Chapter Seventy-Five: Master Dongguo

“This is the old city. Inside, it’s all self-built houses waiting to be demolished, with winding, interconnected alleys. Most people get disoriented the first time they come in, and there are many exits—like a spider’s web. They only have one car; they can block just one exit. The chances of running into them are slim. If we do, it’s just bad luck.” Suddenly, Zhang Wenhao thought of something and blurted out, “Which side of Jiangquan Road is your destination? If it’s on the south side, we’ll have to cross Jiangquan Road. If it’s on the north, tell me the exact location; maybe we can go straight through these web-like alleys.”

“North side,” the woman replied at once. “There’s a Jiangquan Barbecue on the north side of the road. It’s behind that, second row, house number 331, Sixth Alley.”

Zhang Wenhao relaxed a little and said, “I’ve been to Jiangquan Barbecue—we don’t need to go out, just take the alleys and we’ll get there.”

He rode the bike through the labyrinth of alleys. As he turned the last corner, he said to the woman, “This is Sixth Alley. Tell me when we’re there.”

“I’ve never been here,” the woman replied. “Slow down, you look to the right, I’ll check the left. We’re looking for a two-story house with a red iron gate and three concrete steps in front.”

“There are plenty of houses like that,” Zhang Wenhao muttered, but still slowed down. The woman spotted a likely house and told Zhang Wenhao to stop. She took a closer look: the number was 358. Zhang Wenhao continued forward for about two hundred meters, then stopped in front of another house. “331, this is it,” he announced.

The woman glanced over, finally letting out a sigh of relief. She got off the back seat, and Zhang Wenhao, without looking back, asked, “Big sister, can I go home now?”

“No,” the woman replied immediately. “Get off, help me open the door. You can’t take your bike, just leave it here and walk out later.”

“Alright,” Zhang Wenhao could only nod and obey. He instinctively avoided looking at her face, in case she might want to silence him. The woman handed him a key, aimed her gun at him, and whispered, “Hurry up, so no one sees us.”

Zhang Wenhao took the key, stepped forward, and opened the gate. Then he turned to fetch his bicycle. The woman was very close; Zhang Wenhao considered trying to snatch the gun and subdue her, but the area was too quiet, surrounded by residential houses, and any commotion might attract unwanted attention. Besides, those dangerous men were still out there. For now, it was better to go inside and look for another opportunity.

Zhang Wenhao pushed his bike, the woman limping beside him, her gun always trained on him, as if afraid he’d try something.

Zhang Wenhao glanced at her in surprise. When he first met her, she’d been running swiftly and lightly—obviously well-trained. Why was she limping now?

A closer look revealed a belt tied above her left thigh, and her black tight pants had a hole—clearly a gunshot wound.

“Stop dawdling, get inside,” the woman scolded softly.

Zhang Wenhao had no choice but to push the bike in. Once she entered, he shut the door.

Unlike most self-built houses Zhang Wenhao had seen, which usually had a small courtyard before the main building, this one’s courtyard was completely roofed over. Inside, it was pitch black—he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

He took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and at the woman’s direction, found the light switch. When the lights came on, he finally saw the whole sealed courtyard.

Parked inside was a black Volkswagen Passat with local Jiangcheng plates, next to a striking Yamaha off-road motorcycle. In the corner, several large toolboxes were neatly stacked.

The woman spoke from behind: “Put your bike aside and walk to the main door.”

Zhang Wenhao complied and walked to the door. The woman limped after him and said, “The code is 113682. Open it.”

Zhang Wenhao flipped open the keypad cover, entered the code, and with a beep and a click, the lock disengaged. He pressed the handle and pushed the door open.

He turned on the lights. The house was almost empty, simply furnished. Apart from a fluorescent lamp in the living room, there was nothing else. The woman said from behind, “Open the bedroom door on the left.”

Zhang Wenhao nodded, stepped forward, opened the bedroom door, and switched on the light. When he finished, he stepped back, still avoiding looking at the woman’s face, hoping she’d let him go. Otherwise, he’d have to find a chance to subdue her.

The woman entered the bedroom and, with some difficulty, sat down on the floor by the wall. She leaned back, hissing in pain. Zhang Wenhao glanced over and saw her sitting with her injured left leg stretched out, tearing her pants wider at the bullet hole and checking her wound.

There was a finger-sized black hole in her thigh, surrounded by a five-centimeter ring of burned and torn flesh. It was a bloody mess, but because she’d tightly cinched her belt above the wound, no blood was flowing from it.

Seeing her exposed skin turning purple, Zhang Wenhao warned, “If you keep your thigh tied off like that, the tissue will become necrotic from lack of oxygen. That’ll be serious.”

The woman didn’t look up. “If I don’t tie it tightly, they can track us by the blood trail. How do you think they found us in the last neighborhood?”

Zhang Wenhao nodded. The moment he’d seen the belt on her leg, he’d realized she was using it as a tourniquet. She was tough, binding her thigh so tight to stop the bleeding.

“You can’t go to a hospital, can you?” Zhang Wenhao asked.

The woman nodded weakly. “My leg’s useless now. Just help me one more time. Leave your bike here and you can go.”

“What do you need?” Zhang Wenhao asked quickly.

The woman pointed to the single Simmons bed nearby. “Move the bed. There’s a hidden compartment underneath, the same code as the door. Open it, and bring me the first aid kit.”

Zhang Wenhao stepped forward, easily pushed the bed aside, and found the secret compartment. The lid was about the size of a standard freezer. He entered the code, and the lid popped open a crack. He lifted it to find a densely packed stash of items.

There was a laptop, several black engineering plastic cases of various sizes, and some documents and cash.

He found the first aid kit marked with a red cross and brought it to the woman. Only then did she finally lift her head.

The moment she looked up, Zhang Wenhao was stunned. Her beauty was breathtaking. She was completely without makeup, her skin flawless and delicate. Beneath her arched brows were eyes so mesmerizing they seemed to steal one’s soul. Her long eyelashes curled upward, her lips were just the right fullness, though bloodless from her injury, and her chin was small and exquisite, perfectly matching her features. Her figure, too, was flawless. If not for the gun in her hand, she would have been the most stunning of all beauties.

She opened the first aid kit with one hand and rummaged through it, but found only some gauze, disinfectant, antibiotics, and disposable syringes. After searching the whole kit, she muttered angrily to herself, “Damn Liana! She left without restocking the meds! Even the morphine’s gone!”

She looked up at Zhang Wenhao and said, “Take fifty thousand from the compartment. There are clothes in the wardrobe—find something that fits and change. I don’t think they saw your face, so they won’t find you. Be careful when you leave. If you’re scared, walk down the alley for a while, then call the police and say you were robbed. Let them escort you out.”

Zhang Wenhao nodded. “Keep the money.”

“Take it,” she said expressionlessly. “I don’t like owing favors.”

Zhang Wenhao shrugged. “I like being owed favors.” He went to the wardrobe, found a men’s jacket, changed out of his own, and said, “Big sister, I’ll be leaving now. Let’s never meet again.”

She nodded. “Don’t ever come back here.”

Zhang Wenhao agreed and was about to leave, but at the door he suddenly turned and asked, “You’re wounded and being hunted. That means you can’t go out for food or medicine, right?”

The woman hesitated slightly, then nodded.

Zhang Wenhao sighed, turned back, and asked, “Do you know the story of Mr. Dongguo?”

——

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