FY - 37

Why?

Before the arrest operation in the Liu Huo region, Fan Chang had just reached an agreement with a drug lord on the US-Mexico border for the next quarter’s cooperation. When things went wrong here, the other party, considering the involvement of two countries and the difficulty of control, chose to protect themselves and immediately canceled the cooperation. Fan Chang was enraged and fired more than a dozen shots at the dealer.

The dealer’s subordinates, who frequently traveled to China to scout for agents, were accustomed to deception and betrayal among brothers. They had long become cunning foxes, devoid of a relentless spirit. In a suppressed environment, they were born opportunists.

Whoever gave them life was their daddy.

Seeing Fan Chang’s overwhelming momentum, they immediately defected and surrendered to him. They covered him all the way as he slipped back to the base through a secret passage, rescuing his wife and son.

But they were a step too late; his son, startled by the gunfire, ran off and died in the crossfire.

His wife was captured.

Fan Chang was in agony, but he didn’t rush out to his death.

For someone like Fan Chang, emotions had become mere accessories that could only add to joy, not kick him when he was down. Once they conflicted with his vested interests, he would abandon them, no matter how much it hurt.

Fan Chang hid in the secret passage for half a month. Only after the police had cleared the battlefield did he emerge under the sun, his body twenty pounds lighter. But Si Wen was waiting for him, shooting him once in the arm and once in the leg.

Blood splattered into Fan Chang’s eyes, immediately turning them crimson, like a demon reborn from some hell, with a single blood-red eye.

Si Wen had long known that this area had secret passages, used for escape, intricate and complex, where non-insiders entering or exiting faced near-certain death. So his plan was to catch these people off guard, not giving them a chance to go down into the secret passages.

During this unprecedented arrest operation, Si Wen closely monitored everyone’s whereabouts and indeed found many people rushing towards one spot.

After the operation, the police confirmed that Fan Chang had escaped.

Si Wen didn’t leave; he stayed at the base, waiting for the previously identified cluster of people at that specific location.

Fan Chang was a masochist; the more painful something was, the more he had to experience it personally, finding both agony and a strange satisfaction.

So Si Wen was certain that he would emerge from the base’s exit. He wanted to personally witness how his life’s work came to naught, and then figure out how to rise again.

Si Wen set up a tent and ate and slept there.

Just over half a month later, Fan Chang emerged.

Si Wen’s two shots cut off his escape, ensuring he couldn’t run anymore.

The other two foreigners were already too exhausted to fight, collapsing to the ground after their strength gave out.

Many people thought drug trafficking gangs were incredibly formidable in combat, but in reality, they were often all bark and no bite. What drove them to fight was not superior physical fitness, but the temporary euphoria from drugs and the fear of being caught—and killed—if they didn’t fight.

Si Wen handcuffed them, threw them aside, and continued eating, preparing to take them back to Feng Zhongliang in the afternoon.

Fan Chang’s arm and leg were bleeding constantly, but he refused to beg for mercy, only glaring fiercely at Si Wen.

Si Wen’s eyes lightly swept over him, seeing his face taut and swollen purple like an eggplant. He threw the firewood stick into the fire and said, “If you beg me, I’ll let you live a few more days.”

Fan Chang didn’t beg; he just gritted his teeth, letting the veins on his face bulge: “I knew you were a damn cop!”

Si Wen corrected him: “Strictly speaking, I’m a soldier.”

Fan Chang said something at the time, with great force, as if it would truly become a self-fulfilling prophecy, “You’ll eventually fall because of this thing.”

He was referring to Si Wen’s addiction to drugs.

When Si Wen first took the drug, it was particularly nauseating; he wanted to vomit and felt disgusted by the smell. It wasn’t like how he had seen addicts crave it when he used to study cases. The other times were pretty much the same.

There was no choice; with dozens of pairs of eyes staring, and the absolute need to take what they offered, at such times, it truly wasn’t up to him.

After a period of not touching it, it was truly painful, with muscle cramps and rolling on the ground. He would bite down on a knife, so that if he trembled too severely, he would cut his face. This was to control the side effects and his body’s addiction to the drug.

It didn’t work very well, but he could tolerate an episode lasting ten to twenty minutes.

Si Wen ignored Fan Chang’s nonsense: “What I’ll fall because of is still unknown, but you will certainly fall because of a syringe.”

“Have you seen death by injection? In a ten-square-meter room, with a single bed, you’re tied to the bed, a tourniquet on your arm, one shot, and you foam at the mouth. In less than a minute, you bid farewell to the world.”

Fan Chang’s eyes were wide, his face pale from blood loss.

Si Wen wasn’t finished: “It could also be execution by firing squad. But for someone like you, any kind of death penalty is quite a waste of material.”

At that time, Si Wen didn’t know that he might become like Fan Chang.

Perhaps he would taste all the bitterness of this world.

________________________________________

Driving back to the city, the road wound through mountain passes, circle after circle.

It started raining on the second circle. It was the kind of rain that went from clear skies one second to a torrential downpour the next, completely unexpected by the weather forecast.

Si Wen had a bad feeling. He cautiously found a slightly safer spot to rest and wait for the rain to stop.

Sure enough, after the heavy rain, the entire canyon suffered a landslide. Si Wen had nowhere to hide. Although his parked position could save his life, that was all it could do. Trees on the mountainside were uprooted and crashed down, sweeping their car and them down to the bottom of the mountain.

Fan Chang’s arm was pierced by a tree branch, and he died from excessive blood loss.

The other two foreigners had buckled their seatbelts when they got in the car and were not seriously injured.

Si Wen’s spine sustained several cuts, as did his arms and legs.

The bandages on him were for Fan Chang’s bleeding; there was nothing extra.

He didn’t pity Fan Chang; it was simply that Fan Chang being alive and brought back was more valuable than him being dead. The firsthand drug distribution channels could reveal countless more drug dealers and drugs.

Si Wen crawled out of the driver’s seat but didn’t dare to move further down the mountain, staying next to the car. The car was wrecked, but it could still provide shelter from the rain.

He took off his clothes, wrapped them around his spine, and tied them tightly across his chest.

The two foreigners also crawled out. They were not as seriously injured as Si Wen and still had enough strength to exchange glances in the darkness, a murderous intent gradually forming.

Si Wen didn’t notice. He also needed to tend to the injuries on his legs. He turned to look inside the car, hoping to find some cloth strips, but saw two dark figures bearing down on him in the broken rearview mirror.

He remained still. When they were close, he squatted, stretched out his leg, and kicked, striking one man’s ankle. The ground was already muddy and uneven, and the man lost his balance, his foot flying backward, causing him to fall directly in front of Si Wen.

The other man had a broken car bumper in his hand. He roared and swung it at Si Wen. The bumper whistled as it cut through the air.

Si Wen couldn’t dodge. He crossed his arms over his head to block the blow. His arms were instantly bruised and bloody under the heavy, sharp impact. Fortunately, it was dark, so it wasn’t a gruesome sight.

He had no time for pain. He kicked the man twice with both legs, knocking him down, then straddled him and punched his high nose twice.

With his elbow pressed against the man’s throat, Si Wen said: “You wanna kill me? Go back and practice for a few more years.”

The man mocked him: “If you undo our handcuffs, we will kick your ass. Chink in the armor!”

American accent. Si Wen scratched his ear: “I put the handcuffs on you. How could you let this happen if you are really powerful? White trash.”

The two Americans gave up resisting.

They couldn’t afford to provoke this man.

________________________________________

For a month, Si Wen and the two Americans struggled in the canyon, which had been forcefully cleaved open by plate tectonics.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate; the other two eventually died.

This place used to be soaked by industrial wastewater year-round. Walking on the winding mountain road, one’s nose would be filled with a fishy, foul stench.

Later, the environmental protection bureau made great efforts to manage this environment, discharging the wastewater, which spared Si Wen and the others from being submerged and corroded upon arrival.

For the first day or two, they collected rainwater, boiled it with bamboo, covered it with leaves, and drank the distilled water condensed on the leaves.

They ate dead birds, maggots, tree bark, and gnawed on leaves.

When there was nothing left to eat, one American killed the other and shared him with Si Wen.

He himself said that he didn’t kill Si Wen because, even with Si Wen noticeably emaciated, he still couldn’t beat him. It was easier to kill his compatriot. Plus, his compatriot was fatter than Si Wen and could sustain them for a few more days.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t thought about escaping, but this wretched place offered no escape; they could only wait for rescue. However, Si Wen’s TACBE (Tactical Air Control Party Equipment) seemed to be malfunctioning, and no patrol team received his signal.

Si Wen also didn’t count on the aftermath organization of the landslide accident. With such heavy rain, any traces would have been washed away long ago.

Moreover, who was he? He was a person without an identity; who would look for him? His parents? They already thought he was dead.

He had even attended his own funeral, dressed in black, wearing a bucket hat, blending into the crowd, looking at his teenage photo on the tombstone. He couldn’t even have a single photo of himself as an adult; if he did, it had to be burned. That’s what being an undercover agent entailed.

In both the military and police systems, many knew there was an undercover agent fighting on the front lines, but no one, except Feng Zhongliang, knew that this agent was Si Wen. In the eyes of these people, his death was insignificant.

________________________________________

Time passed, and a month went by. Si Wen felt like he was dying.

The surviving American seemed to have bonded with him through their shared hardship, constantly encouraging him not to give up, telling him their lives were not meant to end there.

They endured for two more days. Then, a yellow helicopter with green stripes hovered above them for half a day before descending.

Si Wen was very cautious, painstakingly moving behind the car.

He could only see a few people disembarking from the helicopter. Their uniforms were dark blue, and the anti-moon emblem on their caps represented American special forces. He used all his strength to sit up.

Si Wen had good eyesight and could see clearly even from a distance. After observing for a while, he felt they didn’t look like special forces. Their rows of black, drug-rotted teeth made them look like drug addicts. Unsurprisingly, they were probably from a US-Mexico border drug den, looking for someone.

Si Wen then began to suspect that the two Americans he had spent a month with might not be mere small-time thugs.

Sure enough, the living American flashed him a sinister smile, then opened his mouth to call out. His voice was hoarse from lack of strength.

The fake special forces, using biological detectors to clear the way, quickly pushed aside the vegetation and found them.

The living American immediately burst into tears, pointing to a pile of bones nearby: “He killed Guzman!!!”

The two fake special forces reacted quickly, aiming their guns at Si Wen.

Si Wen no longer had the strength to feign fear. He said, “He killed it.”

The living American rambled on about irrelevant things, but Si Wen paid no attention, only speaking his own truth.

Anyway, it was all an act. He incidentally recounted the experiences the American had told him a few days prior.

His intention was to make the two fake special forces realize that if he had killed Guzman, why would the living American have confided in him about their past?

The fact that Si Wen knew these experiences indicated that their time together had been relatively harmonious. Thus, the living American was lying.

The fake special forces understood. The muzzles of their guns, originally pointed at Si Wen, turned towards the American. They shot him in the head.

This action was quite risky, actually. If Si Wen hadn’t convinced them in three sentences, and they had had the chance to listen to the American, he might have told them that Si Wen was a cop.

Fortunately, the two fake special forces were men of action and didn’t think too much.

However, they didn’t spare Si Wen either, taking him onto the helicopter.

Later, Si Wen learned that Guzman was one of the sons of a US-Mexico border drug lord, who had come to monitor the entire transaction and gain experience. With his whereabouts unknown, the drug cartel would naturally come looking for him.

Si Wen guessed that the American knew his companion Guzman’s identity and also knew that he would be rescued.

Perhaps due to some punishment mechanism or vested interests, the American killed Guzman to eliminate future trouble. Then he encouraged Si Wen to survive, only to frame him when the cartel came looking.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

He was the one who survived, after all.

They fabricated an identity for Si Wen and took him to Mexico, where he endured another three months of inhumanity.

That place was full of madmen. They gave him large doses of stimulants, then hammered nails into his body and peeled the skin off his arms and legs.

There was no reason; it was simply for entertainment.

Here, countless people like Si Wen were kept for their amusement. After they were done, those who died were buried, and those who survived were forced to transport drugs for them.

In some strictly controlled areas, their transport methods couldn’t penetrate, so they relied on human drug mules.

Si Wen was no exception, but he made a demand: if he could pass through multiple security checks and deliver the goods safely without body packing, he should be allowed to stay and work for the drug lord.

Many people had made such boastful claims before, sounding as if they truly had skill, but then cried miserably when caught by the police. Nevertheless, they gave Si Wen this chance, entrusting him with lower-concentration drugs and less influential buyers.

If he unfortunately got caught, their losses would not be significant.

Si Wen had been a police officer and a bandit, just in a different place. The rules might change, but the harsh environment remained fundamentally the same. He could navigate the drug dens in his home country with ease, and it wouldn’t be much different abroad.

In his first mission, he successfully transported the drugs and gained the favor of a small leader in charge of transportation under the drug lord.

Later, Si Wen framed the small leader for selling goods to two different buyers, leading to heavy casualties and significant losses of goods in a battle between the two buyer groups. In front of the drug lord, Si Wen shot the small leader, cleaning up the organization for the drug lord, and claimed he had a way to recover the losses.

But he had a condition: he wanted to replace him as the new transportation leader.

Thus, step by step, Si Wen established himself in the US-Mexico border drug market.

One day, by chance, he saw a video of Feng Zhongliang becoming the director of the Anti-Drug Bureau. Feng Zhongliang spoke with righteousness and conviction, his eyes showing deep hatred for drug trafficking and manufacturing.

Si Wen felt unfamiliar, especially after he later found news of Feng Zhongliang intensively attending various events and meetings to the point of neglecting sleep and meals. After this news, he felt even more unfamiliar with this person.

This meant that Feng Zhongliang had not looked for him.

That was the first time an unfamiliar color appeared in his eyes.

He then investigated whether there had been aerial patrol teams patrolling above when he was trapped in the canyon. The answer was yes. This meant that the patrol team had received his signal.

The remaining glimmer of color in his eyes was replaced by grey after this revelation.

When a patrol team receives a signal from such a tactical signal emitter, they report it to higher authorities, who then relay it to various departments to quickly determine whether it’s friend or foe, what the situation is, and then formulate a plan for rescue or attack.

Si Wen was not rescued, which means that the person responsible for him abandoned him.

From then on, the undercover Si Wen died, and the drug dealer Si Wen lived.

After four months at the border, he returned to China and took over the new identity Fan Chang had prepared for himself, He Yi, the owner of Dongsheng Pharmaceutical. He changed the name back to Si Wen, then used this convenience to fake his own death.

When everything was settled, his drug addiction flared up. He found a virgin at a local nightclub and took her to the mountains.

Why a virgin?

He wanted to defile her. Defiling a woman with innocent eyes brought him pleasure.

Initially, he took her to the mountains intending to torment her however he pleased, knowing that only the mountain wind would hear her screams of pain. But unexpectedly, she wouldn’t scream, even as tears streamed from her eyes. Her lips were tightly sealed, and she even frantically asked him why there was no virgin blood.

Her demeanor was too novel, so Si Wen kept her.

Returning to the chaotic world of the US-Mexico border, he gradually became the drug lord’s right-hand man, relying on his ruthless and decisive methods. Eventually, he carved out a share for himself, becoming a feared figure in that region.

Who wasn’t afraid of Si Wen?

No one wasn’t afraid of Si Wen.

After that period of intense struggle, Si Wen investigated and learned that when he was trapped, the patrol team had received the signal and reported it to higher authorities. However, it wasn’t Feng Zhongliang who failed to take action to rescue him; it was Feng Zhongliang’s wife, Zhao Youjin, who concealed this fact.

Zhao Youjin, when drunk, personally confessed to her toy boy that she didn’t know what the signal was, but since it appeared in the Liu Huo region, it must have been that undercover agent who had infiltrated the drug den. She wanted to use Feng Zhongliang’s position as the director of the Anti-Drug Bureau to facilitate her illicit gains, and she wouldn’t allow this undercover agent to return and steal Feng Zhongliang’s glory. So, the only option was to make this undercover agent disappear.

Si Wen allowed Zhao Youjin to flourish for four years, becoming an influential figure in Qizhou today, instead of ending her life with a single shot. Was it because he had a soft spot? No, it was because he couldn’t let her off that easily.

He had the most burning chest in the world, and also the most vicious heart.

________________________________________

The past was like the nails driven into Si Wen’s body years ago, deep into his flesh, always reminding him to revisit it in the dead of night.

Years later, standing with Feng Zhongliang again, looking at his weathered face, hardened by a lifetime of anti-drug work, it wasn’t so easy to let go.

Zhao Youjin was the culprit, but Feng Zhongliang, too, was indeed blinded by the public’s trust and media attention at the time. He neglected everything. If he had given even an ounce of thought to Si Wen, would Zhao Youjin have been able to exploit the loophole?

No. His mind was fully occupied with achieving merit, with making greater achievements. Not an ounce of his attention could be spared for Si Wen.

Vanity is something ingrained in the bones, not something that bursts forth from the heart.

From the day Feng Zhongliang was promoted to the head of the anti-drug squad, it foreshadowed everything that would happen to him later.

Undeniably, he was a good police officer, a good captain, a good director. But what did that have to do with Si Wen?

Feng Zhongliang self-righteously sought to realize his self-worth, and he wanted to achieve it through the success that came at the cost of Si Wen’s life. This was acceptable; Si Wen didn’t care. If Si Wen had sacrificed his life for the country just for the country’s gratitude, there were many less gruesome ways to die than being an undercover agent. Why didn’t he choose those?

He felt it was his duty.

Without grand ambitions or vulgarity, he simply felt that some things needed to be done, and since he could do it, he would.

If he lived, he would dismantle a few more drug dens. If he died, he would be buried in the earth. He felt no grievance, no regret.

But did that mean he could be treated with such disdain?

Could his life be treated as mere grass?

Whether frontline soldiers are willing to sacrifice their lives is one thing; whether the organization cherishes their lives is another.

Si Wen couldn’t forget how he survived, so it was best no one tried to persuade him to be kind; he couldn’t do it.

Feng Zhongliang moved closer, reaching out, but didn’t touch him: “You could have destroyed that Copan flocked swab procurement list, but you didn’t, just as you kept your name, Si Wen. I knew you wanted to tell me you were still alive. After all, in this world, only I know who Si Wen is, and who is Si Wen.”

“No matter what you want to do, I can promise you that as long as this is the life you want, I can pretend not to know who you are.”

Si Wen turned around: “Director Feng speaks very skillfully. At first listen, it sounds good to me, but upon closer inspection, you’re branding me as a bandit.”

Feng Zhongliang opened his mouth, then closed it.

He didn’t know what had happened to Si Wen back then, but he could somewhat guess that his negligence might have played a part. Having been in this line for a long time, it was hard to find his original intention. He admitted that he had once been corrupted by the spiritual drug of power and vanity, deeply immersed in this artificially constructed glory, unable to extricate himself. But when he knew that his broken body could only be sustained by medicine, he understood.

Achieving merit.

What is achieving merit?

What is merit? Merit in the system is a commendation and encouragement, but in the eyes of people like them, it became self-interest.

They weren’t carrying out missions out of responsibility, but for that self-interest.

Those in power with too much self-interest would become like Feng Zhongliang, regretting their past actions but unable to undo the trauma Si Wen endured.

Just as he told Wei Lian, he had already understood the principle of a people’s leader being based on the people. He didn’t expect Si Wen to forgive him; he just hoped Si Wen wouldn’t choose a different path.

He pursed his lips, his voice dry: “It’s not about branding you a bandit; it’s fear. You are incredibly audacious and incredibly wise. If you choose to be a bandit, then who can bring you to justice?”

Si Wen found Feng Zhongliang’s words unpleasant. All he was doing was trying to persuade him, to tell him to let go of whatever he had been through.

Let go of what? Just because he was alive, he should forgive their abandonment?

His survival was something he earned by walking through hell barefoot.

It was not thanks to any of them.

Asking him to let go? How ironic.

Si Wen had been there long enough. He cut to the chase: “Director Feng, your wife approached me some time ago, asking for a large quantity of medicine.”

Feng Zhongliang’s eyes narrowed.