Volume One, Chapter Fourteen: The Future of Sons and Daughters?

The sunlight before sunset had already entered the room, spilling across Dao Laobo's body. Yet at this moment, Dao Laobo felt none of the warmth it brought. He gazed at the tea in his hand, fully aware in his heart.

Anyone involved with drugs would always seek various excuses to whitewash their crimes. Everything that Yannuo had said earlier was like this; not a word of it could be true.

But when he heard Yannuo’s reason for not fleeing, for deciding to stay and fight the Civet to the end—for the sake of his child—Dao Laobo understood immediately: the strongest spear and shield on both sides would soon clash.

The ultimate, worst outcome might be even grimmer than he had anticipated.

Truly, it was an abyss with no return.

Yannuo stubbed out his cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and continued, “According to the Tai people’s customs, if he kills me, my son will surely seek revenge. Yuwen is a girl—vengeance isn’t demanded from her. I never wanted to drag her into the world of vendettas. Who knows if she’ll ever marry well, but at the very least, I want her to live her whole life without getting involved in this business. I’ve spent so much money buying her horses, building her a stable; if she can lose herself in her equestrian pursuits, that really would be a good thing.”

Dao Laobo drained the now-cold tea in his cup, hoping to smooth the unrest in his heart, and replied absentmindedly, “Boss, you really do worry about everything.”

This time, Yannuo filled Dao Laobo’s empty teacup as he spoke. “You know I’ve always kept my youngest son, Yanpan, hidden away. He’s only six, and hardly anyone has ever seen your sister-in-law.”

Dao Laobo tapped the tabletop three times with two fingers to show respect for Yannuo’s gesture, and said, “I’ve only met my second sister-in-law once.”

Yannuo picked up his cup too and said to Dao Laobo, “In our Tai families, everyone hopes for more sons, though they’re sons in name only, not by blood. But we’re not like the Han people—when they have children, it’s to carry on the family line, to add more hands to work. I’m not capable; I spend my days among women and only managed to have one child. So you mustn’t tell him who killed me today.” He spoke as if he were already dead.

As if still uneasy, he emphasized, “This grudge can’t be avenged. Don’t let him try.”

Dao Laobo understood what Yannuo meant. He lifted his teacup and paused before him. “Understood, Boss.”

Without another word, no matter how hot the tea was, he swallowed it in one gulp.

Seeing this, Yannuo also drained his cup in one go and continued nagging, “In many trades, they say the son should inherit the father’s work, but not in ours. I love my child—I absolutely can’t let them do what I do!”

Dao Laobo gave no reply.

Thus, the only sound in the living room was the boiling water bubbling away.

At last, Yannuo said something that struck Dao Laobo’s mind as if with a heavy blow.

“If only that Civet were one of our own.”

This sudden thought from Yannuo left Dao Laobo bewildered. All this time, it had never crossed his mind. Only now, with disaster looming, did it occur to him.

In truth, the history of espionage had never lacked for double or even multiple agents. There were those who could calmly serve several sides at once—especially enemies—regarding spycraft simply as a means of livelihood, a way to profit from all parties. Such people had no faith in nation, party, or ideology; one might say they were cunning scoundrels of both high intelligence and emotional acuity, with clearly marked price tags, open to purchase.

Then there was another kind, wholly loyal to one side. They mingled with the enemy, even feeding them valuable intelligence, but only as a cover for their true allegiance; in the end, they brought the greatest benefit to their own side and devastation to those they pretended to serve. When dealing with such people, profit could not be the bargaining chip; one had to leverage their loyalty, their concern for their own or their loved ones’ safety.

In other words, both types had weaknesses rooted in human nature. Money and women were material desires—beyond that, no principle or bottom line. Threaten them with death, make them sense the loss of their pleasure-seeking body, then offer enough temptation, and they’d sell their soul without hesitation.

The second type, those with faith, were not truly fearsome either—faith itself was a fatal weakness, a proof of boundaries, and those boundaries were usually higher than most. The strength of their faith could be measured and valued. The less resolute were easily bought; and interestingly, those with the most reckless faith could be the easiest to break.

According to Yannuo’s sharp insight into human nature, he succinctly summarized his tactics: Reason with them, move them with emotion, tempt them with gain, threaten them with force, and finally, for those who remain disobedient—eradicate them physically.

He said, those who cannot be used by me, must not be left behind for the enemy; one must never raise a tiger only to be bitten.

But there is one kind of person, the most terrifying of all. To them, espionage is a game—a means to prove their intellect and skill, a cruel sport of manipulating others. They are obsessed with this game for life and have no other desires. The seven deadly sins of human nature described by Catholicism—pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust—are utterly absent in them. They can wander, windblown and rain-soaked, on the streets, in the wild or jungle, or mingle elegantly in lavish casinos and luxurious hotels. They might remain silent and withdrawn for long periods, seeming unsociable or even shy, but never mysterious. Yet, in other company, they might speak at length about culture, history, or current events, becoming fascinating companions. All of this is just to win their game. With such people, they may seem full of weaknesses, but no one ever sees the fatal one.

The legendary Civet, it was said, was just such a type. They lived in the same region, and had heard a little of one another. He was known for his skill in kidnapping—but nothing else stood out.

And kidnapping, in this perilous borderland tangled in lethal interests, was almost the most common tactic—it didn’t take a particularly ruthless character to do it. Compared to some of his more impressive colleagues, he was truly unremarkable.

Dao Laobo asked, puzzled, “We’ve never thought of buying him off, so why are we so afraid of him now?”

This time, Yannuo gave no answer.

He merely glanced at the clock on the wall and said to Dao Laobo, “Go on now. I have a call to make.”

Dao Laobo looked at the polar bear specimen and the giant python coiled in its bottle, then turned and left, his heart churning with shock and questions.