Chapter 38
Saturday 19:50, "Snowy Night" on the top floor of Tsar.
The crystal chandelier was dazzlingly bright, and the air conditioning mixed with cigars and champagne, creating a feast that felt like it had been frozen.
Yu Chen stood on stage number seven, Blackjack, her long black hair reaching just to her waist, the ends tucked into a hairnet, like fire sealed in ink.
The short skirt work uniform, the sapphire at the neckline sparkling under the light, like a star weighed down by snow.
She raised her hand to deal the cards, 0.16 seconds per card, her knuckles silent, yet her heart pounded painfully high—
For the eighteenth time, it was finally time to confront the enemy head-on.
An Yi sat to the side and behind the bar, wearing a black shirt, a gray suit jacket, and a tiny An Group badge pinned to his collar.
He held a glass of non-alcoholic sparkling water in his hand, his gaze passing through the crystal chandelier and landing on the dealer at table number seven.
Black hair, pale skin, and sharp lips, like a card that has been sliced with the back of a knife.
His knuckles tightened silently on the glass, but his heart pounded more wildly than it had been during his 100-meter sprint four years ago.
In Cheng Yan's file, the hair color section says "natural black".
But he knew that it was a vibrant red stained with ink, a fire he had kissed but then pushed away.
He dared not approach, only watching from the shadows, as if watching a pre-written analysis, but unable to find the starting point.
At 20:30, Vic took his seat on time.
A 45-year-old Russian with short, gray hair, his Patek Philippe gleaming on his wrist like a knife polished by blood.
He piled up his chips into a fortress, then looked up, his gaze landing on Yu Chen's face, his voice low and hoarse:
"We meet again, in the eighteenth round. Don't let me win it all again."
Yu Chen remained expressionless, his voice chillingly cold: "Sir, dealing cards is my job."
She deals the cards, shuffles the cards, and deals the cards again—
He deliberately let Viktor win against Koike, and then deliberately lost against Oike.
The chips were piled up like a small mountain, like a grave that had been prepared in advance.
At 21:45, Viktor flicked the last million-dollar chip to her, his voice tinged with laughter:
"Cheng Yan, you lost."
Yu Chen caught it, his fingertips tracing the edge of the chip, his voice so low it was barely a whisper:
"I lose, I admit defeat."
She looked up, her gaze passing through the crystal chandelier, briefly meeting An Yi's eyes in the shadows—
Imagine plotting a delayed coordinate on an incomplete parsing:
—I can push it away, but I can't forget it.
You can escape, but you can't hide.
At 22:00, Wei Qi left the field, and Yu Chen was "invited" backstage.
Gray trench coat, walkie-talkie, a red dot flashes—
He's not just an extra; he's a full-fledged bodyguard.
She was hooded, her hands were tied behind her back, and she was pushed onto a freight elevator and taken down to the third basement level.
The smell of seawater mixed with engine oil was like a pre-written ending.
The back door opened, letting in a cold wind, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the distance, like drumbeats accompanying a defeat.
She was pushed onto the speedboat, and the hood was suddenly ripped off—
Vicki sat opposite him, his short, gray hair whipping wildly in the sea breeze, his voice low and hoarse:
"Cheng Yan, you deal cards very quickly, but unfortunately—"
You've lost everything, you can't even afford to lose your life.
He raised his hand, and the bodyguard wrapped an iron chain around her waist. The lock clicked, like putting a final seal on an unexploded ordnance.
The speedboat sped out to sea, where waves were two meters high, like a giant mouth opened by the night.
Vicky stood at the stern, her voice broken by the sea breeze:
"Tsar leaves no losers, no spies, no—"
Red-haired girl.
He raised his hand, and the bodyguard tied the other end of the chain to the ship's side, as if to put an end to the defeat.
The speedboat braked suddenly, a wave surged up, and Yu Chen was violently pushed off—
Her long, black hair swung in the air, arcing like a fire rekindled by the night.
But they were instantly swallowed by the sea, without even having a chance to cry for help.
Seawater rushed into my eardrums, like adding delay coordinates to an unfinished analysis:
—I can push it away, but I can't forget it.
You can escape, but you can't hide.
—The eighteenth failure, a kiss that was pushed away but didn't fade.
—It was all taken away by the sea, leaving not even an echo.
23:17, offshore, waves continue to rise.
The speedboat turned around, its lights fading into the distance, as if closing the door to failure.
The sea continued to lap against the shore, like sealing an unfinished obituary with a final seal.
The unknown waves continue to rise—
The land beneath the waves is a grave that Yu Chen dug for himself.
It was also an obituary she had written in advance for her enemy.
And on the wave, An Yi stands at the top of Tsar.
The knuckles tightened silently in the telescope.
But that red hue, swallowed by the sea, can no longer be found.
The waves continued to rise, like a preemptively tolling bell—
This time, no one let go.
But some were taken away by the sea, leaving not even an echo.
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