Chapter 3: On the Edge of Crisis 1

The man looked up toward the sound and saw a shadow swiftly running upward. He drew his pistol, attached a silencer, and fired several shots at Du Bin. Seeing the distance between them widening, he gave chase.

“What should I do? If I head toward a crowded area, that guy might take hostages,” Du Bin anxiously eyed the passage near the top. After some thought, he abandoned the idea of running upward; reaching the rooftop would only mean death. With each floor the man ascended, he fired, taking aim.

“Damn it!” Du Bin burst from the emergency stairwell into the VIP corridor, searching frantically until he spotted the elevator. To his dismay, all the elevators were at the lower floors—except one, which was ascending from the tenth floor.

“Kid, you have nowhere left to run. Come out!” The man approached slowly. Du Bin pressed himself against the elevator door, anxiety mounting as the elevator rose: floor twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.

“Come out! Accept the invitation from Death!” The man was less than five meters from the corner.

“Brother, whatever you’re planning, I don’t care—just let me live!” Now, faced with death, Du Bin pleaded loudly.

“No. You know something you shouldn’t,” the man replied, momentarily surprised at Du Bin’s cowardice. Hearing footsteps draw closer, Du Bin clenched his teeth. The elevator dinged as it arrived; when the door was halfway open, he darted inside.

Bang, bang, bang! The bullets ricocheted off the elevator door, sending up sparks. One bullet rebounded and struck Du Bin in the back, but thanks to the steel panel, it didn’t penetrate deeply. He frantically pressed the emergency close button, sealing the door. No matter how the man tried, he couldn’t force it open. Du Bin selected the ninth floor and several others in an attempt to confuse his pursuer.

“Damn, that kid got away.” The man summoned another elevator. Seeing the other elevator had stopped at the tenth floor, he kicked its steel door hard, denting it. He pulled out his phone and dialed: “Sorry—someone overheard.”

On the other end, a man exploded in rage: “What?! How could you be so careless?”

“I apologize.”

“At this point, we must act now. Kill everyone except those originally targeted—take care of that man.”

“Yes, sir. He won’t leave this hotel alive.” The man hung up, glaring furiously at the elevator indicator, which stopped at the ninth floor.

Du Bin felt the wound on his back. Not much blood, but enough to stain his white shirt red. Thankfully, the steel panel had absorbed most of the bullet’s force, or his situation would be far worse.

When the elevator door opened, Du Bin, wounded, rushed out. A female guest waiting for the elevator saw him and recoiled in horror, covering her mouth.

His injury made every movement ache, slowing him down. He checked his watch—the enemy would act in five minutes. He wondered which girl on the tenth floor would be targeted: apart from Qin Ling, no other girl fit the criteria.

He leaned against the wall, sweat pouring from his brow, and made his way toward his own room, noticing the trail of blood droplets he left behind. If the pursuer followed the blood, escape would be impossible. At last, he reached his room at the corner and carefully cleaned the bloodstains.

He entered his code, closed the door, unbuttoned his shirt, and pressed a cloth to his wound. On the other side, he grabbed his phone and called Hu Guozheng: “Where are you?”

“I’m on the fourth floor. I was just about to call you to come down—Yilin invited us for tea. And that guy is here too, the general manager himself.”

“Stop. Get up here now—I’m injured. If you don’t come, I’m dead. Tell no one. Hurry!” Du Bin was frustrated, but his current predicament demanded seriousness.

“Whoa! I’ll come right away.” Startled by Du Bin’s tone, Hu Guozheng stood up. Seeing Fang Yilin and Wu Jiahao’s puzzled expressions nearby, he gave a sheepish smile and quickly left the restaurant.

“Remember, be very cautious when you come up. I overheard someone planning to kidnap a girl—most likely Qin Ling. That man tried to kill me when he realized I’d heard. He’s dressed all in black, wearing a blue hat,” Du Bin warned, worried Hu Guozheng might run into the man on the ninth floor.

“Alright, I’ll be careful.”

After hanging up, Hu Guozheng watched the elevator rising one floor at a time. When it reached the ninth floor, he rushed out, startling some guests who cursed him for his recklessness.

Suddenly, he realized he shouldn’t be so conspicuous; if the man saw him rushing back to the room, suspicion would arise. He slowed down, calming himself.

Turning the corner, he spotted a suspicious man approaching, scanning his surroundings. Hu Guozheng’s heart raced—was it possible he’d run into him so soon? The man matched Du Bin’s description exactly, and Hu Guozheng broke out in cold sweat, heart pounding. The man glanced at him; their eyes met. His eyes were blue. As they passed, the tension was unbearable for Hu Guozheng. When the man disappeared down the corridor, Hu Guozheng exhaled deeply, wiped his sweat, and felt as if he’d narrowly escaped disaster.

Back in the room, he found it dark. Turning on the light, he saw Du Bin lying on the sofa, smoking. He hurried over, concerned: “Old Du, are you alright?”

“I’m fine—still alive.” Du Bin had only bandaged his wound carelessly and lay waiting. He exhaled smoke, stubbed out the cigarette, and said, “I’ve called the police. They’ll be here soon. We need to leave this hotel quickly.”

Hu Guozheng recalled the man’s expression earlier—the killer would find them sooner or later. He nodded in agreement: “What about the camera in the upstairs room?”

“We’ll get it later—survival comes first. Let’s go,” Du Bin shot him a look.

Suddenly, with a click, the hotel’s entire lighting system went out, causing panic among the guests.

Several mysterious figures burst into the presidential suite with guns, seizing hostages amid the chaos. The leading man fired a shot and shouted, “Nobody move! Men to the left, women to the right, anyone in between in the center. Hand over all your phones!”

A woman stood in the center, gazing at him with a pitiful expression. The man shuddered: “Damn, there really is a transgender person here.”

With a bang, he shot her dead. The others screamed in terror. Many distinguished guests were present, shocked and forced to crouch with their hands on their heads. The leader surveyed the crowd, but did not find his target. He grabbed a staff member and demanded, “Who’s the director?”

The trembling staff pointed at someone, “He’s the director.”

“Alright, you’re done,” said the leader, tossing the staff aside and approaching the director, pressing his gun to the director’s forehead. “Where is Qin Ling?”

“Qin Ling? She—she said she felt unwell and went back to her room not long ago,” the director stammered.

The man cursed and barked orders: “You, keep an eye on them. The rest, block all the exits and secure the area. The remaining men, come with me—we’re going to find Qin Ling.”