Chapter Sixteen: The Russian

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I looked down at my lackey disguise—right now, all I wanted was to get out of this place. I’d thought that with this dogskin of a uniform, I could slip by unnoticed. But as soon as I took a step, a heavy kick landed square on my back, sending me sprawling face-first onto the ground.

Luckily, I was still gripping my weapon. I spun around, ready to spray the bastard with a burst. But before my finger could even graze the trigger, my attacker grabbed the barrel, deftly unfastened the bayonet from its mount, and with his other hand, snapped the AK’s magazine right out. In the blink of an eye, he had the bayonet aimed at my face—so fast I could barely follow. That’s when I got a good look at him: a hulking Russian, at least two meters tall, with filthy dreadlocks, a wild beard, and a battered camouflage jacket bristling with knives, a bulletproof vest, grenades—everything you could imagine.

It was clear this guy wasn’t local—most likely a mercenary.

“Looking for this, aren’t you?” he sneered, pulling out a briefcase and tauntingly waving it at me.

He even spoke Chinese? That unsettled me. But when I spotted the biohazard symbol on the case, everything clicked—this was the sample my sister had mentioned!

Still, I didn’t dare make a move against the Russian. I knew that would be suicide. Seeing I wasn’t going to interfere, he simply ignored me and swaggered past.

So that’s it? He’s just leaving me here?

He caught my baffled look and seemed to guess my thoughts, flashing a row of gold teeth as he spoke: “You get what you pay for! They only paid me to pick up the goods—not to kill witnesses, and not to weed out moles!”

I was speechless. Out here in the back of beyond, you really do meet all sorts.

“Then can you at least tell me—where is this place?” I pointed to the underground railway below, not really expecting an answer.

“That’ll be fifty dollars,” he replied, dead serious.

Seeing a glimmer of hope, I quickly fumbled through my pockets—thankfully, Brother Can had given me a bonus earlier. I did a quick conversion and tossed him three hundred yuan.

“This is the underground transport hub built by the Four Families. Its sole purpose is to move the likes of you—pigs—and other dirty cargo.” He shot me a contemptuous glance. “Kid, that question was worthless, because there’s no way you’ll ever leave here with that secret alive.”

Outwardly, I kept my composure, but inside I was fuming: To hell with you. That information is worth a fortune—I’ll tell my sister for sure!

But his next words doused my hopes: “Don’t count on that agent sister of yours for help. If the Admiral hadn’t specifically intervened, she’d have ended up as a plaything in the Wei family’s brothel long ago.”

He finished with a sly, mocking smile.

“What do you mean by that?” A sense of dread washed over me.

“Want to hear the details? Now that’s an important question—for you, anyway. That’ll be ten thousand dollars.”

I almost coughed up blood. Ten thousand dollars? Might as well rob me outright.

He laughed. “Remember the number on this tag! I bet you’ll be looking for me soon enough!” The Russian bent down, tossed me a silver nameplate in a show of provocation, and then disappeared.

I took the tag; it bore a string of Russian letters and numbers. By the time I looked up, he was already gone.

Still dressed as a lackey, heart pounding, I slipped out of the basement. Outside, chaos had erupted—dozens of men in black suits were running every which way, up to who knows what.

I paid them no mind. Taking advantage of the confusion, I slipped behind some bushes and quickly broke down my AK into its components. There was no way I could walk a rifle openly into the dorm. Firing pin, trigger, recoil spring, bayonet... I tried to memorize the disassembly sequence. I’d field-stripped a Type 54 and a 92 before, but this was much more complicated.

I tossed the biggest piece, the stock, into the shrubs—no way to hide something that big, not even in my pants. After securing the rest of my loot, I returned to the workshop, feigning nonchalance.

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It was just about time for the morning shift. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, except for Team Leader Six, who frowned at me and asked, “2048! What happened to your head?”

His words made me unconsciously reach up—pain flared, and I suddenly remembered how 2044 had set me up yesterday! But I didn’t say anything, just waved it off. “Thanks for your concern, Six. It’s nothing—just slipped on the stairs yesterday.”

I took my seat, glanced at 2050, then at 2044—only to find that old fox hadn’t shown up.

“Six, where’s 2044?” I asked casually.

“He landed a big deal yesterday—off to collect his bonus,” Six replied without looking up.

When a chat window popped up on my computer, I saw that the fish I’d baited yesterday had replied.

The first fish was a single man in his forties. I’d posed as a thirty-something divorced woman, spun a sob story about being cheated by my husband, losing my house and car, unemployed, missing child—the whole nine yards.

He replied today: “Can you send a pic?”

So I dug one out of my album and sent it. With nothing better to do, I browsed through his social feed.

The first thing I saw was a huge photo of a woman with the caption: “Remember this bitch! She swindled me out of eighty grand!”

Scrolling further, piecing together info from the company, I figured out his story: a compulsive gambler hooked on stocks, scammed out of hundreds of thousands, lost his car and house, wife and kid left him. Out of options, he turned to fraud, got caught, did several years in prison—just got out.

Then he sent another message: “Babe! My factory’s hiring an HR manager. Interested?”

I was hit with a wave of revulsion. Then it struck me—he was probably in the same line as me!

But I played dumb, sent him a friendly reply. To my surprise, he seriously gave me the company address—some small firm in a fourth-tier border town.

I couldn’t help but laugh. I turned to Six, “Six, look—ran into a fellow scammer!”

Six perked up, peered at my screen, and after a glance, exploded: “Damn dwarf bastard! So it’s this son of a bitch! I’ve been looking for him for years! Before I came here, that bastard swindled me out of a fortune! Finally caught him today!”

He didn’t spell it out, but I guessed Six was brought to northern Myanmar by this guy’s scam.

With my last shred of moral hesitation gone, I decided to use him as a stepping-stone for my performance.

But Six shoved me aside and took over himself. “Karma, huh? The tables have turned, bastard!”

Six feigned a limp and tricked the man into changing the meeting spot. When all was set, he tossed me a phone. “Keep in touch with him on WeChat. Brother Can will handle the rest.”

I took the phone, delighted. Maybe this would net me a ten-thousand-yuan bonus.

Just as I was thinking this, the last person I wanted to see showed up—2044. The old fox swaggered in, a fat wad of cash in hand—judging by the size, he’d landed a deal about as big as mine.

But when he saw me, his face froze, terror replacing his smugness. He sat down beside me, legs shaking.

He was clearly scared out of his wits. But it was work hours—I couldn’t do anything to him, so I focused on my computer.

I opened a chat with the second fish I’d hooked.

But his first reply left me dumbfounded: “Bro, I know what you lot do! Got any openings? I want in!”

It took a while for my brain to process it.

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So it was true—many who came to northern Myanmar came of their own accord.

Still, I feigned ignorance, sending back a question mark with a Cheshire Cat emoji.

He was blunt: “I’m on the run! I just made it to the border—need a place to lie low!”

At that, any sympathy I might have felt evaporated. I took a deep breath, cursing my luck. What was it with today—nothing but dragons and phoenix chicks.

Despite the awkwardness, I called over Six. He seemed a little impatient, but when he read the chat, his interest was piqued.

“Try to find out what he did.”

So I kept at it, circling around for ages until I got the story: the guy, Li Xiang, born in the ’90s, was a food delivery worker. He’d worked in factories and delivered meals to put his girlfriend through four years of college, then she graduated and ran off with a rich kid from a top university. In a fit of rage, Li Xiang bought a can of gasoline, torched their 200-square-meter wedding apartment, and smashed his ex’s head with a brick—her fate unknown.

Six checked the national wanted list, and sure enough, there he was:

Name: Li Xiang
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Suspected of arson and assault in [city]; considered a major suspect...

Six sent him an address, then clapped me on the shoulder. “Not bad, kid! Promising! Two heads in a day—Brother Can will be thrilled! Might even throw you a little something extra!”

As he said this, his eyes drifted to 2050, and I realized what that “something extra” meant.

A head meant a ten-thousand-yuan “performance,” and with a five-percent cut, that’s five hundred per head. If both came through, that was a full ten thousand in bonuses.

While I was still dazed, Six was already dialing.

“Hey, Brother Can? Yeah, it’s me, Six. Someone here’s brought in two heads—how should we arrange it? Great, got it, I’ll handle it right away!”

Sure enough, by midday, the two big fish had sent me their locations—they’d both arrived at the piglet handoff point.

Six wasted no time, calling Brother Can and a few other unknowns.

After the calls, Six clapped his hands sharply. “Alright, eyes on me, everyone!”

Clearly, it was time for a huddle. Usually Brother Can ran these, but he was out today, so Six took over.

“Everyone, pay attention! This is 2048—just joined last month. Pulled in two heads in one morning—twenty grand in performance! That’s how you work!”

“Unlike some people here, muddling through months without a single deal. Some of you haven’t even closed one!”

As he talked, two women in cheongsams sashayed in and set a wad of red bills in front of me.

“Take a good look! This is your reward—twenty grand in performance, five percent commission, ten thousand yuan!”

Six waved the cash in front of the piglets, then set it before me.

A round of applause filled the room. But though the piglets clapped, their eyes told different stories—some with envy, some jealous, some scornful, but most just numb, as if this scene was all too familiar.

Maybe one day I’d end up the same—sitting here, numb, watching, clapping...

“Brother Can’s out today! I’ll give the monthly summary!”

“First, the new hires who hit their targets last month: 2044, 2048, 2050, 2053...”

He read off the next batch: “These ones didn’t close a single deal: 2030, 2032...”

As he finished, unrest stirred below—some were already in tears.

“Brother Can said, if you don’t hit your targets, you get one more week. But if you still fall short, you’ll be losing more than just your bonus.”