Day: April 20, 2025

       Gangzi had always showered quickly—he lathered up head to toe with shampoo and body wash, rinsed off, and that was that. As he reached for a towel, he happened to glance at the mirror and suddenly sensed something was off.

       He vaguely remembered that when they left in the morning, he had casually placed his used razor on the shelf beside the mirror. Since he was left-handed, the razor’s handle naturally pointed left.

       But now the handle had shifted slightly to the right.

       His pupils contracted sharply. He pushed aside the bottles and jars cluttering the shelf. A tiny pinhole camera peeked out from the corner.

       A chill instantly shot down his spine and spread through his body. Gangzi quickly threw on his bathrobe and rushed out of the bathroom in three strides, shouting, “Lawyer Qin!”

       No response.

       His gaze swept across the carpet near the window—Qin Mu’s phone was lying there. His blood practically froze.

       Qin Mu was someone entrusted to him directly by the second young master. All along this journey, he had been hyper-vigilant, cautious to the extreme, guarding Qin Mu more closely than the Monkey King guarded Tang Sanzang¹reference from Journey to the West. Who would’ve thought he had still manage to lose him right under his nose?

       These people had silently entered the room, installed a camera in the bathroom, and then found the perfect moment to abduct someone brazenly. Their methods were so bold and rampant it sent shivers down the spine.

       Gangzi called the police as he dashed out of the hotel. Outside, traffic was bustling, and there was no way to tell which car was suspicious. He hurriedly negotiated with the hotel to view surveillance footage, but they insisted he wait for the police to arrive—and couldn’t explain how those people had a spare room key.

       When the police finally arrived, they spent some time reviewing the footage and eventually spotted Qin Mu in the hallway, the elevator, and at the lobby exit. His head was lowered under a gray hat, and two men flanked him, dragged into a black sedan with the license plate JXX43C.

       The police tracked traffic and intersection cameras and found that the vehicle had traveled through the old city area, where it stopped for nearly ten minutes in a blind spot before continuing.

       By the time the car was pulled over, only the driver was inside. At first, the driver thought he was being busted for operating an illegal taxi and begged, “I’m just a low-level employee doing some side gigs—please don’t tell my boss.” But once he realised the passenger was the problem, he panicked and hurried to explain, “I don’t know them. These guys were referred to me by Erhei. After getting in the car, they said they were picking up a drunk friend and asked me to wait outside the hotel. Then they came out with the guy. The three of them got off at Xietang Alley.”

       Erhei was a small-time thug. According to him, a few days earlier, during a drinking session with friends, the topic of moonlighting as a black cab driver came up, and he recommended the driver he often used. As for the ‘friend’ who needed the ride, he couldn’t remember who brought him along. Everyone mixed got along so casually, and he didn’t even care what the other guy did for a living. After thinking for a while, he recalled that the drinking session had been arranged by someone named Houzi.

       Houzi didn’t answer his phone for ages. When he was finally dragged out of his home, he reeked of alcohol. After the police patiently questioned him for a long time, he finally slurred out that it was some friend of an ex-girlfriend or something. This roundabout mess unraveled a whole string of small-time thugs, and it was obvious someone among them was lying to muddy the waters. Even if the truth could be uncovered eventually, it would take time—and Gangzi couldn’t afford to wait.

       The moment the incident happened, he reported directly to Chu Yu. Chu Yu’s expression turned grim, and he immediately cut short his meeting and returned to his office to make a phone call.

       At this moment, Qin Mu knew nothing of the outside world. He was unconscious, as if trapped in a bizarre and surreal dream.

              He dreamed he was standing at the edge of a school rooftop, with countless snakes slithering toward him from behind and their ghostly green eyes fixed on him with chilling intensity. Below the building stood many people—his parents among them—but none of them had faces. When they looked up, it was just a mass of pale blankness. A mix of eerie laughter and whispering blended with the snakes’ hissing—it was hard to tell whether the voices belonged to humans or serpents. The venomous snakes closed in, their cold and slick bodies sliding across his feet, coiling up his legs. He saw their sharp fangs and tried to call for help, but no sound came out. Suddenly, he toppled from the rooftop.

       He plunged into hell.

       Someone seized his arms and legs and hurled him into a damp, cold, and gloomy room. It was dark inside. The tightly shut door had only a small iron-barred window. Outside that window was a horrifying face, wrinkled and hairy, with gray vertical pupils that turned slowly as they peered in. A hoarse voice, like a broken radio, repeated over and over again, “You were wrong. You were wrong. You were wrong…”

       When those gray eyes finally closed, the door creaked open. A beautiful deer appeared, leading him barefoot through snow and ice in a desperate run—so fast it felt like his heart was going to explode. And then he saw—

       A blinding, dazzling light—so bright it felt like it could melt him.

       Qin Mu woke up.

       The initial moments were sheer agony. His vision was blurred, his head splitting with pain, his body numb and immobile. Then came the waves of nausea and dizziness. His mind spun like a runaway train, utterly unable to focus or think clearly. Someone was speaking, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Everything in front of his eyes swayed and shifted, as if he had been thrown into a giant kaleidoscope with flickering and disjointed patches of color everywhere. He tried to reach out, but his limbs were too numb to move.

       It took a long time for Qin Mu to crawl out of this disoriented, powerless state, blinking groggily at his surroundings.

       It was an abandoned factory. The light overhead glowed dim and cold. A few rust-covered machines stood not far away. He was lying on the floor, and he could smell instant noodles.

       “Go check if he’s awake,” a gruff voice said. Footsteps approached. Someone yanked his hair up roughly, studied him for a moment, then said, “Yeah, looks about right.”

       “Get him up. Be civil about it,” the first voice spoke again—he seemed to be the leader of the group.

       Qin Mu was hauled up and shoved onto a chair that was missing a leg. He barely managed to sit upright.

       Opposite him sat a burly man—bald, scarred, with a thick, muscular torso. A tattoo peeked out from beneath his collar.

       Qin Mu’s clothes were covered in dust, and his limbs were too weak to support him; he could only lean against the chair, looking rather disheveled. The temperature had dropped sharply in the late autumn night. He had only a sweater on, and as the numbness wore off, the cold started to seep in. Still, he tried to maintain a composed expression, quietly observing the man through his glasses.

       “You don’t seem scared,” the bald man said after sizing him up for a while.

       “I am,” Qin Mu replied, his voice hoarse. “Maybe the drugs haven’t worn off completely—so it’s not showing.”

       “Got any last words before you die?”

       Qin Mu was silent for a moment, then said, “Haven’t thought of them yet. Mind giving me a bit more time?”

       The bald man laughed. When he laughed, the scar on his face twisted, looking like a centipede clinging to his cheek—gruesome and terrifying. “Sure. You can guess how I plan to kill you. Get it right, and I’ll give you a bit more time.”

       Qin Mu glanced around the room, finally resting his eyes on the knife the bald man was toying with. It was sharp, the tip catching the light and reflecting a faint cold blue. He steadied himself and said slowly, “You guys were able to sneak into the hotel room without anyone knowing. Poisoning me or assassinating me quietly would’ve been easy. There’s no reason to go through all this trouble just to bring me here. And for Baolijian, the last wave of public backlash has just been suppressed. If the lawyer involved in the case dies now, it would be a huge blow. So I’m guessing… you won’t kill me.”

       He tried to press down on the edge of the chair, but still didn’t have enough strength in his hands.

       The bald man narrowed his eyes. “I like dealing with smart people. Since you figured that out, then you should also know what we want.”

       “I’m dropping the case. I’ll buy a plane ticket and fly back first thing in the morning.”

       Knowing when to back down is a mark of wisdom—Qin Mu’s capitulation was clean and decisive.

       “So Lawyer Qin is quite easygoing after all.” The bald man curled his lips, his expression cooling. “What a pity… lawyers’ mouths are just too unreliable. With a flick of the tongue, black becomes white. Makes it hard to trust you wholeheartedly. To make sure you keep your word—and as a little punishment for upsetting my boss—I need a small guarantee.”

       As he spoke, he flicked the knife upward. Two men dragged Qin Mu up and forced him over to a machine.

       Sensing danger, Qin Mu started struggling. He took several hard punches to the gut, pain arching his back. A blond-haired guy yanked Qin Mu’s right hand over and pressed his palm down against the flat control panel of the machine.

       The shiny blade danced mockingly between his fingers. The bald man taunted him like a cat playing with a mouse. “Lawyer Qin, I’ll leave you just one pinky. If you keep squirming and I accidentally slice off more than one, don’t blame me.”

       Qin Mu’s scalp tingled as he fought to stay calm, bargaining with him, “I’ll pay for this finger, and everyone present today will have a share. You can name your price.”

       The bald man grinned, tightening his grip on the knife with a bloodthirsty sneer. “So sorry—I’m not interested in money.”

       Panic surged in Qin Mu’s chest as he struggled again, only to be pinned down hard. Just as the sharp blade was just about to fall, a piercing police siren suddenly ripped through the air.

       Everyone froze in surprise. The bald man halted, seemingly trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound.

       “Cops!” someone shouted.

       Panic erupted in the workshop. Qin Mu took the chance to slam his shoulder into the blond guy’s gut. Caught off guard, the blond lost his grip. As he lunged again, Qin Mu fought him with every ounce of remaining strength.

       “Go! Leave him— Go out the back door!” the bald man shouted through gritted teeth.

       The blond thug snarled but shook off Qin Mu and bolted. All of them had criminal records—getting caught meant real trouble. Their goal had been to intimidate and threaten, and they had accomplished that. No need to risk everything. They could cut off a finger any time.

       Qin Mu collapsed in a corner, panting heavily, covered in dust and grime. Someone rushed over to help him up. He raised his head and his brow furrowed slightly.

       These ‘police’ weren’t wearing uniforms.

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       Qin Mu and Wu Guangming arranged to meet the following morning.

       Wu Guangming’s family lived in a suburb far from the city center. Three years ago, in order to ease the issues of traffic, housing, and population concentration caused by the overloaded city, the government had drawn a big circle on the map and merged several shabby county towns into a new district, bringing them under J City’s jurisdiction. Although the name ‘new district’ sounded grand, the basic investment remained loyally aligned with that of a third-rate rural county. Apart from heating the land market and luring in a pack of ravenous real estate developers, not a single basic supporting facility like schools or hospitals kept pace. Property prices in the new district rose, but compared to J City where every inch of land was worth a lot of money, they were still more humane.

       People who couldn’t afford to buy homes in J City clustered here, commuting three hours by subway every day to clock in at work, then dragging their exhausted bodies back through the night in search of their own bed.

       To treat his mother’s illness, Wu Guangming sold their apartment in the tube-shaped housing of J City and moved here. His parents had both worked at a machine tool factory and were honourably laid off during the tide of reform. His father didn’t have any other skills, spending his days drinking and playing cards at home. One rainy night, after a game, he fell into a ditch with his bicycle on the way home and died.

       His mother raised the still-underage Wu Guangming by washing dishes for others. The image of the short woman hunching her back while sitting on a low stool washing dishes, her hands peeling from the dish soap, and the way she wrapped her waist tight with cloth to continue working when her lumbar pain flared up—these were the carving knives that etched into Wu Guangming’s memory.

       From a young age, his essays consistently expressed his wish to be filial to his mother, and this remained unchanged as he grew older. He was extremely hardworking. After graduating from technical school, he worked as an apprentice in a hotel kitchen for three years. Once he could handle the wok himself, he saved money for several more years, waking early and working late to open a small restaurant. Thanks to the good taste of his food, business was decent.

       Life for the whole family began to look up, and he finally had the chance to fulfill his filial duty properly. That was when the overwhelming advertisements on the internet and television caught his eye.

       They were an ads for a ‘pure traditional Chinese herbal tonic that strengthens the body, detoxifies and dispels dampness, boosts immunity, and supplements calcium to strengthen bones’ and ‘the number one choice of hundreds of millions of elderly people, the best gift for children to show filial piety to their parents’. It was a product broadcast in prime time on mainstream media, endorsed by celebrities and stars. What harm could it possibly have?

       Wu Guangming didn’t know that those red gift boxes he had joyfully and gratefully given to his mother with his own hands were filled with deathly poison. By the time she was taken to the hospital, it was already too late. His mother endured half a year of agony before passing, leaving behind a half-knitted wool vest for her little granddaughter.

       Wu Guangming fell hard into the whirlpool of tragedy, struggling but unable to escape. He sought justice in many places, but was kicked around like a ball, rolling through the mud, and was ultimately slammed into an abyss by the conclusion: ‘insufficient evidence, unable to file a case’.

              Wu Guangming’s family of four lived in a small home of less than sixty square meters. Fortunately, both children were in school; otherwise, it would’ve felt even more cramped with Qin Mu and Gangzi squeezed in there. Wu Guangming’s wife wasn’t much of a talker. Aside from making tea and boiling water, she mostly just sat quietly.

       Wu Guangming explained everything to Qin Mu in detail, taking out the inspection reports for Baolijian, his mother’s medical test documents, and various receipts from relevant departments. Suppressing his rage, he said, “My mom was always in good health. After taking that stuff for half a year, her liver was ruined. So many people got sick from it. It’s obvious that the medicine is the problem, but no one’s doing anything about it. I never wanted compensation from the start. No amount of money can bring my mom back! I’m just furious—does justice even still exist in this world?” As soon as he finished speaking, his phone rang again.

       Since Qin Mu had arrived, Wu Guangming’s phone had already rung four times. Qin Mu politely said, “If something urgent has come up, please go ahead—we can reschedule.”

       “I’m not busy. It’s fine.” Wu Guangming declined the call and tossed the phone aside, muttering under his breath, “These people are seriously like damn flies.”

       To win the lawsuit, the materials in Wu Guangming’s hands were far from enough. As Qin Mu carefully examined them, there came a knock at the door. Wu Guangming’s wife looked through the peephole and frowned, both annoyed and resigned.

       Wu Guangming’s expression darkened as he went to open the door. Outside stood two men—one fat, one thin. The fat one quickly plastered on a forced smile when he saw Wu Guangming. “You’re home? Why weren’t you answering your phone? I thought something had happened.”

       “You’re probably hoping something does happen so I’ll be stuck at home every day,” Wu Guangming shot back coldly.

       The two of them seemed used to his attitude and didn’t take it to heart. The fat one still grinned. “Come on, how could you say that? Of course we’re hoping for good things for you.”

       The thin one chimed in, “Not opening the restaurant today? We were hoping to stop by and order a couple of dishes.” It was only ten o’clock, which was the awkward time between breakfast and lunch. It was clearly just something he said off the cuff. After speaking, he craned his neck to peer inside the house, as if searching for something.

       “I’ll open when I feel like it. If I don’t feel like it, I won’t!” Wu Guangming exploded, suddenly flinging the door all the way open. He roared, “She’s home too! You see her now? Seen enough? Then get lost!” The door banged loudly as it hit the wall.

       The thin man finally spotted Wu Guangming’s wife standing inside and forced a smile. “Don’t be mad, Wu ge, we really didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… we’ve got our tasks, you know? We make our living this way—what can we do? Please understand.” As he spoke, he pulled out a cigarette and tried to offer it to ease the tension.

       Wu Guangming didn’t take it, his face still dark, ignoring him completely.

       The thin man awkwardly stuck the cigarette back in his own mouth, glanced at Qin Mu and Gangzi, and asked cautiously, “Got guests over?”

       Wu Guangming glared at him fiercely and yanked the door shut, nearly catching the fat one’s leg before he could pull it back.

       Moments later, the sound of the two men going downstairs could be heard.

       Wu Guangming sat back down, somewhat irritated, and said to Qin Mu, “Sorry about that, I must’ve made a fool of myself.”

       Gangzi asked curiously, “Are they debt collectors? They don’t really look like it.”

       Wu Guangming waved his hand. “I wouldn’t dare get involved in that kind of stuff. They were sent from above to keep an eye on me. Ever since I went to report the issue, I was labelled as an important surveillance subject. There’s some big, important conference coming up soon, so they’ve been assigned to keep tabs on my wife and me three times a day—morning, noon, and night—afraid I’ll raise complaints again and ‘escalate the conflict, disrupt stability and unity.’ If I’m not at the restaurant, they call. If I don’t answer, they come knocking. If I’m not home, they go looking for me everywhere. Like cats chasing a mouse, they can’t let me out of their sight for even a second. That’s why I asked you two to come to my house instead—saves us all from more chaos.”

       Qin Mu frowned. “Restricting someone’s personal freedom is illegal.”

       Wu Guangming gave a bitter laugh. “One person suppressing a group—that’s a violation of freedom. A group suppressing one person—that’s called putting the bigger picture first. I’ve seen through it now. Freedom and justice—those things are only for the capable. People like me, useless as I am, can’t even get a straight answer when our own mothers die. Oh, right…” He remembered the topic from earlier, took out his phone and tapped a few times before handing it over. “Back when I was defending my rights, I posted some stuff online and got to know a few people who also got sick from taking Baolijian. We made a group chat. You mentioned something earlier about the chain of evidence being incomplete—I don’t really understand that, but maybe you could talk to them, see if there’s anything else that can help?”

       That was of course, a good idea.

       Qin Mu carefully recorded their basic information and contact details. That afternoon, he managed to get in touch with two of them. Both lived in areas surrounding J City. One of them, a woman, was currently undergoing treatment in the hospital. Toward evening, Qin Mu bought a basket of flowers and some fruit and went to the hospital, where he spoke with the patient’s attending physician to get a better understanding of her condition. By the time he came out, the sky was already pitch-black, thick with grayish smog.

       Qin Mu bought a pack of Liqun cigarettes and a plastic lighter from a small street shop. He pulled one out and handed it to Gangzi.

       Gangzi waved it off. “Doesn’t seem like you’re a big smoker.”

       The flame from the lighter flickered unsteadily. Qin Mu held the cigarette between his fingers, placed it to his lips, bent his head to light it, and took a deep drag. Exhaling a puff of white smoke, he said, “Smoked a lot when I was younger. Quit later. These past couple days, I just can’t help but want a few drags again.”

       Gangzi understood why.

       The people they had seen these past two days were all suffering—some struggling at the edge of life itself, some trapped in poverty, isolated and helpless, with nowhere to turn. They were nothing like Qin Mu’s previous clients—celebrities, tycoons, interest groups—people who, even if they lost a case, still had countless backup plans. These people had none. They were already teetering on the edge of a cliff or had already fallen off, clinging desperately to fragile vines as they fought to survive.

       Every pair of eyes longing for justice weighed heavily on Qin Mu’s heart, even more so with the unavenged spirit of the mentor who had once taught him.

       Qin Mu rarely showed emotion. His way of relieving stress was also quiet and restrained—just like now, standing by the car, silently smoking a cigarette. By the time he finished, the tangled mess in his mind had more or less sorted itself out.

       A notification popped up on his phone—it was an email from the testing agency he had commissioned earlier. The sample composition analysis report had arrived.

       Qin Mu stubbed out the cigarette and said, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

       For safety reasons, Qin Mu and Gangzi stayed in a suite together. While walking through the lobby, Gangzi’s alertness noticeably heightened. Inside the elevator, Qin Mu asked, “What’s wrong?”

       “Those service staff were giving us weird looks,” Gangzi said in a low voice. “Be careful—someone might be out to cause us trouble.”

       “They might just be curious,” Qin Mu replied.

       “Curious about what?” Gangzi didn’t quite get it.

       “About what kind of relationship we have, staying in a room together.”

       Gangzi’s face turned red in an instant. He muttered awkwardly under his breath, “What the hell are they thinking…”

       After they entered the room, Qin Mu’s phone rang.

       It was his dad.

       Gangzi caught a bit of the conversation and found it somewhat surprising. Qin Mu and his father didn’t seem particularly close—their conversation was sparse, one sentence at a time, and mostly just a curt ‘En’ in response. Neither was in a hurry to hang up, and it wasn’t the kind of casual back-and-forth filled with warmth you would expect from a father and son. It was more like dealing with a client. Worried the conversation might turn personal and not wanting to intrude, Gangzi went to take a shower.

       Qin Mu exchanged a few more words with Qin Aihua, then said, “I’ve still got some things to take care of here.”

       “Alright, you go ahead.” Qin Aihua hesitated a moment before adding, “Um… if you have time this week, could you come home for a bit? Your mom misses you a lot.”

       Qin Mu was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t have time for now.”

       “Alright then, work’s important.” The other party didn’t say anything else.

       Qin Mu ended the call and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring blankly at the night lights twinkling in the distance. The reflections on the glass suddenly shifted.

       Gangzi done with his shower?

       Just as he was about to turn around, someone covered his nose and mouth from behind. A sharp and pungent scent rushed straight to his brain.

       Ether.

       That was the last thought Qin Mu had before his mind went blank.

T/N:
Usually people use chloroform right?
But it’s legit 乙醚, ether/diethyl ether, C2H5OC2H5 (ᵔ́∀ᵔ̀)

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