Undercover (2)

The sunset hung listlessly over the horizon like a dying ember. Black birds, clutching twigs in their beaks, flew from the coastline toward the deep ocean, leaving tiny dark specks against the vast, crimson sky.

By the time Liu Huisheng handed the crumpled bills to the landlady, the sun had fully submerged. Night fell like a heavy black pot lid, merging sky and earth into a single hue, save for a fragile sliver of a crescent moon that seemed to be exhausting itself just to stay lit.

“People from all walks of life end up here. It’s not easy for a young girl to make it on her own. You found a job yet?”

The landlady wore a voluminous peony-patterned nightgown, her hair clipped up haphazardly. She carried a heavy ring of keys, each tagged with a room number.

Liu Huisheng trailed behind her, dragging the three-wheeled suitcase.

“Not yet. My sister told me to look for Ba-mei.”

At the mention of Ba-mei, the landlady shot a look back. She scanned Huisheng from her parched, curling-ironed hair down to the 25-yuan red patent leather sandals. Instantly, she categorized her, a flash of disdain crossing her eyes.

“Little girl, you’re young. Try to find some honest work.”

Liu Huisheng accepted the look with practiced ease. A real s*x worker would react with indignation, so she let out a cold snort.

“I eat by my own means. How is that not honest work?”

The landlady rolled her eyes. “Whatever you do, I don’t care and I don’t want to know. Just three rules: One, be careful—don’t get caught by the cops. Two, use protection—I don’t have money to lend you if you get sick. Three, 200 a month, pay on time.”

Liu Huisheng immediately flashed a fawning smile. “You got it. No problem.”

Each floor had 32 rooms, and each room was packed with three bunk beds, housing up to six people. The communal sinks, showers, and toilets were at the end of the hallway—men on the left, women on the right. There were no formal contracts here; the landlady simply grouped people of the same “profession” together. Because of a recent crackdown on vice, Ba-mei’s three roommates were currently in detention, giving her a rare stint of privacy. With Liu Huisheng’s arrival, Ba-mei wouldn’t be able to bring clients back for overnight stays anymore.

“How long you been in the life?”

After washing up, Liu Huisheng returned to find Ba-mei waiting under the dim glow of a bare bulb. She was young, head tilted, clutching a beer bottle with her legs crossed—a portrait of lethargy, like a twisted scarecrow slumped in a field.

Liu Huisheng closed the door, locked it, and placed her washbasin on a crude wooden rack. The rack could hold six basins, but only the top spot showed signs of use. The others were dry and covered in dust.

“One year,” she replied.

“Heh…” Ba-mei chuckled. “Liar.”

Huisheng stiffened. Though she spent her life exposing others’ lies, the sensation of being caught was jarring.

“How am I lying?” she countered.

Ba-mei took a swig of beer, swirling the remaining liquid in the bottle.

“You don’t have the look.”

“What look?”

Ba-mei didn’t answer directly. “You know the difference between a pro and someone like you?”

Liu Huisheng said nothing, sitting on her bunk—facing Ba-mei’s.

Ba-mei leaned back. The yellow light of the bulb cut across the bridge of her nose, dividing her face into light and shadow. Her body seemed submerged in hell while her eyes remained in the mortal world.

“Sister, consider this a piece of unsolicited advice.”

As she spoke, the jaded prostitute’s eyes filled with a strange, monastic pity. Her loose grey nightgown almost looked like a robe.

“If you’re just starting, turn back while you still can. Once you’re in too deep, there’s no coming home.”

A straw ascetic of the underworld—that was Liu Huisheng’s first impression of Ba-mei.

********************************************

Ba-mei’s business was slow; she was too scared of the police to be loud and lacked the protection of a club. Over the next two days, Huisheng spent most of her time observing. She slept by day and wandered by night. One night, Ba-mei didn’t return, claiming the next morning she’d found a lucky client who took her to his home.

Huisheng spent forty-eight hours staring out the window, logging the inhabitants of the tube building. Her notebook was a mess of tallies and crossed-out names. No one fit the profile.

But her profile couldn’t be wrong.

The first-floor view was poor, especially during the morning rush when the crowds blurred together. She needed to go deeper.

The washrooms were technically shared for laundry. Liu Huisheng intentionally stained some clothes from her suitcase with oil and spent two hours struggling in the first-floor washroom. She used the plastic bag over her bandaged hand as an excuse for being slow, buying herself time to watch everyone.

Male, 16-25, slender, under 175cm. Low education, introverted, social barriers, burn history.

Not a single person on the first floor fit.

“Stop looking. There’s no business for you here,” Ba-mei said, walking in with a laundry basin. She shoved a stained bedsheet under the tap. The roar of the water filled the cramped space.

“I’m not looking for business,” Huisheng said, scrubbing at the oil stains.

Ba-mei scoffed, stepping into the large concrete sink to stomp on her sheets. Her calves were covered in old, mottled, linear scars—remnants of the stepfather’s abuse.

“The young guys are on the third floor. Mostly day laborers from the engine factory. They don’t have any money.”

Young. Factory. Low income. The clues clicked in Huisheng’s head like a lock turning.

“If they don’t have money, I’ll just charge less,” Huisheng said, turning her own tap higher to mask their voices. “How much do you charge?”

“Depends,” Ba-mei said, her voice as flat as if she were pricing cotton candy. “Usually 200. More for ‘extras.’ But the boys upstairs? They’re young, good stamina, no weird requests.”

Liu Huisheng’s search area narrowed to the third floor.

Half the rooms on the third floor were rented by a local engine factory. Six to a room, no management, no headcounts. Every morning at dawn, a hundred men would scramble to wash up and head to the factory like an army.

Finding an outcast was easy.

While everyone else was in a frantic rush, one man was the last to enter the washroom. He washed quickly, desperate to avoid eye contact or conversation. When he accidentally bumped into someone, he looked like he was about to collapse from anxiety.

“Hey! Watch it! Don’t cut the line!”

A large man roared at him. The small youth jumped as if he’d touched a live wire, trembling as he backed away.

Liu Huisheng’s pupils contracted. The chaos of the washroom faded as she locked onto him.

Arms thin as chopsticks under a black t-shirt. Blue industrial pants far too large, tied at the waist with a shoelace. Height: roughly 170cm. A bowl-cut fringe covered his eyes. He kept his neck hunched and shoulders shrugged, his knuckles white as he gripped a faded plastic basin.

He was a perfect match for the profile.

His head was down, making micro-expression analysis difficult. But his tightly pursed lips and the sheer tension in his fingers screamed fear and bottled resentment.

“Jiang Feng? A country kid,” Ba-mei said when she returned at noon. Liu Huisheng had pretended she’d been “scared” by a rowdy guy on the third floor and described the scene.

“Doesn’t talk to anyone. No friends.”

“What about his family?” Huisheng asked.

“Don’t know. I think they’re dead.”

“Poor guy.”

“Everyone here is a ‘poor guy.’ You pity him, who pities you? As long as he has food, he’s fine. Besides, he’s actually quite clever. Looks like a ditz, but he’s not. I lent him half a bag of detergent once, and in return, he introduced me to two clients.”

GONG—

The realization hit like a temple bell.

Two clients. Zhu Guangshan and Li Changcheng. The two security guards.

“Action tonight.”

Huisheng typed the four words into the chat. She glanced at the contact name at the top, deleted the text, and dialed for a voice call instead. Ba-mei was out; she was alone.

The call was answered in a second. Zhao Yu’s cold voice came through the receiver:

“Status?”

Liu Huisheng leaned back in her chair, watching the shadow of her finger “walk” across the table.

“I’ve confirmed him.”

” ‘Basically’? That means you aren’t certain.”

“Right. Everything matches the profile perfectly, but I haven’t seen the burn scars yet.”

“Is he covered up?”

“Yes. Long sleeves, long socks. I can’t exactly ask him to strip in the hallway.”

“It’s 38 degrees (Celsius) out. Wearing long sleeves and socks in this heat is a red flag in itself.”

“Getting quite good at the deduction game, aren’t you, Captain?”

“You remember I’m the Captain now?”

“Heh…” Huisheng let out a low laugh. “So? When do we move?”

Her shadow-fingers walked to the edge of the table and then retreated.

Zhao Yu hesitated for two seconds before making the call:

“Tonight.”

Liu Huisheng smiled, her fingers coming to a halt. She watched the golden sunset light hitting the wall behind her. “Good. Exactly what I thought.”

As she spoke, her eyes caught something in the shadow cast on the wall. A shape she had assumed was a potted plant on the windowsill suddenly moved. It shifted quickly and disappeared from the silhouette.

Liu Huisheng whirled around.

“Who’s there!”