(1)
The story begins two days before the Lantern Festival, on February 26, 2010.
At that time, An Jing was still vacationing at Qiqi’s family hot spring villa, while at T City Airport, which serves the small city, a Southern Airlines B737 passenger plane was slowly descending onto the runway.
A sweet but emotionless female voice announced over the airport hall’s speakers: “Attention all passengers, flight CZ6357 from Spring City Longjia International Airport has arrived at this station…”
It was a bright and sunny afternoon.
Warm sunlight enveloped this peaceful city.
Jingye Luqiao smoothed the sleeves of his suit and stepped down from the plane with measured strides.
He was a killer from Japan, registered with an international assassin organization.
Of course, all the names he used were aliases.
Even the name on his current passport, ‘Jingye Luqiao,’ was a pseudonym.
In reality, his operations were mostly in North America and South Asia.
Although he had visited East Asian countries, he rarely took contracts there.
But just half a month ago, his contact had given him a new job — to travel overseas to Z country, assassinate a seemingly inconspicuous academic doctor, and if possible, capture alive a young girl.
Killing was no problem for Jingye Luqiao; for him, murder was as simple as drinking water.
But capturing someone alive was an extremely difficult and troublesome task.
Therefore, extra pay was required.
His client had directly paid the full original fee as a deposit upfront, promising triple that amount in dollars upon completion.
With his typical East Asian features, Jingye Luqiao accepted the contract naturally — recently the bounties brought by his contact had been getting higher, but the difficulty had also increased.
He planned to finish this job, collect the final three million dollars, and retire for good.
Incidentally, others had taken this task before, but all had fled with the deposit, enraging the burly white Americans who cursed East Asian assassins for their lack of professionalism.
However, Jingye Luqiao was different — he was an exceptionally dedicated assassin.
***
(2)
T City Airport looked somewhat outdated, with a waiting hall lined in white tiles and deep blue-tinted glass that made Jingye Luqiao feel as if he had stepped back into the last century.
But in fact, it was already 2010.
The millennium had passed ten years ago.
Normally, his contact would be waiting at the arrival area, ready to provide him with the latest intelligence and arrange local accommodations.
But the contact did not appear where expected.
Jingye Luqiao glanced at the time on his silver wristwatch — many local contacts were notoriously unprofessional; being late or not showing up at all was common.
Especially on this side of East Asia.
He had heard that most employees here were temporary workers, with no stable salary, especially after multiple layers of subcontracting, resulting in low pay and heavy workloads.
Most were unwilling to keep at it, and those who did were prone to sudden absences.
The organization’s requirements for medical insurance, social security, and a strict eight-hour workday were nowhere to be found here.
The international assassin organization’s vast influence had yet to reach this strange and mysterious land.
“Hey! Sir! Where are you headed? Need a taxi?”
A man of about thirty, dressed in cheap clothes, eagerly looked at him, a smile plastered across his face, his body slightly bent as if ready to bow.
This brought a slight sense of familiarity to Jingye Luqiao, who was from Japan.
It seemed the locals here had manners after all.
Since the contact was nowhere to be found, he decided to handle the mission himself.
This was only natural — an assassin relying on others for information was clearly not dedicated.
“I’m going to Small City,” Jingye Luqiao replied in perfectly standard Mandarin, nodding lightly.
“Small City, sir? That’s quite a distance…”
The man nervously rubbed his hands.
Jingye Luqiao smiled indifferently: “I won’t shortchange you.”
Overjoyed, the man nodded vigorously: “Come, come, sir, get in! My car’s just up ahead!”
He was not driving a taxi.
Instead, it was a black Santana marked with the wear of many years.
It looked barely second-hand; more like a car that had passed through many owners and was nearing the scrapyard.
“Sir, sir! Let me put your luggage in!” the man said eagerly.
Jingye Luqiao nodded lightly and handed over his black leather suitcase.
The man unlocked the trunk with a key and stuffed the suitcase into the cramped space — inside were nearly rotten oranges, two freshly dug cabbages, a pile of useless straw, and other assorted miscellaneous items.
Jingye Luqiao watched the driver close the trunk and slide into the driver’s seat, then floor the accelerator and speed away, leaving behind a plastic fake license plate and Jingye Luqiao’s somewhat vacant gaze.
He was used to dealing with all sorts of scammers, but this was the first time someone had been so crude and unreasonable.
The man hadn’t even checked what was inside the suitcase, yet decided taking it was worth more than driving him.
Jingye Luqiao frowned deeply.
Inside that suitcase were the operation funds for this mission, as well as highly specialized assassination tools that could pass through security checks.
There were garrotes, combination poisons, laxatives… those were nothing unusual.
But inside was one particularly difficult-to-obtain assassination weapon — a plastic pistol with no metal parts, firing ceramic bullets that could pass through almost all security systems at the time.
However, it was disassembled into very tiny parts, disguised as a box of Japanese Gundam assembly toys.
No matter.
He still had money on his card and could buy another.
Though the new one wouldn’t pass security checks, it was more than enough to kill.
What Jingye Luqiao hadn’t yet realized was that ordinary people in this land couldn’t legally buy firearms.
His understanding of this place was still stuck in the 1980s…
***
(3)
This was a nondescript alley, barely touched by sunlight on most days.
Many people lived here simply because the cost of living was low.
This was not a slum — in fact, it was just a village within the city yet to be demolished or redeveloped.
Today, a thin-looking man arrived.
He walked into a small, shadowy corner convenience store and scanned the surroundings expressionlessly.
Finally, as if satisfied he had found the right place, he nodded: “Boss, I want to buy a gun.”
“A gun? Look at the ones hanging on the wall yourself.”
The shop owner was a middle-aged man, legs crossed, watching Journey to the West on a tiny eight-inch TV, his gaze distant and eyes a little unfocused.
“These are toy guns.”
“What else would you want to buy? Real guns?”
The owner laughed, sneering slightly as he glanced at him — yes, this was the Japanese assassin, Jingye Luqiao.
Jingye Luqiao understood this was a test.
He knew it was difficult to buy firearms here, so he had to pass the owner’s scrutiny.
Without changing expression, he shook his head: “I just want a gun for shooting birds.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so!”
The owner stood up, took out an old-looking box from the display case, and lightly patted it. “Here, this thing shoots BBs. If you want to shoot birds, just go to a bike repair shop and get some steel balls.”
Jingye Luqiao felt the owner was still testing him, since he hadn’t even taken out an air gun.
He frowned slightly and decided to probe further: “I need…”
“Ah, Jingye, why are you here!”
Just then, a voice interrupted.
A young man, acting like an old friend, slapped Jingye Luqiao’s shoulder with enthusiasm.
“Buying toys here for your nephew? Come on, don’t be shy. Let’s go drink!”
Jingye Luqiao narrowed his eyes slightly but sensed no ill intent from the youth.
So he obediently allowed himself to be pulled out.
Only when they reached a deserted corner did the young man, sweating profusely, lower his voice: “You’re Jingye Luqiao, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your contact… Sorry, I was at the internet cafe playing CF and got held up.”
“…My luggage is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Stolen.”
Jingye Luqiao chose his words carefully, avoiding the word ‘robbed,’ though it looked almost the same.
“Stolen? Alright, I’ll help you check it out. Or you can go to the police station yourself — stuff lost by a Japanese usually gets found quickly.”
The young man scratched his head.
“Oh — was there anything in it that can’t see the light of day?”
“Yes.”
“Then forget it… So you need new… equipment?”
He struggled to find the right word with his limited vocabulary.
“Yes.”
“Our boss said if you need new gear, we’ll take you to a shop. Wait, I remember — turn left up ahead, then right, and straight on.”
***
(4)
An Jing, whose eyes were unfocused, suddenly sat upright.
She looked back at the bald Dr. Ye, licking her lips uneasily before turning back to write on the whiteboard.
“I remembered an assassin’s name — Jingye Luqiao.”
“He’s not on the victim list.”
An Jing paused, then tilted her head thoughtfully.
“How did you know that name?”
“Someone called him that.”
“Can you recall any more details about what happened that day?”
An Jing painfully covered her head, sweat beading on her forehead.
She shook her head hard and slumped back into her chair.
“It’s okay, think slowly. Rest if you get tired.”
She nodded softly, then looked back at the middle-aged woman about to wheel her out of the room.
She helplessly looked at her parents, who stood there awkwardly, then pleaded silently toward Yu Minghui and Yu Mingfei.
Yu Minghui opened her mouth to say something, then nodded gently.
The middle-aged woman stepped aside, allowing Yu Minghui to take hold of the wheelchair’s handles.
An Jing felt a bit relieved and was slowly pushed out of the room by Yu Minghui.