HAN JIANG WAS INTERRUPTED by a huge roar from halfway up the mountain. Next, heavy metal music exploded in the quiet night, the sound blasting recklessly through the air. Blinding light pierced the darkness, followed by wild whistles and screams.
The hijacker immediately exploded. He picked up his machete as he grabbed the phone. “Who’s that? The police? You lied to me! Do you want these kids dead?!”
The negotiator’s panicked excuse came through the phone. “We d-didn’t—”
A woman’s sickly sweet voice rang out over a megaphone. “Babes, don’t be afraid. Get in your cars! There’s just one road down this mountain. We already survived the Track of Death—you think the boys will let anything happen to you?”
Someone whistled through the megaphone, the noise threatening to shatter everything within a ten-mile radius. Rainbow lasers raced over the mountain. The light hit several ostentatious modified sports cars, projecting huge shadows onto a mountain slope not far from the bus. They looked as though they were on the verge of flight.
Han Jiang grabbed the hijacker’s hand—the one that held the machete. “There’s an off-roading club nearby,” he said in a low voice. “We looked into it, remember? Calm down!”
“Fuck off!” the hijacker growled, enraged. “What kind of coincidence is this? Why would they happen to be here right now?!”
“We really don’t know,” the negotiator said loudly on the other end of the phone. “You guys can relocate, though. The money will be ready soon. Don’t hurt the kids. Laoshi! Laoshi! Laoshi!”
The repetition of “laoshi” was like a sharp needle stabbing Han Jiang’s nerves. Sometimes schoolchildren had trouble differentiating between school staff and outside contractors, so they called all the adults at school “laoshi.” That was what they usually called Han Jiang. The word summoned what little conscience he had left, and he grabbed his accomplice with both hands.
“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “The money’s almost ready! This is the last step, so do you have to cause problems now? Take a good look—do those look like police cars to you? They’re racing through the mountain paths. They’re not planning on coming over here. Scared shitless by a few shadows—what are you even good for?!”
The hijacker followed Han Jiang’s gaze and seemed convinced. His grip on the machete loosened slightly.
“Also, a brat escaped earlier, so we’re not safe here,” Han Jiang added. “I’ll drive. Let’s go somewhere else.”
The racing playboys were having a ball making their presence felt. The deafening sounds of the race-car engines encircled the mountain, seemingly never-ending. Somehow, though they were far away and didn’t seem to be approaching, it felt like they were surrounding the bus. The steady beat of dance music slammed against the two criminals’ chests, giving them no choice but to leave the area and head for the only spot far enough from the noise.
Luo Wenzhou’s voice filtered into Lang Qiao’s earpiece. “The bus has been forced into the snipers’ range. Find a way to get it to stop.”
Aboard the bus, the phone rang; the hijacker hadn’t had time to turn it back off yet. The parent from earlier rambled, “We have more money. In cash. But it’s just a little over three million. We’re still working on the rest…”
The music was getting farther away, yet the drums seemed to grow ever faster, striking their hearts over and over until they were nervous wrecks. The machete-wielding hijacker was incensed, his hatred of the rich mounting. “No!” he roared. “Five million, and not one yuan less!”
Han Jiang stepped on the brakes. “Enough is enough. Let’s split it fifty-fifty. A million and a half each isn’t bad. Don’t wait until the police come!”
A million would be enough to pay off the loan sharks. Once he was rid of them, he could reclaim his dignity. He’d never have to live in fear again.
But his accomplice refused. “I want five million!”
“We really tried our best, Laoshi,” the negotiator on the phone said hastily. “Please think of your kid. They’re just children, Laoshi, please!”
A vein jumped on Han Jiang’s temple, but his partner warned, “If you haven’t got five million, I’ll kill all these little brats. I’ve been to prison. I’m not afraid to go again.”
Han Jiang grabbed the machete his partner had tossed him earlier. “I don’t fucking want to go to jail!”
The two men snorted like fighting bulls. After a while, the hijacker stared stonily at Han Jiang. “Uncle, have you got cold feet?”
Han Jiang didn’t respond, and his expression remained stiff, but he used his peripheral vision to glance at the bus full of terrified kids—he was regretting this.
Beside him, however, the hijacker suddenly started to laugh eerily. He handed Han Jiang the phone. “All right, fine. Three million. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”
Han Jiang hesitated for a moment, then accepted the phone. “Okay—get one person to bring the money. Just one. Better if it’s a woman. Bring it to—”
Before he finished speaking, a cold light flashed before his eyes. Children’s shrill screams erupted all around him. Han Jiang twisted automatically, but he couldn’t avoid the sharp blade that was now lodged in his belly.
Han Jiang howled, fighting back on pure instinct despite the pain. He threw himself at the other man, who took a step back and stumbled into the bus door behind him. The hijacker twisted the machete forcefully, and for an instant, his back was exposed to the glass bus door, which had no curtains. Han Jiang held him firmly in place.
A bullet shot through the window and struck the hijacker in the back of the head—a clean headshot!
Police and ambulance sirens pierced the night air.
✦ ✦ ✦
HALF AN HOUR LATER, after he’d cleaned up the scene, Luo Wenzhou arrived at the mountain with the deafening music. From a distance, he spotted Fei Du leaning against a car. The young man’s shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest all the way down to his navel. The stark white of his skin contrasted with his tattoo, and the strands of hair at the nape of his neck were still dripping wet.
There was no need for props or a background; just the sight of Fei Du standing there alone emanated a sinful, debauched feeling.
Luo Wenzhou had come for a noble reason, but when his gaze slipped down over all that exposed skin, he suddenly felt awkward for some reason. Coughing dryly, he said, “Thanks, guys, for today.”
Fei Du accepted a flute of champagne from the girl next to him and raised it toward Luo Wenzhou in a toast from afar. “No need to thank me. I didn’t even need to do any acting.”
Luo Wenzhou didn’t respond to that.
For whatever reason, Fei Du was getting on his nerves again.
Then Lang Qiao’s call came in, interrupting the weird mood. “Sergeant Luo,” she gasped, “a kid’s missing from the bus!”