Drapeau fantôme

Chapitre 8

Fat Lin Henggan and skinny Meng Fangliang are both vice presidents of Longyu Group and veteran figures who fought alongside Deng Hua all the way up, holding prominent positions. Lin Henggan, in particular, was second only to Deng Hua in Longyu Group even when Deng Hua was alive.

The young man, A Sheng, was even more familiar to him, as the former was one of Deng Hua's most capable bodyguards. Although such a person did not hold a high position within the group, he had an extremely close relationship with Deng Hua's family. The influence of such a person was like that of a eunuch serving an emperor—small in some ways, but also frighteningly large in others.

Now that Deng Hua has just been assassinated, the Longyu Group is in a sensitive period of power reorganization. What could these three possibly discuss when they get together?

Lin Henggan rarely spoke, and even less often raised his glass. Most of the time, he simply sat quietly, a confident smile on his face. In contrast, Meng Fangliang never put down his glass, though he didn't drink much. He would often hold his glass in one hand, pat Asheng's shoulder with the other, and say something. The latter would listen for a moment, then nod, his neck flushed, before downing his glass of baijiu in one gulp, displaying an air of heroic bravado.

Meng Fangliang seemed quite satisfied with Asheng's performance. Watching him down another glass of baijiu, he turned and gave Lin Henggan a wink. Lin Henggan nodded, and then the two of them stood up together.

Ah Sheng also quickly stood up, his body already swaying unsteadily.

Meng Fangliang smiled and stopped Asheng, saying, "Sit a little longer, Mr. Lin and I will leave first." When he said this, he no longer lowered his voice, as if it were a normal farewell at a gathering.

Lin Henggan came over and shook hands with Asheng, his eyes seemingly filled with great anticipation.

Ah Sheng gripped the other person's chubby hand tightly, feeling both flattered and apprehensive, yet also filled with a sense of triumphant pride.

Lin Henggan and Meng Fangliang left leisurely. They certainly wouldn't notice the young man in a white-collar uniform in the corner of the restaurant, but the latter had been staring at them the whole time. At this moment, he coldly snorted, expressing his disgust and contempt. Clearly, this private meeting involved some secret deal, and A Sheng, as the guardian of the Deng family, had already betrayed his duty.

Ah Sheng wouldn't even notice that person; he was still immersed in the beautiful promises Meng Fangliang had made to him. Yes, Deng Hua was dead, so why should he continue to serve the Deng family? Why should he continue to be suppressed by that Ah Hua? A wise bird chooses a good tree to perch on; by changing employers, he could obtain a more powerful position than Ah Hua.

Ah Sheng became more and more excited as he thought about it, and the effects of the alcohol made him feel even more lightheaded. He was even reluctant to leave.

The girl in the center of the water finished her performance, and the music stopped.

"What are you doing?" Ah Sheng shouted in a rough voice, "Don't stop, keep playing, keep playing!" Although he didn't understand music, he wanted to pursue a kind of perfect pleasure at this moment.

A waiter quickly and humbly stepped forward: "Excuse me, sir, the performance has ended."

"End my ass! Can't I afford it?" Ah Sheng slapped out several large bills. "Keep acting with me!"

The girl swayed, seemingly startled. She stood in the center of the stage, her eyes vacant, looking so frail and helpless. Another waiter quickly stepped forward, and with his help, the girl hurriedly packed up her instruments and headed backstage.

"What the hell do you mean? You dare to disrespect me? Do you even want to stay in this place anymore?" Asheng couldn't back down, and fueled by alcohol, he suddenly lashed out. He stood up and staggered after the girl.

"Damn it, you blind bastard, don't run!" He chased her all the way backstage, but the girl was already gone.

"Damn it, fine, run away!" Ah Sheng cursed and threatened, "Don't ever come back again, I'll smash you every time I see you! Damn it, don't you even know who I am!"

After his outburst, the effects of the alcohol intensified. Everyone kept their distance, no one daring to acknowledge him, which made Ah Sheng feel rather bored. He finally staggered out of the restaurant and headed towards the parking lot.

A moment later, he found his Jetta. "Jetta, hey, one day I'll turn you into a BMW!" he dreamt as he opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

A handkerchief with a pungent smell was suddenly placed on his face. Ah Sheng, who was already drunk, immediately went limp and lost all consciousness in an instant.

...

Meanwhile, at the surgical ward of the Provincial People's Hospital.

At the request of the police, Wu Yinwu was transferred to a private intensive care unit. His surgery was relatively successful; his severed left hand has been reattached, and he should recover without losing basic functions. However, due to his advanced age, he is very weak after this ordeal and will need to rest for a period of time to recover.

From the morning onwards, news of the bloody incident at the Wanfeng Hotel spread like wildfire, becoming a hot topic of conversation on the streets. Given that the teacher-insulting incident had already garnered significant public attention, the explosive turn of events made it all the more appealing to the media.

Reporters—from online media, print media, and television; local and out-of-town—swarmed in. They used various channels to find out which ward Wu Yinwu was in, hoping to obtain firsthand interview material.

However, without exception, they were all stopped by hospital staff outside the ward's VIP area. The patient had just undergone surgery, and it was crucial to avoid any disturbance from unrelated individuals. Reporters, in particular, were a primary target of the hospital's vigilance, as their inappropriate interviews often caused emotional distress to the patient.

However, some unwilling individuals still attempted to break through the distant defenses. They tried various tactics, from gentle persuasion to bribing the staff on duty, but these efforts were futile at the strictly regulated Provincial People's Hospital. The hospital staff, already thoroughly exasperated, initially tried to reason with them calmly, but their attitude gradually hardened. The head nurse, in particular, though beautiful, possessed a pair of almond-shaped eyes that, when glared at, would deter even the most burly man.

But some people, as if they didn't know any better, insisted on provoking this trouble when the head nurse was on duty.

He was a young man, and unlike the impeccably dressed reporters, he casually wore his jacket open, revealing a tight-fitting cashmere t-shirt underneath. His well-developed muscles were faintly visible, exuding a masculine air. Although his face was largely obscured by large sunglasses, his straight nose and resolute lips still conveyed a unique sense of authority and confidence.

"Hello. Which ward is Wu Yinwu in?" the man asked directly, his tone calm yet polite.

"Are you a family member?" the head nurse asked coldly.

"No." The man shook his head, but he quickly pulled out an ID and handed it over. "I'm a police officer."

The head nurse was taken aback. It was indeed a police officer's ID. She quickly looked up at the man again. He was tall and had a very upright posture. He did have the demeanor of a police officer, and his attire was also quite in line with the style of criminal police officers investigating cases undercover in movies and TV dramas.

The head nurse's hostility vanished instantly, and her expression softened: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were..."

"Hehe, it's alright." The man smiled slightly.

“Those reporters are so annoying, I thought you were too…” The woman said apologetically, wanting to explain something more, but her words were quickly interrupted by the man: “I understand. You are doing your duty, that’s good. Actually, it’s hard work for you. I’ll suggest to the organization that they send two officers over to assist you.”

Having received praise and felt the care and consideration of the other party, the head nurse's face blossomed into a bright smile. Although she was simply dressed, her smile made her appear exceptionally radiant and charming.

Seeing that he had achieved his goal, the man tactfully changed the subject: "May I go in now?"

"Of course." The woman turned around and pointed out the direction, "The third room on the left, 707."

“Okay.” The man nodded in thanks and walked in that direction. Once inside the special protection zone, a smug and cunning smile crept onto his face.

"She really is a beauty!" he thought to himself. "But as the books say, beautiful women always lack brains."

October 28, 2002, 1:12 AM.

Ah Sheng slowly woke up, his mind was foggy and he was very dizzy.

His phone was vibrating in his jeans pocket, ringing incessantly. Perhaps it was this noise that woke him from his deep sleep.

Ah Sheng rubbed his throbbing head as he pulled out his phone. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen, and without thinking, he pressed the answer button: "Hello?"

The person on the other end of the phone hung up immediately after hearing his voice. A beeping system tone came through the receiver.

"Damn it, you idiot." Ah Sheng cursed angrily, threw his phone aside, and then he finally had the energy to observe his situation.

He found himself sitting upright in the driver's seat of a Jetta, the seatbelt fastened around his chest, the engine running, the dashboard lights and other lights on, and a strong smell of alcohol permeating the interior.

"Damn it, I've had too much to drink again," he muttered, desperately searching his memory. He recalled acting out in a restaurant, then heading to the parking lot. Perhaps the cool breeze had aggravated the effects of the alcohol, because he remembered nothing after getting into his car. It seemed he hadn't been able to resist the effects of the alcohol and had ended up sleeping on the way.

Where have I ended up? Ah Sheng looked out of the car. The streetlights were dim, but the road was wide and had guardrails on both sides, so it looked like a well-maintained closed road.

However, there were no vehicles on the road, and the road conditions looked unfamiliar.

Is it a newly built road? Or is it because I've had too much to drink and can't tell which way is which?

Never mind that, let's just drive on for a bit. When we reach a populated area, we can get out and ask for directions. With that thought in mind, Ah Sheng shifted gears and pressed his right foot on the accelerator. The Jetta gave a soft roar and sped off along the wide, flat road.

The car was going faster and faster. When driving on a good road, drivers often underestimate their speed, let alone when the driver is a hot-blooded man who is still half-drunk and half-awake.

By the time Ah Sheng saw the warning signs ahead, he was already traveling at over 100 kilometers per hour. The signs, flashing fluorescent lights in the distance, blocked his path. A large red "X" made of lights shone brightly in the night.

Is there no road? Ah Sheng's reaction was a little slow, but his left foot still stepped on the brake pad in time.

But the Jetta was still speeding toward the signs.

Ah Sheng was stunned for a moment, then slammed on the brakes. He felt no pressure under his feet, and the car's speed was not affected at all.

The Jetta, like a wild horse, sped straight into the warning area marking the end of the road. Ah Sheng's head buzzed, and he broke out in a cold sweat; the effects of the alcohol dissipated almost instantly.

Seeing that he was getting closer and closer to the red cross, in desperation, he gritted his teeth, turned the steering wheel sharply, and twisted the front of the car all the way to the right.

However, the car's enormous forward momentum could not be eliminated, and after the front of the car turned, the body continued to slide sideways toward the end of the road, creating a loud screeching sound.

With a sharp crack, the Jetta slammed into the red warning sign. Almost simultaneously, inertia caused the inner side of the car to lift off the ground, eventually causing the vehicle to flip over in mid-air. Inside, Ah Sheng closed his eyes in terror, awaiting the violent impact when the car hit the ground.

But the impact didn't come as expected. After a moment of calm, Ah Sheng looked around in disbelief and found himself still in mid-air. His heart sank completely.

He saw the end of the road he had just come across—right above his head, an unfinished viaduct.

"It's over!" he cried out in despair.

The Jetta plunged twenty meters down the bridge and instantly turned into a pile of wrecked scrap metal.

Two or three hundred meters away on the roadside, a young man witnessed this horrific scene. He opened the back cover of his phone, took out the SIM card, broke it, and threw it into the weeds by the roadside.

"Now you should know that the one who doesn't want to live this life is yourself." He sighed softly, then turned and walked into the vast darkness of the night...

The Fate of the Death Sentence (05)

October 28, 2002, 8:00 AM.

Inside the office of the provincial capital's Public Security Bureau Chief.

Director Song sat opposite Luo Fei, a hint of expectation in his eyes as he looked at his new subordinate. Why had Luo Fei rushed over so quickly after starting work? Had he made some breakthrough in the case?

Luo Fei remained calm, his expression revealing little of his inner emotions. Only his eyes were slightly red, clearly from the fatigue of staying up all night. He pushed a file folder towards Director Song, and as the latter opened it, he reported, "Yesterday afternoon, a strange man, disguised, broke into the criminal investigation archives. Of the dozen or so files he copied and took, this one is exactly what he intended to obtain. Judging from his behavior and the Song typeface signature he left behind, we believe this man is Eumenides."

Upon hearing the name Eumenides, Director Song immediately frowned intently. His gaze remained fixed on the file in his hands. "The 130 hostage crisis? 1984?" he muttered to himself. Judging from his tone, he didn't have a deep impression of the case, but the year it occurred was indeed a sensitive one.

“We analyzed this file overnight, but—” Luo Fei clicked his tongue, “so far, we can’t see any direct connection between this kidnapping case and the April 18th massacre.”

"Hmm." Upon hearing this, Director Song immediately put down the stack of documents. It wasn't that he was disappointed, but he knew that since Luo Fei's task force had studied the case all night without any results, what could he possibly figure out now? He decided to seek a simpler way to understand the case: "Tell me about this case."

"The case is not complicated—it was a vicious hostage situation stemming from a debt dispute. The victim, Chen Tianqiao, was 45 years old at the time, and had borrowed 10,000 yuan from the perpetrator, Wen Hongbing, who was 32 years old. Wen Hongbing had repeatedly tried to collect the debt from Chen Tianqiao without success. On January 30, 1984, near the Spring Festival, Wen Hongbing went to Chen Tianqiao's house again to collect the debt, but this time, instead of reaching an agreement, they turned on each other. The young and strong Wen Hongbing kidnapped Chen Tianqiao, simultaneously displaying a homemade bomb hidden in his cotton-padded coat. He was agitated and..." He threatened to detonate a bomb and kill everyone if he didn't receive the debt that day. Chen Tianqiao then agreed to repay the debt. He pretended to write a note asking his wife to go out and find friends to borrow the money, but secretly wrote '110' on the note. Chen's wife went out and immediately called the police, who quickly arrived at the scene. After repeated attempts to persuade Wen Hongbing failed, to ensure the safety of people's lives and property, a special police sniper shot and killed Wen Hongbing on the spot. Luo Fei was already prepared; his description of the case was concise and clear.

Director Song listened quietly, then shook his head in confusion after a moment of contemplation: "Why would Eumenides be interested in this case? Does he intend to punish Chen Tianqiao?"

Luo Fei understood what the other party meant: in this case, Chen Tianqiao had clearly played a dishonorable role. In Eumenides' system of right and wrong, the hostage in this kidnapping case might be the real villain, and this villain's crimes had not been punished.

“That possibility isn’t entirely out of the question.” Since Director Song brought it up, Luo Fei followed this line of thought and analyzed, “However, this case is from eighteen years ago. It’s somewhat illogical to look for a target for punishment in such a distant event. Moreover, there’s a paradox that can’t be explained: if Eumenides already knew about Chen Tianqiao’s misdeeds, he wouldn’t have needed to consult this file; if Eumenides didn’t know about this case, how could he so accurately go straight to this case in the archives?”

Director Song silently agreed with Luo Fei's assessment. The latter then added, "However, we cannot easily ignore any possibility, so I still sent people to investigate Chen Tianqiao's information."

"How is the situation?"

“He owes a lot of money. He’s been hiding from his creditors all these years, his whereabouts are uncertain,” Luo Fei said with a sneer. “This guy is probably a conman who’s just trying to scam people, and after all these years, he still hasn’t changed.”

"Keep sending people to look for him—don't let this lead go."

"I understand." Luo Fei suddenly changed the subject, "However, another detail may be more noteworthy."

Director Song's expression shifted: "What?"

"Judging from the signature on the last page of the file, Yuan Zhibang was also one of the people in charge of this case."

"Oh?" Director Song immediately flipped to the last signature page of the file, and sure enough, Yuan Zhibang's name appeared in the list of those in charge.

"How could he be involved?" Director Song asked, puzzled. "Yuan Zhibang was just a trainee police officer at the time; he shouldn't have been qualified to participate in such a heinous case."

Luo Fei nodded: "This is precisely the point of doubt that is currently troubling everyone. I really want to know what role Yuan Zhibang played in this case, and perhaps we can find a connection to the April 18th massacre from it. But it is very strange that the file records the specific process of the police investigation very briefly, while the first half of the case background and the analysis of the parties involved are very detailed - which makes us suspect that the police records from that year were deliberately concealing something."

Director Song flipped through the documents and, sure enough, the case handling section was extremely brief. The account of the final killing of the perpetrator, in particular, was only a few simple sentences:

"Police officers managed to enter the scene and patiently tried to persuade Wen Hongbing. However, Wen Hongbing became increasingly agitated, insisting that Chen Tianqiao repay the debt on the spot. Since Chen Tianqiao stated he had no ability to repay, the atmosphere became extremely tense. Wen Hongbing was at risk of detonating the bomb on his person at any moment, posing a life-threatening danger to the parties involved and the police officers present. Under these circumstances, the on-site commander ordered Wen Hongbing to be shot dead. A sniper fired a single shot into Wen Hongbing's head, killing him instantly. Police officers then rushed into the scene to rescue the hostages and defuse the bomb."

“Such a brief case record is not up to standard.” Director Song tapped heavily on the file with his finger. “How could it have passed the review and been filed in the database back then?”

Luo Fei gave a wry smile: "Wasn't Xue Dalin the director in charge of criminal investigations back then?"

Director Song was taken aback: Yes. Why was such a substandard file allowed into the archives? The person who could answer this question, Xue Dalin, had already passed away eighteen years ago. At the time of this hostage situation, Xue Dalin should have been focusing most of his energy on the March 16th drug trafficking case that same year. Could this have caused him to relax his supervision and management of other cases?

The answer has likely been buried in the dust of history.

Director Song gently closed the file, then looked at Luo Fei: "So what are your thoughts now?"