.
Two days had passed since Svetlana's interrogation, and Tòumíng had settled into the cushy trauma room life with the kind of resigned acceptance that came from being trapped in a luxurious prison with no hope of escape.
The room had become his domain,his pillows were fluffed to perfection, his blankets were arranged just so, and the nurses had learned to bring him food without being asked. He'd even started to develop a routine: wake up, eat, watch TV, eat, nap, eat, scroll through his phone, eat, and then sleep again. It was a life of pure, unadulterated laziness, and he was absolutely loving every second of it.
The holy grail had arrived yesterday, delivered by a silent, efficient staff member who'd looked deeply confused by the request. Tòumíng had ordered the most Western food he could think of, a massive, greasy, artery-clogging cheeseburger with all the fixings, accompanied by a mountain of crispy, golden fries and a chocolate milkshake so thick he had to eat it with a spoon. It was everything he'd ever wanted. It was perfect. It was the kind of meal that made him forget, for just a moment, that his life was a chaotic mess of debt, violence, and supernatural nonsense.
He was in the middle of devouring his third burger of the day, this one loaded with bacon, onion rings, and a fried egg, when Měi Nán called. The phone buzzed on the nightstand, and Tòumíng answered with his mouth full, the words coming out garbled.
"Mmph?"
"Are you eating again?" Měi Nán's voice carried a note of amused exasperation. "It's like you're never not eating."
"I'm healing," Tòumíng said, swallowing with effort. "I need calories. Lots of them. It's a whole thing."
"Uh-huh. Well, I just wanted to let you know I'll be coming back to the city in about a week. My family's been great, but I'm starting to miss the chaos. And the villa. And you, I guess."
Tòumíng grinned, the warmth of the words spreading through his chest. "I miss you too. Even if you are a fangirl who won't shut up about Chesqo Dong."
"Fuck you, he's hot. Anyway, I'll text you when I have the flight details. Try not to get yourself killed while I'm gone."
"No promises." [subtle forshadowing]
Měi Nán laughed and hung up, leaving Tòumíng alone with his burger and his thoughts. He'd completely forgotten about the Jin Chan situation—the mole, the threats, the looming danger that had been hanging over his head for days. The cushy trauma room life had a way of making problems seem distant, abstract, like they belonged to someone else's life.
But that was about to change.
On the bottom floor of the Ice Queen's skyscraper, an armored limousine pulled up to the entrance. The vehicle was sleek and black, its windows tinted so dark they looked like voids, its body reinforced with plating that could probably stop a rocket launcher. The driver stepped out, opened the rear door, and Jin Chan emerged.
He was alone. No guards, no backup, no visible weapons. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit, the kind that cost more than most people's cars, with a crisp white shirt and a blood-red tie that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent energy. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as he walked forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his expression calm and unbothered.
The Black Hawk agents stationed at the entrance raised their weapons immediately, their faces hardening into masks of suspicion. The lead agent, a grizzled veteran with a scar across his jaw, stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"Halt! Identify yourself!"
Jin Chan's smile was easy, almost friendly. "My name is Jin Chan. I'm here to speak with the Ice Queen and a young man named Tòumíng. I mean no harm. I surrender myself completely to your custody."
The agents exchanged uncertain glances. The scarred agent's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Jin Chan? The Jin Chan? The one who killed Ào Shǔ?"
"The same." Jin Chan's voice was smooth, unbothered. "I understand if you're nervous. But I assure you, I'm here on peaceful business. I just need a few minutes of your time."
One of the younger agents leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Rumor has it he killed the Ice Queen's other admirer. Ào Shǔ. There's a lot of bad blood between them. If she finds out he's here, she's going to lose her mind."
The scarred agent's jaw tightened. "Turn back, Jin Chan. You're not welcome here. If you take one more step, I'll be forced to—"
"I told you," Jin Chan interrupted, his voice still calm, still friendly, "I'm here on peaceful business. I just need to speak with someone. Then I'll be out of your hair."
He took a step forward, his hands still raised, his expression never wavering. The agents tensed, their fingers hovering over their triggers, ready to fire at the slightest provocation.
Before anyone could make a move, the Ice Queen appeared.
She descended the grand staircase with the kind of deliberate, commanding grace that made everyone in the lobby hold their breath. She was dressed in a deep crimson gown tonight, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin, her pale blonde hair swept back in an elegant twist. Her face was cold, her eyes locked onto Jin Chan with the kind of predatory focus that made the temperature in the room drop by several degrees.
"What the hell," she said, her voice flat and dangerous, "are you doing here?"
Jin Chan's smile widened. He waved casually, as if greeting an old friend at a cocktail party. "Sister Bào! It's been too long. I apologize for not reaching out sooner. I've been so busy with the transition, you understand."
"Don't call me that." The Ice Queen's voice was ice. "You're not my brother. You're not even my equal. You're a parasite who crawled out of the sewer and somehow convinced everyone you're worth something."
Jin Chan laughed, a low, genuine sound that echoed through the lobby. "You always did have a way with words, Bào. That's what I've always admired about you."
The Ice Queen launched a kick at his face, fast, brutal, aimed directly at his temple. Jin Chan didn't flinch. He just stood there, his hands still raised, his expression still calm, as her heel stopped inches from his nose.
"What," she snarled, her voice carrying the weight of barely contained violence, "do you want?"
Jin Chan's smile didn't waver. "I need to have a quick word with Tòumíng. That's all. A simple conversation. Nothing more."
The Ice Queen's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell would I ever allow that? You're the one who's been threatening him. You're the one who's been trying to manipulate him. You're the one who—"
"I understand your concern," Jin Chan interrupted, his voice still smooth, still unbothered. "But I assure you, this conversation is in his best interest. And yours. If you let me speak with him, I'll leave quietly. No trouble. No violence. Just a few minutes of your time."
The Ice Queen stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she lowered her leg. "Five minutes. No more. And I'll have twelve agents in the room with weapons trained on you at all times."
Jin Chan bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Five minutes later, Jin Chan was in Tòumíng's trauma room. The space was packed, twelve Black Hawk agents lined the walls, their weapons raised, their fingers hovering over their triggers. The Ice Queen stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, her expression cold and watchful. And Jin Chan sat in a chair beside Tòumíng's bed, his hands clasped in his lap, his expression friendly and unbothered.
Tòumíng was mid-bite into his fourth burger of the day, the greasy meat dripping down his chin, the cheese stretching in long, gooey strings. He looked up as Jin Chan entered, his brow furrowing with confusion.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth. "And why are you in my room? I'm trying to eat here."
Jin Chan's expression shifted to something that might have been mock hurt. "I'm hurt, Tòumíng. Over the phone at the cocaine factory, you told everyone you knew me. You were so confident. So commanding. And now you don't even recognize me?" He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Perhaps it was a different Jin Chan you were referring to?"
Tòumíng swallowed his bite, his eyes narrowing. He studied Jin Chan's face, the smooth, unlined features, the easy smile, the cold eyes that held no warmth. There was something unsettling about him, something that made Tòumíng's skin crawl. But his Suicidal Idiot skill was working overtime, dulling his fear response, making him incapable of understanding the danger he was in.
"Look," Tòumíng said, waving his burger dismissively, "I don't know who you are or what you want, but I'm busy. I have a burger to finish. So if you could just—"
Jin Chan leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you know how Měi Nán is doing?"
Tòumíng's arrogance vanished. His hand froze mid-bite, the burger suspended in the air. His eyes went wide, his face paling. His other hand shot out, grabbing a butter knife from the tray beside his bed, and he pressed it against Jin Chan's neck, the blade resting just beneath his jaw.
"What," Tòumíng said, his voice deadly quiet, "did you do to him?"
Jin Chan's smile didn't waver. He held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I haven't done anything to him. Yet. But I do have a picture I think you'll find interesting."
He reached into his jacket pocket, his movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out a photograph. He held it up for Tòumíng to see.
It was Měi Nán. Sitting at a dinner table in what appeared to be a family home, laughing at something off-camera. The angle was wrong, slightly elevated, as if the picture had been taken from another building. A sniper's perspective.
Tòumíng's blood ran cold. His grip on the butter knife tightened, his knuckles going white. "You son of a bitch. You're threatening him. You're threatening my—" (hmm i wonder what he was going to say...)
"I just want to have a quick talk," Jin Chan interrupted, his voice still smooth, still unbothered. "That's all. A simple conversation. And then I'll leave. No trouble. No violence."
Tòumíng pressed the knife closer, the blade dimpling the skin of Jin Chan's neck. "Why shouldn't I just cut your throat right now?"
Jin Chan's smile widened. He stuck out his tongue playfully, the gesture so out of place it made Tòumíng's grip falter. "Because, silly, if you do, then I won't be able to call my nice sniper men every thirty minutes. And if I don't do that..." He made a gesture of shooting himself in the head, his eyes never leaving Tòumíng's face. "Well, I called them twenty-six minutes ago. So how about we get a move on, okay?"