A few hours before departure, Wei Lai packed his travel bag and went to the nearby sauna for a Finnish bath.
At the entrance, beneath the low wall, many towel-wrapped men had gathered to smoke and drink beer. Wei Lai stuffed his travel bag into a locker, rinsed quickly under the shower, and entered the sauna room.
The air was hot and humid. There were surprisingly many people — pale, soft-muscled bare bodies appeared and disappeared through the dense, wood-fragrant steam.
He chose a spot and sat down, quickly breaking into a sweat. People gradually filtered out, unable to bear the heat and scorching. After a while, a familiar figure entered, holding a bundle of soaked birch branches.
Wei Lai raised his arm and waved to signal him.
Milu sat beside him, split the birch branches in half and gave him half, then with exaggeratedly large, boisterous movements, patted Wei Lai’s body with the branches and did the same for himself. The people nearby must have found him insufferable — they gradually moved further away, or went to another sauna room.
Two people, completely without social grace, monopolizing more than half the room.
They exchanged wrist-worn locker keys. All the instructions came from Milu.
— “Everything’s arranged. I’ll take your travel bag to the car. When the time comes, bring Miss Cen out through the back door, walk down the driveway a bit, and the car will be parked along the tree-lined road.”
— “The Saudis have split into two lines — an open one and a covert one. The open line has a team of negotiation experts in Mogadishu, Somalia’s capital — ostensibly specifically seeking to negotiate with the pirates, giving press interviews, holding press conferences, periodically issuing condemnations and appeals. The covert line is Miss Cen’s operation — they don’t dare make it public for fear of mistakes, so it has to be conducted in secret.”
— “They’re pretending everything is normal, accepted your suggestion, and even booked tickets following the scrapped itinerary. No one knows you’ve actually changed the route, and you’ll be leaving today.”
— “In the locker there’s a phone, a new SIM card. The number is known only to me, Ke Ke Shu, the Saudis, and Hu Sha’s side. Hu Sha pulled off this massive operation and is apparently very rattled inside too — he’s been hiding his whereabouts more carefully than before. The meeting location still hasn’t been set; we have to wait for him to notify us.”
…
Everything was in order. Wei Lai had also been steaming to his limit in the hot vapor. As he rose to leave, he clapped Milu on the shoulder: “See you around.”
The last time he’d said “see you around,” it was before going to La Pu Lan — that had lasted four months. This time, it should be shorter.
He went first to the cold water room, stood under the showerhead, and turned the dial to “full cold.” Ice-cold water poured down over his face and body. The open pores snapped shut in an instant — an almost violent rush of exhilaration traveled through his entire body.
He dried off and opened the locker.
He saw first a card — Milu’s handwriting, flowing and generous, wishing him a smooth journey. The card carried a strong perfume scent; Yi Fu’s perfume had clearly been sprayed liberally again by Milu.
Then came a complete new set of clothing — underwear and socks to outerwear and belt, everything provided. As before: no brand labels, custom-made, calibrated to his preferences and measurements with increasing precision.
Wei Lai dressed, dried his hair, and finally lifted a gift bag out of the locker.
The gift bag was unsealed. Inside were travel funds — US dollars, euros, and Swedish krona — a phone, an invitation card, and a thin iron Man in the Iron Mask face mask, which gave a clear ring when flicked with a finger.
——
This was his third visit to Cen Jin’s place.
Night had fully fallen. The villa blazed with lights, inside and out, and music drifted through the air — like the flowing mist of a reverse-flow incense burner, rolling down toward the sloping lower road.
Wei Lai stood in the black tree shadows and listened for a while.
It was a very old song — a famous number by Guns N’ Roses: “Don’t Cry.” Guns N’ Roses’ music lived up to its name: furious and fierce, always sounding on the verge of smashing the world to pieces. But this one song, alone, was world-weary and sorrowful, lingering and heartbroken — said to have moved millions of broken-hearted people to tears.
Those with broken hearts carry their own sorrows, and within those sorrows there is always a song.
Drawing closer, the music became entangled with laughter, clamor, loud talk, the tuning of instruments — all blending into one jumbled stew, no longer possible to hear clearly.
At the entrance, someone stopped him and asked for the invitation card.
As Wei Lai handed it over, he noticed the card face bore the poster for the British opera “Un Ballo in Maschera” by Verdi, with a line printed beside it — lyrics from a song of the same name written by Leon Russell:
— In this lonely masquerade, do we truly feel joy?
The Saudis had been thorough — a party assembled to provide cover, and even the invitation cards were crafted with such refinement.
He put on the mask and pushed through the entrance into the main hall. Inside, the lights were dim, and figures of all kinds moved through the shadows, sound, and self-serve drinks: a World War II pilot with a cracked visor, Darth Vader from Star Wars, and a Monroe in a golden wig.
Looking up, Cen Jin was draped over the second-floor railing, dressed in a silver-gray strapless satin gown with a trailing skirt, wearing a crystal-studded shoulder chain. Behind her, a great black curtain fell from the ceiling, completely concealing the upstairs rooms — on the curtain was Batman, his wing-like cape spread open in the wind.
A slender black ladies’ cigarette was held between her fingers — but as before, she barely smoked. She occasionally tapped it lightly against the railing, so the fine ash — too fine to see — all fell onto the head of someone below, a Hitler with two little moustaches.
Wei Lai went upstairs. As he passed Cen Jin, she glanced downward and said quietly: “Go in through the cape.”
So Batman’s cape wasn’t a single piece. Wei Lai lifted a gap and slipped inside.
The curtain was thick and heavy, and much quieter behind it. Not far away, a room door stood open, its light spilling out.
Wei Lai walked over and saw Sai De sitting on the sofa. Beside him stood a tall woman in nothing but a fitted tank top and shorts — curves unmistakable, full hips and slender waist.
She was trying on a silver Venetian princess half-mask, its edges intricately engraved, adorned with pearls, crystals, ribbons, and feathers.
Seeing Wei Lai, she let out a startled soft exclamation.
Only then did Wei Lai remember his own iron mask. He reached up and removed it; the woman removed her mask too.
She was a young Eastern European woman — very beautiful, brown eyes, dyed black hair cut to shoulder length, the ends slightly curled.
Wei Lai said: “The resemblance is strong.”
The woman was sharp — she understood at once that he was on their side: “Not completely the same — Eastern women tend to be slimmer. I’ve starved myself for two days…”
She gestured at her slightly rounded shoulders: “Still didn’t slim them down. So Miss Cen chose a gown with a shoulder chain — with the dim lighting, and the mask, and the decorations, I imagine people won’t be able to tell…”
As she spoke, Cen Jin came in and gestured for the woman to follow her into the inner room to change.
Wei Lai sat beside Sai De. Sai De handed him a piece of paper: “Boat ticket.”
A boat ticket? Wei Lai narrowed his eyes to read it carefully — it was clearly half a page torn from a notepad, the edge ragged as if gnawed by a dog, with a line scratched across it in ballpoint pen that was impossible to identify as Finnish or English.
Sai De lowered his voice: “You go to the Tu Er Ku dock, take a boat to Sweden — Stockholm — there’s the second-largest airport in Northern Europe.”
Wei Lai folded the “ticket” and placed it in his inside pocket: “The boat is the slowest option.”
Tu Er Ku dock had a regular ferry service between Finland and Sweden, with a crossing of roughly more than ten hours — the slowest and cheapest form of transport available.
Sai De nodded: “Time is secondary — secrecy is what matters most.”
“What time do we arrive?”
“The sooner the better, though tickets from today and tomorrow are both valid. Once you reach Tu Er Ku, go to the oil dock and find a man named Ta Pi Ao — he’ll make the arrangements.”
“And after we reach Sweden?”
Sai De smiled ruefully: “We’re still weighing things… it’s very hard to settle on an absolutely reliable route. We’ll notify you then.”
That was to be expected. Wei Lai had heard things — the fires of war in Africa had only been stamped out a few years ago, and even now, in certain localized areas, flames still flared up from time to time.
Sierra Leone had fought a decade-long civil war over diamonds — Hollywood had even drawn on that as the basis for a film called Blood Diamond. North and South Sudan had clashed over oil fields; Congo over gold mines; Ka Long was rooted in ethnic hatred; Somalia went without saying… Wars left infrastructure in ruins, and in the aftermath, many countries didn’t even have their own national airlines.
Wei Lai frowned: “What about flying from Sweden to Kenya?”
Sai De shook his head: “Kenya is in the south, and Somalia’s territory is a long, narrow triangle — the pirates’ stronghold is in the north, in the port of Bosaso. Based on the most recent intelligence, the negotiations will most likely be arranged out at sea…”
The inner room door opened.
The Eastern European woman came out first — draped in jewelry and finery, the feathers on her mask trembling slightly, a convincing imitation, worthy of being passed off as the real thing.
Behind her was Cen Jin. She was no longer wearing the evening gown. A thick army-green hooded canvas jacket, black jeans, white sneakers — compared to her formal attire, she looked more at ease, with a kind of soft gentleness that came from stripping away all the refinement.
The sound of wheels — it seemed she was pulling a suitcase. Then she turned back to look at Wei Lai: “Sorry to trouble you…”
Wei Lai stood up and walked over. He had mentally prepared himself — along this journey, he certainly couldn’t let her lug the suitcase herself.
When he got there, his head swam slightly.
This enormous thing — had to be 30 inches, right?
It could fit a whole person inside, couldn’t it?
He’d only ever seen luggage this size at international airports, carried by international students — and he’d always speculated that they must have packed pots, bowls, steamers, and strainers inside.
Along this route there would be many unknowns, and not necessarily a car to ride in every stretch. Ke Ke Shu had mentioned that some jungle paths could only be traversed on bicycle, and some places required riding camels — and he’d have to haul this suitcase the whole way?
The suitcase was sliding outward. Wei Lai’s eyes were quick and his movements quicker — he pressed his knee against the side of the case to stop it.
Mistakes must be strangled in the cradle.
Cen Jin looked at him with puzzlement. Wei Lai smiled: “Miss Cen, are you really bringing all of this?”
“Essentials.”
Bai Pao and the Eastern European woman looked over quizzically. Wei Lai switched to Chinese — they were all Chinese people, this was an “internal matter” best resolved internally, no need to give outsiders a show.
“Miss Cen, would you mind finding a backpack? I’ll help you trim down the luggage.”
Standing on the other side of the suitcase, he had decided he would not give an inch.
His own travel bag was so light it could fly like a kite in the wind. He could respect a woman’s luggage being somewhat “heavier” — but not this heavy.
They would be traveling together for so many days — either the east wind would prevail over the west wind, or the west wind would prevail over the east. He was not Bai Pao, had nothing to ask of her, and had no reason to be soft about it. If he caved without principle right from the start, he couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t eventually grow into a roc that could soar ninety thousand li at will, impervious even to artillery fire.
Cen Jin studied him for a long while. Wei Lai maintained his smile, showing no sign of budging.
She finally turned back into the room to fetch a bag.
Wei Lai exhaled, laid the suitcase flat, and pulled the zipper all the way open.
At the sight before him, he said in his heart: “I’ll be damned.”