You chase him through the crowd, the nameless Maoist. He slips you at every turn, disappearing for minutes in the churn before reappearing. He winds his way through the endless stairs and dips in and out of miniature malls and halls of glass. "Sir, I-" No, that's not how you address him. "Comrade, excuse-"
He ignores you. But since he obviously seems to know where he's going, as opposed to you, you follow him the best you can.
The world floats by you. Nothing is quite real but the red sun incarnate in a slightly shabby suit and a suitcase, slipping in and out of the figures that might as well be mist. You find him, again and again, until disappears along a seam of wall, which at first is quite solid. There's a trick, there has to be. He couldn't have gone anywhere else. You tap your knuckles against it. Yep. Hollow. So there's a seam, even if you can't tell where it is just yet.
You know, it's just plywood and plastic, a bit in your head whispers. How hard could it be? Embrace it, c'mon, do it.
Well, you won't. Because you're standing in a busy aisle and you're pretty sure that kicking down the walls of someone's establishment is a faux pas even if they are the human embodiment of a tick.
Okay yes but when has that stopped you ever? Become the property destruction!
It is tempting, you admit. But you've (kinda) grown out of that now. You've become (not that much) calmer. Or maybe that's just the vodka buzz. Or the whole thing with Yuexia.
God, that thing. Fuck. You don't want to think about it anymore so you stopped, instead bending down to tap against the fake wood. You are aware people are staring but fuck them.
Bleary eyes study the grain. There's a seam here, almost invisible, but when you press your eye to it it appears. It swings open with a little bit of force and you stumble into a dark room, where0
Click.
"Don't move, fascist."
Rude.
"Name. Purpose. Turn around." The gun barrel presses against the back of your head, then disappears.
You turn. "Li Peng-"
"The reactionary general?" Something between skepticism and dialectics powered rage colors his tone."
"Fuck, man, it's me. The crackhead in the Zhenyan van. Remember?"
He thinks, the squat revolver, loaded with heavy bullets built to kill martial artists of your caliber, dropping for a moment. You could kick it out of his grip but you let it pass by. "I do," he eventually says. "You found your name. Congratulations, comrade." Really warms your heart, this does. "Is this a social visit?"
"Could you put down the gun?"
"I remain ever vigilant against reactionary depredations." The hammer clicks. "Purpose. Now."
"I saw you in the crowd and it's been such a long time since I've seen you and I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask like who's the Manchurian what are the Snakeheads who am I and I have some answers to them but I still want to know more about the world."
The maoist's revolutionary brain experiences irreconcilable contractions before settling on the obvious.
"You're drunk."
"Yep."
"Go back and forget you ever saw me." It was an ultimatum, good as any. "You lived in the world for two weeks already. "You can draw your own conclusions. Your eyes work, so go away."
"Please, comrade, I just-"
"Don't comrade me. If you hadn't noticed, I have a gun pointed at your head. I call that a pretty final argument."
This isn't working. You take a mental step back. What's his deal? Hong Erhu hadn't mentioned him, but he screams communist to the core. So, what's his angle here? Maybe a liaison with Si Fei, that could be it. He's on the edge, ruder. Maybe it's the shame that's doing it. That explains, you think as you watch a bead of sweat, reflecting the dim tracer lights, crawl down his forehead, why he wants you to piss off.
Okay. Now, what's going to be your angle of attack?
"You need to see Si Fei, right?"
His glare sharpens from cutting to monomolecular. Bingo. "Look, I need to see him too. We can do this together, right? Whatever you're planning, another body can help."
He's thinking it over. You have to back off now. Whatever happens next, he's gotta own it, 'cause if you push in then it's your idea, not his. "Fine," he abruptly says, stowing away the gun in his shabby coat. "Lie Beihong. Shake." He puts his hand out and you shake it.
You followed him, wherever he was going, up rickety stairs that were left behind by some contractor or the other. The briefcase shone a gunmetal grey in the faint lights of the pagoda. "So, uh, I notice that you have a case."
"Indeed I do." The lid thumped against the floor.
"Can I ask what you got in there?"
"Plastic explosives," he said without a change in tone. "I'm going to be blowing up the Colored Wolf Pagoda."
[]- Stay Cool: You were going to do this anyway. Just gotta get to Si Fei first.
[]- Throw Hands: Get the case away from the maniac.
A/N: Well, that was embarrassing.