Chapter Twenty-Five: The Ruse of Beauty

After Wang Hou burst through the door, he wasted no time. In a swift sidestep, he landed a backward elbow squarely onto the man who had opened the door. Instantly, the luckless fellow—who looked like a cook—lost half his teeth, blood bubbling out as he collapsed to the side with a pitiful moan.

Trailing in Wang Hou’s wake, I hobbled out, my gait awkward. Truth be told, the chunk of flesh that A-Si had bitten from my leg throbbed with such pain that every step sent spasms through my calf. The sensation was wild and unrestrained, as if my leg was rebelling against me. But there was no time to dwell on that agony; pain had to be endured, whether I liked it or not.

At that moment, we were deep in the tiger’s den—using military parlance, it was a case of “narrow paths meet, bayonets drawn.” The thought that five or six burly men in black were outside, waiting to overpower Wang Hou, left me with no option to retreat. Ready or not, I had to steel myself and charge forward.

Besides, no matter how formidable Wang Hou was, he was flesh and blood, not made of iron and steel. He needed backup, and at the very least, I could watch his back. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself out, and with a quick motion, locked the treacherous dwarf, A-Si, alone in the cold storage.

However, just as I left the warehouse, bracing myself for a desperate struggle, I was dumbstruck by the scene in the corridor outside the cold room. My first reaction was—what a ‘soft’ show of force!

Outside the cold storage, I saw none of the flashing blades and bloodshed I had imagined. How could I describe the scene? The best phrase that came to mind was “fragrant breezes and a sea of beauties.”

There, in the bright corridor wide enough for five or six people, sat the infamous White Wei—the boss, exuding an air of arrogance and reeking of tobacco—enthroned on a tiger-skin armchair that blocked most of the passageway.

Surrounding him were not the black-clad bodyguards we’d expected, but a retinue of six elegant hostesses in slit blue cheongsams, each dolled up with heavy makeup like actresses about to take the stage.

What kind of performance was this? I couldn’t help but wonder if the boss had abandoned his restaurant business to take up opera.

More than anything, what caught my attention were the objects these beautiful attendants held in their hands: dazzling treasures, each more astonishing than the last. From left to right, I saw a jadeite cabbage, a jade ruyi scepter, an ancient painting, a golden chime bell, a porcelain antique, and… a treasure basin?

Every piece looked priceless! I couldn’t tell their authenticity or value, but the spectacle alone was staggering.

What struck me even more was White Wei’s cunning mind, his flair for psychological games. The treasures, gleaming in the hands of beautiful women, were arranged for maximum visual impact—far more enticing than a pile of cash or a few gold bars casually tossed on the floor.

This display felt oddly familiar, though I couldn’t immediately recall where I’d seen its like.

Years later, a photo I stumbled upon online revealed the answer: White Wei had been imitating the grand displays Empress Dowager Cixi used to receive foreign diplomats—a detail for another time.

The scene was so bizarrely glamorous that both Wang Hou and I froze. After a long moment, I finally managed to drag my gaze away from the girls’ legs.

With a wry grin, I shot a half-mocking remark at the boss, “Such an extravagant show, Mr. White. Surrounded by attendants, truly a man of style!”

White Wei, perhaps thinking I was playing along, chuckled in return. Then he slowly withdrew a cigar from a case in his pocket, lit it with his fat fingers, and began to speak through clouds of smoke.

Before he could get a word out, Wang Hou cut him off: “You there, White! Is this some kind of opera? Using women as shields—what scheme are you hatching?”

I couldn’t help but laugh inwardly. Was his ploy not obvious? Having failed with force, he was now trying the soft approach—trading in his tricks for honeyed bribes.

White Wei grinned even wider at Wang Hou’s words, his shifty eyes darting between the two of us before finally settling on Wang Hou’s face.

He spoke, revealing a mouthful of dark, tetracycline-stained teeth as he puffed his cigar, “And you, brother, how should I address you?”

Wang Hou was about to answer, but I jumped in first, “This is Officer Wang from the county criminal investigation team. My surname is Tian, I’m a second-class inspector, investigator.”

I volunteered our “identities” for two reasons: to intimidate White Wei with the authority of the law, and to prevent Wang Hou from saying something he shouldn’t. I knew well that our cover as police officers was our greatest asset. The only reason White Wei hadn’t resorted to violence, even sending A-Si to capture us alive, was out of respect for that “thin veil” of police status.

That veil was our trump card—the key to swaying the situation and saving Xian Hongye.

I’d deduced that, ever since our arrival, the guilty White Wei took us for detectives and, rather than kill us outright, preferred to control or win us over. Killing two police officers would bring far more trouble than disposing of a pair of ordinary diners.

Sure enough, White Wei took the bait. His guilt showed as he forced a smile and said, “Gentlemen, life’s not easy in our line of work. Cut me some slack, eh? Let’s call it even.”

He gestured to the hostesses beside him, his face creasing in a sly smile. “These are just a few trinkets. Why don’t you each pick one…”

Here he paused for effect, then winked at Wang Hou. “Officer, choose wisely! There’s a buy-one-get-one-free offer. Take the treasure, and the ‘packaging’ is yours too.”

Damn! I nearly had a nosebleed from sheer exasperation.

In that moment, I grasped the depth of White Wei’s cunning. Those golden treasures—what “packaging” could he mean? Clearly, the “packaging” referred to the girls holding them, and his insinuation was all too obvious.

But what truly revealed his slyness was not the offer itself, but the fact that he addressed his invitation specifically to Wang Hou, not to me.

What a keen judge of character!

A formidable adversary is always dangerous—but when that adversary is skilled in psychological warfare, he is even more so.

From our reactions to the women, White Wei had already discerned that Wang Hou was the one most susceptible to feminine charm—his reputation as a womanizer was well earned.

He must have also realized that Wang Hou posed the greatest threat to him. If he could break Wang Hou, I, wounded and alone, would be easy to subdue.

A classic divide-and-conquer move—no wonder he had the guts to run such a shady establishment. The man had real skill.

Sure enough, as we stood uncertain, White Wei pressed his advantage, further tempting Wang Hou. “Officer Wang, I’ve heard so much about you! Been wanting to make your acquaintance. These antiques and their ‘packaging’—consider them a gift. I even checked: you’re not married, right? Good! Treat all the girls in my restaurant as your wives, if you like. Though I doubt you could handle them all!”

His words left my heart pounding and Wang Hou’s face alternating between pale and flushed.

Truthfully, the temptation was real—especially for Wang Hou, who’d been deprived for three years. He was powerless against such naked seduction.

Had I not known the sickening secrets of this den, I might have fallen for it myself. After all, opportunities for both wealth and beauty rarely come knocking together.

Yet these beauties and antiques—if we dared accept them, we might not live to enjoy them.

I turned to Wang Hou, shaking my head, ready to play hardball with White Wei.

But the boss was already playing his next card.

Suddenly, he made his move—pushing one of the soft, alluring girls, the one holding the treasure basin, straight into Wang Hou’s arms. The fragrant, supple beauty collided with the burly man, leaving him at a loss.

White Wei laughed, a ripple of smug satisfaction on his face. “Officer Wang, relax a little—think it over.”

A flash of cunning glinted in his eyes.

The scene was utter chaos. I truly feared Wang Hou might not resist and would become a “class traitor.”

Whether Wang Hou could withstand such temptation, I couldn’t say. Even I, standing so close to that long-legged, black-stockinged girl, felt my own resolve waver.

I swear, my wavering lasted only a heartbeat! Then I froze. For I noticed something unusual in the girls’ faces.

Suddenly, I understood.

I shouted to Wang Hou, “Old Wang! Don’t touch her! She’s dangerous!”

But even as I spoke, it was already too late.