Wei Lai sighed.

He thought many things shouldn’t be said too absolutely — take himself: if he actually brought Cen Jin back with him, Milu would probably never let him hear the end of it.

— Didn’t you say you would never develop any relationship with a client beyond the one involving money?

No matter. He had a countermeasure ready: if Milu dared say it, he’d hit him. Say it once, take a beating once — knowing Milu, three rounds should be enough to make him see reason.

“Later — were they not actually safe? Were they killed?”

Cen Jin gave a small smile: “No. There were peacekeeping soldiers and international organization staff. It really was completely safe.”

That afternoon, Huka militants began drifting toward the school in small groups of twos and threes — like wolves that had caught a scent of blood. They carried blades in their hands, made strange calls, smashed beer bottles, but didn’t dare come close.

They practiced their blade-work along the fence as if performing a warning, or scraped their machetes repeatedly against the stone slabs, producing a piercing, grinding sound. At their closest, you could make out the mottled dried blood on the blade, and the blood still dripping from the tip.

The refugees huddled together in the school yard, shuddering as one. Some had blade wounds; the medical team came to bind them.

An injured person, too terrified to speak in complete sentences, managed to get out: “Someone handed out machetes… big crates opened up, and long blades poured out onto the ground. The announcement over the broadcast told the Huka people to come collect them, said: Kill the cockroaches. Kill everyone who shelters the cockroaches…“

Endless Huka people surged into the streets to collect their blades. They raised the machetes to the sky chanting inflammatory slogans, and in the sunlight, the countless blade-faces reflected a blinding, overlapping sea of light.

Wei Lai was shaken: “That must have been premeditated — the whole thing?”

How could the broadcasts and weapons be ready within hours if the plane had only gone down the night before?

Cen Jin said: “We found out later — the massacre had been in planning for three months. In those three months, the plan hadn’t gone without leaks. Reportedly, intelligence agencies in several Western countries had received word, and the United Nations had also caught some whisper of it — but they didn’t take it seriously.”

“Perhaps they thought Ka Long was always in turmoil and conflict — what could really come of it? It wouldn’t come to anything real. It’s also possible that at the time, everyone was more focused on the Kosovo situation, the Iraq situation — Ka Long was a small country with no gold, no diamonds, no oil, and no strategic interest, so no one was paying attention.”

No one had imagined that this time it would not only be real, but would be a top-down, military-led, mass-participation event that dragged all of Ka Long into a blood-soaked abyss.

“We were trapped in the school, communications coming in and out. Even when we managed to reach our superiors, the other end was in chaos too — because it had happened so suddenly, there was no precedent, they were all in emergency meetings, discussing, looking for solutions. Their only reply was: Wait. We’ll inform you when there’s news. Stay put. Do not act on your own initiative.“

So they had no choice but to reassure the refugees, over and over again:

— You are completely safe here.

— The army is coming soon. Don’t worry — the situation will stabilize.

The refugees were afraid to sleep. They sat in the school yard, wrapped in blankets, chopping the school’s desks and chairs into firewood, making fires and cooking.

That night, the fires in the yard never went out, casting their light over faces frozen in terror. From far away came the sound of loudspeakers and music — the festivities of those who were doing the killing.

This scene — impossible ever to forget.

Cen Jin leaned against the door frame and turned to a peacekeeping soldier on rotation break beside her: “Can I get a cigarette?”

That was when she started smoking.

Another day passed.

On the morning of the third day, a rumbling of engines came from the distance. Everyone held their breath. A refugee climbed up the flagpole and was the first to make out the markings on the vehicles. He shouted: “The United Nations! The United Nations convoy is here!”

After the depths of despair, the explosive joy of rescue — like the most magnificent celebration in the world. The yard erupted in noise. Some people were wiping tears. Some rushed over and threw their arms around the on-duty peacekeeping soldiers, or pulled them into dances. Still more pushed the vehicles blocking the school gate aside and ran toward the United Nations convoy as if welcoming family.

Wei Lai looked down. Cen Jin’s eyes were brimming and bright as water, and then they slowly closed — as if she didn’t want him to see. He pressed his face against hers; it was warm and damp.

He said softly: “The rescue came. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

She had thought it was good news too.

But that surge of euphoria slowly froze in the rescue officer’s uncomfortable eyes.

The rescue officer announced the evacuation orders: foreign nationals to be evacuated. Volunteers and staff to be evacuated. Peacekeeping soldiers to be evacuated.

No Kasi people could be taken. The Huka people had set up countless checkpoints in the streets and would board every vehicle, dragging out any Kasi person who tried to slip away.

Cen Jin was stunned.

She asked: “Why?”

She wasn’t the only one asking. Every staff member and peacekeeping soldier who had just come through two sleepless days and nights was asking. A soldier furiously threw down his weapon. A staff member was shouting that they couldn’t leave at a time like this.

Cen Jin said: “Many refugees were crying. Some went down on their knees, clutching at my legs, begging me to save them. I felt they were so pitiful — their own country wouldn’t protect them, and all they could do was place their hope in foreigners.”

The rescue officer was shouting: “These are orders! Go out into the streets and look — the Americans are evacuating their citizens, the French are evacuating their citizens, all the Western countries are pulling out! This morning, the Belgian peacekeeping force already left!”

Everyone fell silent at once.

Peacekeeping operations were usually conducted by multiple nations, but with different levels of contribution. The Belgian peacekeeping force was at that time the largest and most influential single contingent in Ka Long.

And they had already pulled out.

After a strange, dead silence, the evacuation began.

Those with evacuation clearance climbed into the vehicles one by one, unable to raise their eyes toward the refugees. Lips moved for a long time before a single word came out: “Sorry.” Then they got in the car. Some pulled the curtains down, as if that could allow them to forget what was beyond the window — the place that was about to become hell.

Wei Lai couldn’t make sense of it: “Why would they pull out?”

Cen Jin had only understood later. The Huka people had shot and killed eight Belgian peacekeeping soldiers.

“Killing peacekeeping soldiers is an extremely risky thing to do. It can bring about one of two outcomes: it enrages Western nations and brings in large reinforcements in retaliation; or it intimidates these nations into recognizing that the situation in Ka Long has gotten completely out of hand — that even peacekeeping soldiers aren’t safe.”

The news reached Belgium, and the country erupted. Media were asking with fury: Why should our bright young soldiers die in a foreign land? Most Belgians don’t even know which direction Ka Long is! This was a mistake from the start — why are we still not correcting it?

Unable to withstand the pressure, Belgium made the first move. The United States, France, and every other Western nation began organizing their own evacuations.

The Huka people had been clever. They had calculated that these Westerners would never sacrifice soldiers’ lives for a place with nothing to offer them.

“But at the time we didn’t know all of this. I felt I couldn’t accept it. People doing humanitarian work — to leave at a moment like this was to abandon the refugees to the blade. If even I couldn’t accept it, you can imagine what it was like for my colleagues who had genuinely come with full hearts, the people who truly carried an ideal.”

Several people refused to board. They said: We’re not going.

We have foreign faces. As long as we keep the United Nations flag flying and make our identities known, this place is a protected zone.

Protected zones are recognized internationally. There have been wars far worse and more widespread than this one, and protected zones have always held. We’re not going.

At that point, Cen Jin was already in the vehicle. She looked down at the faces below, and the blood suddenly rushed to her head.

She jumped out of the car and said: I’m not going either.

Wei Lai said: “You were courageous. Truly. The people you protected will be grateful to you for the rest of their lives.”

“Courageous?”

She stared at Wei Lai and suddenly began to laugh — breathless, uncontrollable laughter.

“I was twenty-one years old. I was impulsive. I looked down on the people sitting in that car. And, I won’t deny it — somewhere at the back of my mind there was a foolish fantasy: if they all evacuate and I stay behind in the most dangerous situation, when things settle down, I’ll be awarded recognition beyond anything you can imagine…“

“But now I regret it. If I were given the chance again, I would never get out of that car. I don’t care if anyone calls me a coward — I’d be the first one to rush onto it and leave.”

“I keep having nightmares. In the dream, I’m thrown back into Ka Long, surrounded by thick fog. Through the fog comes the sound of the broadcast and the sound of long blades being dragged across stone slabs. And I keep searching for a car — that car with the UN markings that can take me away…”

She was trembling all over. Wei Lai held her tightly, put his lips to her ear, and said: “That’s enough, Cen Jin. Don’t say any more.”

Cen Jin said nothing more. She buried her head deep into his chest.

Wei Lai thought of the first time she had had a nightmare — on the plane. When she woke, she had reached to kiss him, and when he pulled back, she had said I don’t remember what just happened.

And then the night had passed. Looking back now, that night might have been very hard for her.

He lowered his head and asked: “Would it help if I kissed you right now?”

Whatever the appropriateness of it — intimate contact between a man and woman helped shift attention and ease emotions that were running out of control.

Cen Jin said: “You holding me — I’m already much better.”

Wei Lai said: “All right.”

He said nothing more, and listened quietly to her breathing. Her body was relaxing, her emotions easing — nightmares amplified everything in an instant, especially at night.

After a while, Cen Jin said: “The first time I bumped into you, I thought you were solid as iron and it was painful. Now I think you’re not so hard after all. Actually quite comfortable.”

Wei Lai said: “Want to feel?”

“What?”

The thought suddenly wouldn’t let go. He set Cen Jin aside, sat up, and in one clean motion pulled off his T-shirt: “Go ahead.”

Cen Jin looked helpless: “Middle of the night, what are you doing…”

She pushed his arm to edge away toward the bed, and Wei Lai swept an arm around her waist, pulled her back, and captured her wrist.

He said: “Can you keep your voice down — the room two doors down has a police officer in it, you know. I’m not attacking you.”

Cen Jin bit down hard: “I don’t want to feel you…”

Wei Lai grabbed her hand and pressed it firmly against his abdominal muscles for a few seconds, then released.

As he had expected, Cen Jin did not pull her hand back immediately.

She seemed to hesitate. The palm hung loosely, fingertips and the base of her hand brushing against his abs, then she looked up at him.

Wei Lai said: “Do what you want. I know you’re curious.”

She made a soft sound of assent, and after a long moment her palm pressed gently down.

Not so hard as iron after all — he had skin and fat. When pressed, she could immediately feel the muscle beneath, distinct from skin: elasticity, resistance, a kind of adhesion.

She was too self-conscious to go higher, and couldn’t quite go lower, so after a moment she slid her hand to his arm — and that was different again, like a thick piece of tendon, full and pressing into the palm with a kind of taut give, though when she gripped the arm while relaxed, the muscle suddenly hardened — that was genuinely iron, the kind she felt she couldn’t have dented if she bit.

Cen Jin couldn’t help herself: “How do you men… get like this?”

Wei Lai laughed out loud, tightened his arm to hold her waist, and said: “Different from you, right? Now you understand why opposites attract.”

He moved close to her ear and dropped his voice: “When will you let me feel you back, hmm?”

Cen Jin’s ears went hot. She tried to pull away: “Wei Lai, do you know you have no shame?”

Wei Lai said, with apparent wonder: “A man with the woman he cares about in his arms, not thinking about how to get closer to her, sitting there worrying about his dignity… what kind of man is that?”

He rolled her beneath him, one hand from the small of her back all the way up to the back of her neck, found the exact spot, and pressed down hard.

Cen Jin blinked, then suddenly felt a heaviness fall over her eyes, a wash of haze flooding her awareness. Drowsiness came over her like a tide, slow and inexorable, and in the blur she heard Wei Lai say quietly: “Have a good sleep.”

Wei Lai sat on the edge of the bed for a long time.

Sleep was nowhere near him. Cen Jin’s words kept turning in his mind.

— If I were given the chance again, I would never get out of that car. I don’t care if anyone calls me a coward. I’d be the first one to rush onto it and leave.

…

He didn’t know how much time had passed when a sudden cold ran down his spine.

He grabbed the Desert Eagle, moved quickly to the side of the window, and in the moonlight made out four approaching figures — their heights varied, two of them with guns slung over their backs, the barrels rising above their heads, rocking in an irregular rhythm with each step.

Wei Lai exhaled.

Calculating the time, they were right on schedule.

He was about to put the gun away when the officer outside the door suddenly called out in a startled voice: “Who’s there?”

Damn it — why so alert?

Wei Lai moved out the door fast. Someone switched on a flashlight; the beam cut straight into his face. He squinted, raised one finger to his lips, and said: “Shh…”

The flashlight swung away. Wei Lai looked at the figures standing before him — ragged, dressed like fishermen, all thin. His gaze drifted down involuntarily: two of them barefoot, one in plastic sandals, and the last one…

Wearing the bottom of a flattened cola bottle, holes punched through the sides, rope threaded through and tied around the foot.

Wei Lai smiled. It was strange — he’d never met a pirate before, but one look and he knew.

Pirates didn’t love being barefoot. Given the option, they’d rather wear shoes.

The leading pirate started to speak. Wei Lai raised a finger to his lips before the man could get a word out.

A universal gesture. The whole world understood.

Sure enough, the man paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower.

In English, with a very stiff accent, the tongue not quite managing to smooth it out: “You — bodyguard?”

Wei Lai nodded: “Miss Cen is asleep. Don’t disturb her.”

He turned to the officer: “Personal matter. Go back to sleep. Pretend none of this is happening.”

Author’s note:

1. I saw some readers thinking the male lead pressing the female lead to sleep was acupuncture. To clear up any misunderstanding, I revised the passage slightly. The point roughly four to five inches below the top of the head — the “Baihui” point region — if struck can cause someone to fall into sudden sleep, which is essentially the same as being knocked unconscious. What’s happening here is that external pressure is being used to help the female lead fall asleep. It’s not that one press makes her faint instantly.
2. Some readers have guessed that Ka Long’s real-world counterpart is Rwanda. The reason I used a fictional name is first, I didn’t want the subject matter to become too serious, and second, the actual Rwandan genocide was far more brutal than what is described here for Ka Long.
3. However, when writing the broad background of Ka Long, I did draw on and describe real events from Rwanda at the time — including: the presidential plane being shot down, the massacre being planned over three months, the indifference of Western nations, the inciting radio broadcasts, the killing of Belgian peacekeeping soldiers leading to the Western withdrawal, the refugees’ despair at being unable to board the evacuation vehicles, and protected zones being set up in hotels, stadiums, schools, and so on. All of this reflects what actually happened, as mentioned in many documentaries and films adapted from those events — including Hotel Rwanda — which recreated these historical scenes. This story, however, is not intended to be yet another version of that kind of narrative.