Chapter 004: A Remarkable Figure

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

Chi Zhaoming returned to the hotel from the karaoke bar, lay on the bed, and tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Even after he finally drifted off, he was plagued by relentless nightmares throughout the night.

When he awoke, he rubbed his forehead, trying to recall the dreams of the night before, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing came to mind.

Bleary-eyed, he drifted into the afternoon, until the sudden ringing of the doorbell jolted him upright like a spring.

Still drowsy, he quickly straightened the bedding, dressed, and went to open the door.

Standing before him were Wu Zhengzhe and his son, Xiyu.

Zhaoming was at a loss. In the ten years that had passed, this was only the fourth time he had seen his son. The first had been when Xiyu received his acceptance letter from the Chinese Public Security University—Wu Zhengzhe had brought him to the prison for that visit.

Time flies; in a blink, ten years had passed. Now, standing before him was his son, already graduated and serving as a police officer. He knew his son had been assigned to the anti-crime operation in Dahe for some time, and couldn't help but worry for his safety.

In the past, with Wu Zhengzhe accompanying him, Zhaoming hadn't been concerned. But he knew the criminal underworld in Dahe was now more rampant and fearsome than a decade ago. He also knew that Wu Zhengzhe, once a master of many skills, had proved no match for the criminal forces and ultimately had to leave the police force. Ten years on, the old injustice still remained unresolved, a cause for continual anxiety.

Since Zhaoming's imprisonment ten years ago, Xiyu had spent years refusing to hear mention of the father he so bitterly resented. Though the hatred had since faded, he was at a loss for words in this moment.

Zhaoming took in the sight of his son, tall and well-built, his frame long and lean. Xiyu had inherited the best features of both Zhaoming and Dujuan. His skin, once fair and rosy as a child, had darkened to a healthy bronze. His developed chest muscles were visible beneath his black crew-neck T-shirt, the result of years of disciplined training. His eyes were bright, lips full and sensual, nose high and prominent, his features handsome yet gentle, radiating warmth and a unique, ethereal charm. Where his father bore the air of a scholar, Xiyu looked every inch a rugged, magnetic hero, reminiscent of a charismatic Korean star.

Seeing his father look at him this way, Xiyu called out, “Dad!”

It was a word he had rarely uttered in the past decade. Hearing his son address him, Zhaoming was momentarily lost, unable to describe what he felt. He managed only, “Ah, you’re here?”

Wu Zhengzhe explained, “I’ve told them everything about you—without your permission, I’m sorry. We just came from the hospital. Dujuan’s condition is extremely weak. Last night, even in her dreams, she kept calling your name. Will you come to the hospital with me to see her?”

Zhaoming replied, his face full of shame, “During my ten years in prison, I thought of nothing but seeing her when I got out. But when I was released, for some reason, I didn’t have the courage to face her.”

“You really should go see Mom soon, Dad,” Xiyu said, his eyes brimming with tears.

Just then, Wu Zhengzhe’s phone rang. It was the hospital. Professor Qu Wenkai’s voice came through the receiver. Wu Zhengzhe responded, “Understood, we’ll be right there.”

Zhaoming hurriedly asked what had happened. Wu Zhengzhe’s expression was grave as he answered, “Dujuan’s condition has worsened. She’s fallen into a coma and just underwent emergency treatment.”

The night wind was biting; though spring had already arrived, the chill was still keen. Few people walked the streets.

On the banks of Dahe Avenue, in a district where the city’s wealthy lived, stood a cluster of independent villas. The garden lights in the compound glowed dimly. From time to time, luxury cars drove in and out through the grand entrance, while the gatehouse guards stood at attention, saluting passing vehicles with exemplary form.

The neighborhood’s design was exceptional—a garden community worthy of a landscape painting.

By midnight, most villa lights were out, save for one house still aglow.

Inside was a woman, always heavily made-up, fond of dousing herself in perfume. Her name was Feng Shuo. It was said she had just graduated from medical school and, in less than two years at Dahe Hospital, had already risen to head nurse.

Her lipstick was so conspicuous at night it resembled a monkey’s backside. Her features were regular, her nose sharp—likely the result of a failed rhinoplasty, as her nostrils tilted upwards. She spoke with an air of command, radiating strength.

She stood in the first-floor hall, phone in hand, speaking now loudly, now gesturing, now in a low tone—no one could tell whom she was talking to, or about what. Seemingly irritated, she abruptly hung up and flung her phone onto the sofa.

The villa was lavishly decorated. All the European-style chandeliers blazed, flooding the rooms with golden light.

A famous painting by local artist Hot Dog hung on the main wall, glittering under the lamps.

The furnishings were exquisite: red-brown solid wood furniture of Chinese design, sturdy and imposing. Below the painting stood a jade-carved sailing ship, nearly two meters long and over a meter high. At each end sat a Jingdezhen vase, the blue and white porcelain echoing the crystalline jade sails—a testament to the owner’s peaceful, prosperous life.

Feng Shuo sat on the sofa, brooding. She held the TV remote, flipping through channels in vain, muttering to herself all the while.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom, a middle-aged man emerged from the bathroom, face rounded and beard full—a thick, wild beard. His usual air of menace was heightened without his glasses, rendering him even more intimidating. His thin lips would sometimes part to reveal a row of white teeth, the sign of a sharp tongue.

He was not tall but was broad and stocky, exuding power and chill. This was Ma Shengwei, the Chief of Dahe Public Security Bureau.

Ma Shengwei wore a snow-white, knee-length nightshirt, his chest hair thick and visible. As he walked into the bedroom, he dried his hair with a towel.

Sitting at the dressing table, he picked up a jade comb, slicked his oily hair back, and then descended to the hall.

“Who called? You look so unhappy,” Ma Shengwei asked, wrapping Feng Shuo in his arms.

“Who else? My useless husband,” she replied.

“Useless? I hear his business is thriving. At the recent ceremony for Dahe’s youngest entrepreneurs, he was only thirty and already so successful. He’s quite the star. But I suppose he’s only impressive in his career. According to you, he has no real interest in women. If it weren’t for that—and his obsession with work—would you have ended up in my bed?” he teased.

Before he could finish, Feng Shuo cut him off. “Enough with your famous entrepreneur nonsense. It’s a joke. What he earns in a year doesn’t cover my expenses. Frankly, if it weren’t for you, I’d be broke. The only thing I care about is your money. That former subordinate of yours still hasn’t recovered his memory. If he ever does, you really could end up in jail. If his wife hadn’t gone mad, I wouldn’t have this chance. You’re a man of experience, all right. With your wealth, few women could resist you.”

Ma Shengwei nodded. “I know. But all the money I’ve given you, my wife hasn’t seen a cent. Spend it well. If I ever do end up behind bars, you’d better visit me—and at least make sure I’m well fed. Otherwise, even with my strength, I might not survive two years in prison.” He tapped her on the forehead as he spoke.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you really think I’d neglect you if you went to jail?” she retorted.

“Don’t be too sure. A provincial department chief went to prison recently—embezzled tens of millions, all spent on other women. His wife never saw a dime. She was so furious she spat blood. Once he was locked up, all those mistresses abandoned him, afraid of implication. His wife, out of spite, arranged the worst food for him. Now he’s a wreck in prison. He’d helped me in my career, so I visited him recently. His mind’s not right anymore. Some say it’s karma. Who knows if I’ll meet the same fate?” Ma Shengwei spoke with genuine concern.

“You can’t get caught. If you do, I won’t be able to live, especially without a man around. Let’s just do what you love most right now,” Feng Shuo suggested, shifting the topic.

She looked barely twenty, leaning against Ma Shengwei’s exposed chest, tracing his thick chest hair with slender fingers. “How long has it been since you made love to me? Have you been with another woman?” she asked coquettishly.

“What do you mean?” Ma Shengwei replied.

“Oh, stop pretending—you know exactly what I mean. You’re so bad!” She could no longer contain her desire and pressed him onto the sofa.

“You wicked little thing. Your parents really named you well—Feng Shuo? Might as well call you Flirtatious. You know it’s my favorite thing. Do you know why?” Ma Shengwei asked.

“Because you’re amazing, of course!” she answered without hesitation.

“That’s a given. But do you know why I’m so amazing?” He looked mysterious.

“Why? I really don’t know.” She admitted. By looks alone, this man was not her type—burly, fat, large-headed, big-eared. Only his power and physical strength appealed to her. He fulfilled both her material and physical desires.

“I’ll tell you. I’m not like most men—most have two kidneys, but I have three. You have no idea the trouble it’s caused me. If I don’t have sex every three days, it’s like bugs are crawling inside me. Before you, if my wife was indisposed, I’d suffer unless I had other women. Don’t take offense—you weren’t the only one then. My women needed to be treated fairly. Enough talk—I can’t wait anymore.” Ma Shengwei was clearly impatient.

Before he finished, her nightgown was already stripped away and tossed onto the red carpet…

In Ma Shengwei’s golden villa, after their stormy union, Feng Shuo gazed at him fondly, saying, “You really are strong. Every time you leave me dizzy and weak—it’s so manly! If only you could donate that extra kidney to someone in need.”

Ma Shengwei laughed. “Not a chance—that’s my treasure. Some men envy me, you know. At the bathhouse, men stare at it in awe. No one’s getting it. Do you know someone who needs a kidney?”

“That friend you’ve mentioned before—Chi Zhaoming, who works at the TV station, remember? Yesterday I saw him and Wu Zhengzhe together at the hospital. I followed them to the ward stairwell and saw Zhaoming give Wu a package. You’ve been searching for it for years. They acted so secretive—it must be important. I heard his wife is in the hospital, and I asked the nurse—she’s preparing for a kidney transplant,” the woman replied.

Hearing this, Ma Shengwei said nothing, but dressed quickly. “Go to bed. I have things to take care of—I’m leaving.” The woman watched him go, still unsatisfied.