activa-t Chapter 10 Sitting Alone at the Shrine
Chapter 10 Sitting Alone at the Shrine
When the rickshaw stopped in the back alley of the Tzu Chi Temple, Ruan Wenzhong was fiddling with the new brass button on his uniform.
The rank of First-Class Inspector, gilded brass, felt warm to the touch in my hand.
Half a step up is the position of deputy director, a position you can only dream of.
He had a clear understanding of the situation: in the entire French Concession police station, the Westerners were the masters, and below them were a dozen or so Annamese police officers.
More than one hundred Chinese police officers?
Ha, he's just a "police dog" patrolling the streets. No matter how tough he is, he'll have to bow down and call him "Master Ruan" when he sees him.
This promotion was a gift from foreigners, and even more so, a stepping stone paved for him by the "charity association" with gold bars and "merits".
As for those who died unjustly?
There's an old Chinese saying: "One general's success is built on the bones of ten thousand." As long as he gets promoted, it doesn't matter how many more die.
He got out of the car. The alley was deep and the streetlights couldn't reach him. Only the fishing lights of the boatmen on the Haihe River in the distance were scattered here and there.
Two more people followed:
Ah Biao on the left has been with him for seven years. He is burly and thick-waisted, with black hands and a sharp gun. He is a loyal dog who bites and never lets go.
The one on the right, Li Wenyong, is thinner and from the same hometown in Annam. He's clever, but a bit weak-willed.
Ruan Wenzhong had already planned ahead; he intended to hand over his post to Ah Zhong after his retirement, as Ah Zhong was weak, obedient, and easy to control.
Be gentle.
Ruan Wenzhong lowered his voice, "Mr. Qin doesn't like noise."
He straightened his collar, the warm current still coursing through his body—the "Longevity Soup" given to him by Mr. Qin was taking effect.
After drinking it for half a year, the white hair at my temples turned black, and I could ejaculate seven times a night without losing control.
Mr. Qin said that this is an ancient health preservation formula, and long-term use can help one live past one hundred years old.
Thinking of this, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
That warm current, a mixture of power, money, and vitality, made him feel comfortable even in the chill of the night.
He walked to the back door and knocked three times, twice lightly and once heavily.
There was no movement.
I knocked again, but there was still no response.
Ruan Wenzhong frowned.
In the past, someone would have answered the door long ago.
He gave a wink, and Ah Biao stepped forward, nudged the door with his shoulder, and it creaked open because it wasn't latched.
The room was dark, and there was a strong smell of coal smoke.
Ruan Wenzhong sniffed, not paying any attention. The charity often conducted strange research in the basement, burning incense and concocting medicines, creating a mixed smell.
The three of them went inside in the dark. Ah Biao turned on his flashlight, and the beam swept across the counter piled with old books and the dusty tables and chairs.
Ruan Wenzhong walked familiarly to the storage room, where the trapdoor on the floor was ajar.
A sense of unease crossed his mind, but he quickly suppressed it.
This is the charity's territory. He's seen Mr. Qin's methods before. What could possibly happen?
Perhaps Mr. Qin is testing a new drug again, and it's normal for him to kill a few useless people.
"Ah Biao, you go down first."
Ah Biao responded, lifted the board, and squeezed inside. Nguyen Van Trung followed closely behind, with Le Van Dung bringing up the rear.
The oil lamps in the passageway were still lit, their flames flickering.
The smell of coal smoke was stronger, mixed with... a fishy smell?
Ruan Wenzhong paused, and A Biao, who was ahead of him, had already pushed open the wooden door at the end.
Light leaks out.
Then came the sound of Ah Biao gasping for breath.
Ruan Wenzhong strode forward and stepped over the threshold. His gaze first fell on the doorway, where the thin man who usually opened the door for them and bowed and scraped was curled up on the ground, as if asleep.
No, both doors are wide open, and people are lying haphazardly on the ground.
His gaze shifted upwards.
Inside the hall, yellow talisman paper still hung all over the walls, and the ghost faces drawn with cinnabar twisted under the oil lamp.
The ghost statue that was originally in the center was lying on the ground, split in two. And in its original place, a bloody head was now standing, with a cigarette holder still dangling from its mouth.
What chilled him to the bone was...
A person is sitting on the offering table.
Police uniform, standard leather boots.
One foot rested on the edge of the altar, the sole of the boot stained with mud and dark red stuff; the other leg hung limply, swaying gently.
He leaned against the ghost statue, his left hand supporting his face, his face under the brim of his hat flickering in the candlelight.
The whole scene appears eerie, mysterious, and dangerous.
It is Zhou Xing.
Ruan Wenzhong's mind went blank, as if he had been hit on the head with a blunt object; his eardrums bulged and his vision went black.
The Chinese constable he thought had already given in and taken sick leave was Zhou Xing, a third-level patrol officer.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Li Wenyong, who was standing next to him, almost knelt down because his legs went weak. In his panic, he grabbed the door frame for support.
Ah Biao reacted the fastest, his right hand suddenly reaching for his waist.
"Bang!"
The gunshot rang out, short and crisp.
Ah Biao fell backward, a hole appearing between his eyebrows. Blood and brain matter splattered onto the yellow talisman paper behind him, slowly dripping down.
His hand had barely touched the handle of the gun.
Zhou Xing had somehow acquired a Colt in his right hand, the muzzle still emitting blue smoke.
Li Wenyong screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground.
Ruan Wenzhong also tried to draw his gun, but just as his hand touched the holster, a second shot rang out.
"Bang!"
His right hand went numb, his pistol was shot out of his hand, and his thumb and forefinger split open, losing several fingers. He clutched his hand and screamed in pain, looking at Zhou Xing in terror.
Zhou Xing jumped off the offering platform and landed silently.
Having already achieved the level of Ming Jin (a martial arts technique), his strength was unified into one, his reactions were sharp, and his speed was swift. The actions of ordinary people appeared to him as slow motion.
He walked up to Ruan Wenzhong, bent down to pick up the Browning, weighed it in his hand, and tucked it into his waistband.
"Detective Ruan,"
Zhou Xing spoke, his voice low but clearly audible in the quiet basement, "Have you eaten?"
Ruan Wenzhong wanted to run, but his legs felt like lead.
He saw Zhou Xing glance at him, his eyes indifferent, devoid of murderous intent, yet more terrifying than any murderous intent, like a butcher looking at a sheep to be slaughtered.
"What...what do you want to do? Have you been wronged? Or are you short of money? Tell me, and I'll take care of it right away..."
Ruan Wenzhong was drenched in cold sweat.
Zhou Xing chuckled softly:
"Once you're stripped of this skin, you're nothing."
He looked at Li Wenyong, who was slumped on the ground, trembling like a leaf:
"You, come here."
Li Wenyong scrambled over, his head pounding loudly as he kowtowed.
"Master Zhou, spare me! I don't know anything, I'm just a lackey..."
"Cuff him." Zhou Xing pointed at Ruan Wenzhong.
"You dare!"
Upon hearing this, Nguyen Van Trung looked at Le Van Dung with a furious glare.
"Snapped!"
Zhou Xing kicked Nguyen Van Trung in the back of the knee, and the Annamese official fell to his knees with a thud.
Li Wenyong shuddered, and with trembling hands, he took out the handcuffs and, with two "clicks," handcuffed his old superior securely.
Nguyen Van Trung did not resist; he knelt there, his face drained of color.
"Zhou Xing, if you let me go, I'll pretend nothing happened, and from now on you'll be in charge of the police station..."
Zhou Xing ignored him and simply pulled out an oilcloth bag from his pocket.
Inside were needles of varying lengths, each gleaming coldly in the candlelight.
"Detective Ruan, I heard you like training dogs?"
He held the thinnest needle in his hand and slowly heated it over the oil lamp flame, the tip gradually turning a dark red. "Have you ever heard of a 'licking dog'? A dog that likes to lick the boots of foreigners."
"W-What are you going to do?"
"You can't kill me. I'm a first-class inspector of the French Concession. If you kill me, you won't survive either..."
"Zhou Xing, Zhou Xing, I beg you, please let me go..."
"What do you want to know? Ask away, I promise I'll tell you everything, I swear..."
"Waaah...please let me go...I'm just a dog, I'll do anything you want..."
"Ugh—!!!"