Cen Jin came out with a black shoulder bag.
Wei Lai put all five coat hangers together and lifted them out with a single swooping sound.
She had packed five evening gowns — all floor-length, different colors and styles, each in its dedicated hard-plastic garment bag, substantial in weight. Beneath them, five shoe boxes arranged side by side, their lids transparent, revealing matching high heels in an assortment of colors.
Cen Jin said: “Oh.”
Composed and unhurried, she explained: “Mr. Wei, this is a matter of personal approach to life. I see nothing wrong with a woman making herself look her best. Whether or not others can accept that — is their concern.”
The words were not wrong. Wei Lai smiled: “Miss Cen, I think we both agree — you’re going to Somalia this time for negotiations, not to walk a red carpet.”
“The Saudis have their own dedicated negotiation team in Mogadishu; no reporters will be there to photograph you. There’s nothing wrong with a woman displaying her beauty — but in a place frequented by pirates, I think you should exercise some restraint, to avoid inviting unnecessary attention and trouble.”
“Moreover, the fabric on these gowns is all quite fine — it’d be a shame if they got snagged and torn along the way. When you’re back, there’ll be plenty of time to dress yourself up beautifully — no need to rush now. So these are unnecessary to bring.”
He set the evening gowns to the side on the table, stacked the shoe boxes alongside them, deliberately slowing his movements — in case she objected, there was room left to negotiate, or he could make a token concession and let her keep one set.
This was also a negotiation — one had to leave room for maneuver.
Unexpectedly, Cen Jin said nothing.
Next came a very heavy makeup case. Opened up, it was compartmentalized across multiple tiers and drawers, containing everything — lipsticks and perfumes alone numbered more than a dozen varieties.
Wei Lai considered for a moment, then moved it to the table as well. Cen Jin’s expression flickered between calm and unsettled, waiting for his explanation.
“Miss Cen, Africa is already well into summer — in heat like that, no matter how carefully you apply makeup, it will be sweated off quickly. It would only be a futile effort. So I also think this is unnecessary to bring.”
Cen Jin’s gaze wavered between him and the makeup case, hesitating — yet, in a manner that was almost touching, she again said nothing.
Next came…
A leather drawing case. Opened, it held a stack of drawing paper and pencils of varying hardness — somewhere around twenty or more.
This was a personal interest, and he nearly let her keep it — but the case was genuinely heavy, and besides, it wouldn’t fit in her backpack.
After a moment’s hesitation, the drawing case was also set aside on the table.
His reasoning: although Africa was generally underdeveloped, paper and pencils were not difficult to find there, so there was no particular need to bring these.
Cen Jin still showed no intention to object. The “trimming” was going too smoothly — Wei Lai was starting to lose his bearings, unsure whether she was simply building up to an explosion all at once.
He continued. One by one, accompanied by “no need to bring,” the pile on the table grew taller and more sprawling — lying here and there like a procession of wronged consorts condemned to the cold palace, staring out with indignant wide eyes, full of reluctance.
At one point he accidentally knocked over a silk pouch. The drawstring wasn’t tight, and half of what was inside slipped into view — translucent low-rise lace underwear, a silvery gray with a faint sheen of pearl.
Caught off guard, Wei Lai felt a flash of awkwardness. He moved quickly to cinch the drawstring and tucked it into her backpack.
Cen Jin suddenly stopped him: “Don’t bother — by rights, humans evolved from monkeys, and monkeys never wear such things. So humans don’t need to wear them either. Therefore — no need to bring.”
Wei Lai acted as if he hadn’t heard it, and remained entirely unbothered. In a service profession, enduring a bit of sarcasm and cold mockery was inevitable — treat it like a small breeze ruffling your hair.
The trimming was complete. The backpack was left somewhat loose and half-empty. Wei Lai wondered if he’d gone a little too far. He thought for a moment, then opened the drawing case, rolled up a stack of drawing paper, bundled a few pencils inside, and tucked them into the side pocket of the bag.
Then he snapped open the makeup case and suggested she pick one lipstick to bring, with the reasoning that: if the journey became uncomfortable and her complexion suffered, a touch of color on the lips would still give her a brighter, more spirited appearance.
Cen Jin hooked one finger and drew a gold square-cased lipstick from the vertical row, curling it into her palm. She said: “Mr. Wei — would this count as delivering a blow with a stick and then offering a sweet date? Given enough time, you could sit at the negotiating table too.”
Wei Lai took it as a compliment: “Miss Cen flatters me.”
It was just about time to set out. The Eastern European woman lifted a gap in the curtain and stepped gracefully out. The timing had been prearranged: at that exact moment, the music surged and the crowd roared with delight, and the spinning colored lights even cast shifting shadows through the heavy curtain, painting the wall on this side with a flickering dim show.
Cen Jin slung the bag over one shoulder and opened the side door — inside was a small staircase leading to the back exit.
She felt for the light switch in the stairwell and clicked it on, then asked him: “Mr. Wei, by cooperating with you like this, am I going to live a little longer?”
The words carried a note of derision. She headed down first, on her own. Sai De suddenly tensed, licking his lips, and urged Wei Lai: “Mr. Wei, please be sure to protect Miss Cen well. Our ship, and the people on board… place great hope in her…”
Wei Lai replied: “From a financial standpoint, she’s the employer and I’m the bodyguard. From a gender standpoint, she’s a woman and I’m a man. From either angle, I’ll do my utmost to look after her.”
There was nothing more Sai De could urge. The man and woman before him were both formidable — compared to them, he was just an ordinary employee.
He watched Wei Lai walk to the bottom of the staircase, pry the door open a hand’s width, and patiently observe the movement outside for a moment.
Then he gave Cen Jin’s shoulder a light tap.
The door opened and closed. Before the cold air even had time to rush in, the two figures had already vanished.
On the other side of the curtain, the grand operatic strains of “Un Ballo in Maschera” carried through — a high tenor soaring above the rapid, tumbling beats of common folk, a clamoring world pressing right up against the ear.
Sai De suddenly felt this opera had been a poor choice.
——
Following Milu’s earlier instructions: out the back door, walk down the driveway. Along the way, he and Cen Jin exchanged no words. Only as they neared the car did he pull her back, signaling her to stop.
Then he opened the car door and checked both the front and back seats.
Cen Jin asked: “Are you worried that someone might be sitting up in the back seat, suddenly pointing a gun at you, or slashing your throat with a knife?”
Wei Lai said: “If movies keep showing it that way, it means this has already happened countless times in real life. It’s never wrong to be careful.”
He had Cen Jin get in first, then went around and opened the trunk. Milu had been thorough: the travel bag was there, and so was a food bag containing compressed biscuits, water, and a kraft paper parcel.
Wei Lai opened the top of the kraft paper parcel — inside was a fully loaded Beretta M9, a Smith and Wesson Bear Claw, a first aid kit, and two sedative injection syringes.
A note read: Just in case, for self-defense along the way — once in Africa, source your own.
Wei Lai understood the meaning: these things wouldn’t pass through airport security, so they’d have to be discarded by then.
He tucked the guns at his back waist, slammed the trunk shut, picked up the food bag, and walked around to the front of the car…
Hmm — Cen Jin was in the driver’s seat.
He rapped his knuckles twice against the car window. Cen Jin looked at him through the glass and made no move to budge.
Understood. Wei Lai smiled, walked around to the passenger side, and got in.
“No explanation?”
“I have some private business to take care of.”
This didn’t quite sit right.
“The ship and the hostages are all in the pirates’ hands — shouldn’t we be making haste?”
Cen Jin started the car: “Mr. Wei, this is not a disaster relief operation racing against a 72-hour golden window. Negotiations must be steady — one should not act in haste.”
“As of this month, the pirates are holding more than 200 cargo vessels from various countries. The longest-detained ship — negotiations having stalled — has been held for over 25 months. And I only need an hour or two to take care of this private matter.”
Sharpening the axe doesn’t delay the chopping of firewood. The reasoning was acceptable. Wei Lai made a “please go ahead” gesture.
——
The car headed in the direction of the city center.
Wei Lai kept careful watch on the traffic ahead and behind, confirming there was no one tailing them. He thought Cen Jin’s death threats might come from a stalker — statistics showed that leaving one’s familiar residential environment, whether traveling or relocating to a distant city or country, was an effective way to shake off certain obsessive followers.
“May I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“That hand… you really don’t know whose it is?”
Cen Jin’s hands rested on the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road ahead: “Should I know?”
Wei Lai felt that this was not an ordinary intimidation hand. Because there were teeth marks at the base of the thumb — a distinctive marker. And markers are typically sent for those who already know what they mean.
“You might try to recall — in your past experiences, whether there was anything connected to these teeth marks.”
Cen Jin’s brow furrowed slightly. The headlights of near and distant vehicles filtered through the glass, weaving a hazy sea of light in her eyes.
The car circled around the Amanda bronze statue in the center of the square. In the darkness, a solitary pigeon perched on the wave-curled hair of the goddess.
Cen Jin seemed to recall something, and said hesitatingly: “It seems… there might be something…”
“There was a period when I was in a bad mood, and I was publishing opinion columns very frequently, targeting different people, and the language was quite vicious…”
So it turned out she published opinion columns based on her mood.
Wei Lai thought: you do know you’re vicious when you lay into people.
“Later, they must have gotten desperate and specifically found someone to write articles in retaliation, saying — this yellow-skinned woman, like a rabid dog that bites anyone who comes near…”
“So, sending me a hand with teeth marks — is that meant to call me a rabid dog?”
That didn’t quite hold together either. The card had read “you’re next to die,” which implied an order, a chain, a sequence.
The owner of the hand must have shared at least some trait in common with Cen Jin.
Cen Jin slowed the car, turning into a parking lot: “But that has no power over me. If words could drown people, both world wars would have been unnecessary… It doesn’t matter — let them say whatever they like.”
The car came to a stop. She looked up. Flowing hotel script in light seemed to melt into the blackness above.
Li Ta Guang Chang Hotel.
A meeting? Dinner? Picking up or dropping off something?
None of the above. Cen Jin led him through the lobby, upstairs, turning right — down a long corridor where temporary pull-up banner stands began to appear, each bearing an image of a fractured earth suspended in deep, vast space.
The title read: The Earth’s Direction (Humanity, Environment, and the Future)
A lecture?!
A table had been set up at the entrance; the woman at the registration desk said in a hushed voice: “The lecture has already started. Push the door and go in, sit at the back row, try to keep your movements quiet and make no noise…”
She reached across and handed over a small booklet: “I’m sorry — there’s only one gift left.”
Wei Lai was standing close and reflexively took it — a slim pocket-sized notebook, roughly the size of a palm, printed on rough paper. He slipped it into his back trouser pocket without thinking.
Environmentalists are really strapped for cash.
Holding their breath, the two of them took seats in the very last row.
The lecture was quite interesting — the lighting was like that of an opera house: blinding white on the stage, the audience all swallowed in shadow.
Cen Jin said in a low voice: “I’m sorry — you’re probably not interested in lectures.”
Her tone conveyed not the slightest trace of actual apology.
Wei Lai smiled, dropping his voice as well: “It’s fine. My last client — I often went with her to try out cosmetics, and became better at distinguishing color shades than the sales staff. People in our line of work, living off our youth — learning more skills isn’t a bad thing. When we’re old, we can still sell cosmetics, or work in environmental protection.”
Cen Jin cast him a quick glance. His face was half-lit, half-shadowed, his features like something carved by a blade, yet with a soft, lit edge.
On the stage, a student clutching a microphone suddenly stammered with barely contained fury: “I don’t understand why Professor Jiang Min keeps saying that prot… protecting the Earth is wrong — shouldn’t the Earth be protected? Shouldn’t humanity’s home be protected?”
Wei Lai answered silently in his heart: Of course it should… What kind of terrible professor is this, refusing to protect even the Earth?