Encounter
Rainwater trickled down Du Siling's neck and into his collar, chilling him to the bone. He stood in the alley behind the "Golden Glory" nightclub, his fingers unconsciously tracing the two-centimeter-long scar on his lower right chin—a "proof of identity" he had specially created for this undercover mission.
"Remember, your name is now Du Fei, a former police officer dismissed for excessive force." His superior, Chen Yan's words echoed in his mind. "Han Beimo appears to be a successful businessman, but in reality, he controls the entire black market in the Northern District. We need solid evidence."
The iron gate creaked open, letting in a dim, yellow light.
"Come in, the boss wants to see you." A bald man with a face full of scars looked Du Siling up and down, his gaze lingering on Du Siling's lean but muscular body for a few seconds.
Du Siling lowered his head and stepped over the threshold, instantly enveloped by deafening music and air thick with the stench of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. He followed the bald man through the crowded dance floor and up a hidden staircase to the top floor.
In stark contrast to the hustle and bustle downstairs, the top floor was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. At the end of the corridor was a carved wooden door, flanked by two bodyguards in black suits. They expertly searched Du Siling, confiscating his folding knife and cell phone.
"New here?" one of the bodyguards grinned. "Hopefully you live a long life."
The door opened, and Du Siling was pushed inside. Unexpectedly, what greeted her eyes was not the luxurious office she had imagined, but a huge greenhouse. The moist, warm air was filled with the scent of earth and plants, and the surrounding area was filled with blooming flowers, the most numerous of which was a bright red azalea.
In the center of the room, a tall man with his back to the door was pruning the branches of a rhododendron. He was wearing a simple black turtleneck sweater and trousers, and a discreet Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleamed softly under the greenhouse lights.
"Master Han, the person has been brought here," the bald man said respectfully.
"Go out." The man's voice was deep and calm, surprisingly young.
When Han Beimo turned around, Du Siling subconsciously tensed her muscles. The Han Beimo in the photos was always cold and gloomy, but the man in front of her had a face that was almost a work of art—a well-defined jawline, a high nose bridge, thin lips, and those unforgettable eyes: amber irises that looked like transparent honey under the light, yet unfathomable.
"Du Fei?" Han Beimo put down the scissors and slowly approached. "Or should I call you Chief Inspector Du Siling?"
Du Siling's blood froze instantly. His fingers twitched slightly, ready to attack or defend himself at any moment.
Han Beimo suddenly laughed, a laugh that brightened his entire face: "Just kidding. Sit down."
Du Siling remained vigilant, but still sat down in the wicker chair that was shown to him. Han Beimo poured himself a glass of water, surprisingly showing no intention of pouring one for the guest.
"I know you were fired from the police force for breaking a drug dealer's ribs," Han Beimo leaned against the table, looking down at him. "I also know you single-handedly took down four thugs who were looking for trouble at the 'Nightfall' bar last week." He tilted his head. "I admire decisive people."
Du Siling remained silent, letting Han Beimo continue.
"From today onwards, you'll be working for me," Han Beimo suddenly announced. "Your monthly salary is 20,000, room and board included. Your job is to ensure that no one can harm me—including my own men."
Du Siling hadn't expected things to go so smoothly. He nodded cautiously, "Thank you for your appreciation, Mr. Han."
Han Beimo suddenly leaned down, and the distance between them abruptly shortened. Du Siling could smell a faint scent of ambergris mixed with tobacco on him, as well as a faint, almost imperceptible smell of blood—he couldn't tell if it came from someone else or from himself.
"I have only one request," Han Beimo's voice was as soft as a whisper, "absolute loyalty. Those who betray me will meet a terrible end. Understand?"
Du Siling looked directly into those amber eyes: "Understood."
Han Beimo straightened up, casually picked a rhododendron, and tucked it into his collar: "Ah Feng will take you to your lodgings. I need to go to the dock at seven tomorrow."
Back in her temporary apartment, Du Siling carefully checked every corner to make sure there were no listening devices before taking out a miniature communicator from a hidden compartment in her shoe.
"We're close to our goal on the first day, things are going better than expected," he reported in a low voice, "but Han Beimo is more...complex than described in the files."
"Don't be fooled by appearances," Chen Yan's voice came through the earpiece. "Remember how his father murdered those witnesses. Blood must be paid for in blood."
Du Siling ended the call and stood by the window, gazing at the brightly lit night view of the North District. He recalled the bright red azalea on Han Beimo's collar and the pair of slender, elegant hands that were trimming the flowers—they didn't look like the hands of a notoriously cruel gang leader at all.
What unsettled him most was that when Han Beimo approached, he felt a strange electric current surge through his spine—a major taboo for undercover agents, meaning that emotions could interfere with judgment.
Du Siling rubbed her face vigorously and opened the police file to study Han Beimo's information again. The cold man in the photo overlapped with the flower-loving image in the greenhouse, forming an unsolvable mystery.
Outside the window, the rain started again.
Some flowers bloom most beautifully in blood.
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