Chapter Seven: The Final Gamble (1)
She did not answer him.
Cheng Muyang lowered his gaze, watching every expression on her face, each time more deeply than the last, as if using all his strength. Sweat slid down his face, falling onto her back. Nan Bei could no longer bear it, and at last opened her mouth to call his name, but Cheng Muyang reached out and pinched her chin, his tongue pushing into her mouth, forcing her into a deep kiss.
He pulled away from her lips, his voice hoarse. “Are you alright?”
Nan Bei had been worn down by him until she had no strength left. She only turned her head slightly, gently brushing her cheek against the person beside her.
From the very beginning until now, as if there had never been that gamble, that bloodshed, the two of them seemed to have gone from day to dusk, and into the deep of night. In the span of a single day, she had turned and yielded beneath him, without pause.
She did not know why he was so fixated on her.
So fixated that it was impossible to break free.
In the latter half of the night, Cheng Muyang put on his trousers and, bare-chested, walked to the window to draw all the curtains. The room was left without a trace of light. She lay on the bed, felt it tremble faintly, and then he gathered her into his arms.
“Does it hurt?” His hand slid along her thigh, moving to the inside, gently stroking her.
“It hurts.” Like being burned by fire, painful, yet impossible to soothe.
She turned over to face him, looking into his eyes. “Cheng Muyang, do I owe you something?”
In the darkness, it was impossible to distinguish the color of their eyes, only that his seemed slightly lighter than hers.
“It’s me who owes you. No one has ever held a knife to my carotid artery, and for another man at that.” Cheng Muyang smiled faintly, fell silent for a moment, then continued, “When I was a child, I often heard my elders say that people fall into corruption only because the desires in their hearts are too strong. They liked to use a term.” His voice paused. “A single thought becomes a demon.”
“A single thought becomes a demon,” she murmured. “An interesting phrase.”
Cheng Muyang would often say things that made one feel he was not, in truth, the person he appeared to be. This man held a butcher’s blade in his hand, yet could speak of Buddhist parables.
“Is it interesting?” he smiled. “Have you heard the story of the Buddha? When Siddhartha Gautama was still a man, he once sat in the lotus position beneath the Bodhi tree, facing east, vowing to the world that if he could not attain enlightenment, he would never rise,” he pulled over the thin silk quilt, covering most of her body, “on the forty-eighth day, auspicious light emerged all around him. The Demon King Mara feared he would truly become a Buddha, so he sent three women to tempt him. These three represented sensual pleasure, greed, and love. In the end, Siddhartha Gautama saw through them, and they revealed their true forms.”
“What were their true forms?”
“Skeletons. All desires are skeletons without flesh and blood.”
She wrapped her leg around his, closing her eyes as she listened. His voice in the darkness was like the fine, soft sand on a midnight shore, cool, yet soothing and comforting.
“I could have been a good person. Unfortunately, the one who tempted me was you.” Cheng Muyang spoke half in jest, brushing his lips against her cheek.
Such a metaphor was intoxicating.
“So by your reasoning, if you were to see through me, I would turn into a skeleton?” Nan Bei curved her lips, rubbing the tip of her nose against his collarbone. “Does your grandfather’s family especially not want you involved in the underworld? Did they fill your head with things about compassion and detachment?”
“More or less.” He did not deny it. “But things don’t go as wished. Sleep. I’ll stay with you.”
She gave a soft “mm,” as if she had truly fallen asleep.
After a long while, she suddenly spoke again in a low voice. “I forgot to say earlier. I believe you.”
When she woke, it was already bright daylight. Her clothes had been wrinkled beyond repair by him, so she had to let Cheng Muyang go to his own room to bring back a fresh change. He chose a dark red cotton long skirt and a white short-sleeved top, casual and relaxed.
She sat up naked on the bed, only to find him looking at her calmly.
Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, filling the entire room.
Nan Bei suddenly smiled. Instead of avoiding him, she stood up from the bed right in front of him, and, from above, dressed herself piece by piece.
Cheng Muyang leaned against the sofa, one leg lazily resting on a low rattan table to the side, eating spoonful after spoonful of chocolate mousse cake. He watched her, his gaze quiet.
At last, she jumped down onto the floor and suddenly remarked, “You know, Yunnan is damp and rainy all year round. Sometimes, I really miss the days in Belgium. In those later months, all my clothes were tumble-dried.”
“Many thanks to Miss Nan for remembering my hard labor.”
“I’ve always remembered.” Nan Bei walked over, crouched beside him, and bit into the cake from his hand. “It’s just that the Cheng Mu from before and the Boss Cheng now are very different. They could almost be considered two people.”
When she tilted her head up, he smiled quickly.
“In truth, it’s all the same.” He lowered his head and used his tongue to lick away the chocolate smeared at the edge of her lips.
Nan Bei rested her chin against the sofa arm and said softly, “You arrived in Belgium around the same time as I did. When I was learning French, you were learning too. When I was in university, so were you. But back then, I truly had nothing, while you had already begun to gradually take over your family’s business. Seen that way, it really is the same. I just didn’t know.”
Cheng Muyang did not react much, only smiling indifferently. “Seems you did your homework and learned a few things.”
She neither confirmed nor denied it.
Cheng Muyang took a set of clothes from the wardrobe to change into, then suddenly said to her, “I have an important call.”
She nodded. “I’ll go back to my room first.”
“No need to leave.” Cheng Muyang put on his shirt and began fastening the buttons slowly. “I might speak Russian. Don’t mind it.”
She laughed. “As if you haven’t spoken it in front of me before.”
Nan Bei picked up the entire plate of mousse cake from the table, walked barefoot to the window, and stood behind the heavy curtains, looking out at the blazing sunlight.
Cheng Muyang answered the call and said calmly in Russian, “Oman?”
“Zhousheng Xing’s originally planned route was through Vietnamese waters. The cruise ship was to leave the strait at six,” Oman’s voice came through the phone, equally fluent in Russian. “But around seven tonight, we will change course and return to the Bashi Channel. Remember, from eight to eight fifteen, the ship will completely shut down all power. You must jump ship within those fifteen minutes. Swim one thousand meters to the southeast and you’ll reach the island. That island is very small, and the sea is pitch black. No one should notice.”
“Understood.” Cheng Muyang looked toward the floor-to-ceiling window. Nan Bei pressed her lips to the glass, leaving behind a chocolate-colored print, delicate and small. He could not help but smile.
“At the same time, the helicopter to pick you up will take off from the Philippines and arrive at the northernmost point of the Batanes Islands at eight thirty,” Oman continued. “As long as you board the helicopter smoothly, we’ll release the information and catch them in one sweep.”
“What month is it now?” Cheng Muyang suddenly asked.
“Late July.” Oman answered instinctively, then found the question odd.
“This is the peak typhoon season in the Bashi Channel. Russian and American fleets usually avoid these two months.” Cheng Muyang spoke slowly, thinking as he did. “It really is a natural maritime barrier.”
Oman sounded slightly helpless. “There’s no choice. No one knew the Zhousheng family’s route before boarding. Since they’ve come to the Bashi Channel, we can only find the nearest point for you to jump ship and land.” She paused. “Further south is the sea area off Eluanbi in Taiwan. Creating an explosion there would probably be troublesome. But didn’t you say leaving before tonight’s gamble is the best timing? Or we can arrange a yacht for you.”
Oman’s voice carried a trace of helplessness. “There’s no way around it. Before boarding, no one knew the Zhou family’s route. Since he has come to the Bashi Channel, we can only find the nearest point for you to jump ship and make landfall,” she paused. “Further down is the sea off Eluanbi, Taiwan. That’s already within Taiwan’s territorial waters. If we try to create an explosion there, it will probably cause trouble. But didn’t you say that leaving before tonight’s gamble is the best timing? Or we can arrange a yacht for you.”
“The yacht is impossible,” he told Oman decisively. “That stretch of sea is dense with hidden reefs. Under a strong storm, the shipwreck rate is around seventy percent.”
The slower he spoke, the more his light, languid rolled consonants came through.
It sounded extremely pleasant.
Oman laughed. “Then between swimming one thousand meters in a typhoon and running aground on reefs, which way out do you choose?” After asking, she did not wait for Cheng Muyang to answer, and could not resist teasing him again. “Or give up and wait for next time?”
“To give up now would be no different from alerting the snake,” Cheng Muyang replied calmly. “Snakes hibernate. If this one senses danger now, it will be very difficult to lure it out again. We’ll proceed according to the original plan. My swimming is decent. One thousand meters won’t be a problem.”
Cheng Muyang’s words always allowed Oman to steady herself quickly. That sense of reassurance came from years of cultivated trust.
They had faced far more perilous situations.
In this world, especially in the bloody and violent world of Eastern Europe, there are no weak leaders, nor anyone who simply enjoys peace. The “lords of war” who deal in arms are not just a term from textbooks, but families who have truly walked out of snow-covered Moscow with the soles of their shoes soaked in blood.
“And what about your Nan Bei?” she suddenly asked before hanging up.
“Nan Bei—”
At that moment, Nan Bei had just wiped the glass clean with her hand. Hearing her name, she turned back to look at him.
From the not-so-short conversation, that was the only sound she understood. Katyusha had once taught her how to say her name in Russian. She looked into Cheng Muyang’s eyes, wanting to read something there, but to no avail.
He still held the phone without speaking. Nan Bei walked up to him.
At such a distance, she could clearly catch the faint scent of mint on him.
The corner of his lips moved, as if he were smiling. “You understood?”
“Mm.”
“How much?”
“I understood my name.”
Cheng Muyang made a gesture for silence and said softly, “Let me finish the call.”
“Alright.” Nan Bei lowered her voice as well, her arms climbing around his shoulders, telling him half-jokingly, “If you’re going to sell me out, remember to get a good price.”
He curled his fingers and lightly tapped her forehead. “I wouldn’t bear to.”
Nan Bei wrinkled her nose slightly, expressing her distrust.
Cheng Muyang smiled, then into the phone, in Russian, answered Oman slowly, “As for Nan Bei, make the arrangements as I said last night.”
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