Chapter Seven: The Final Gamble (2)
Nan Bei looked at him as he hung up the phone.
It was only a gut feeling that something was about to happen, but clearly Cheng Muyang did not intend to tell her.
The housekeeper of the Zhousheng family came by temporarily to inform them that dinner would be Western cuisine. Nan Bei lowered her gaze and looked at what she was wearing, clothes that could only appear on a beach. She truly felt it was inappropriate. In the end, out of respect for the host, she changed into something more formal.
Cheng Muyang removed his own bandages. After Nan Bei reapplied new medicine for him, he only took out a pair of white gloves and put them on.
“Very…” Nan Bei looked at his hands. “Mm, very good-looking.”
“This is respect for the host,” Cheng Muyang said. “After all, regardless of the reason, this injury is related to that woman’s death. It’s better to be cautious.”
“You really don’t know the reason?”
“I’ve guessed some possibilities.” He offered her a hypothesis. “She might just be a time bomb, placed beside Zhousheng Xing by someone. When needed, she would be made to carry out their instructions. For example, killing me.”
Nan Bei thought of that deep night on Qiandao Lake.
After Cheng Muyang had fired back himself with a sniper rifle, he had said to her:
Look. Cheng Muyang has so many people around him, yet he still has to stay constantly on guard. Doesn’t that mean there’s a problem with the people closest to him? Maybe there really is a chance he could be put in a situation where he dies?
Back then, she had stood outside it all, even laughing at how he seemed to be in turmoil yet strangely content.
Cheng Muyang walked to the table, picked up yesterday’s issue of the Russian Novye Izvestia, casually draped it over his left arm, and flipped through it. Nan Bei glanced at the time. There were still ten minutes.
“You are the fourth nephew of Master Cheng. Do you have many cousins?”
Cheng Muyang gave a soft “mm” and continued reading a column carefully.
“How did you outcompete them and become the next head?”
“Curious?” he smiled, lifting his head.
“Yes.”
“All of us started from the first arms deal,” Cheng Muyang explained briefly. “I remember my first deal was in Lebanon. Only five hundred thousand dollars. At the time it felt very easy. Later, unfortunately, I ran into a small-scale conflict. I almost lost my life, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I ended up making four times the profit.”
He spoke very simply.
As if he were talking about how nervous he was the first time he applied for a visa, afraid he wouldn’t be able to adapt to a foreign culture.
Nan Bei responded with an “oh.” “How did you make more money?”
“Inflating prices,” he said. “Weapons in wartime naturally have to come at a good price.”
“So you all compete based on who runs the business better?”
“More or less,” he said. “After all, that is the foundation on which the family makes its living.”
“What about Cheng Muyun?”
“Cheng Muyun?” He thought for a moment. “He’s always been quite good.”
The dining area was enclosed.
At the entrance, both of them were suddenly asked to surrender all weapons. Nan Bei was a little surprised, but Cheng Muyang complied very smoothly, taking out two pistols from his body and handing them to the housekeeper, who bowed with a faint smile.
Although it was Western cuisine, the corridor they passed through was still lined with panels of embroidery, all bearing handwritten script.
Nan Bei read a couple of lines, but none were familiar.
“Which dynasty are these poems from?” she asked, curious.
The second housekeeper walked three steps ahead of them and paused slightly. “They were all collected by our eldest young master. They are Wu songs.”
“Wu songs” (吴歌, Wu Ge) refers to folk songs from the Wu region (Jiangnan/lower Yangtze China), later recorded in Six Dynasties-era collections. They influenced later yuefu poetry, including Li Bai’s Ziye Wu Ge.
Nan Bei gave a soft “oh” and said nothing more.
“Do you not know what Wu songs are?” Cheng Muyang asked quietly.
She lowered her voice. “Not at all.”
People of the Zhousheng family were absolutely full of the dust of five thousand years of history. Having followed Master Shen for a long time, she could barely pick up some old operas and play a bit of go, but anything deeper than that was completely beyond her.
Cheng Muyang suddenly smiled in a very teasing manner. “Simply put, it’s folk ballads from the Jiangnan region, similar to the Book of Songs.”
She looked at him. “How do you know that?”
“My maternal grandfather especially liked collecting strange things. Our house has Japanese Edo-period shunga prints. When I was young and saw that painting, he would explain its origins to me. In fact, the imagery in those paintings comes from Chinese Wu songs.”
The two of them turned down the corridor and were about to reach the end.
“‘Last night, I did not comb my hair, letting my silky hair fall over both shoulders. I gently stretched out and rested on my lover’s lap. What place could not be cherished?’” Cheng Muyang pointed to a hanging piece of Su embroidery. “This line is one often used in shunga prints.”
Nan Bei glanced at him. “Young Master Cheng really is widely read.”
He shook his head. “Probably any man would find it somewhat interesting.”
Nan Bei looked at him strangely. “Does it have anything to do with men and women?”
“Shunga prints were very famous erotic paintings of the Edo period,” Cheng Muyang said, putting an arm around her shoulder and speaking softly. “For example, the lines just now describe exactly what we were doing earlier.”
Nan Bei laughed in frustration, but still didn’t quite believe it.
Cheng Muyang looked at her very seriously. “I’m not lying. Wu songs are mostly erotic folk songs.”
At that moment, a young man walked out. He did not look much older than twenty. His brows carried a strong scholarly air; his appearance was ordinary, neither handsome nor ugly, but forgettable at a glance.
He seemed to have heard Cheng Muyang’s last remark and smiled unhurriedly. “Back then, Wu songs were scattered among the people, but scholars like Cai Yuanpei and Lu Xun called on literati to collect them. The literary world ninety years ago had a much better atmosphere than it does now. It was far more enlightened.”
Nan Bei glanced at Cheng Muyang with amusement.
“Good. Now that the host has heard it, let’s see what you’ll do.”
Cheng Muyang’s expression turned cold. He extended his hand. “Cheng Muyang.”
“Zhousheng Chen.” The boy also extended his hand. When he noticed the gloves, he paused slightly. “Young Master Cheng, are you injured?”
“Just a minor wound from last night. Nothing serious.”
Their hands clasped briefly, then separated.
They walked to the top deck of the cruise ship, a semi-open-air space. Zhousheng Xing stood nearby with Wan Niang. There were quite a few guests, and the hostess continued to smile gracefully as she handled everyone’s greetings. Whether by coercion or by choice, there was no shortage of familiar faces on this ship. It was a rare public occasion that did not require an antique, overly ceremonial atmosphere, so everyone was dressed to the nines, with jewelry adorning them and the air filled with the fragrance of clothes and the shadows of elegant figures.
When Cheng Muyang turned to get drinks, Nan Bei noticed Shen Jiaming speaking with a man from Hong Kong.
“Worried?” Cheng Muyang handed her a glass of champagne.
She took it. “About what?”
“Worried about tonight’s outcome?”
“No.” Nan Bei smiled faintly. “With the two of you, getting that mineral deposit would just be icing on the cake. Without it, there wouldn’t be much loss either. At most, it’s just a matter of face.”
Cheng Muyang took a small sip and frowned slightly.
“Not used to it?”
“Mm,” he responded.
After they had stood for a while, a buffet lunch began to be laid out on the long table. Only a small group of them were invited by the Zhou family’s housekeepers into a shaded outdoor tent. Just as Cheng Muyang lifted the white gauze curtain, a small figure suddenly rushed toward him.
He thought it was a child who had fallen, and instinctively reached out to steady him. But as he did, a cold flash of light slashed toward him.
The fabric was sliced open. He caught the boy’s hand.
At the same moment, the second housekeeper standing behind the gauze curtain drew a gun.
On this deck, the only people carrying guns were members of the Zhousheng family. Nan Bei frowned and glanced at the man.
Cheng Muyang was half-crouched, the blade pointed directly at his throat.
“Want to kill big brother?” He smiled faintly. With one hand gripping the child’s hand, he pulled the blade forward until it lightly touched his Adam’s apple. “Really want to?”
He spoke very calmly, even with a hint of intimidation.
“I want to kill you.” The boy swung his other hand, which Cheng Muyang also caught.
He had eyes remarkably similar to his mother’s. Nan Bei had not expected the Zhousheng family to let such a young child know everything. Even more surprising, the child was only four or five years old, yet the hatred he harbored was astonishing.
Or perhaps being born into such a family simply meant growing up early.
Cheng Muyang patted the top of his head. “Why?”
“You killed my mother.”
“Who told you that?”
The boy pressed his lips together until they turned slightly pale.
Nan Bei bent down as well, gently placing a hand on Cheng Muyang’s shoulder. “Enough. He’s still a child.”
“You can’t kill me right now,” Cheng Muyang said, looking into the boy’s eyes, speaking softly as though sending the words directly into his ears, even into his heart, whether or not they would leave behind a cruel shadow. “When you grow up, come find me in Russia. Do you remember my name?”
The boy was unexpectedly strong-willed. “Cheng Muyang.”
“Good.” Cheng Muyang smiled, his gaze still icy.
As he spoke, Zhousheng Chen came in with his father and Wan Niang. Everyone looked in astonishment at the bizarre scene: Cheng Muyang half-crouched, gripping the child’s hand and forcibly pressing the tip of the blade against his own throat. Meanwhile, the second housekeeper and several others had their guns pointed at Nan Bei and Cheng Muyang.
A strong wind lifted the gauze curtains.
Cheng Muyang calmly released the boy. The latter seemed almost as if his soul had left his body, still clutching the knife, but he truly no longer attempted to do something he was incapable of doing.
“Zhousheng Ren,” the child’s father called him by his full name. “What are you doing?”
The boy continued to stand there blankly, but his gaze had already instinctively shifted from Cheng Muyang to his father. He said nothing, nor did he put down the knife.
Wan Niang bent down, smiling very gently. “Come, Xiao Ren. Come to Mommy.”
The boy seemed very afraid of her.
Perhaps because of that fear, he really did obediently walk over.
But just before reaching her, he leaned against Zhousheng Chen instead. Zhousheng Chen smiled and bent down to pick him up. “Long time no see. Our Xiao Ren already knows how to use a knife.”
The boy buried his face in his shoulder, biting his lip tightly, saying nothing.
“I’m very sorry,” Zhousheng Chen said, holding his younger brother and looking at Cheng Muyang. “Young Master Cheng. Just now, you misunderstood the Wu songs I collected. Now my younger brother used a knife to joke with you. Let’s call it even, shall we?”
Cheng Muyang seemed not to care much. “It’s just a child’s joke. No need to take it so seriously.”
Zhousheng Chen nodded and said to the second housekeeper, “Zhou Xun, go call the people looking after the young master.”
The second housekeeper immediately bowed and quietly put away his gun. “Yes.”
Unexpectedly, after he had only taken two steps, Cheng Muyang’s hand pressed down on his shoulder, pinning him in place.
“Wait.”
Cheng Muyang lightly patted his shoulder.
The next second, his fist had already swung into the middle-aged man’s face, violent and utterly merciless.
The moment it struck flesh, Nan Bei clearly heard the sound of bone cracking. Her temples throbbed violently as she looked at his eyes, which had almost darkened to black with emotion, and his tightly pursed lips, his calmness cruel.
Everything was happening right before her eyes.
Under excruciating pain, a person’s reactions were unconscious. The housekeeper only wanted to escape, but Cheng Muyang quickly closed in again. Another heavy, dull sound came as his fist slammed into the man’s body. The man let out a scream, staggered backward, then fell flat on his back, knocking over a nearby wooden chair.
The little boy lying against Zhousheng Chen’s shoulder trembled violently.
Clearly, the sound had made him recall the exchange of gazes between himself and Cheng Muyang just moments before.
Outside the gauze curtains, everything quickly fell silent.
Terrifyingly silent.
This was the first time Nan Bei had seen Cheng Muyang strike someone, using the most primitive way a man could, with a savagery that was astonishing.
The man was clearly already deeply unconscious. Cheng Muyang straightened up, like a leopard that had suddenly become enraged, only to suddenly lose all interest in playing with its prey. His eyes were frightening to look into.
A moment ago, there had been violence that would not stop until one side was dead. Now, because there was no challenge at all, he suddenly abandoned his hunt.
He removed his bloodstained gloves.
“Sorry. Some things require rules to be established.”
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