Wandaozai was a clever one. The moment he escaped from the water dungeon, he grabbed a gun and bolted.
Yet, he had yet to witness Chen Rou's true prowess.
"Song Yuanchao, get a grip!" he cried out. "She's just a girl, a frail, delicate little girl!"
Song Yuanchao snapped the safety catch of his rifle into place. "Put away that Wandao accent! Utter another peep and I'll kick you out of the vehicle!"
Wandaozai nearly retorted, but ultimately thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut.
Nie Han, who had been crying nonstop, was tickled into a giggle by the exchange. Chen Rou, equally unused to the affected syllables of the Wandao accent, could not help smiling either.
Furthermore, she had all along felt that Song Yuanchao's demeanor and physical habits were remarkably similar to her own—like a soldier's. She meant to ask about his background, but this was no time for idle chatter; making their escape was paramount.
In the blink of an eye, the vehicle reached the town entrance. Such armed townships were invariably guarded by sentries. Just as Chen Rou pulled a black cloth from her waist to mask her face, a powerful searchlight flared, casting a blinding beam their way. Someone shouted in English: "Attention! Halt for inspection!"
A guard post stood ahead, manned by five visible guards.
Action time. Killing was required.
Song Yuanchao wore only a tattered pair of shorts, and so did Wandaozai. Including Nie Zhao, the entire group consisted of stark-naked men.
Song Yuanchao looked at Chen Rou. "We can't carry weapons openly. Maybe you can conceal a dagger? The two of us can coordinate—kill as many as we can?"
Instead, Chen Rou said, "Wandaozai will come with me. Comrade Yuanchao, stay right here. I'll lure them over for you to kill!"
Wandaozai was not much shorter than Song Yuanchao, but he was even leaner, looking for all the world like a beanstalk.
He looked like a coward to the bone, yet he stepped out of the vehicle without the slightest hesitation.
Of course, he had little choice. Unless he managed to flee the Philippines, he would be dragged back to feed the crocodiles.
Chen Rou followed him out immediately, walking forward with her hands raised high.
The fierce glare of the searchlight struck them squarely, blinding them so completely they had to grope their way forward step by step.
A guard raised a megaphone and roared in English: "Which compound are you from? What's your business?"
The pair cut a bizarre figure. Wandaozai was skin and bones, clad in nothing but shorts—the spitting image of a coolie. Though Chen Rou wore a uniform, her legs were exceptionally slender, and under the glaring light, it was instantly obvious she was a woman.
Naturally, any further pretense was impossible. As the muzzles pressed close, she pulled down her black cloth to reveal her face and spoke in English: "Lads, I am the woman of Mr. Ghost-head Chang. He is in the car and is gravely wounded."
She was playing the information gap.
She had sabotaged Ghost-head Chang's radio, so no one else knew what had happened on his end; she was free to fabricate whatever she pleased. And the news that the leader of an armed compound was injured was sensational headlines. The guards' interest was piqued at once.
Trailing behind was a fat guard. He leveled his gun and asked with a grin, "Ghost-head Chang is in that vehicle?"
Chen Rou nodded, seamlessly drifting out of the glare of the incandescent spotlight. She closed her eyes to let her vision recover, then spoke with a look of feigned agony, "We suffered a mutiny. His own men shot him."
In the realm of private militias, mutinies were a daily occurrence and warlords constantly traded places. The lie was entirely plausible.
The fat guard beckoned to a shorter one, speaking in Cantonese: "Damn! Ghost-head Chang actually got hurt. Let's go take a look."
A bowlegged guard stepped up instantly. He shoved his rifle against Chen Rou's chest, deliberately rubbing the muzzle back and forth with a lewd, oily grin.
Places like this bred nothing but scum and predators. Chen Rou was richly experienced and knew precisely what they fancied. She deliberately raised her delicate hand to lightly stroke the barrel of the gun, then gave it a subtle flick that popped open the buttons of her shirt, exposing the milk-white expanse of her chest.
The bowlegged guard was even shorter than she was. Catching an abrupt glimpse of that alluring scenery, he shivered with excitement.
They carried no weapons, while Wandaozai's target was a guard inside the guardhouse.
That guard was in the middle of eating a fragrant pork chop rice, listening to the radio while he chewed, with his rifle resting on the table.
The palm-sized pork chop was drenched in rich sauce, and the guard was entirely engrossed in his meal. Assuming that Chen Rou's seduction of the armed guard was meant to create an opening for him, Wandaozai swallowed hard and readied himself to lunge for the gun.
To his utter astonishment, just as he was about to move, Chen Rou's hand—which had been softly caressing the rifle barrel—suddenly stiffened. She shoved the muzzle directly against the guard's throat, and with a single bang, the bowlegged guard was pierced straight through the throat by his own weapon, his skull blasted apart.
With a violent shove, Chen Rou hurled the dead bowlegged guard forward to block the muzzle of another sentry behind him. Retreating while bringing up her own weapon, she fired in rapid succession—headshots, crisp and clean. The brains of the guard who had just raised his gun splattered all over Wandaozai's face.
The pungent stench of brains instantly overwhelmed the appetizing aroma of the pork chop rice, turning Wandaozai's stomach.
By the time Chen Rou whipped her barrel around, the sentry inside the guardhouse was only just reaching for his gun.
The woman with the black cloth knotted around her neck was slender, her half-exposed military-green shirt revealing a bloody, torn knit sweater beneath. She possessed classic Chinese phoenix eyes—rounded orbs that slanted slightly upward—with a piercing gaze and vibrant lips.
Arching one brow, she declared, "I loathe killing. Do me a favor and let me spare you. OK?"
***
At the same time, heavy gunfire erupted from the armored vehicle. Wandaozai looked back just in time to see the two guards who had gone to inspect the vehicle collapse flat.
Naturally, it was Song Yuanchao's doing; he had dispatched the two sentries with lightning speed.
The guard eating pork chop rice had his cheeks puffed out and his mouth greased with fat. Still chewing, he raised both hands in the air.
Simultaneously, the radio broadcasted a news bulletin: "Attention, a prisoner has escaped from Anilao Port aboard a Mustang armored vehicle, license plate XL2571. If sighted, please contact us immediately. A bounty of 5 million pesos is offered."
Pesos were the circulating currency of the Philippines.
Five million pesos translated to a staggering half a million Hong Kong dollars—a princely sum in this era.
And Anilao Port was precisely the location of Ghost-head Chang's compound.
It seemed he had already repaired his radio and officially issued a bounty for them.
Poor Wandaozai, barely recovered from his shock at Chen Rou's ruthlessness, was now terrified by the astronomical reward.
He had never imagined that such a slender, youthful-looking woman could be so merciless.
Nor had he imagined that Ghost-head Chang would be willing to shell out a full five million as a bounty just to capture them.
Only Chen Rou remained completely composed, unhurried and calm.
She spoke in English: "Mister, I need medical supplies and a locksmith. You can guide me to them, right?"
Swallowing his bite of pork chop, the guard replied in Mandarin tinged with a Wandao accent, "I've got anti-inflammatory meds right here."
He then volunteered eagerly, "I can pick locks, too. Any kind of lock at all."
Chen Rou's gaze drifted downward, confirming that the drawer indeed contained iodine, gauze, saline, and anti-inflammatory drugs.
These men were international pirates who routinely went out to sea to plunder, kidnap, and engage in firefights. Anti-inflammatory medicine was standard-issue equipment.
Yet, there was also a brick phone resting in his drawer—the precursor to the mobile phone, the simplest sort of portable telephone.
As the guard reached for the saline, he dragged a packet of gauze across the surface, seamlessly covering the device.
Chen Rou caught every detail, but she made no fuss, merely letting a cold smirk touch the corners of her eyes.
***
Nie Zhao had iron chains clamped around both wrists and his collarbones—the kind fitted with padlocks.
During the rescue, due to extreme time constraints, Chen Rou had not bothered searching for keys and had instead smashed the chains apart with brute force.
Her wrists were fine, the damage limited to the skin, but the chains around his collarbones—his *pipa* bones—had been threaded straight through the bone. As his blood continued to circulate, it would invite bacterial infection, triggering widespread inflammation that would ultimately cost Nie Zhao his life.
The most urgent task at hand was to remove those chains and treat his wounds.
The guard rummaged through a pile of medical supplies, then pried open another drawer to grope around inside, chattering as he did so: "You need the keys for handcuffs, right?"
Seeing Chen Rou nod, he continued, "Strange, I distinctly put those things right here."
At that moment, the radio broadcast crackled to life once more. The speaker was using Tagalog, a native language of the Philippines. He announced: "I am Ghost-head Chang, A-Chang. A riot has broken out in my compound."
Before her transmigrations, Chen Rou had spent her time executing missions across Southeast Asia and possessed a working knowledge of various Asian languages; she understood Tagalog quite well. Hearing Ghost-head Chang broadcast personally, she naturally tuned in to listen.
He continued: "All allied brothers and colleagues, a person of immense importance escaped from my compound just moments ago. He is a male, 1.85 meters tall, answering to the name of Nie Zhao. If he manages to leave the sea alive, every single one of us is dead!"
Seeing that Chen Rou was engrossed in the radio, the guard snatched the brick phone and shoved it deep into his trouser pocket. Only after stashing it safely did he pull a tiny plum-blossom screwdriver from the drawer, smiling as he said, "Madam, I've found something to pick the lock with. Let's get going."
On the radio, Ghost-head Chang paused thoughtfully before adding, "Fleeing along with him are two females and a Mainland person. A bounty of 500,000 pesos is added for each of them. Please watch your faxes for incoming transmissions; I will be sending photographs shortly."
Smartphones did not yet exist in this era, and televisions were far from ubiquitous, but fax machines were already widespread.
Ghost-head Chang had photographs of the lot of them. Once those faxes went out, within a few hours every pirate across the Philippines would begin hunting them down like madmen. If they didn't leave posthaste, escaping this island nation would become all but impossible.
The guard knew this as well as anyone. The two people standing before him were the walking half-millions mentioned on the radio.
Since his four total cohorts included two sprawled in front of the vehicle and two whose brains painted the landscape, he had no choice but to behave.
He and Wandaozai returned to the vehicle first. True to her habitual thoroughness, Chen Rou searched the guardhouse from top to bottom before departing.
The moment she climbed aboard, Song Yuanchao took a sniff and declared, "Smells good!"
Chen Rou was carrying several large boxed meals—steaming boxes of pork chop rice, the guards' midnight rations, alongside a large jug of distilled water.
She handed one meal to Wandaozai and another to Song Yuanchao. "Hurry up and eat," she urged. "Once you're done, we hit the road."
Inside the compound, hostages like Song Yuanchao and Wandaozai subsisted on spoiled rice, fermented noodles, slop, and rotting vegetable leaves—and even then, they constantly had to fight just to get that. Countless people starved to the point where they spent their days fishing raw fish out of the water dungeon to gnaw on.
Fragrant pork chop rice! Though Wandaozai still had whitish brains clinging to his hair, he no longer cared. Tearing the lid off his meal box, he found the rice still steaming and grabbed the entire pork chop with a brain-smeared hand, shoving it straight into his mouth.
Song Yuanchao was shaking with hunger as well, scooping up great mouthfuls of white rice and choking until his neck stiffened.
Chen Rou had eaten her fill before escaping and felt no hunger.
Having found four meals in total, she handed a box to Nie Han as well. "A-Han, you should eat a little too."
Nie Han, curled protectively over her uncle's head, shook it. "A-Rou, please find a way to save my uncle!"
Their pursuers would arrive soon. This place was no place to linger. Urging Song Yuanchao to eat while driving, they set the vehicle back in motion.
The interior of the armored vehicle was quite spacious, though it contained only two rows of soft seating; the rear shooting compartment remained vacant.
Chen Rou beckoned to Nie Han and Wandaozai, and the three of them dragged her nominal husband, Nie Zhao, back to the empty space in the rear.
Now, she had to find a way to wake Nie Zhao up ahead of schedule.
Fleeing the Philippines was vitally important, but saving Nie Zhao was equally so. In the future, he would not only become the wealthiest man in Hong Kong, but also the recipient of the Grand Bauhinia Medal. If he were to die here, the entire history of Hong Kong would be rewritten.