They set out.

The gun-carrying pirate moved slowly around to the back of both of them. The white T-shirt wrapped around his face left only his dark brow and a pair of unsettled eyes visible.

He said: “Walk.”

What the hell kind of way is this to treat people.

Wei Lai’s temper flared without warning. He slammed his pack down onto the ground with a hard crash. The one with the gun instinctively went to pull the trigger; the man in sunglasses — Dao Ba — swiftly clamped down on the bolt.

A soft click.

Wei Lai stared at the man in sunglasses. This person was about forty years old, also had his head wrapped in a white T-shirt. At the corner of his brow…

No wonder he wore sunglasses — there was a diagonal scar on his face, running from above his brow bone slanting down to his cheekbone. Given that trajectory, the eye underneath might not have survived.

Wei Lai decided to call him Dao Ba, and the other one — AK. Always reaching for that rifle, like it was his entire reason for existing.

He smiled and said: “If you act like this, I’m going to be unhappy.”

“You’ve probably boarded so many ships you’ve forgotten how to treat people normally. Pressing a gun to someone’s back to march them along — what is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you know what negotiation is? Negotiation means sitting at the same table, face to face, on equal footing — having some tea, having a conversation, exchanging a smile, and getting things settled.”

“Marching people at gunpoint — do you think we’re prisoners of war? Hostages? Is that what Hu Sha is like too? If so, there’s no need to negotiate. Or call him right now — let’s all have a chat about what manners and etiquette mean. Once we’ve sorted that out, we can continue.”

A flash of fury crossed AK’s eyes.

Good, be angry — the negotiation starts right here. Whoever loses control first is the one who loses. Cen Jin had said it: the pirates’ desperate desire to collect their ransom was no less urgent than the Saudis’ desire to get their ship back. For the sake of business, they couldn’t actually move against the negotiators.

He was betting that these two subordinates of Hu Sha wouldn’t dare cross the line.

And they didn’t.

After a moment, Dao Ba coughed twice, slowly pressed down AK’s gun barrel, and said: “Please.”

Now you’re learning. Someone had finally shown some manners.

Wei Lai smiled, bent to pick up the pack, dusted off the dirt, then looked at Cen Jin: “Let’s go.”

Cen Jin stood without moving: “What if he fires?”

“Hm?”

“When you slammed your pack down, if he’d lost control and shot you dead — what then?”

So that’s what she meant. Wei Lai thought it over: “If he shot me dead, would you feel sad?”

Cen Jin laughed: “You brought it on yourself. Why would I feel sad?”

She turned and walked. Wei Lai watched for a moment, then strode to catch up, reached out to take her arm — remembered she had a wound on her arm, let his hand slide up to her armpit instead, grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her.

Cen Jin stumbled sideways from the pull.

No wonder that Eastern European woman at the masquerade had said Cen Jin’s shoulders seemed slight — he had covered her entire shoulder with one hand.

Cen Jin looked at him with a glare.

Good. At least she’s angry. Better than that waterlogged, lifeless look she’d been wearing.

Wei Lai said: “Can you have a little faith in ‘top-tier’? This title wasn’t bought with money.”

“The pirates are so poor they count every bullet. And as for that shooting angle — elbow floating that high, barrel drifting like that — you think he could have actually hit me? Really?”

“I only have one life. Sometimes I put it on the table to make a point, but I don’t gamble with it.”

The tension in Cen Jin’s face slowly eased.

Wei Lai smiled. He liked reasonable, intelligent people — he’d seen it in her right back when he was helping her pare down her luggage.

He looked up: the pirates had stopped a short distance away, clearly waiting. They were impatient, but after the earlier rebuke, they weren’t pushing.

“In fact, I’m rather disappointed he didn’t fire. I’d estimated the distance — all I’d need was to drop down, sweep his legs, and he’d go over backward. The bullet would feed the sky… it would’ve been quite a striking move. You missed out.”

He extended his hand, palm pressing lightly and deliberately from her lower back around to her side, a casual advantage taken in the guise of urging her forward.

Seeing them finally move, both pirates exhaled quietly and led the way ahead.

Wei Lai could feel the village atmosphere loosening behind them. Glancing back, a few faces had stolen out of the shacks to peek; looking back a little further, two and three people were standing in the clearing, staring after them, helpless-seeming.

He asked Cen Jin: “Do you still feel confident about three million now?”

Cen Jin gestured toward the two ahead: “I don’t believe Hu Sha didn’t tell them to show courtesy before they left.”

“If this was on Hu Sha’s orders, then he deliberately wanted to intimidate me — people who feel inwardly unsettled are the ones who put on that kind of show.”

Self-satisfied — as if only Hu Sha put on a performance. Didn’t she do the same at first, refusing to answer calls, insisting that only Hu Sha himself was worthy of speaking with her?

A thread of light flickered through his mind, thin as a needle, like a reminder trying to surface. He couldn’t catch it.

Wei Lai frowned.

They reached the coastal rocks. The nearshore water was clear. A lightweight assault boat bobbed at the water’s edge, its bow trailing a grimy, well-used rope coiled around a jutting piece of reef.

Looking to the open water, the sea had no visible end. If Milu were here, she’d be exclaiming away: Wei! Look — this speedboat is like a dumpling! The whole Red Sea could swallow it without noticing!

He had no idea where the negotiating mother ship was anchored — probably more than an hour’s ride out. He asked Cen Jin: “The Red Sea… should be fairly calm, right?”

He wasn’t familiar with the geography of this area and was using her as a reference guide — she had done aid work in Africa and had systematically studied the region’s culture and people. She could always give a reasonably accurate answer.

Cen Jin said: “The Red Sea is essentially an inland sea between Africa and Asia. Waves are generally not very large — though it’s hard to say for certain…”

The relief Wei Lai had just felt promptly retreated.

“The reason this sea is called the Red Sea comes from one explanation: when the Saharan red sandstorms sweep in, the wind whips up the red dust, staining the sky crimson, and the sea rises in deep red waves, with red rock cliffs towering along the coastline…”

She shrugged: “I have no idea whether there’ll be a sandstorm in the coming days.”

That’s not exactly news — they’d just been through one a couple of days ago.

That scoundrel Milu had said that doing business with the Saudis was like crossing a bridge paved in trembling gold — was there ever such easy money in this world? Every coin of it was wrung in blood and sweat.

As Dao Ba stepped up onto the boat first, AK moved to follow — and let out a sharp yelp and jumped back. He’d stepped on a stone with a sharp edge.

Shoes truly are one of humanity’s great inventions…

Another thread of light, thin and fine, crossed his mind and slipped away before he could grasp it.

A chill crept through Wei Lai’s chest.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened. It had happened before — once before a rollover accident, once before getting shot.

There was a saying in the trade: the Death God came with a scythe, harvesting heads one by one like cutting grain. Those who lived on the margins like them were too close to the Death God; when danger drew near, they could sometimes catch the glint off the scythe blade before it arrived.

That glint — that hair-thin thread of light in the mind — was an omen of ill fortune, and also a reminder that there was still a chance to live.

What was it exactly?

Was the weather about to turn? Would a sandstorm hit soon? Or was Hu Sha’s invitation simply a trap set in advance?

AK impatiently urged them onto the boat.

Wei Lai steadied Cen Jin as she climbed aboard. The assault boat was tiny — little more than a plank, open on all sides with no cover. Inside sat a drum of reserve engine fuel. Across the middle was a plank — a seat, or rather a natural divider, like a boundary line, separating the pirates on one side from them on the other.

The engine roared to life. The boat set out, racing toward the invisible depths of the sea.

The high speed brought wind and a constant rise and fall of the hull. The shore receded rapidly until it disappeared. In every direction: deep green water. Sunlight struck it, scattering glittering points of light that stung the eyes.

The Red Sea is the warmest sea in the world, with summer surface temperatures above 30 degrees — some have joked that the beach resorts along the Red Sea practically offer a warm bath. With the sun blazing from above and heat rising from below, even Wei Lai was struggling. He pulled a piece of clothing from his bag, spread it open, and draped it over Cen Jin.

She said quietly: “I feel a little seasick.”

Wei Lai wrapped an arm loosely around her to brace her against the pitching of the boat. This kind of sun and spray and rough sea life was never meant for someone like her…

He looked up. Dao Ba was at the helm. Out on the open water, the waves weren’t large, but the smaller the boat, the more it was thrown about by every current. AK seemed to be feeling it too — he’d retreated into the hull, muttering and cursing. The gun rested across his stomach, the barrel aimed in their general direction, whether intentionally or not.

Then he raised a foot and propped it against the plank divider, sole facing outward toward Wei Lai.

The sole had a red mark — right where the sharp stone had pressed in.

Not the slightest trace of courtesy…

In a flash, something crystallized in Wei Lai’s mind. His arm tightened instinctively.

Cen Jin looked at him with a trace of puzzlement.

Wei Lai didn’t look at her. His gaze moved between Dao Ba and AK, making one quiet circuit, and then he smiled.

He turned to Cen Jin, slid his hand into her hair, palm cupping the back of her neck, and turned her firmly to face him. His tone and expression were equally easy and brazen, and he spoke in English: “Last night you were something else — drove me absolutely out of my mind.”

He used slang.

From the corner of his eye he watched: Dao Ba said nothing. The white T-shirt wrapping his face had come slightly loose, and the muscles at the top of his lip contracted involuntarily — the classic expression of disgust.

AK cast an odd look at Cen Jin — a look of simultaneous contempt and disdain.

Cen Jin stared at Wei Lai.

Wei Lai kept smiling. He leaned close to her ear and switched to Chinese: “Push my hand away. Tell me in English to behave myself. Keep that in tension with me from here on — important things, we say in Chinese. Remember to keep your voice low.”

Cen Jin’s gaze sharpened briefly, then she curved her lips into a smile, dropped her head, and pushed his arm aside, saying: “Hateful.”

Wei Lai laughed loudly, shameless and unrestrained, leaned back in close to press his lips to her ear, a picture of whispered intimacy: “Can you swim?”

“Yes.”

She was a little tense. Wei Lai took hold of her dangling hand and squeezed it firmly.

“From here on, listen carefully to every word I say. Use your own judgment. Follow accordingly.”

“If a fight breaks out, get as far into the hull as possible. Same as the sandstorm that day — get as low as you can.”

“If it becomes more dangerous, jump into the sea. Don’t swim far — stray shots can reach you. Stay close to the boat. Avoid the engine. I will come for you.”

Cen Jin nodded against him, and in a low voice asked: “Why?”

“These two people are not pirates.”