Chapter 52: The Lion (12)

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Wen Mingwei slept more deeply that night than ever before.

The tremendous physical exhaustion caused by their repeated, intense lovemaking throughout the day required sleep to recover from. Though he answered the questions Tan Zhao asked afterward, his consciousness was no longer fully clear. With the sound of his own voice still echoing in his ears, he sank into an exhausted, profound sleep.

After he fell asleep, Tan Zhao moved closer, caught a strand of his long hair, and gently tied it into a knot around his fingers.

It was a meaningless gesture, but Tan Zhao simply watched him like that for a long time. Then, silently, he picked up his phone, sent a message, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Wen Mingwei was roused by the alarm.

A hand was roaming over his body as though giving him a massage. He did not notice at first, but the pressure gradually increased, kneading from his shoulders down to his waist. Wen Mingwei had no choice but to wake. His eyes opened slowly, meeting Tan Zhao’s face at close range—a cold face that did not like to smile and seemed born to look cool.

“Good morning.” Tan Zhao kissed him. “Gu Jing knocked on the door earlier. He seemed to have something to say, so I told him you were still asleep and sent him away.”

“What time is it?” Wen Mingwei sat up.

“Eleven. How does it feel? A little like a debauched sovereign who has abandoned the morning court?”

“...”

Wen Mingwei could not help laughing. “Then what does that make you? The wicked consort who brings ruin upon the kingdom?”

“I wish I had that much influence.”

Tan Zhao did not consider it shameful. He climbed out of bed and dressed, then picked up his phone with his back to Wen Mingwei and glanced at it.

“I’m going to stop by the company today. If there are any new emails, shall I tell you?”

“Mm.”

Wen Mingwei watched him leave, then sat on the bed for a long while, recalling the contents of the previous emails.

After a night had passed, his memories of the previous evening had grown somewhat hazy. More vivid than the emails were the gauze, the adhesive tape, and the sensation of his wrists being bound.

Wen Mingwei had never liked mixing business with personal matters. He especially disliked making any work-related decisions while not fully lucid. Yet Tan Zhao’s existence was already an exception. The feeling of losing control the instant his principles were broken was itself a subtle kind of stimulation.

For Wen Mingwei, every form of stimulation was precious. He was willing to sacrifice a little of his sense of security in exchange for it—but only a little. Not too much.

Thinking about what had happened the day before, Wen Mingwei ate brunch alone, then listened to Gu Jing’s work report. In the afternoon, he remained in the study, studying maps—maps of arms-trafficking routes.

The day before, he had told Jian Xinning that it would be best if the remaining shipments of the year avoided the southeastern border region. But the southeast was the core area where the major overseas forces gathered and exchanged information. Even if the goods were transported along other routes, most of them would ultimately flow into the southeast.

That was why Wen Mingwei kept the tightest control over the several routes in that vicinity. They could be bypassed, but doing so would be troublesome, and the manpower, resources, and costs involved would all increase.

Wen Mingzhe was not yet dangerous enough to force him to take such detours. Still, he was a latent threat, and the sooner he was dealt with, the better.

Wen Mingwei studied the maps all afternoon. He was still studying them the next day, and the day after that, yet he could not settle on a final route.

The markings on his maps indicated more than transportation routes. They also showed the distribution of personnel in every region and at every checkpoint.

Most of the people working for him had never seen him in person, but he had a general understanding of them. Understanding was the only way to feel secure.

Wen Mingwei reorganized his entire network of connections from top to bottom, then marked out several relatively low-risk routes to serve as temporary alternatives.

He was busy these two days, while Tan Zhao, having recovered from his injuries, returned to work at the company. He could not remain under Wen Mingwei’s watch every day.

Tan Zhao had previously said they should leave Wen Mingzhe hanging for a few days, put on a convincing show, and only then reply. He truly left him waiting for three or four days. It was not until the evening of October 2 that he finally sent Wen Mingzhe a reply, pretending to have given the matter careful consideration.

As before, he sent the email in Wen Mingwei’s presence.

The two of them sat together in the study. Tan Zhao first revealed something of his circumstances, hinting that his relationship with Wen Mingwei had grown increasingly hostile and that he had suffered countless personal humiliations. He wanted to escape Wen Mingwei’s control, and above all, he no longer wished to sacrifice his own company’s interests to pave the way for Wen Mingwei’s success.

His wording was skillful and his acting impeccable. Every sentence he typed was deeply misleading. He presented himself as a poor little cabbage battered by the bitter wind, desperate to escape the clutches of evil and take his revenge.

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Wen Mingwei watched with an amused smile, then suddenly asked, “Tan Zhao, you don’t really think this way, do you?”

“...”

Tan Zhao answered calmly and frankly, “I did at first. Not anymore.”

“What do you think now?”

“Haven’t you figured it out these past few days?”

“Mm. You want to be the wicked consort.”

Wen Mingwei reached out and held the back of his neck, stroking it affectionately several times. His gaze remained fixed on the screen as he watched Tan Zhao send the message.

The reply arrived within three minutes.

Wen Mingzhe: Let’s arrange a time to meet in person.

Online communication isn’t secure. If Wen Mingwei becomes suspicious, he may monitor your network communications.

Wen Mingwei smiled. “I certainly would.”

“...”

The nape held in his palm stiffened faintly. After a pause of two seconds, Tan Zhao raised his head and said with complete indifference, “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing on my side that you can’t see.”

He leaned forward in the direction of Wen Mingwei’s hand, moving closer of his own accord.

“How should I reply? Should I agree to meet?”

“He’d never dare show his face.” Wen Mingwei said, “Ask where we’re meeting, who will be there, and whether he’ll come in person.”

Tan Zhao cooperated and asked.

Wen Mingzhe sent back the name of a city: Ke’an, a gambling city within the Alliance. He gave no specific address, saying that for the sake of security, the exact location would be decided that day.

As expected, he did not intend to come himself. He arranged for one of his most trusted men to attend in his place.

Tan Zhao was about to reply when Wen Mingwei suddenly stopped his hand, took the phone away, and tossed it aside.

Tan Zhao looked up in confusion. Wen Mingwei hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him before suddenly asking, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you, Tan Zhao?”

“...Yes. Is there a problem?”

Tan Zhao suppressed the unease in his eyes, as though he did not understand why the question held any special significance.

But Wen Mingwei meant something else.

“I’ll send people to protect you secretly. Once you go to the meeting, however, you’ll have to meet Wen Mingzhe alone. Being an undercover agent is dangerous. Anything could happen, and I can’t watch over you every moment or guarantee your safety.”

Tan Zhao fell silent for a moment.

Mistaking his silence for hesitation, Wen Mingwei gave him an opening. “You can still change your mind. I want to deal with Wen Mingzhe, but you matter more. You’re not an ordinary subordinate of mine. You don’t have to take this risk. Do you understand?”

“...”

For one brief moment, Tan Zhao was at a loss for words. Wen Mingwei’s phrasing was restrained, but the concern in his eyes was genuine.

He was not an ordinary subordinate. He was Wen Mingwei’s lover.

Compared with Wen Mingwei’s former coldness and humiliation, his concern was far more effective at wearing down Tan Zhao’s resolve. It made him relax, made him waver, made him want to stop moving forward.

Tan Zhao endured it for a moment, then pulled Wen Mingwei into his arms and rested his chin against his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re sure you want to go?”

“Yes. I don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

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Tan Zhao retrieved his phone, gave Wen Mingzhe a definite answer, and set a time for the meeting.

They arranged to meet two days later, on the afternoon of October 4.

On the surface, Tan Zhao traveled alone to the meeting city, Ke’an, under the pretext of a business trip. In secret, Wen Mingwei sent a team to follow him. They could only lie in wait nearby, however, and were unable to protect him at close range.

Ke’an was a northern city at a high latitude. By October, the temperature had already fallen sharply. Yellow leaves drifted along both sides of the roads, and the vegetation was withered, yet there was not the slightest sign of desolation in the streets. The city center, where the major casinos were concentrated, was particularly lively.

But this was still within the Alliance, unlike the territories overseas. The casinos here were more legitimate, and their surroundings considerably more wholesome.

Following the live location he had received a few minutes earlier, Tan Zhao entered a teahouse hidden behind a commercial street.

It was an old-fashioned building, steeped in antique charm, with many rules. His membership was checked at the entrance. Tan Zhao gave the name Wen Mingzhe had provided, after which a machine scanned him from head to toe. Every piece of technological equipment on his person was temporarily confiscated, including his phone and the watch that could easily conceal objects.

He had expected this and cooperated fully. He followed a server upstairs and entered a private room in a secluded location.

Tan Zhao had imagined this meeting beforehand. He did not know Wen Mingzhe’s trusted subordinate, and assumed the man would be nothing special—merely a mouthpiece remotely controlled by Wen Mingzhe.

To his surprise, when the door of the private room slid open to either side, it revealed a familiar figure.

The man was dressed with care and sat with his back to the door. Even from behind, there was a ferocity about him that not even an expensive suit could conceal. He was no refined gentleman.

Tan Zhao suppressed his astonishment, paused briefly, and stepped over the threshold.

The man turned and smiled faintly. “Young Master Tan, we meet again.”

It was Wen Mingzhe himself.

Tan Zhao sat across from him at the tea table and glanced at the gun beside his hand.

“How dare you come in person?”

“Do you know what it means to hide beneath the lamp? The most dangerous place is the safest.”

Wen Mingzhe was rather pleased with himself. He looked Tan Zhao over. More than half a month had passed since they last met. Tan Zhao appeared unchanged, yet his presence had grown steadier. His cold face clearly showed that he was not naturally inclined to flatter others. Though at a disadvantage, he carried an air of arrogance, and he did not even smile upon seeing Wen Mingzhe.

If he had been an ordinary person, Wen Mingzhe would certainly have darkened his expression. But what he had said to Tan Zhao last time had not been false. In a certain sense, he believed the two of them were alike: both were noble-born young masters cursed with miserable fates—because of Wen Mingwei.

For that reason, Wen Mingzhe was willing to show Tan Zhao a little more respect. He poured him a cup of tea himself and said, “I didn’t expect you to be so bold. You helped me deceive Wen Mingwei, and even carried the act through to the end, dragging it out for several days.”

Wen Mingzhe gave a derisive laugh. “What did he say? Did he believe that you intended to help capture me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Tan Zhao glanced at the teacup without drinking. His expressionless face was reflected in the pale brown surface, extraordinarily handsome.

Wen Mingzhe studied his features carefully, then deliberately said something unpleasant. “Indeed. With Jian Qingzheng’s face, deceiving him would be easy.”

Tan Zhao’s brow furrowed. Wen Mingzhe laughed on the spot, but his pleasant laughter lasted less than three seconds. His expression turned sinister, and he raised the gun, chambering a round.

“If you can deceive him, how do I know you won’t deceive me?”

“...”

The dark muzzle of the gun stirred memories of Tan Zhao’s recent injuries. Wen Mingzhe’s voice turned grim.

“Are you deceiving him, deceiving me, or trying to profit from both sides?”

“Why are you so suspicious?” Tan Zhao was indeed much steadier now. He lifted the cup and took a shallow sip of the tea. “If you were me, what would you consider the most advantageous course of action? At the very least, I wouldn’t hand you over to him. I’d gain nothing from that.”

Wen Mingzhe remained suspicious. Tan Zhao pushed the gun aside.

“I have a new plan.”

“Go on.”

Wen Mingzhe temporarily lowered the gun and placed it back on the tea table.

“Do you want to come back and develop your interests here?” Tan Zhao asked.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Wen Mingzhe sneered. “Who the hell would want to stay in some godforsaken place overseas? But Wen Mingwei has already set his sights on me. It’s inconvenient to make any moves now.”