Murderous Intent Beneath the Smoke

Deep within a secluded private teahouse on the outskirts of the city.

The heavy soundproof door shut out all outside noise, leaving only the faint strains of a guqin melody and the rich yet slightly pungent aroma of burning cigars. Mr. Wei. Wei Guangyuan was nestled in a large rosewood armchair, a thick Havana cigar between his fingers, the red embers flickering in the dim light, casting a half-light and half-shadow on his lean and wiry face.

Deputy Director Qian sat opposite him, leaning slightly forward, his respectful demeanor tinged with a barely perceptible hint of ingratiation. The water in his teacup had gone cold, but he hadn't touched it.

"President Wei," Deputy Director Qian said with a smile, his tone light as if he had accomplished a task, "The matter is basically... perfectly resolved. As for Qin Ming, he took all the blame. The forensic report has reached a final conclusion, determining that he was in a state of illness at the time of the incident and lacked criminal responsibility. He's now in the intensive care unit for compulsory medical treatment. Regarding public opinion, although there are still some dissenting voices, the heat has died down, the official report has confirmed the nature of the incident, and it's unlikely to cause any major waves."

He gave a brief report on the entire process, emphasizing what he considered to be the two most important achievements: "Qin Ming took all the blame" and "the public opinion was calmed down."

Mr. Wei did not speak, but slowly exhaled a thick white smoke. The smoke swirled and rose in front of him, making his deep-set eyes appear even more unfathomable. Through the smoke, he stared quietly at Deputy Director Qian, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's, as if trying to pierce through his obsequious facade and see his true thoughts.

The silent gaze caused Deputy Director Qian's smile to gradually stiffen, and a cold sweat involuntarily seeped out from his back.

After a long pause, Mr. Wei finally spoke in his hoarse voice, which had a metallic quality to it, each word carrying an undisguised suspicion:

"Old Qian, are you sure Qin Ming... can he handle this? Can he keep going?"

He flicked the cigar ash lightly, and the ashes fell silently.

"He's 'crazy' now, and can talk nonsense. But who can guarantee that he won't 'come to his senses' one day? Or, under some 'special' circumstances, will he remember something and say something he shouldn't have?"

Mr. Wei's suspicions were not unfounded. Qin Ming knew far too much, from financial manipulation to organ trafficking, and finally, that extreme secret about the specimens—each piece of information was enough to drag them all into an abyss of no return. Such living, unstable "evidence" could not be completely put to rest simply by being locked up as "mentally ill."

Deputy Director Qian's heart tightened, and he quickly explained, "President Wei, don't worry. Qin Ming is a smart man. He knows better than anyone that after something like this, he'll never be able to wear a white coat again. If he dares to betray us, he'll not only lose everything, but he'll immediately face imprisonment, or even worse! He's not that stupid!"

He paused, observed Mr. Wei's expression, and continued to elaborate on his "appeasement" plan. "Besides, I've already made arrangements. Every month, I'll send a sum of money to his family under the guise of 'hardship allowance,' enough for them to live comfortably. This way, I'll both appease him and give him leverage—if he talks nonsense, the source of this money will become unclear. With a combination of soft and hard tactics, he'll know what to choose."

Deputy Director Qian believed that this explanation was well-considered, combining both deterrence and vested interests.

However, after listening, Mr. Wei did not show any relief on his face. Instead, he let out a very soft snort with a strong sense of sarcasm from behind the smoke.

"Money?" Mr. Wei narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze icy and devoid of any warmth. "Money is not a problem. I'm willing to spend some money to buy temporary peace of mind."

His voice suddenly turned cold, like the Siberia wind:

"But what I fear is... that I've raised a tiger to my own detriment. I fear that he'll use this weakness as leverage, like a leech, to constantly suck our blood! He might even... turn on us at a crucial moment and take our lives!"

The murderous intent in those words sent a shiver down Deputy Director Qian's spine, his face draining of color. He opened his mouth, asking with some difficulty, "Then... President Wei, what do you mean...?"

Mr. Wei slammed his cigar down into the crystal ashtray, extinguishing the last embers as if crushing someone's life. He raised his head, his gaze like two poisoned daggers, piercing Deputy Director Qian's heart. His tone was calm, yet every word was scathing:

"Since it's a mental illness..."

He paused deliberately, letting the invisible pressure permeate the air.

"Suicide... isn't that perfectly reasonable?"

"Clang!" Deputy Director Qian's hand trembled, and he accidentally knocked over the iced teacup in front of him, splashing tea onto his trouser leg, but he was completely unaware. His pupils contracted sharply as he stared incredulously at Mr. Wei's nonchalant yet life-or-death demeanor.

"President Wei... this... this..." Deputy Director Qian's voice trembled, his face showing obvious hesitation and fear. He was adept at manipulating things and profiting from the rules in the hospital. But when it came to human lives, especially in this way... it crossed his bottom line and meant that once it came to light, there would be no turning back.

Mr. Wei didn't speak, but just stared at him quietly. In his eyes, which were exceptionally clear after the smoke cleared, there was no wavering, only an undeniable coldness and determination. His gaze seemed to say: Either do it, or you and he will disappear together.

The air seemed to freeze, and the guqin music became ethereal and unreal.

A fine layer of cold sweat beaded on Deputy Director Qian's forehead. His heart pounded as he looked into Mr. Wei's menacing eyes. He knew this wasn't a discussion, but an order. He had already embarked on this journey; there was no turning back.

Struggle and fear intertwined in his eyes, but ultimately, his fear of Mr. Wei overwhelmed everything. He swallowed hard, as if using all his strength, to squeeze out a few dry words from his throat:

"I... I understand."

He didn't give a clear answer, but his "I understand" was already a form of submission and commitment.

Only then did a faint, elusive, cold smile reappear on Mr. Wei's face.

A sense of impending doom quietly permeated the tea room.