Chapter Fourteen: Chai Si · The Vastness of the Celestial Sea

"...AED defibrillator, stimulant injections, adrenaline,"

The prosperous neon lights on the distant shore fell into the water, pushed and swayed by the ripples, gradually dissolving into shards of dim, eerie green light. The small boat rocked along with them, adrift on the pitch-black waves.

"The last one: broad-spectrum antibiotics, just in case we have to stay here for a while."

After each item was introduced, the lid of a silver-white medical kit snapped shut. A large hand with long, slender fingers reached under the seat and pulled out a long, pitch-black tube.

"This is a cauterizing gun. It can be used to seal large wounds, burning through blood vessels and nerves so a person won't bleed to death. It’s quite handy."

Accompanying this cheerful voice, that large hand gave a firm pat to the shoulder of a man in a white lab coat sitting nearby.

"Let me introduce you to Dr. Nate—a good man. Not only does he provide me with everything I need, but he’s also willing to come along in person to handle any emergencies. For instance, after I cut off your limbs, he can ensure that you neither die nor lose consciousness."

Dr. Nate said nothing. His mouth was set in a thin, rigid line, his face distorted and ghastly pale, like a wisp of fog floating in the night.

The cauterizing gun was set down, and a pair of hands clapped loudly. "Come on, tell Dr. Nate thank you."

The response was a muffled, incoherent cry. A man with his limbs bound behind him, wrapped tightly in tape from head to toe with only his eyes and nostrils exposed, struggled violently. The movement made the small boat sway, stirring up the gentle sound of water against the hull.

"I’ll say it for him: You’re quite welcome. It’s all in a day's work."

The tall man in the expensive suit kept his smile throughout. He leaned over and gave the bound man a friendly pat. His black hair was slicked back neatly, catching faint glimmers of light in the sea-bound night.

"Don't be in such a rush; I haven't finished the introduction."

He spread his fair hands, and with a flick and a grab of his right hand, he effortlessly pulled a heavy dumbbell plate from under the seat. "Each arm or leg I remove will be tied to a twenty-five-kilogram dumbbell plate. You can watch your own limbs sink into the sea with a splash..."

He whistled, his fingers dancing nimbly, swaying from top to bottom like fish swimming into the depths.

"...just like that."

The man wrapped in tape like a mummy let out another muffled, heavy groan, like a trapped beast inside a sack. The man in the suit leaned back, studying his prisoner with a look of amusement.

"Are you ready to talk now?"

The bound man twisted desperately: "Mmph, mmph!"

The man in the suit flicked open a blade. He estimated the position of the mouth, and the tip of the knife slashed sharply through the tape. Beads of blood and a shrill cry immediately splattered into the night.

Slender fingers reached into the blood-stained slit of the tape and pulled out a large wad of medical cotton.

As soon as the obstruction was removed, gasps and dry heaves spilled from the man’s mouth, intermittent and broken: "Who... who are you? What do you want..."

The man in the suit leaned closer, staring at his prey. His eyes were pitch black, devoid of a single reflection.

"I’ll cooperate with whatever you want, there’s no need to be this cruel..." As the bound man spoke, the wound on his lip tore wider, causing his face to contort; his features were slick with sweat and blood in the night. "I’m just a nobody, I’m no one..."

"That’s where you’re wrong."

The man in the suit raised an index finger, cutting him off. "A 'nobody' is like an extra in a movie; if they die, they die, and no one cares. If you want me to let you go, you first have to make me care about you, don't you think?"

The bound man blinked, stunned.

"You might ask, how can I start to care about you? I have to understand you, to empathize with you as a character."

The man in the suit interlaced his long fingers, as if building a white bridge in the dark. The face of his watch caught a faint, semicircular sliver of light in the night.

"Come, tell me, who is 'you'?"

"I... my name is Ivan. I’m twenty-nine years old, my hometown—"

"No, I don't want a resume; that’s boring." The man in the suit interrupted, sounding encouraging. "I want to know, in your life, what are your hopes, your losses? What is your dream?"

Ivan, his face a mask of blood and tears, froze. "My... my dream...?"

"Yes. You don't intend to be Weslay's bodyguard for your entire life, do you?"

Ivan shivered, a spark of realization lighting up his eyes.

"Could this be related to Mr. Wes—"

"Furthermore," the man in the suit continued, ignoring him, "Weslay died an unnatural death yesterday, and today you can barely save your own skin. You haven't exactly been a stellar bodyguard, so it’s probably best you stop."

"I don't know anything..."

"Don't waste your energy." The thin lips of the man in the suit parted into a blade-like smile. "A character who cannot move me is just a bag of skin; I don't care how many pieces of it sink to the bottom of the sea."

Silence hung over the boat for several seconds.

"Speak."

Ivan probably never dreamed that he would be baring his soul in such a situation.

"I... I understand. My dream is to become a man like Mr. Wes..."

"The richest man? A state senator? The winner of the Outstanding Contribution Award for Climate Issues?" The man in the suit asked with a laugh, "...or the true master of Blackmoor City?"

Ivan simply nodded, saying nothing. He stared distractedly at the distant Blackmoor City, at the neon advertisements and skyscrapers on the shore. Across the Central Bay, illuminated by countless lights, the pitch-black waves gently lapped against and rocked the small boat.

"Very good." The man in the suit nodded. "What have you done to achieve this dream?"

"I haven't done anything," Ivan said, snapping back to reality, "Mr. Wes's death has nothing to do with me..."

"Wrong direction." The fair hand waved in the dark, with the attitude of a director instructing an actor. "I didn't say you had anything to do with his death, but after he died, did you take any action at all?"

"I don't understand..."

"You have goals but no actions; such a spineless character is impossible to empathize with." The man in the suit sounded almost frustrated. "If you aren't even willing to help yourself, why should I let you off the hook?"

Ivan opened his bleeding mouth, hesitated for a few seconds, and finally tried to test the waters: "After Mr. Wes died... I didn't leave. I stayed behind. Does that count?"

"Oh?"

"Mr. Wes fired me the night before," Ivan said hurriedly, "I should have left, but I didn't want to leave the Wes estate, so I didn't tell anyone."

"Why did he fire you?"

"It was just bad luck." Ivan’s wet, reflective lips paused. After a moment, he whispered: "I didn't make any big mistakes... I was just trying on his trousers..."

The man in the suit raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth. "Trousers?"

"Yes, yes... you'll understand me once you hear it." He paused and suddenly said: "Do you know that Mr. Wes spoke in a very low voice? When I first started working for him, I was surprised. A man of such importance, I thought he would speak with authority."

Ivan’s teeth were stained blood-red, but he seemed to have forgotten his wounds; once he started, he couldn't stop.

"Later I realized, because his voice was low, others had to listen with even more concentration. When he spoke, he didn't worry about whether others could hear him; that was the listener’s concern.

"You see, even the volume and inflection of his speech had a purpose, a logic... So, during my downtime, I slowly learned to act and dress like Mr. Wes, and I even used a similar cologne. I felt that whenever I went out, people looked at me differently."

The man in the suit handed Ivan a cigarette.

He took a drag, and on the dim sea surface under the night sky, the tip of the cigarette flared bright red. His cheek twitched with pain, but his tone and expression were much steadier.

"Recently, Mr. Wes and a group of us staff were staying at the estate in the Upper District. The night before last, he went to a banquet, and I was off-duty, so I didn't go. When he suddenly returned early, I happened to be in his room trying on his trousers, and he caught me red-handed.

"He probably thought I was having an affair... his face turned a deep, bruised purple. But how could I do such a thing? He didn't believe me; he pushed me aside and searched through the bathroom and walk-in closet before confirming I was truly alone..."

Ivan smiled bitterly: "Then he discovered I was wearing his trousers. I just wanted to know what it felt like to wear his pants... but he flew into a rage, fired me on the spot, and told me to pack my things and leave the next morning."

The man in the suit threw his head back and laughed, his deep, resonant voice striking against the night.

"Very interesting, but that’s all. You want to reach the pinnacle of wealth and power, and the action you take is secretly wearing someone else's pants? With that, what could you possibly achieve?"

"Of course it's not that simple."

Ivan was momentarily provoked, blood spraying as he argued.

"Learning to dress and act like him was only one aspect, but I never missed an opportunity to take action. As soon as I heard yesterday that Mr. Wes had died in his study, I immediately thought that the fact I’d been fired hadn't spread yet. Only Mr. Wes and I knew. Since he was dead, if I didn't say anything, it was as if I hadn't been fired at all. No one would know.

"So, I rushed to the door of the study. On the surface, I pretended to guard the scene for the police, but in reality, I secretly—"

Ivan suddenly stopped.

In the night, there was nothing left but the sound of the waves and his own heavy, ragged breathing.

The man in the suit stared at Ivan and slowly leaned over, like a giant python descending from a branch, inch by inch.

"So... you went into the study," he whispered.

Ivan seemed to realize that when an interrogator doesn't reveal their goal, the person being interrogated will commit mistakes they didn't even know were mistakes.

"...and after you went in?"

Seeing that Ivan still refused to answer, the man in the suit raised both hands. Between the dark sky and sea, they looked like two huge, blurry white fans—one hand could cover an adult man's entire head and face.

"Strange, isn't it? I introduced you to the first-aid supplies, but I haven't shown you what I'm going to use to break your limbs. That's because I only remembered when I got on the boat that I forgot to bring the chainsaw. Fortunately, I have some confidence in my grip... I can cut an opening in your skin and peel you apart, layer by layer. The bones are much easier; just wedge them against the edge of the boat and a single stomp will snap them."

In the dark of the night, the man in the suit silently cracked a smile, his white teeth bared, sharp and uniform.

"Why did you go into the study?"

This time, Ivan answered quickly. "I... I just wanted to see if I could pick up something left behind... what if there were valuables? I saw a watch..."

"Why did you go into the study?" The man in the suit’s hand rested gently on Ivan's arm.

Ivan swallowed a mixture of blood and saliva.

"You probably know that the things flowing out of Weslay's study do not belong to this world. Those who touch it when they shouldn't will only be engulfed and drowned by the fate it brings, just like you are now... in the vastness of the sea and sky, with nowhere to go."

The man in the suit closed his eyes and took a long breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of the sea, the gasoline from the boat's engine, and Ivan's fear deep into his lungs.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

"Where did you hide the artifact from the study?"