NB Chapter2

I was still lost in thought when Zhang Mingsheng carried me into the bedroom.

The wheat-colored curtains were left open, casting the room in a dim, yellowish light. He set me down on the bed but made no move to leave. For a moment, I was dazed. It was Monday morning; he had a board meeting at the company, so he had neither the time nor the inclination for any daytime entanglements with me. I sat up, leaning against the headboard, while he pulled a blanket over me; never once bothering to ask whether I was actually cold.

Watching his handsome features as he lowered his head, I found myself wondering: would Zhang Mingsheng be capable of killing someone?

I thought I would have an answer, but after turning it over in my mind, I actually hesitated.

Our life has quieted down significantly over the past few years. My health was poor, and Keke was also frail and sickly, her face always lacking color. The doctor had once said she wouldn’t live past the age of one, which left Zhang Mingsheng and me deeply anxious. It wasn’t until Keke made it past her fourth birthday that our family finally let out a long sigh of relief. But looking back, four years had flown by; regardless of what was sincere or fake, Zhang Mingsheng and I had become a proper couple.

I believed that Zhang Mingsheng enjoyed this life. His indulgence toward his daughter was part genuine, part performed, even I sometimes couldn’t tell whether it was an act or whether he had truly been softened by the pull of family, gradually taking on the semblance of an ordinary person. However, I knew that his love for Keke didn’t extend far enough to commit murder over a trivial incident at kindergarten.

After a moment of silence, I said, “It wasn’t you.”

Zhang Mingsheng seemed to have been waiting for my reply, which was why he lingered, his long fingers smoothing the wrinkles in the blanket over and over again. Hearing this, he chuckled, though he didn’t look up. “Oh? Why is that? I thought that in your heart, I was capable of anything.”

It is true that my assessment of Zhang Mingsheng’s moral standards has always been low.

In front of me, his moods are erratic and unpredictable; at times a calculating mastermind who seems to hold the world in his grasp, at others like a child seized by a sudden, playful impulse. I still remember the first time I tried to escape; after being confined for so long, my legs were so weak that I collapsed straight to the ground. He walked over quietly, squatted down, and felt the bruise forming on my forehead. Then, with a smile, he plunged the tip of his fountain pen into my thigh. He didn’t use his full strength, but his intention was unmistakable: if I ran again, he would truly cripple me.

And he did eventually succeed, though not with such overt cruelty.

He didn’t use a club to shatter my bones; instead, he fastened two slender metal leg restraints just above my knees. I don’t know what they were made of, but they were thin and impossible to break, locking my thighs tightly together. This left me confined to a wheelchair every day, wearing long skirts for most of the year, or draping a thick blanket over myself on the rare occasions I wore trousers.

When he was in a good mood, he would unlock my legs and replace them with shackles, allowing me to move freely about the fourth floor so I wouldn’t face the predicament of being unable to reach the bathroom. Sometimes, he would even take me for a stroll in the deserted rear garden. Those were the moments when my legs felt most free. But whenever he was in a foul mood, I couldn’t move at all; if I happened to fall, I would be left lying on the floor for half an hour, waiting for Zhang Mingsheng to come up to the fourth floor and find me. Later, he had the entire floor covered with carpet.

Such elaborate and meticulous care was worlds apart from the brutal and crude methods described in the report. It didn’t fit his style, though it did share a certain underlying logic with something that happened half a month ago.

I lowered my voice and asked him, “Don’t you think it’s a bit too coincidental?”

Zhang Mingsheng finally looked up, staring at me with those deep eyes. I knew he was likely thinking the same thing as I was.

Two weeks ago, our flight landed late at night. Our family was returning from Japan, and Ah Hai was driving us back to our nearest residence. It was very late, and both children were drowsy; I sat in the back seat holding them. Exhausted from the trip, I had only closed my eyes to rest when I was jolted awake by the sound of gunfire. I was all too familiar with that sound, no matter how many years passed, I could never forget it.

I didn’t know what was happening; I just held the two children and kept our bodies as low as possible. Ah Hai slammed on the accelerator, and the car lunged forward violently. Scattered gunshots continued behind us, echoing deafeningly through the space around the vehicle. The tunnel was flooded with bright lights; against the orange glow, Zhang Mingsheng’s profile was reduced to a dark silhouette.

I lifted my gaze slightly toward the rearview mirror. Two black cars with their high beams on were closing in from behind, one on either side, attempting to box us in.

Zhang Mingsheng roared, “Stay down!”

I immediately ducked. I heard two more gunshots. At a moment like this, there was no time to wonder who exactly Zhang Mingsheng had offended. Both children were sobbing softly, their small bodies trembling in my arms. I pulled them closer, only to realize my own hands were shaking as well.

Ah Hai kept driving, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel without loosening. “Sir, what do we do?”

Zhang Mingsheng didn’t answer. He shouted my name and tossed something toward the back. I reached out to grab it and saw a mobile phone with its screen lit up lying slanted beneath the seat.

Zhang Mingsheng told me to call the police; he actually told me to call the police.

It wasn’t until many days after the incident that I understood his intention. He doesn’t like being forced into a counterattack; he is used to controlling everything from the top. The people chasing us were deliberately avoiding striking the body of the car, which meant they didn’t want to harm anyone inside; or rather, they didn’t want to harm a specific person.

Furthermore, we had returned to Hong Kong late at night; even the paparazzi hadn’t gotten wind of it, so who else would know? It had to be someone who was very familiar with Zhang Mingsheng’s movements.

There was a mole by Zhang Mingsheng’s side.

After I finished the emergency call and, my voice still trembling, explained everything that had happened, those two prowling Bentleys finally overtook us and forced our car to a stop. Ah Hai slammed on the brakes, and everyone inside lurched forward from the sudden inertia. I shielded Keke’s and Xiao Yuan’s foreheads, fearing they would be injured. In the dim cabin, I saw Ah Hai’s hand fumbling inside a side compartment before finally gripping something. Zhang Mingsheng’s hand also slipped into his jacket.

However, no matter how well the enemies knew Zhang Mingsheng, they likely didn’t know that Zhang Mingsheng had a gun.

The window of one of the Bentleys rolled down. A masked man kept his right hand on the steering wheel while holding a handgun in his left. With a grin, he said, “Mr. Zhang, please come with us along with your wife!”

Zhang Mingsheng gave a slight smile, leaned toward the window, and asked, “Go? Where are we going?”

This was going to be a kidnapping. Back when I was a police sergeant, I had handled several kidnapping cases, but the kidnappers in my memory were always elusive and left no trace, nothing like the blatant arrogance of this lot. Although Zhang Mingsheng came from an illustrious family, he was known to be relatively sidelined; wealthy but lacking real power, largely reliant on his grandfather’s business empire. So out of nowhere, why would anyone go so far as to kidnap his entire family?

Unconsciously, I had slipped back into the mindset of a police officer, and it wasn’t until Keke softly called out “Mommy” that I remembered I was now Mr. Zhang’s wife, sharing in his predicament. I gently stroked Keke’s hair, silently cursing Zhang Mingsheng for being a jinx.

“You want to use us to get ransom from Zhang Yaonian, don’t you?” Zhang Mingsheng was still smiling as if he had heard something delightful.

Zhang Yaonian is Zhang Mingsheng’s grandfather. I’ve only met him once; like Zhang Mingsheng, he appears gentle and hearty, but in reality, his eyes are as sinister and venomous as a snake’s. Zhang Mingsheng hates him; it seems to be related to his parents, though I don’t know the specific details.

The kidnapper was quite candid, admitting it freely, “Of course! Your Zhang family is rich enough to rival a nation. Mr. Zhang, helping us brothers earn a bit of spending money can even count as building good karma for your next life!”

I knew Zhang Mingsheng was stalling for time. With children present, a gunfight was far too risky. If the police arrived on time, there might still be a glimmer of hope—hope that Zhang Mingsheng wouldn’t lose his temper and go on a killing spree. Once his patience was pushed to the limit, he might not even care about his son or daughter. No matter how fierce the kidnappers were, they couldn’t possibly be fiercer than him. He might even stage the crime scene to make it look completely unrelated to him, then slip away cleanly without a trace.

Zhang Mingsheng maintained his amiable facade and continued chatting with the kidnapper, “In that case, it should be enough to just kidnap me and my daughter. The old man has never been fond of my wife, and my son was adopted from an orphanage; he only came to our home at the age of three. If you take all of us, the old man won’t pay the ransom.”

“Helping someone else raise a child and saving three years of meals, Mr. Zhang, you really are kind-hearted.” The kidnapper mocked mercilessly.

Zhang Mingsheng frowned, feigning agreement, “Indeed, I also find it quite exhausting myself.”

“Why don’t we just drop him by the roadside and let him fend for himself?” The man laughed arrogantly. The moment he finished speaking, Xiao Yuan, who was hiding in my arms, gave a violent shudder.

Zhang Mingsheng responded with a beaming smile, “Fine by me.”

My heart jolted, and my head began to buzz. I hadn’t expected him to reveal that Xiao Yuan was adopted from an orphanage, let alone describe him as worthless and make it sound as though he was far less valued than Keke. Xiao Yuan didn’t say a word; he stayed buried in my arms, but little by little, my clothes grew damp. He was crying.

Compared to me, both Keke and Xiao Yuan were closer to Zhang Mingsheng. Especially Xiao Yuan, he had always admired his father and never imagined that he would face the possibility of being abandoned by him at a moment like this.

I have always had complicated feelings toward this adopted son, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but hold him even tighter.

I whispered, “I won’t let them take you. Both of you are staying with me.”

Suddenly, sirens wailed. It felt like a divine reprieve.

I love the sound of sirens; every time they ring out, they make me feel like there is still hope in life. Later, after I left the welfare home and got into the police academy, I made a vow to be a good officer. Unfortunately, I have let many people down.

This area was very remote, and logically, the police shouldn’t have arrived so quickly. The kidnappers immediately lost their composure and floored the accelerator to escape. That reaction only strengthened my suspicion that they had been sent by someone Zhang Mingsheng knew. They hadn’t even attempted to force Mr. Zhang to go with them.

I rolled down the car window and looked toward the direction of the sirens. Two police cars sped off in pursuit of the kidnappers, leaving only one parked at the scene.

I saw a police officer get out of the car. He was in plain clothes; jeans and a dark brown jacket, with a walkie-talkie tucked into his pocket.

I froze.

His tall, upright figure was framed by the lights like a scene from a movie. His eyes were weary yet resolute, his lips slightly pursed.

When I first met him, he was just a tall, thin boy; a picky eater who loved sleeping and behaved carelessly, often getting scolded at the academy. Yet he was sharp and agile, one of the top students in our class. We had known each other for many years; from our school days all the way to our transfer into the Major Crimes Unit, we had always worked side by side. He used to call me “Senior” and ask me to grab an extra chicken drumstick for him when I picked up lunch.

Now he is thirty-two, and he has become a man who can stand on his own.

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