Twenty-NineJi Ming was sitting on the floor on a dirty blanket, his back braced against the wall, his cuffed hands hanging limp on his knees when Zeng returned, flinging the door open with a ferocity that told him he was all roiled up. Whether Zeng’s excitement was triumph or fury, he couldn’t tell, but either way it could only mean bad news for him.
Zeng’s cheeks were flushed pink, and he swayed arrogantly as he leaned over him in the cold bare room. There was no bed or chair; the blanket was the only additional item in a dusty windowless cube.
Ming let his eyes slide over Zeng’s shoulder to focus on the rough stone wall behind him. He gazed into the middle distance, sending the message: Nothing you say is of any interest to me.
Zeng’s voice dripped contempt. “I hope you’ve had time to
