默读/Silent Reading by Priest - Book 1 Translated by E. Danglars at edanglarstranslations.com. For comments, questions, and corrections, e-mail [email protected]. 1 CHAPTER 1 - Prologue The truth, the bitter truth.—The Red and the Black1 The zone around Yan City’s North Nanping Road in the Flower Market District was like a demon with half a face of makeup. The broad, straight two-way road split the whole of the Flower Market District in two. The East District was one of the city's busiest commercial centers, while the West District was a forgotten old slum, gathering place of the city's poor. Following several years of properties in the East District successively being auctioned off at sky-high prices by real estate tycoons, the old neighborhood, badly in need of transformation, had caught some reflected glory. The cost of paying off and relocating the residents had risen with the tide, frightening off a clutch of developers and erecting a capital barrier among the cramped and impoverished alleys. Neighbors living in dilapidated houses dreamed all day of using their dozen-square-meter run-down rooms to get rich overnight. Already they were feeling the sense of superiority from the idea that "my home is worth millions torn down.” Of course, these slum millionaires still had to put on their slippers and line up to empty their chamber pots every day. There was still a chill in the air on this early summer night. The summer heat that had accumulated during the day was quickly overwhelmed. The barbecue carts illegally occupying the streets packed up and left one after another; the inhabitants enjoying the cool air went home early, too; occasionally an old streetlamp flickered unsteadily, most likely because the nearby illegally crowded rentals were siphoning electricity off the power line. 2 Meanwhile, one street away in the commercial center, the night life was just getting started— As evening approached, in a street-fronting coffee shop in the East District, a barista who had just finished dealing with a mass of customers finally seized a chance to take a deep breath. But before she could smooth her smile-stiffened features back into their original shape, the little bell hanging over the glass door rang yet again. The barista had to once again put on her regulation smile. "Welcome." "A decaf vanilla latte, please." The customer was a tall and slender young man with hair almost down to his shoulders. He was dressed in sedate and solemn business attire, wearing glasses with metal frames. The thin frames sat on the high, straight bridge of his nose. He looked down to get out his wallet, his hair swinging forward over his chin and covering nearly half of his face. In the light his nose bridge and lips seemed to have been daubed with a layer of pale glaze. He looked cold and unapproachable. Everyone appreciates beauty. The barista couldn’t help glancing at him a few times. She made conversation, trying to guess the customer’s preferences. “Would you like sugar-free vanilla in that?” “No. Extra syrup, please.” The customer handed over some change and looked up. The barista’s eyes met his. It must have been out of politeness that the customer was smiling at her. Behind the lenses, his eyes curved slightly, a warm and somewhat suggestive expression at once breaking through his earlier display of solemn propriety. The barista now found that while this customer was good-looking, it wasn’t a regular and dignified sort of good-looking. There was a hint 3 of peach blossom flirtation in his eyes. Her face inexplicably heated up and she quickly avoided the customer’s gaze, looking down to input his order. Luckily, the coffee shop’s delivery guy came along then. The barista hurriedly gave herself something to do. She loudly called the delivery guy over behind the counter to verify the shipping manifest. The delivery guy was a young fellow, around twenty, brimming all over with youth. He came into the coffee shop with the golden evening light. His skin was dark. He smiled, showing off a mouth full of small white teeth, and gave the barista a lively greeting. “Hello, beautiful! You’re looking happy today. Business must be good?” The barista just took her monthly wages without paying attention to how the coffee shop’s business was going. Hearing this misplaced flattery, she waved a hand, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “It’s all right. Get to work now. When you come out I’ll pour you a glass of ice water.” The young delivery man gave a joyful cry and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. At the corner of his forehead, there was a small crescent moon-shaped scar, like a Justice Bao2 with his prop stuck on crooked. In the time it took the barista to make the customer’s order, the delivery guy had cleared his manifest in one fell swoop and come to report back. He leaned on the counter waiting for water and chattily asked, “Beautiful-jiejie, do you know what building Chengguang Mansion is in?” “Chengguang Mansion?” The barista thought it sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember, so she shook her head. “I’m not sure. Why?” 4 “Oh…” The young delivery man looked down and grabbed the back of his head. “No reason. I heard they were looking for delivery people.” The barista wasn’t paying much attention and didn’t notice his uncertain little gestures. Putting a lid on the paper cup, she casually said, “I can ask around for you.—Your drink, sir. Careful, it’s hot.” Maybe the coffee-buying customer had nothing to do. He looked at the young delivery guy and idly put in a few words. “Chengguang Mansion isn’t in a commercial building, it’s a private club out back. What, are they still looking for delivery people? Why don’t I take you there on my way?” The barista finally noticed something was off and doubtfully looked at the young delivery man. “A private club?” The young delivery man saw that his lie had been exposed, made a face, and, taking his cup of ice water and shipping manifest, ran off in a flash. Out back of the brightly lit heart of the East District’s commercial center, there was a large swath of man-made greenery and landscape. A kilometer into it, you would find the deluxe residences of the elite strewn indistinctly throughout the heart of the landscape.—They had to build their residences here, because “solitude” itself wasn’t worth any money; it was only “finding peace in noisy surroundings” that was worth money. All kinds of luxurious grounds of different degrees of style were arrayed fanning out from the landscape’s perimeter. “Style” was the axis: the more expensive were further in, and the cheaper were forced out closer to the street. Among them, the best, most expensive, most “stylish” piece of land was Chengguang Mansion. 5 This place’s owner was not only rich; as pretensions to culture went, his achievements were profound. The little courtyard had been renovated in the style of the ancients. At a glance it looked like a protected Cultural and Historical Site. It had been completed not long ago, and in order to show it off the owner had invited a group of wealthy and estimable friends to come and have a look. Some came to socialize, some to discuss business, some simply to support their clique. There were quite a few who had sniffed out the event and had come to join in the fun, planning to use their faces and bodies as tickets. The parking lot was full luxury cars of every description, and a festive scene out of Vanity Fair had been set up. When Fei Du strolled over, he had already finished his sticky sweet cup of coffee. He heard from far off the sound of music and voices in the courtyard. He tossed the paper cup into a trashcan by the road, then heard someone nearby give an off-key whistle. “President Fei, over here!” Fei Du turned his head. Not far from him, he saw a group of people standing, all idle rich kids. Heading them was a very modish young man, dressed all in rags. This was one of Fei Du’s drinking buddies, Zhang Donglai. Fei Du walked over. “Making fun of me?” “Who would dare to make fun of you?” Zhang Donglai openly slung an arm around Fei Du’s shoulders. “I saw your car was already here. I’ve been waiting for you forever, what were you doing? And what on earth are you wearing? Were you just signing a bilateral trade agreement with the President of the United States?” Fei Du didn’t even glance at him. “Piss off.” Zhang Donglai accordingly closed his mouth for a minute, pushing his endurance to its furthest point. “No way, this look of yours is too 6 gauche. It’s like bringing along someone’s dad. How am I supposed to pick up chicks?” Fei Du’s steps paused briefly. He reached out a finger, hooked his glasses off, and casually hung them from Zhang Donglai’s collar. Then he stripped off his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and started undoing buttons. He unbuttoned four in a row, revealing a large portion of an indistinct tattoo on his chest, then messed up his hair. He picked up Zhang Donglai’s paw, slipped off three large rings as crude as thimbles, and put them onto his own hand.