Chapter 67 Blackened Light
——She began to learn how to hold his hand tightly in the dark.
The warmth of the birthday candles has not yet dissipated, and the sweet scent of icing sugar still lingers on the fingertips, but the night of Bangkok has already wrapped itself tightly around the undercurrent, wrapping the last bit of warmth in the humid wind.
Mo Xiaohan's black Maybach stopped in front of the most secretive private club along the Chao Phraya River. When the car door opened, Ruan Xingchen took a deep breath. The damp evening breeze was filled with the scent of cigars and danger.
This was her second time stepping into the underground world's meeting, but this time, she was no longer just an outsider watching coldly, but stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the main seat.
Mo Xiaohan stood beside the car with his palms open towards her.
"Remember, you don't need to prove anything." He looked at her, his voice deep and steady, "Just remember the information I gave you."
Ruan Xingchen raised her eyes and met his bottomless eyes. She put her hand in his palm, and the rings touched, making a slight sound.
"I know." Her tone was calm, but her fingertips curled up unconsciously in his palm, revealing the slight ripple in her heart.
The lights in the conference room were dimmer than last time, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.
Ruan Xingchen sat on the right side of Mo Xiaohan - the place closest to the core of power.
Her back was straight, her fingertips resting lightly on the edge of the table. Countless eyes pierced her, some contemptuous, some tentative, and most waiting to see her laugh.
"Mr. Mo, are you bringing your wife out to show the world?" Old Ken, the largest arms dealer in the Golden Triangle, grinned broadly, his eyes sweeping over Ruan Xingchen unscrupulously. "Or... are you planning to let this Miss Jiao get involved in our 'business'?"
Mo Xiaohan didn't say anything, but just leaned back slightly in his chair, with his right hand casually placed on the back of Ruan Xingchen's chair. This simple action made the temperature in the whole room drop sharply.
Ruan Xingchen picked up the teacup, took a sip, and looked at Lao Ken calmly.
"Of the AK-12s handled by Mr. Ken last year," she said, putting down her teacup, her voice clear, "one-third ended up in the hands of the Burmese rebels. And the number you reported to your allies..." She flipped open the folder in front of her and looked up at Mr. Ken. "That's four hundred short."
Old Ken's smile froze instantly, and a trace of panic flashed in his eyes. This matter was top secret, and even his closest confidants didn't know the details.
This set of precise numbers is the knife that Mo Xiaohan handed to her, allowing her to cut through this hypocritical relationship; it is also the road he paved for her, and the weight she must bear.
Ruan Xingchen's voice was steady as he continued, "Even more coincidentally, the batch of—"
"You fucking—" Old Ken stood up suddenly, the chair scraping against the ground with a harsh sound, his hands reaching for his waist.
"Bang!" The gunshot rang out first.
Old Ken's right ear was instantly covered in blood. Ruan Xingchen held up the smoking Glock, the recoil making her palm numb, but her hand was very steady.
The conference room fell silent instantly.
"Next time," her voice was soft, but her eyes were as cold as ice, "it will be between your eyebrows."
Mo Xiaohan leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips slightly raised.
He reached out and grasped the wrist where she held the gun, and rubbed his thumb over her throbbing pulse, as if to comfort her, or to reward her.
"From today on," he said casually, yet it sent chills down everyone's spine, "what she means is what I mean."
The conference room was completely silent. The contemptuous and probing looks from earlier were now replaced with fear and awe. No one dared to question the weight of this woman anymore.
She was not a canary, but a queen crowned by the tyrant himself.
After the meeting, Ruan Xingchen vomited violently in the bathroom.
She scooped up some cold water and splashed it on her face. When she looked up, she saw herself in the mirror: her lips were pale and there were water droplets on her eyelashes.
The bathroom door was pushed open, and Mo Xiaohan walked in. The night seemed to flow in with his figure, coating his outline with a layer of silver-blue.
He walked straight up to her and opened his arms. Ruan Xingchen almost fell into his arms, and her tense nerves finally broke.
"You're shaking so badly," he said, his voice tinged with laughter as he stroked her trembling back with his palm. "Where's the momentum you had just now?"
Ruan Xingchen clutched his shirt tightly and buried her face in his chest: "I hate shooting..." Her voice was muffled, "I hate threatening people... I hate the way they look at me..."
Mo Xiaohan tightened his arms and kissed the top of her head, carrying the cool scent of absinthe and his unique warmth.
"I know."
He knew she didn't like it, but she did it anyway—for him.
Ruan Xingchen looked up at him, her eyes slightly red, but with an unshakable determination: "But this is your world... I am willing to learn your way and stand by you."
Mo Xiaohan's Adam's apple rolled, and he stroked the back of her trembling neck with his palm, pressing her to his chest. Her heartbeat echoed in the silence, as if responding to a fate already written.
Her light was eventually stained by his darkness, and his darkness finally gained warmth because of her.
——I would like to fall into the eternal night with you, and even light will become your accomplice.
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