eyes. But Meng Fushan didn’t give A-Bin a chance to retort; he left the room immediately, leaving A-Bin filled with thoughts. A-Bin stood still for a moment, then, unable to hold back, turned and knocked on Chen Jiashu’s door.
Chen Jiashu was on the phone. It was an internal line, and judging by his perfunctory “mm-hmm” responses, someone was definitely trying to convince him to take a female companion down to the casino. He had no interest, and when the person switched to trying to buy his chips, Chen Jiashu hung up without even bothering to be polite.
It was strange. While Chen Jiashu had no intention of gambling, he also wouldn’t cash out his chips. It was as if holding these chips on this ship granted him something money couldn’t buy: a legal license to kill.
“What is it?” Chen Jiashu asked A-Bin.
“Is Boss planning to cooperate with Mr. Liu?” A-Bin asked.
“You’re actually asking me about this?”
“Because…” A-Bin paused, “Mr. Liu is too lacking in honor. He threw the body of the lady who died because of a guest directly into the sea.”
“Did Meng Fushan tell you that? He stayed away from the table far too long during dinner,” Chen Jiashu mused, guessing the source.
A-Bin remained silent.
“Business isn’t about honor,” Chen Jiashu sighed. “And making money certainly isn’t.”
“But safety is about honor. Collaborating with someone dishonorable—you never know if the knife is coming from the front or the back,” A-Bin said in a low voice.
Chen Jiashu looked up, his contemplative gaze landing on the sea outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. At night, the blue surface turned into an inky blackness, looking like an endless, dark abyss.
“Do you think everything happening here is excessive?” Chen Jiashu asked.
“I think everything here is vile. Everyone here is deranged.” Remembering Meng Fushan’s earlier disdain, A-Bin’s voice was filled with contempt as he added, “Outside, only the lowest of trash bullies women.”
“Look,” Chen Jiashu pointed out, “you have a preconceived notion about Mr. Liu.”
“This isn’t a preconceived notion,” A-Bin argued. “This is an analysis after seeing the situation clearly.”
A-Bin had said more today than he usually did in a month.
“If it’s so vile, why are the bosses who come here so addicted to it?” Chen Jiashu asked with a tone of intrigue. “Is it because everyone is inherently vile?”
“Yes,” A-Bin said bluntly.
“Am I vile too?”
“Boss, you haven’t become addicted yet.”
“If I do become addicted, will I be vile then?”
“…” A-Bin said nothing.
“Forget it,” Chen Jiashu shook his head. “You can go.”
This time, A-Bin didn’t argue. He walked out and closed the door. Alone in the room, Chen Jiashu watched the night view outside, thinking coldly: A-Bin is right. This place is both deranged and vile… But was everyone so deranged and vile before they boarded? And even if we don’t talk about boarding, just leaving… when these people step off the ship, will they still be this deranged and vile?
No. They would likely return to being refined, gentlemanly, and respected bosses. They would believe the version of themselves outside was the “real” one, and that here, they were merely venting desires or seeking life’s possibilities. But if they stayed long enough, doing unchecked things in an unchecked place, and grew accustomed to the unchecked stimulation—would the remnant of their true selves under the surface be the person on the ship, or the one off it?
By the time they became addicted, Mr. Liu would hold their lifeblood in his hands.
In gambling, there are no winners and no losers. There is only the House.
The following noon, Chen Jiashu dined with Mr. Liu. The lunch banquet was held on the deck, facing the sea breeze and bathing in the sun. Seagulls darted across the sky or landed on the deck. Under such beautiful scenery, even the food seemed more appetizing.
Meng Fushan and A-Bin sat just on the other side of a glass partition from the deck, eating their lunch and waiting for Chen Jiashu. Though they couldn’t hear the conversation, they could clearly see the two men’s gestures.
The lunch was naturally luxurious. Meng Fushan and A-Bin ate Western-style steaks; in a short time, A-Bin had already started his second steak. Meng Fushan didn’t eat. He just smoked, cigarette after cigarette, tapping the ash into his otherwise clean plate. He glanced at A-Bin’s plate and smiled. “Everything else here is mediocre, but the food is truly good. I wonder which chef makes it.”
A-Bin frowned, set down his knife and fork, stopped eating, and walked away.
Meng Fushan watched A-Bin’s retreating back. Good. Yesterday’s words took effect. A-Bin truly loathes this place now, and that loathing must have been passed on to Chen Jiashu last night.
Now, it depends on Chen Jiashu’s decision…
Meng Fushan watched the two men on the deck. At this critical moment, he could no longer control his emotions or his body. He didn’t even care if his expressions were being watched by others.
Would Chen Jiashu agree? Or refuse?
He stared firmly at them. Finally, he saw Mr. Liu’s mouth pull downward in a look of displeasure. It was a small movement, but it acted like a prophecy, signaling the final outcome of the matter Meng Fushan had been focused on.
Meng Fushan closed his eyes tightly.
Chen Jiashu… refused.
Shortly after lunch, it was time to disembark. The cruise ship held gatherings once or twice a month, never lasting more than three days. It was now their third day, and they were preparing to leave.
Before leaving, Meng Fushan found a waiter and made a request: he wanted to meet Mr. Liu alone.
Even if Mr. Liu touted that there were “no secrets” on this ship, when he needed it to have secrets, it was full of them. Through the waiter’s arrangements, and without alerting anyone else, Meng Fushan met Mr. Liu privately.
It was on the ninth floor, the office level. Mr. Liu sat behind his desk, asking with leisurely calm:
“I heard you wanted to see me? Is there something you wish to ask of me? Don’t be shy; speak up. It is better to give than to receive.”
“I know what you want,” Meng Fushan said, ignoring the warmth Mr. Liu was feigning. His eyes and his expression told Mr. Liu everything: “I know you want to use Chen Jiashu as a scapegoat to die in your place.”
Mr. Liu’s mouth pulled downward again. Up close, his aged face looked even older, the skull visible beneath the skin.
“I,” Meng Fushan said, “can help you.”
His goal. From beginning to end, it had never been to help Chen Jiashu. His goal was simply to get close to this ship, close to Mr. Liu.
At any cost.
The pendant on his chest burned red-hot, branding his skin.
After another night of heavy rain soaking the city, the Ning City police received a report of a death.
The name of the deceased was Chen Jiashu.
