Chapter 210: Rowing the Boat
Bu Feiyan replayed the surveillance footage again and again, her eyes narrowing on a single detail. As the man left the villa, sothing had slipped from his hand. He stooped to pick it up, and that tiny motion caught her full attention.
She zood the lens in. It was a paper ticket. A plane ticket.
The cara resolution was sharp enough that when she focused, she could read the departure ti, the origin, and the destination printed on it. PJ Island.
Her jaw tightened. PJ Island was famous across the world as a lovers’ paradise, a resort for couples. That bastard was going there on holiday—and he did take her Seventh Sister. Which could only an one thing. He had gone with another woman.
Outrage flared, hot and violent. Bu Feiyan shot out of the mountaintop villa, her thoughts already drenched in blood. Not only would she cut that man to pieces, but the shaless woman who dared accompany him—she would strip her bare, tie her to an electric pole, and leave her for the world to laugh at!
—
PJ Island lay deep in the tropics, lush and verdant, its coasts ringed with beaches and bays. From the sky it resembled a green pearl scattered across the sea, and its beauty had made it one of the world’s most celebrated tourist destinations.
The island was rich in rubber, coconuts, cashews, pineapples; its waters thrived with shrimp farms and cultivated pearls. Tourists ca here for every kind of water sport imaginable—swimming, diving, canoeing, water-skiing, surfing, windsurfing.
It was high season, and the island teed with visitors of every age. Lovers and couples, though, were everywhere; newlyweds posed in white and black on the sand, capturing wedding photos against the sunlit waves.
When Wang Haoran and Ji Shuiyao arrived, she was pale and unsteady from motion sickness. She needed hours of rest in the hotel before her strength fully returned. Only by afternoon did she look better.
“Sorry,” Ji Shuiyao murmured softly, guilt flashing in her eyes. “I must have caused you trouble.”
Wang Haoran waved it off with an easy smile. “It’s nothing. We’re here to relax. No one’s keeping ti.” He glanced through the wide windows at the sunlit coastline and the lush green, his heart itching to move. “I’m going out for a bit of fun. Do you want to stay here with a book, or…”
“I’ll co with you,” she replied quickly.
He left to change, and returned in sunglasses, beach shorts, and a vest, every bit the picture of a tourist ready for the sea. Ji Shuiyao, however, still wore the sa modest dress she had traveled in, though she carried equipnt for collecting soil and water samples.
He almost laughed aloud. Was she truly planning to do field research on a resort island? Shaking his head, he asked, “Aren’t you going to change?”
She blinked. “Change into what?”
He chuckled. “We’re going out to play in the water. A swimsuit, of course.”
Her face flushed, her hands tightening on her sampling kit. “I… I’m not used to that. It’s fine as I am.”
He shrugged, amused. “Suit yourself.”
In the hotel lobby, Wang Haoran checked a tourist guide on his phone and picked a spot. “How about we head to Crescent Bay for so boating?”
“That sounds fine,” she agreed.
They boarded a sightseeing shuttle at the entrance and rode toward the bay.
Back at the hotel, however, a storm was already gathering.
“I’m with the LB Bureau of Investigation, following the trail of an international criminal. Have you seen this man?” Bu Feiyan held up forged identification and spoke in flawless foreign tongue to the woman at the front desk.
An international killer of her rank knew many languages well; her accent held no cracks. The receptionist studied the badge and found nothing amiss, then answered dutifully, “I have. He just left with a beautiful woman.”
Wang Haoran and Ji Shuiyao, handso man and lovely woman together, were hardly forgettable. The receptionist imdiately identified him.
“Which direction did they go?” Bu Feiyan pressed.
“I heard them say Crescent Bay. They wanted to rent a boat,” the woman replied.
Bu Feiyan nodded, her face calm. “You’ve been very helpful. Once the suspect is apprehended, your cooperation will be rewarded.”
The receptionist blinked at the promise, half bewildered, and nodded back.
Minutes later, Bu Feiyan boarded another sightseeing car.
“Target’s on Shuttle No. 18,” murmured a man loitering near the hotel gates, speaking softly into a hidden earpiece. On his forearm, just visible under rolled sleeves, curled the tattoo of a coiled black mamba.
—
The shuttle reached Crescent Bay.
Karst cliffs lood on either side, weathered into fantastical shapes by sea and wind, like the chisel marks of the gods. Boats dotted the turquoise waters, each carrying couples. So splashed each other playfully, so laughed and embraced, while the bolder ones indulged in open intimacy as though no one else existed.
Ji Shuiyao needed only a glance before her cheeks burned, her ears hot.
Wang Haoran noticed her embarrassnt, lips quirking, and went to rent a boat. Together they boarded, gliding into the painted scenery.
He made no effort to row, simply stretched out on the deck at the bow, basking in the sun, letting the vessel drift where the current carried it. Ji Shuiyao set aside her sampling tools for once, and with the sea breeze in her hair and the cliffs rising around them, she allowed herself to relax, tasting a rare mont of leisure.
Then—splash.
She jerked her head up. From the bow ca the sound of water churning. Racing forward, she saw only rippling rings spreading across the surface. Wang Haoran was gone.
He had fallen overboard.
Her first instinct was not panic. She had already witnessed his diving skills—falling into the water shouldn’t endanger him. Still, concern gripped her chest. She leaned over the side and called out, “Wang Haoran?!”
The ripples widened, then stilled. The water grew calm. No answer.
Fear bit at her. She kicked off her shoes, climbed the gunwale, and dove headfirst into the sea.
Minutes later, she surfaced, gasping, her arms straining as she dragged Wang Haoran’s limp body toward the boat. With enormous effort she hauled him aboard, collapsing beside him in exhaustion.
There was no ti to rest. Heart pounding, she pushed at his chest, bent to his ear, calling desperately, “Wake up! Please, wake up, don’t scare like this!”
But his body lay motionless.
Tears burned her eyes as she bent down, pressing her lips to his, breathing air into him. Her technique was clumsy, learned only from books, but her rhythm was careful, her efforts urgent. Again and again she tried—but he did not stir.
Her eyes blurred with panic, drops splashing onto his face as she bent once more—when suddenly strong arms wrapped around her neck, pulling her down.
She gasped, caught, unable to lift herself away.
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