Chapter 5: Underneath the Silk
1074 Words
The license plate traced back to a luxury car rental service—one that didn’t keep official records, at least not any that showed up in police databases. When Yuyan and Zihan arrived at the company’s downtown office, the receptionist’s smile was far too polished to be innocent.
“Unfortunately,” she said, folding her hands, “we don’t disclose client information unless there’s a formal subpoena.”
Yuyan raised her badge. “This is formal enough.”
The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. “Not without a court order, Detective Chen.”
Zihan leaned on the desk, flashing his signature grin. “Then maybe we can make a deal. I’m Li Zihan.”
The receptionist blinked. “As in… Li Group?”
He nodded. “My family invested in the luxury wing of this chain two years ago. I believe your CEO’s daughter models for one of our sub-brands.”
Her demeanor shifted immediately.
“I… I didn’t realize.” She turned to her screen. “Let me just… check something.”
Yuyan crossed her arms. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”
Zihan grinned. “Privilege has its perks.”
“Abuse it a little more often and I might keep you around.”
---
Five minutes later, they had what they came for: a name—Zhao Feng. Listed as the renter. Paid in full. No address, just a burner phone number and a note: ‘Referred by: The Red Lotus Club.’
Zihan frowned. “Red Lotus?”
Yuyan was already searching. “Private gambling den. Rumors of underground trafficking, but nothing we’ve ever been able to prove. Their security’s tighter than the stock market.”
Zihan narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been invited. Once. Didn’t go.”
She looked up. “Can you get us in?”
He hesitated. “Maybe. I’d need to cash in some favors. It’s not just rich kids in there—it’s old money, politicians, ex-military. It’s risky.”
“You’re not obligated.”
“I want to.”
She studied him for a long moment. “Why?”
Zihan didn’t answer at first. Then, quietly, “Because for once, I’m part of something real. And I don’t want to stop.”
There was something raw in his tone that caught her off guard—something honest. Vulnerable.
Yuyan looked away. “Then we go in together. No backup. No guns. Just eyes open.”
“And nerves of steel.”
She allowed herself a faint smile. “I thought you liked adrenaline.”
“I do. I just prefer it without possible death attached.”
---
That night, Zihan met her outside a high-rise near the old French Concession. He wore a tailored black suit, sleek and understated. Yuyan, to his surprise, had swapped her usual leather jacket for an elegant black cheongsam with a high slit and low heels.
He stared for a second too long. “You look…”
“Professional,” she interrupted. “Let’s not make this a thing.”
He smirked. “Sure. No thing. Definitely not stunned or anything.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
The entrance to the Red Lotus Club was disguised as a mahjong house. A man in a white silk jacket opened the door after scanning Zihan’s face.
“Mr. Li. Welcome back.”
“I brought a guest,” he said smoothly. “She’s under my name.”
The doorman hesitated, then nodded them inside.
Behind the façade was an entirely different world. Marble floors. Gold trim. Private rooms with red curtains. Laughter and clinking glasses. Women in sequins. Men in sharkskin suits. Everything about it screamed opulence—and danger.
“I feel underdressed,” Yuyan muttered.
Zihan offered his arm. “Stay close. Eyes on everything.”
They navigated the rooms carefully, avoiding cameras and lingering glances. In the center lounge, a man in his early fifties sat at a poker table, surrounded by guards. Scar above his left brow. Dark, calculating eyes.
Zhao Feng.
Yuyan leaned in close to Zihan’s ear. “That’s him.”
He nodded. “I’ll distract him. You find his phone. He’ll have contacts.”
“That’s reckless.”
He smirked. “Exactly. Wish me luck.”
Before she could protest, Zihan moved forward with the smooth confidence of someone born to navigate these spaces.
“Mr. Zhao,” he greeted, offering a bow. “Big fan of your… operations.”
Zhao looked up, surprised but intrigued. “You’ve got a familiar face.”
“Li Zihan. Li Group.”
Zhao raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. What brings you here?”
Zihan grinned. “A need for entertainment. And maybe a little business.”
As Zhao gestured for him to sit, Yuyan moved along the perimeter. One of Zhao’s guards had set a phone down on a side table—black, unmarked. She waited for a moment of distraction, then slipped it into her purse with the grace of a street magician.
Then Zhao’s eyes flicked toward her.
“Your friend is quiet,” he said, nodding at Yuyan. “Beautiful. But cautious.”
Zihan smiled, not missing a beat. “She’s my better half in business. Doesn’t waste words.”
Zhao raised a glass. “To sharp minds, then.”
They toasted. Yuyan’s pulse didn’t slow until they were back outside, the cold air of Beijing cutting through the night.
“You got it?” Zihan asked.
She nodded, holding up the phone. “We’re in.”
---
Back at the precinct, they broke into the phone. Texts. Call logs. Photos.
Then, a video file.
Yuyan clicked play.
A room—dimly lit. Several women in designer dresses, standing silently. A man’s voice spoke in Korean. Numbers were called. Someone laughed.
It was a trafficking auction.
Zihan’s face went pale. “God…”
The camera panned—then landed on a familiar face.
“Minghua,” he whispered. “She was in this.”
Yuyan looked at him. “She wasn’t the only one.”
More faces. More women. Silent. Expressionless. Like they’d been drained of hope.
Zihan turned to her. “We have proof. We can shut them down.”
Yuyan’s jaw tightened. “Not just shut down. We burn them to the ground.”
And for the first time, Zihan saw it—the fire in her eyes.
This wasn’t just a case anymore.
It was war.
- Writer
