Chapter 85 Interlude

Zhang Qinglin glanced at the posters in the stairwell and only then realized, in a vague and bewildered way, what kind of business this high-end private club was engaged in.

He followed the woman ahead, and what greeted him was a spacious hall with a sofa lounge area and passageways on either side. Three flamboyantly dressed women were seated on the sofas. As soon as they saw someone coming up, they stood up.

“Xiaoyu, which number does this gentleman want?” one of them asked, walking over.

The woman in front of Zhang Qinglin cast a sidelong glance and replied, “Sister Ying, you arrange it.”

Xiaoyu stepped close to Sister Ying and whispered something in her ear.

Zhang Qinglin eyed the women standing before him and felt uneasy; their heavily painted faces gave them a garish, unseemly appearance. He spoke sternly, “I’m here to find someone, not for any services.”

“Xiaoyu, you go on now,” Sister Ying nodded at her.

Sister Ying walked up and patted Zhang Qinglin on the shoulder. “Sir, who are you looking for? A guest? Is it a man or a woman?”

Zhang Qinglin looked inside. Apart from these three women, there were two men standing at the entrances to the passageways on either side.

“It’s probably a man, but it could be a woman,” he answered.

“My goodness, you don’t even know if the person you’re looking for is a man or a woman? Tell you what, I’ll have Xiaomei give you a full-body massage to help you relax,” Sister Ying suggested as a short-haired woman stepped forward.

“No, thank you. I must have come to the wrong place. The person I’m looking for isn’t here,” Zhang Qinglin said, turning to leave.

But the three women blocked his way. Sister Ying shot Xiaomei a meaningful glance.

Xiaomei smiled slightly and grabbed Zhang Qinglin’s arm. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, sir. I just heard you mention Duhuan Island—there is a Duhuan Island here.”

“Where? Inside? I’ll go in myself,” Zhang Qinglin replied. The woman’s sweet, cloying voice made his skin crawl.

He had only taken two steps before Sister Ying reached out to stop him. She gazed intently at him and said, “Sir, if you want to go inside, you have to get a VIP card. Only those with a VIP card can enter.”

Only then did Zhang Qinglin realize they were trying to force him to spend money on a card. He glanced at the two women, suspecting their words were a ruse, but recalled that the words “Duhuan Island” had indeed been written at the entrance on the first floor; it had to be here.

He checked his watch—the time had come. He took two hundred yuan from his pocket and handed it to Sister Ying. “I have urgent business. Prepare the card for me; I’ll go in first and settle the rest when I come out.”

Sister Ying glanced at the money in his hand and replied, “Sir, are you joking? There’s no card here for two hundred.”

Zhang Qinglin had already reached the passage at the front of the hall. A scan of his eyes caught sight of a glowing sign at the end of the right-hand passage: “Duhuan Island” in large characters.

He turned right and strode forward, but the security guard at the passage entrance stopped him.

“Sir, the lowest card here is eight hundred. If not, a full-body massage is five hundred!” Sister Ying called out as she approached.

Zhang Qinglin frowned and took out another three hundred. “All right, a full-body massage. Let me go in first—I’ll settle the rest later.”

Sister Ying took the money and signaled Xiaomei to escort him.

“Please, follow me, sir,” Xiaomei said coyly.

At that moment, Zhang Qinglin only wanted to meet the person who knew his father’s whereabouts as quickly as possible. He had no patience for wasting time here. He exhaled deeply and followed behind Xiaomei.

From a distance, he heard the din of voices ahead, and an unpleasant mix of perfume, smoke, and alcohol filled the air.

Xiaomei reached the door and pushed it open. A wave of strong smoke and alcohol hit him, followed by the thrum of music and chatter.

“Sir, don’t forget to find me for that massage when you come out!” Xiaomei winked at Zhang Qinglin, then closed the door behind her.

Zhang Qinglin stood at the doorway, momentarily stunned. The lighting inside was dim; the place was awash in red and green lights. There were tables and chairs, a large screen at the front playing DJ visuals, and twenty-odd men and women were dancing. This was just a bar—nothing like he’d imagined. He had expected some kind of upscale collection room or design studio.

To arrange a meeting in a place like this—was this person a swindler?

As Zhang Qinglin looked around, thinking he may have been duped, his gaze settled on a man in the third row at the center.

The man turned his head, and Zhang Qinglin stepped forward to confirm—yes, it was Mr. Hu.

Zhang Qinglin hadn’t expected him to come to Beijing. Mr. Hu seemed to see Zhang Qinglin as well and got up, signaling for him to wait at the back.

A group of dancers crowded toward the center, and suddenly a scream pierced the air. The entire room froze. Fear and dread filled the faces of those in the middle of the floor.

Zhang Qinglin rushed over. In the midst of the crowd, Mr. Hu lay flat on his back, clutching a knife embedded in his abdomen. Blood streamed out, staining a wide area, his eyes fixed and slowly shifting to Zhang Qinglin.

Mr. Hu strained to extend his arm toward Zhang Qinglin, clearly wanting to say something.

Zhang Qinglin hurried to his side, gripping Mr. Hu’s raised hand and pressing on the bleeding wound, leaning in to hear his words. But before he could speak, Mr. Hu was gone.

A sudden death like this shocked everyone present.

Soon, the wail of police sirens grew nearer. In no time, officers stormed in, guns drawn, shouting at Zhang Qinglin, “Don’t move! Hands up!”

Zhang Qinglin let go of Mr. Hu’s hand and slowly stood, glancing sideways at the officers. One of them grabbed his arm.

“Hey, why are you arresting me? I didn’t kill anyone—let me go!” Zhang Qinglin protested.

A stern-faced officer pointed at him. “Be quiet. Whether you killed him or not, we’ll find out. Old Xiao, take everyone else aside—don’t disturb the scene.”