Kapitel 46: Coffee
Redakteur: Tennesh
Fang Zhao's move caught them both by surprise. This wasn't part of the plan.
The man blocking the apartment door secretly cursed their employer. Didn't you say this kid was an artist type?
An assassin, no question. A composer? Hell no!
His temple pressed against the barrel of a gun, he swallowed the comment he was about to make and lowered his hand carrying the electric rod.
The two of them had been working black streets for some time. They had completed quite a few jobs, so they knew who was faking it, who was a paper tiger. They could deduce from a single move or look.
The way Fang Zhao handled his gun and the look in his eyes scared the man blocking the door shitless. He could tell Fang Zhao's composure and proficiency weren't faked. He knew that if they made the wrong move, Fang Zhao would pull the trigger.
So the man trailing Fang Zhao also halted. He couldn't risk making a move before gauging the situation. Otherwise, he'd be returning with a body bag.
But the good thing about professionals like themselves was that they were flexible.
"Big brother, this is all a misunderstanding. No need to get worked up." The man blocking the entrance to the apartment mustered a smile and turned off his electric rod. The sound of the current disappeared. He raised his hands up high. He had no qualms about addressing a man younger than him as older brother.
"I'm not worked up. Let's go inside and have a proper chat," Fang Zhao said.
"No, no, no. We better not intrude. We'll leave right away. Right away." As soon as he lifted one leg, he noticed Fang Zhao's finger on the trigger tighten. He stayed put, wearing a pained expression on his face. The snarling beast tattoo looked like a joke.
"It's OK. Head on in. I just want to ask you a few questions. Unlock door." On Fang Zhao's command, the apartment door opened automatically.
Fang Zhao had upgraded the security settings on his door to a dual ID check—detection of his bracelet and voice recognition.
Staring down the barrel of the gun, the first man walked into the apartment with a gloomy look on his face.
The other man was about 2 meters tall. His neck was exposed, despite the cold weather, revealing a blanket of tattoos. His muscles were firm and chiseled. Fang Zhao could also tell from the sound of his approaching footsteps that he wasn't as slow as he looked.
"Stand over there." Fang Zhao gestured to the big guy.
"Make yourself at home. Find a place to sit down. I'll let you go after asking you a few questions." Fang Zhao pulled up the only intact chair in the room and sat down.
The two men scanned the tiny room top to bottom with one quick look. The only places to sit were two stools.
Even though the stools were a bit low, they were better than sitting on the floor.
The two 20-centimeter tall stools were used to reach higher shelves. Curly Hair also liked to sunbathe on them. Now they looked completely undersized as they held two grown men, one of them a big fellow.
"Forget about the knife behind you," Fang Zhao interjected.
The man with the red crown hairdo had felt the knife behind him when he sat down. Fang Zhao's comment caught him by surprise, almost prompting him to jump up.
Damn, we've met our match.
Crown Head lowered his head and cursed quietly as he withdrew his hand.
"Fire away. It's our own fault that we got caught red-handed. We took the job without doing our research," Crown Head said. "But we're not sure who our employer is."
"You're not clear but you have a good idea." Fang Zhao was in no mood for fudging. "Tell me, what has Fang Sheng asked you to do?"
Crown Head raised his eyebrows when Fang Zhao uttered the words "Fang Sheng." Now that all the cards were on the table, there was no point in bullshitting.
"You should know we are hired guns. We do what we're paid to do. Someone offered us 30,000 to steal your bracelet. The client only sent us a text message, and the number he left is a burner number. But I'm guessing he is probably the Fang Sheng you speak of. He hired a friend of mine to monitor your movements." Crowd Head stared at Fang Zhao and tried to glean a response. Nothing.
Crown Head had revealed what he knew of Fang Sheng's recent moves, but the two of them didn't know that Fang Sheng had stolen three songs from Fang Zhao. Fang Sheng was very cautious. He didn't tell a soul.
"Anything else besides the bracelet?" Fang Zhao asked.
Crown Head was going to say no, but he cast a glance at Fang Zhao and decided to tell the truth. "He said if we taught you a lesson he would pay us an additional 10,000."
"He didn't ask you to kill me?"
"No, no, no. We don't do murder." Crowd Head was quick to explain. He raised his now-silent electric rod slightly. "This is just for show. Really, we never take kill assignments. There are only a handful of assassins working the black streets. And they are extremely selective. You can't contact them directly. Their pricing is also through the roof. They earn on one job what takes us dozens of years to make." Electric rods were strictly regulated, but these types of things were easier to come by on a black street.
The big fellow sitting next to Crown Head kept nodding. They most definitely stayed away from kill jobs. They didn't want to die. All they wanted to do was make a living. Why risk their lives?
As long as they stayed within bounds, no one would waste time hunting them down. But taking a human life was different. That wasn't something you could hide from.
Fang Zhao watched as the two thugs justified their actions profusely and shifted all the blame to Fang Sheng. But he wasn't fooled by their cowering act. If he lost focus for one second or showed any sign of weakness, they would take advantage and turn the tables on him. These two weren't greenhorns. They were too experienced to intimidate with mere violence. That's why Fang Zhao went straight for his gun. It was easier to talk once he seized control of the situation. And it would dash any ideas of a comeback.
"Our typical job is collecting debt. We've done no wrong!" Crown Head wailed.
"Then what are you doing here?" Fang Zhao asked.
Crown Head noticed Fang Zhao glaring at him, so he stopped wailing and rubbed his hands. "The new year... the new year is around the corner. We just wanted to earn a few extra bucks." Thirty thousand was indeed decent pay for black street thugs. They were tempted. Plus, Fang Sheng had hired someone to watch Fang Zhao. They'd thought it would be a straightforward gig. Once they had gotten word that Fang Zhao was back, they had scrambled to set up in front of his apartment. Little had they known they would end up in this predicament.
As Crown Head spoke, the doorbell rang.
It was Yue Qing.
A customer had told Yue Qing that he saw a man with a beast tattoo on his cheek head up to the second floor, so he had rushed upstairs to make sure Fang Zhao was OK.
"I heard a man with a beast tattoo on his cheek showed up..." Yue Qing hadn't finished his sentence when he noticed the two men with beasts inked onto their faces kneeling—or sitting, rather—inside Fang Zhao's apartment."
"These two are?" Yue Qing pointed to the two men with a look of surprise.
"Guests, here for a cup of coffee," Fang Zhao said.
The two men sitting on the stools played along, lifting their plastic cups filled with room-temperature tap water.
The two thugs grew up on the black street, so of course they knew of Yue Qing. They had bypassed Yue Qing's shop on purpose, but here he was anyway.
Were Fang Zhao and Yue Qing close friends?
Crown Head closed his eyes to conceal his sense of doom. Fang Zhao alone was enough trouble. Even if they snatched Fang Zhao's bracelet, would Yue Qing seek revenge for his friend?
They hadn't researched their target properly. If they had known, they would have turned down the job. Fang Sheng screwed them over.
But when he lifted his head, Crowd Head was already flashing what he thought was an honest smile and his rows of neon-green–tinted teeth.
Yue Qing gave both men a careful look-over. They sat obediently on the two stools like primary school students listening to a lecture. If you ignored their build and beast tattoos, Yue Qing would have thought they were victims.
He was baffled.
Did Fang Zhao really know them?
These two were familiar faces on the black street. They weren't from this building but the one two blocks away. They had shopped at Yue Qing's store before. Yue Qing remembered them.
He took another glance at Fang Zhao, who did not seem threatened. Someone had to mind his shop—his wife hadn't left work yet—so he couldn't be gone for too long. His customers would start getting antsy after a five-minute absence or so.
"Then... just holler if something goes wrong. I can hear you downstairs," Yue Qing said.
"Got it. Thanks."
"Great. Then... enjoy your coffee." Yue Qing was still confused when he headed downstairs and shook his head. He could no longer read youngsters these days.
Crown Head kept defending himself after Yue Qing left, all but calling Fang Zhao their daddy. Anything so that Fang Zhao would let them leave.
Fang Zhao listened quietly as Crown Head wrapped up his spiel. He responded, "There's a saying from the black streets, 'Live in the present. Let bygones be bygones.'"
In a black street context, that didn't mean you left grievances unanswered. What it meant was that you had to exact revenge right away.
Crown Head understood right away, saying, "We'd love to look up Fang Sheng for a chat, but we don't have his address."
"I do," Fang Zhao responded.
Kapitel 47: Home Purchase
Redakteur: Tennesh
When Fang Zhao had received his first paycheck, he had hired someone to follow Fang Sheng. He knew that once Fang Sheng had money, he would move out of the company dorm. Fang Sheng also liked to party at night.
He told the two thugs Fang Sheng's address and let them go. It was going to be an exciting night at Fang Sheng's place that night.
Fang Zhao stayed in the chair after the two men left. He sat quietly for some time, fondling his gun with his fingers and taking deep breaths. He was trying to suppress his instinct to kill.
He had nearly pulled the trigger just then. He knew his opponents weren't out to kill—they just wanted to send a message—but he'd had the urge to shoot.
Even though he was reborn into the New Era, Fang Zhao had spent most of his previous life in the apocalypse. He was still adjusting to his new surroundings. Even though he looked no different than anyone else and blended into the New Era well, he himself knew that he was suppressing a mean streak that was born during the end of days and had snowballed for nearly 100 years.
The two thugs had noticed his inner turmoil. That was why they'd been so obedient.
Fang Zhao didn't know how much longer he could control the mean streak. He didn't know if it would dissipate over time or accumulate like it had during the end of days. All he could do was keep repressing it and try not to act violently.
When he'd been mugged on the street corner, he had nearly killed the little punk after snatching his gun. He had fired the shot that Yue Qing had heard. He'd fired against the ground right by the kid's skull.
After that, Fang Zhao could sense his mean streak swell.
The New Era was a world regulated by laws. Even black streets had their codes of conduct. Fang Zhao didn't want to break the rules. All he could do was vent his anger over time when he had the chance.
That was why Fang Zhao was looking forward to having gaming equipment installed in his office. New Era games allowed players to communicate their thoughts and feelings. Whatever mean streak he couldn't vent in the real world, he would do so by gaming.
Just when Fang Zhao was wondering when he could game and vent his frustrations properly, Fang Sheng, who was waiting for an update at home, was paid a visit and badly beaten. He was also forced to fork over 500,000 as compensation.
He was robbed of 500,000 just when he'd received his severance pay of 1.5 million from Neon Culture. Luckily, he was cautious and deposited the 1.5 million into three accounts. Otherwise, he might have lost it all.
Fang Sheng didn't report the robbery or the beating. Investigating the matter would do him no good. He also wondered how the two men had found out his address. Weren't they supposed to steal Fang Zhao's bracelet? Why the hell did they beat him up instead?
Fang Sheng also remembered one of the men flashing his neon-green teeth and accusing him of setting them up. How had he set them up?
Fang Sheng was hospitalized for five days, and that was thanks to the fact that medical technology in the New Era was far superior to what it was before the end of days. If he were being treated before the apocalypse, he would have been hospitalized for at least a month.
Indeed, the two thugs had given Fang Sheng a rather heavy beating. They'd cowered before Fang Zhao because their well-honed instincts told them that he wasn't a pushover. It would have been a tough battle. They would have had to go all out. But they were just in it to earn a living—they had no intention of risking their lives. So they chose to play terrified. But matched up against Fang Sheng, they showed their true colors. They wanted to let him know what a black-street thug was really like.
Fang Zhao read the new messages on his bracelet. Fang Sheng had moved into a new place after leaving the hospital. He'd probably realized his old flat wasn't safe any more. He also wanted to avoid the two thugs.
After sending a message to his hired guns, Fang Zhao headed to an apartment block near Qi'an's Third Ring Road. The black streets were located beyond the Sixth Ring Road. The Third Ring Road was considered the outer limits of downtown Qi'an, although it was populated with mostly residential buildings, not commercial ones.
Fang Zhao had gotten word from Duan Qianji that the elderly composer looking to sell his home was back in town. He wanted to meet Fang Zhao and discuss the possible sale.
Fang Zhao located the building based on the address he was given. It was a 120-story, pyramid-shaped building about 600 meters tall. The lower floors were thousands of square meters in size, but by the top floor, the floor area was only around 200 square meters.
The apartment number Fang Zhao was given was the top-floor penthouse.
The owner of the penthouse was an old man some 160 years old. He was older than Fang Zhao's previous incarnation had been. He was a composer who edited and co-wrote quite a few composition textbooks used by local music schools. Fang Zhao could instantly recall a few.
Xue Jing was a well-known name in the music industry.
Xue Jing's assistant was waiting when Fang Zhao arrived.
"Please. Teacher Xue is inside." The assistant brought Fang Zhao to a room but didn't enter with him. Without Xue Jing's permission, the room was off-limits.
When Fang Zhao entered, Xue Jing was sitting on a sofa with a wooden frame. Few sofas were made of natural wood these days. The bookshelves, tables, and other pieces of furniture were also made of wood. The room had a distinctly antique feel to it.
The sofa and the chairs in the room were covered with cushions with a wood-grain pattern. The room temperature was moderate.
"How do you do, Teacher Xue?" Xue Jing was much older and a veteran teacher. The "teacher" honorific was appropriate.
Xue Jing put down the score he was reading and pointed to the single sofa chair across from him. "Sit."
Xue Jing was some 160 years old, which was equivalent to 60 or 70 years old before the end of days.
He had quite a few grey hairs but seemed quite energetic.
"What do you think of the decor in this room?" Xue Jing's scrutinizing gaze swept across Fang Zhao and met his eyes.
"You definitely don't have any pets," Fang Zhao responded.
The assistant who had Xue Jing's permission to enter the room to serve tea heard the response and glared at Fang Zhao. The aspiring musicians who had sat in the same chair typically lavished praise on the interior design, gushed at the painting on the wall comprising musical notes, which Xue Jing himself couldn't quite decipher, and kissed ass.
It seemed that Fang Zhao's brain was wired differently.
Pets?
The assistant reviewed his entire tenure with Xue. The elderly musician indeed had never had a pet. The sofa and bookshelves would have never survived.
The response also caught Xue Jing by surprise. He laughed, responding, "Indeed. You have a pet?"
"I have a dog. I found it on a black street," Fang Zhao said.
Most people would have avoided associating themselves with potentially self-demeaning references like "black street," but Fang Zhao didn't think it was a big deal. It was a fact that he lived on a black street. There was no need to lie. There was no point in lying, either. Xue Jing had most likely gotten a detailed lowdown from Duan Qianji.
"That's a shame. I was going to leave you the furniture," Xue Jing said with a sigh. The furniture was handcrafted by a master carpenter, not machine-made.
"The same score in the hands of different arrangers will turn out differently. It's not a big deal," Fang Zhao said.
"Indeed." Xue Jing laughed gently, a few deep creases forming on his face. "Nowadays, few young musicians can find the inner peace to compose. If Duan Qianji didn't assure me that you'd written the two movements, judging from the two pieces themselves, it would have been hard to believe the composer was so young. But now that I have met you, I have no doubt."
Xue Jing couldn't explain why, but when he laid eyes on Fang Zhao, he felt that this was someone who could produce those two movements.
"Age is not a good predictor of musical quality," Fang Zhao said.
"Indeed." Xue Jing gazed out the window quietly, exuding a sense of peace honed from an abundance of life experience. He could see quite a few taller buildings. There used to be a 100-plus-year-old building nearby, but it had been torn down recently. A new building was taking its place. It was going to be taller, prettier, and attract more eyeballs.
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