It was time to get off work. In the WeChat group on his phone, a message notification chimed. The sender was Tan Mingjiu.
He @-ed all members in the WeChat group: “Hello everyone, I went to talk to Sun Hongfa again. Guess what?”
Sun Hongfa was the knife-wielder from the previous kidnapping case who was about to chop Ji Xun.
Tan Mingjiu didn’t keep them in suspense and continued, “Found something new. In his phone, there’s contact information for Zhu Huan. Although I haven’t seen any chat history yet, I’m thinking they might have had some unusual connection before…”
Huo Ranyin glanced at the message in the WeChat group, then at the time. It was 7:55 PM.
He was fifteen minutes away from his scheduled meeting with a friend. He sped up, the car weaving through the sea of traffic like a nimble fish.
This friend didn’t like to be kept waiting.
If he was late, he didn’t know when he would see him again.
The meeting place was a teahouse. The teahouse had private rooms and was very quiet. When Huo Ranyin pushed the door open, the first thing he smelled was the thick scent of sandalwood.
The sandalwood in the incense burner had burned out, but the smoke had not yet dispersed. A wisp of faint fragrance was mixed in the hazy smoke, like a deep, regretful sigh.
The person in the private room had his back to the door, reading a book.
His fingers rested on the page. A watch was visible on his wrist. The watch was beautiful, with a diamond-studded bezel and a deep blue dial. On it, silver lights dotted and golden lights shimmered, inlaid with stars, the moon, and planets of the universe. The vast cosmos and precise time were all in one hand.
That hand was white.
Huo Ranyin’s skin was already considered fair, but the other person’s skin was even fairer than Huo Ranyin’s, so white that it had lost all other color, so white it was as if snow had carved this body and, in the same way, covered his hair.
Huo Ranyin walked up to the person.
The person had a head of snow-white hair that fell to his shoulders, and equally snow-white eyebrows and eyelashes. He looked as if he had just returned from a walk in the snow, covered head to toe, with only his eyes and lips standing out brightly in the vast whiteness, retaining the last trace of a living person’s aura.
His name was Yu Cisheng, and he was an albino.
“How have you been recently?” Huo Ranyin sat down opposite Yu Cisheng, chatting with him skillfully. Yu Cisheng was four years older than him, a neighborhood older brother from his childhood. Later, after his parents died, he was taken by relatives and moved out of that house, thus losing contact with Yu Cisheng. But after he started working, by a twist of fate, he was saved by Yu Cisheng.
What goes around, comes around. Fate is subtle.
So even though Yu Cisheng rarely returned to the country, and he didn’t often contact him, their relationship was still good.
The friendship of gentlemen is as light as water.
“Not bad,” Yu Cisheng said with a slight smile. “Cultivating my mind on an island where it’s spring all year round.”
A patient should always rest well. Huo Ranyin didn’t ask more. He quickly got to the point, the purpose of his visit to Yu Cisheng this time. “Have you found anything on the person I asked you to investigate?”
Yu Cisheng pulled out a photo and handed it to Huo Ranyin. If Ji Xun were here, he would have recognized it at a glance. It was Meng Fushan.
“Meng Fushan, male, 29 years old, graduated from the Capital Public Security University. He previously worked in the provincial capital. Three years ago, after a trip abroad, he resigned from his job and his whereabouts are unknown.”
He pulled out another photo, this time of Yellow Hair.
“Chen Jiahe. His older brother is Chen Jiashu. Besides openly running a pharmaceutical company, he is also secretly involved in some drug smuggling. I can’t say for sure if he’s involved with narcotics, only that he’ll be hard for you to catch. Meng Fushan joined Chen Jiashu’s side six months ago and quickly became his right-hand man.”
“The specifics are all in the file. You can take it and read it yourself. I’m still a bit curious. The police should have their own information channels. Why do you need my help?” After saying this, Yu Cisheng picked up his teacup and took a sip. Unlike people of this era, he was never without his phone. Since Huo Ranyin had entered, he hadn’t seen Yu Cisheng’s phone. The book he was holding earlier had been placed face down on the table out of politeness during their conversation.
“There are some reasons why it’s not convenient to use the system to look him up,” Huo Ranyin said. “This is just my personal curiosity.”
“Alright,” Yu Cisheng said. “I initially thought you wanted me to help you take care of this guy.”
Yu Cisheng’s hand pointed to Yellow Hair.
“He’s been spreading your photo around on the black market. If those old acquaintances see it, it could be trouble. Maybe they’ll cross the ocean with weapons and come to Ning City to find you.”
The smoke enveloping the room gradually dispersed. Yu Cisheng lit another piece of sandalwood and threw it into the incense burner.
He was an albino, and his internal organs could develop lesions at any time. The watch was to mark time, to cherish time, to collect all sorts of wonderful and colorful moments. But when you were actually with him, he did everything unhurriedly, as if he still had a great deal of leisure time to enjoy.
Fast and slow, urgent and leisurely, they achieved a contradictory unity in him.
New smoke rose from the incense burner, gradually forming a hazy screen between Huo Ranyin and Yu Cisheng. The familiar face momentarily seemed strange.
After a short silence, Huo Ranyin curled his lips into a sharp, bloodthirsty smile.
“Then let them come. If they dare to set foot in Ning City, I’ll make sure they never leave.”
“I’m not too worried about you. But if they can’t get to you, they might go after the people around you,” Yu Cisheng said.
…Ji Xun.
That name instantly surfaced in Huo Ranyin’s heart. He furrowed his brow, then thought of something else.
“Why do you have an autographed book by Ji Xun at your home?”
“Ji Xun?”
“The author of Poison Fruit.”
“Oh, because…” Yu Cisheng smiled, “he writes well.”
When Huo Ranyin came out of the teahouse, it was not yet nine o’clock. Not even half an hour had passed since he went in.
He continued driving home.
There were no new messages on WeChat. The last message from Ji Xun was from noon, that picture of the Qin City Drum Tower.
In the elevator, his finger swiped on WeChat a couple of times, and he sent a voice message to Ji Xun: “What are you up to?”
The reply came quickly: “In bed, preparing, for tomorrow’s, book signing.”
Huo Ranyin: “Everything going smoothly?”
Ji Xun: “Yeah, I don’t think a masked terrorist will suddenly rush in with a gun and disrupt the signing… so don’t worry, everything will inevitably be smooth to the point of boredom.”
Huo Ranyin couldn’t help but smile slightly.
“Want some excitement?”
“What kind of excitement?” Ji Xun asked warily.
“Meng Fushan.” Huo Ranyin typed the name in the chat box. “Tell me about him.”
