In the lounge on level 3.5, Huo Ranyin’s ears twitched slightly.
Scanning his surroundings, he noted that only he, Boss Radish, and Short Boss were present. The other four bosses were nowhere to be seen.
The defining difference between them and the absent four was whether they had been present in Boss Lin’s room alongside Mr. Liu when the second murder occurred.
Mr. Liu… is deliberately separating us. Was that muffled shout from below—where I faintly caught words like “who” and “person”—also part of his arrangement? Pondering this, Huo Ranyin stood up and took two steps toward the staircase.
A bodyguard stepped forward immediately: “Do you have any orders, Boss?”
“Just taking a walk,” Huo Ranyin replied.
“Please stay with the others for your own safety,” the bodyguard insisted.
Short Boss and Boss Radish chimed in as well: “He’s right. Safety is paramount. Don’t wander off, just bear with it for now.”
With only three of them here, their numbers were far too small to slip away or fish in troubled waters unnoticed; doing so would only draw unnecessary suspicion onto himself.
After a brief silence, Huo Ranyin sat back down.
Faced with six possible answers concealing the truth, Mr. Liu had devised a solution.
The key lay in the “Ghost”—a figure no one had seen yet, but who likely harbored themselves aboard the ship.
Out of the six possibilities, two involved an accomplice on board colluding with the Ghost—a one-in-three chance of being the truth. If the Ghost couldn’t be found, why not manufacture one?
Once a “Ghost” was spotted, any accomplice on board would inevitably grow anxious and rush to cover for them. After all, if the Ghost were captured, the insider hidden among the crew and guests couldn’t possibly escape unscathed.
Mr. Liu pondered quietly.
First, split the people on board into separate groups.
As luck would have it, after meeting with him, all the bosses had been escorted by Ah Bang to the lounges, effectively separating them from the crew and bodyguards. Next, he only needed to herd the remaining crew and bodyguards from the first-floor central atrium into an enclosed space. Leaving them in the open atrium was too risky. The ship’s grand, three-story vertical atrium encircled by twin spiral staircases was magnificent under normal circumstances, but in a crisis, its open sightlines allowed every floor’s movements to be exposed to all eyes—disrupting his plan [cite: 船體設計之時，中堂上下貫通三層，左右半圓樓梯環繞向上，平常時候，確實美觀大方，堂皇富麗，但到了這種時刻，貫通的設計讓各個樓層的情況在餘下的人眼中一覽無遺，不利于他計劃實施——].
Once enclosed, he could peel the bodyguards away to test them first.
By assigning Ah Tang to play the “Ghost,” sending the bodyguards to hunt him down, and having Ah Bang observe from the shadows, he could see if anyone broke composure to contact or protect the Ghost.
…
The test yielded good results.
According to feedback from Ah Bang and Ah Tang, none of the bodyguards displayed any suspicious behavior; they were all dutifully pursuing the Ghost.
Next came the crew.
He sent the crew to sweep the first floor, scattering them to create artificial windows of opportunity for an accomplice to make contact. Would the insider be among the crew? Ah Bang’s reports showed no sign of anyone desperately trying to communicate with the Ghost. Instead, Chef Ben was unusually zealous, charging ahead so aggressively he nearly caught a glimpse of Ah Tang.
Ah Tang was being careless.
He needed to make enough noise to convince the pursuers that a “Ghost” truly existed, but he couldn’t actually let himself be seen. Exposure would reveal his height, build, and features—making any accomplice realize that this fake “Ghost” was not their partner.
Ah Tang failed to return upstairs within the allotted time.
Ah Tang had vanished.
Down below, someone had been playing hide-and-seek with the ship’s crew from the start.
Playing hide-and-seek wasn’t unusual in itself; the oddity lay in the players—Mr. Liu’s head bodyguard leading Mr. Liu’s crew and security in a grand game of cat and mouse.
What was their goal, and what outcome were they trying to achieve?
To Ji Xun, currently crouched inside the ventilation shaft, those two questions were secondary. His primary concern was the head bodyguard huddled in the vent ahead of him.
The head bodyguard was acting alone, armed with a fully loaded pistol, hiding in a blind spot with his back turned to Ji Xun, completely focused on the commotion outside.
What is this? Surviving a disaster brings good fortune?
Ji Xun felt almost embarrassed—the “disaster” he had just endured didn’t seem nearly grand enough to warrant a “fortune” like this.
Though for a chef, that guy’s footwork is ridiculously fast…
The shouts echoing from outside the vent made Ah Tang increasingly annoyed, but the more annoyed he grew, the more cautious he became. He took out a small pouch of fine dust prepared in advance and spread it evenly over the entrance where he had brushed past.
Even though he had left misleading tracks below, there was no guaranteeing that chef wouldn’t climb up to take a look—
Peering through the vent slats, Ah Tang monitored the room below. Sure enough, moments later, Executive Chef Ben burst into the room. Ben immediately caught sight of the decoy Ah Tang had left behind—a small scrap of fabric caught on the windowsill.
The chef was merely the first to arrive; a swarm of people followed close behind him.
Upon entering, most rushed straight toward the fabric scrap and stormed back out. Only Chef Ben went out to check, then returned to the room, fixing his gaze directly on the ventilation duct above.
He pulled over a stool and prepared to climb!
His name is… Ben! That guy is relentless! I thought he was just a good cook, but who knew he was so fiercely loyal to Mr. Liu?
I cannot let myself be seen no matter what. I can’t let Mr. Liu’s plan fall apart.
Ah Tang curled up tighter inside the shaft, holding his breath.
He watched as Ben unlatched the vent, poked his head inside, and surveyed the area. Seeing the layer of dust completely undisturbed, Ben shook his head and climbed back down.
“What’s the status?” a voice called from below. It belonged to an unfamiliar face, puffing on a cigarette and speaking in a slurred tone—was his name Meng something?
“Dust is untouched. Not up there,” Ben replied.
“Let’s check outside again.”
“Yeah.”
They departed].
Ah Tang remained crouched in place until he calculated they were far enough away not to hear any noise from the room—especially inside the vent—before slowly crawling backward.
Suddenly, a hand clamped onto his ankle.
Huh?
Assuming it was just a hallucination from crawling, he took another knee-step backward.
An immense force dragged him violently backward, slamming his head against a concrete support pillar. His vision spun out of control.
What on earth… Is it a person, or a ghost?!
Ah Tang lost control of his thoughts and wasn’t sure if his voice would even work, but his hand reacted instinctively. He gripped his pistol tightly, drew it from the holster, and squeezed the trigger—
The trigger wouldn’t budge!
A pen.
Ji Xun had jammed a pen behind the trigger, blocking its travel completely. He reached out to snatch the firearm, but the owner’s grip was as rigid as a steel weld.
Ji Xun abruptly cocked his fist, driving it straight toward the man’s temple!
The strike missed its mark, intercepted mid-flight by a thick forearm. Ah Tang barely managed to block the incoming punch, but couldn’t ward off the second. Almost simultaneously, a dull, crushing pain exploded across his jaw, shaking his already dazed brain like a roller coaster crashing into a magnitude ten earthquake.
Taking advantage of the strike’s success in the cramped shaft, Ji Xun kept his follow-up attack clean and ruthless. He immediately pinned the man’s shoulder, wrenching his arm backward while driving a knee sharply into the nerve cluster of his gun arm.
Despite landing two consecutive blows, the man refused to release his grip. Instead, severe pain flared across Ji Xun’s chest and abdomen as Ah Tang rallied from his concussion. Like a raging bull, Ah Tang used his body like a battering ram, slamming Ji Xun upward into the concrete ceiling!
In the split second before impact, Ji Xun twisted his torso, causing them both to smash heavily into the wall and tumble down together. In the cramped space, they traded brutal, entangled blows. Throughout the brawl, Ah Tang refused to let go of the pistol, but without his other hand to assist, the pen remained firmly wedged behind the trigger.
Seizing a fleeting opening, Ji Xun flipped over, pinning Ah Tang face-down against the floor. He drove his knee into the man’s spine while maintaining a iron grip on the gun arm.
Ah Tang raised his head, finally recovering enough control over his vocal cords to throw open his mouth and scream—
Too late!
Ji Xun had already wrapped his forearm tightly around Ah Tang’s throat.
The shout degraded into a raspy gasp, and within a few breaths, Ah Tang’s face flushed crimson as even the raspy sounds faded away entirely.
Ji Xun didn’t relax his chokehold, his eyes glued to the hand holding the weapon until the arm finally lost all strength and fell limply to the floor.
Swift, clean, and decisive.
The battle was over.
A gun is a great tool, but only if you know how to use it. Disarming an opponent is a means to an end—neutralizing the threat; mistaking the tool for the ultimate goal turns a deadly weapon into a self-imposed restraint, exactly as it had here.
Releasing his chokehold, Ji Xun pressed two fingers against the man’s neck.
Still breathing—just unconscious.
Ji Xun stood up, scooped up the pistol from the fallen guard’s hand, spun it twice around his finger, and let out a light whistle.
Flawless.
