Three days later.

Zhao Group headquarters, top-floor office.

Zhao Shirong sat behind his desk. His son stood across from him.

Young Master Zhao.

"Dad — about that land deal... Boss Huang backed out."

"I know."

"He won't sell. So where do we put the shipment?"

Zhao Shirong didn't answer.

He picked up the cigar on his desk. Slowly trimmed it.

"That dinner you went to yesterday — the man in the gray shirt sitting across from you. What was his name?"

"I think his last name was Chen... Brother Han called him Chen Feng."

Zhao Shirong's hand stopped.

"Chen Feng?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

Zhao Shirong put the cigar down.

"Do you know who he is?"

"Brother Han said he's someone in the underworld..."

"The underworld?"

Zhao Shirong let out a cold laugh.

"He's Longyuan."

Young Master Zhao froze.

"Longyuan?"

"That ledger from three years ago — he was the one chasing it."

"Then now he's..."

"Now he's back."

Zhao Shirong stood up and walked to the window.

Outside was a full view of Nanshan.

"That waste Ruan Wenfeng. Three days and still hasn't made a move."

"Does he think we can't touch him just because his wife is overseas?"

Young Master Zhao was starting to panic.

"Dad — what do we do now?"

Zhao Shirong didn't answer.

He pulled a burner phone from his drawer and dialed a number.

When it connected, he said only one thing:

"Initiate Plan B."

Hung up.

---

Same time.

South City, the old tea house.

Chen Feng sat on the second floor. Old Qiu and Han Jiang sat across from him.

Han Jiang's face didn't look good.

"What did you call me here for?"

"I didn't call you."

Chen Feng pushed an envelope across the table.

"The ledger did."

Han Jiang opened the envelope.

Inside were photocopied pages of documents.

"How much Zhao Shirong laundered through your betting parlor — it's all here."

Han Jiang finished reading. His hands started shaking.

"This is impossible..."

"Whether it's possible or not, you know in your heart."

"You worked for Zhao Shirong for twelve years. What did he give you?"

Han Jiang said nothing.

"He gave you three apartments, two cars, and the position of Shenzhen district head."

"But what you carried for him — was three hundred million in flow."

Chen Feng sealed the envelope.

"You have two choices now."

"One: keep carrying for him. When the higher-ups trace it to you, you go down."

"Two: hand over Zhao Shirong's files. I'll guarantee you walk away clean."

Han Jiang was silent for a long time.

Then he said:

"I choose two."

---

Five o'clock that afternoon.

Zhao Shirong was taken away.

Not by the police.

By the War God Hall.

Young Master Zhao screamed and yelled at the office door. Old Zhou struck him on the neck with the edge of his palm. He went down cold.

As Zhao Shirong was led out, he turned and looked at Chen Feng.

"Do you know whose people you've crossed?"

"The Dark River."

"You know, and you still dare to touch me?"

"I'm not touching you."

Chen Feng stood in the doorway. Sunlight fell on him.

"I'm here to deliver a message for someone."

"Who?"

"Someone in the Dark River."

Chen Feng held his gaze.

"—Guess who that someone is."

Zhao Shirong's expression changed.

"...You're saying..."

Chen Feng didn't answer.

Turned and walked away.

---

Three days later.

Cambodia. Outskirts of Phnom Penh.

The iron gate of a private villa opened silently.

Two men in black slipped inside.

Fifteen minutes later, they came out with a woman and a five-year-old girl.

A black SUV waited outside.

Ruan Wenfeng sat in the driver's seat. When he saw the woman and child come out, his entire body was shaking.

"Get in."

The back door opened.

The woman climbed in with the child in her arms.

The little girl called out: "Daddy!"

Ruan Wenfeng didn't turn around.

He gripped the steering wheel. His hands were trembling.

"...Thanks."

A voice came from the back seat.

"Don't mention it."

It was Chen Feng's voice.

He sat in the very back, leaning against the window.

"Drive."

---

The SUV left the Phnom Penh suburbs, heading for the airport.

On the road, the little girl lay in her mother's arms and looked back at Chen Feng.

"Uncle, who are you?"

Chen Feng glanced at her.

"Someone who owes your father a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"Something from a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

Chen Feng thought about it.

"About three years."

Outside the window, Cambodia's fields turned golden in the sunset.

---

Two days later.

Shenzhen.

Su Wan stood on the balcony, looking at the penthouse across the way.

The curtains were open.

Empty inside.

It had been empty for three days now.

She didn't know where Ruan Wenfeng had gone.

She didn't know where Chen Feng had gone either.

She only knew one thing —

That withered jasmine. She'd changed the soil.

Watered it.

Put it in the best spot on the balcony.

Her phone buzzed.

She picked it up.

It was a WeChat message from Chen Feng:

"Changed the jasmine's soil?"

She froze.

Looked around.

No one in the complex.

No one in the building across.

How did he know?

She typed back:

"How do you know?"

No reply.

She sent another:

"Where are you?"

No reply.

She waited ten minutes.

The message showed as read.

But no reply.

Su Wan put the phone down.

Looked at the jasmine in its new soil.

The dirt was still damp.

She smiled.

Not a bitter smile.

A real one.

She picked up the phone.

Sent another message:

"I kept the fish on the bottom of the bowl."

This time.

A long, long time passed.

Her phone buzzed.

Two words:

"Keep it."

Su Wan stared at those two words.

Pressed the phone against her chest.

The wind on the balcony carried the damp scent of fresh jasmine soil.

She didn't know if he would come back.

But at least —

That flower. It was alive.

---

Same moment.

Shenzhen Airport.

Chen Feng turned off his phone and walked through security.

Ruan Wenfeng was waiting at the gate.

"You sure you're not coming back?"

"Not coming back."

"Where to?"

"Don't know."

"What about the Dark River?"

Chen Feng thought about it.

"The Dark River isn't finished yet."

"And you're still leaving?"

"Yes."

"Where will you find them?"

"I won't have to."

Chen Feng looked out at the runway.

"They'll find me."

The boarding announcement came on.

Chen Feng stood up.

"Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again."

He walked into the boarding tunnel.

Didn't look back.

---

The plane took off, piercing through the clouds.

Outside the window was an endless expanse of blue sky.

Chen Feng leaned back in his seat. Closed his eyes.

In his ears, it was as if he could still hear the bell.

It rang when the wind blew.

Rang for three years.

Now it had stopped.

He opened his eyes.

Below the clouds, Shenzhen was shrinking.

Becoming a dot.

Then disappearing.

He tilted the seat back a little.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But not not a smile.

His phone was off now.

But that last WeChat message — "Keep it" — he wondered if she'd seen it.

Or what she'd make of it.

Didn't matter anymore.

What was meant to stay would stay.

What was meant to leave would leave.

He closed his eyes.

In his ears, the sound of the bell again.

Not the one on the Su family's balcony.

An earlier one — the rusty iron bell at the camp gate.

Every time there was an emergency assembly, the squad leader would yank on it.

The sound was harsh.

But everyone could hear it.

---

The plane cut through the clouds.

Heading west.

In the seat pocket was an in-flight magazine.

He flipped through a few pages.

One page showed a photo of a city.

By the sea.

Narrow streets lined with colorful low buildings.

A line of small print beneath it:

"Next stop, perhaps."

He looked at it for a long time.

Then tore out the page, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

The flight attendant walked over and smiled.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

He looked up.

"Do you have jasmine tea?"

The flight attendant paused.

"Let me check for you."

He nodded.

Outside the window, below the clouds, were the lights of another city.

He suddenly remembered that message.

"Keep it."

He wondered if she'd read it.

The flight attendant came back with a tray.

"Sir, we found some jasmine tea."

"Thank you."

He took it. Took a sip.

The tea was warm.

A little bit sweet.

He leaned back in his seat. Closed his eyes.

The plane kept heading west.

The sound of the bell grew more and more distant.

Gradually fading away.

---

Outside the window, the sky was almost light.

He didn't know where the next stop would be.

But he knew which direction he was flying.

He smiled in the darkness.

It had been a long time since he'd smiled.

His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest twice.

Like he was marking a beat.

Or maybe just tapping for no reason.

The plane cut through the clouds.

Dawn was almost here.

That was enough.

He closed his eyes.

In his ears, it was as if he could still hear the bell.

Not the one on the Su family's balcony.

An earlier one — the rusty iron bell at the camp gate.

Every time there was an emergency assembly, the squad leader would yank on it.

The sound was awful.

But everyone could hear it.

Now it couldn't be heard anymore.

He smiled.

The plane flew west.

Next stop, unknown.

End of Chapter 8: Return