Fishing

"Hello, Chief Boris. Welcome. Please, have a seat."

Wu Heng noticed the slight sheen of sweat on the other man's forehead and greeted him with a smile.

He seemed like someone who loved money.

"Hello, Mr. Dean. As soon as I got your call, I came straight over. I didn't have time to change into my formal clothes. I hope you'll forgive me."

Boris sat on the sofa, his bearded face beaming as he looked at Wu Heng expectantly.

He looked like a lovable polar bear waiting to be fed.

"That's all right, Chief Boris. I actually feel more at ease this way."

Boris hesitated. "Um..."

"Oh, here's what happened. On my way back today, a bunch of black thugs blocked my car."

"They left dents in the trunk. It made me realize how stretched the police force is, so I've decided to donate some money to the department to help improve things."

As he spoke, Wu Heng picked up one of the five checks he'd prepared on the desk and slid it over to Boris.

"Mr. Dean, I hope you weren't too shaken. These illegal immigrants are like tumbleweeds on the highways."

"A few disappear every day, but more always roll in. There's no way to clear them all out."

"Don't worry. When I get back, I'll arrange extra patrols in your neighborhood to make sure those damn scumbags don't show up in front of you again."

Boris held the check. He knew that a few black men were nothing compared to the amount written on it. There had to be something else Mr. Dean wanted.

"Chief Boris, that's a minor matter. I invited you here because I'd like your help tracking down a few people. Here are their names. I'll pay £100,000 for each one, and if you get me any news by the end of today, I'll add another £100,000 per person."

Wu Heng handed him a slip of paper with the names written on it.

The paper listed four names: Kirsty Cotton, Larry Cotton (her father), Frank Cotton (her uncle), and Marcus Ames (a priest at a certain church).

Wu Heng couldn't remember the surname of Kirsty's stepmother, Julia, but her father's name was enough to confirm that this was the Kirsty he was looking for.

Marcus hadn't appeared in the first movie, but in the comics he was a member of the Intercessors, the organization Kirsty founded. He was also part of Wu Heng's plan.

If Marcus existed, that confirmed this wasn't just the world of the first movie, but a vast world combining the films and comics.

"Mr. Dean, may I ask why you're looking into these people?"

Boris took the slip and looked it over. The job would be very simple for him, but out of professional habit, he asked anyway.

"Don't worry. If I invited you here, it's certainly not for anything illegal."

Boris nodded, then glanced reluctantly at the four checks still on the desk.

"All right. I'll get back to you by tonight at the latest. I'd better be going."

After the butler saw Boris out, he returned to Wu Heng. "Sir, I've already contacted the detective you asked for. There's no need to spend so much to look into a few people. One percent of that would be enough."

"Of course I know. But this is important. It's worth spending that much."

Wu Heng understood, of course. But only by finding the four people quickly and confirming the plot could he move on with the other two things he had planned.

Seeing Wu Heng's attitude, Markel understood that he would have to keep a close eye on the remaining task—building Wu Heng's image and promoting him—and make sure it was done well.

By evening, Wu Heng had received a reply from the chief.

Kirsty, her father, and her stepmother were currently in neighboring Brooklyn City.

Frank had boarded a morning flight at Hatton Airport two days earlier and flown to Morocco, in Africa.

More importantly, they'd found Father Marcus. He really did exist.

He served at Glass Church, 600 kilometers from the estate. Plenty of people were named Marcus, but he was the only one who was a priest.

It seemed the first movie's plot hadn't begun yet, but it was close. When Frank returned to the British Empire, the story would officially begin. They had to hurry.

Wu Heng silently recited the names of every immortal and Buddha he could remember, hoping everything would go smoothly. He'd been given a second chance at life; he was determined to make it count. There was no way he'd let it end like this.

After turning down dinner invitations from Mary, Manny, Laura, and several other women that evening, Wu Heng finally got a good night's rest.

Three days later.

At Glass Church, Wu Heng was talking with Father Marcus.

Looking at the brown-haired, bearded priest, who was dressed with care, who could have imagined that in the years to come, he would become a drunken man who had lost his faith?

"Father Marcus, I'm here. As we agreed, the exhibition will be held outside the church today."

Wu Heng held out his wrist to check the time.

"Mr. Dean, I've seen your work. I hope it can serve as a warning to the world. I don't know whether what we're doing is right or wrong."

Marcus turned to the image of Jesus on the wall and began to pray devoutly, ignoring the commotion outside the church.

Marcus, if you knew what was waiting for you, you'd be grateful to me. Perhaps you should be praying to me instead of Jesus.

Wu Heng scoffed at Marcus's behavior. He said nothing aloud, then turned and headed for the door.

"Mr. Dean, I heard you created this rare work after receiving divine inspiration in a dream?"

"Sir, could you tell us what inspired you to create this piece?"

"As a young artist, do you have any other plans in the near future?"

At the venue set up beside the church, a crowd of reporters surrounded Wu Heng, peppering him with questions.

A glass case covered with red cloth was brought over and placed on the display table. As everyone watched eagerly, the case was opened.

Inside was a crystal-clear glass ball. Red liquid flowed within it like a river of molten lava.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Blazing Crystal Ball, inspired by the hell I saw in my dreams."

"The flames rushing endlessly inside represent the true cruelty of hell: an endless cycle of scorching torment."

"I chose to unveil this work near a church because I want to use the flames of hell to warn people not to be led astray and fall into its fires."

Wu Heng stood on the raised platform, which was covered in a red carpet, and spoke at length.

In reality, the crystal ball was just an ordinary trinket he'd ordered at great expense overnight. It had no artistic value to speak of.

The press conference, and the advertisements that had suddenly appeared all over the nearby cities, had been made possible by money.

Everything was meant to spread the message behind the Blazing Crystal Ball.

By the time the press conference ended, it was already evening. The reporters had taken their envelopes of cash back to their newspapers, and the crowd of onlookers had gradually dispersed.

Only the staff remained, waiting to clean up.

"Mr. Dean, shall we wrap things up? There's no one left."

A supervisor in a blue uniform came over and asked softly.

"Wait a little longer. Just a little longer."

Wu Heng sat on the display platform, feeling a little restless.

There's no reason he wouldn't come.

There was still time to make other arrangements later, but if he wasted too much of it, the plot would move much faster once Frank returned from Morocco and things began.

Smack. A dirty hand, slick with sweat, slapped down on the red cloth covering the display table in front of him.

The Black Hand's fingernails were caked with black grime.

But Wu Heng no longer cared. His gaze narrowed and fixed on the crystal ball in the dirty hand.

At last!

Inside the crystal-clear glass ball stood a withered pine tree.

Pale snowflakes drifted down from above and swirled inside the ball. Wu Heng could even hear the howling wind.

The snowflakes seemed to exert a strange pull.

Wu Heng felt as if he were being drawn inside. In the warm early autumn weather, he suddenly felt a bone-deep chill.

"Where'd this tramp come from? Get out of here!"

A nearby staff member barked at him and reached for a stool to throw.

"Wait."

Wu Heng held out a hand to stop him and studied the hooded vagrant.

"This is a truly extraordinary crystal ball. How much do you want for it? I want it."

Wu Heng said.

"It belongs to you. There's no sulfurous fire in hell, only winter."

The vagrant dropped the words and quickly turned away.

Wu Heng picked up the crystal ball, careful not to examine it for too long.

He placed it cautiously in the case, wrapped it up, and waved for the staff to begin packing up.

He'd found what he'd been waiting for. There was no need to stay any longer.

Would you trade your collection, monthly votes, and recommendations for two plastic bottles?