Life: A Black and White Film (一生一世，黑白影画)

Chapter 6.2 - Fate's Preface (2)

In a small Western restaurant that was already temporarily closed for business, Cheng Muyun stood outside the door of a utility room. Beside him, Meng Liangchuan handed him a cigarette, but he did not take it. Meng Liangchuan raised his brows.

Cheng Muyun looked down at this short man. "There is still use for him."

Wang Wenhao was only the furthest down line in the operations. He needed to let the ones above Wang Wenhao, or perhaps even one level higher, know that he—Cheng Muyun—had taken their goods.

He needed to be "regarded as an enemy" and, from that, get new leads.

"No problem," Meng Liangchuan grinned. "Aside from me and my comrades, nobody knows that this Wang Wenhao is a trafficker. To everyone's understanding, and even in the eyes of those friends of his, he's still an ordinary university professor and was merely unlucky enough to be kidnapped time and again."

With a slight lift of his brow, Cheng Muyun reassessed this man in front of him.

"Why did you give me leads that allowed us to exterminate that smuggling base?" Meng Liangchuan unexpectedly asked.

"A few years ago, a friend of mine died there." Cheng Muyun did not try to avoid the topic. "He was like you, a police officer, but he was not a Nepali. He was Chinese."

This was a very good reason, but was outside of expectations.

It was not something Meng Liangchuan had thought of, yet it was the best explanation that was most in line with Cheng Muyun's personality. In only a few words, a story had been sketched out.

But the storyteller said no more.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

The Italian chef of this Western restaurant walked by the two of them, warmly greeting them both in English. With his hand propped against the side of the door, Cheng Muyun gave a low chuckle and greeting in return and skillfully exchanged some idle chitchat with the other party.

That Italian chef soon left them. After all, they were still in the middle of a general strike, and this place was also in the central area of the city. This restaurant would be closed for business for at least three or four days. The chef had come back only to retrieve some items. After a short while, he headed straight out of the restaurant.

Quiet was restored all around them.

Meng Liangchuan pressed down on the door handle, personally opening the door for him. "Cheng Laoban, have a look."

He stepped into that messy utility room.

Wang Wenhao, his eyes bound with a black cloth, lay hunched in a corner.

Walking up to him, Cheng Muyun bent down, took Wang Wenhao's chin between two of his fingers, and forced the man to tilt his head upward. His voice low, he greeted, "My friend, I did not expect that we would meet again so soon."

In darkness and despair, Wang Wenhao's face twisted together. "Cheng Laoban?! Cheng Laoban... You-you're Cheng Muyun?!"

His voice practically a whisper, he answered, "It is I."

As if struck by lightning, Wang Wenhao recoiled fiercely, then retreated backwards some more, knocking over all kinds of odds and ends. Amid the dust and debris that was kicked up into the air, he suddenly grew hysterical.

Cheng Muyun made a signal with his eyes.

Meng Liangchuan abruptly flattened his hand and slashed it down hard like a knife into Wang Wenhao's neck. Crumpling, Wang Wenhao passed out on the floor. In a quiet tone, Meng Liangchuan told Cheng Muyun, "I will arrange for him to be rescued by the police and will also let him return safely to Moscow."