In the distance, on the kong River, a cargo ship disguised as a fishing vessel is sailing through the night. Beneath the deck, inside containers labeled "dical Supplies," sample tubes of Black Death bacteria sway gently with the bumpy ride, like bombs waiting to be detonated.
The eting ended.
When Zhang Quan pushed open the wooden door of the bamboo house, the kerosene lamp flickered under the eaves, and the evening wind, carrying the damp scent of opium fields, cast shadows on the muddy walls.
His wife, Axiu, was squatting in front of the stove, flipping roasted fish in the iron pot. Oil splattered on her indigo cloth apron, and the scent of fish sauce wafted through the rising smoke.
"Dad!" On the wooden stool beside the stove, their 18-year-old son, Zhang Ming, suddenly stood up, the cuffs of his army green T-shirt stained with machine oil. The boy was slim, but his features already resembled Zhang Quan's before his scar appeared, only his eyes lacked the sinister look, replaced by a restlessness rarely seen in mountain kids.
Axiu turned around, the spatula in her hand making a crisp sound in the iron pot: "Why did you co back so late today? Did Mr. Khun Sa keep you for another eting?" She took the canvas bag from Zhang Quan's shoulder, her fingers pausing at the hard edges inside, but dared not ask. In this house, there were things that were better left unasked.
Zhang Quan wiped his face with the sweat towel around his neck, the scar appearing dark red under the lamp's light: "Yeah, a new batch of goods needs to go out, been busy until now." He glanced at the 8848 phone in his son's hand, which was currently showing news from xico City, "Looking at these useless things again?"
"They're not useless," Zhang Ming stuffed the phone into his pocket, "Sothing happened in xico, they say soone poisoned cola, killing a lot of people."
Zhang Quan suddenly laughed, a hint of hidden pride in his laughter, he grabbed the rice wine on the table and took a big gulp, the liquid flowing down his chin: "More than just cola."
He didn't realize what he had said until Axiu elbowed him, making him abruptly shut up, but it was already too late.
Zhang Ming's eyes lit up instantly, like a cat spotting a rat's hole: "Dad, you know about this?"
"Kids shouldn't ask too many questions." Zhang Quan changed the subject, grabbing a piece of crispy roasted fish skin and stuffing it into his mouth, "Next month, you're off to Bangkok for college, don't dwell on irrelevant matters."
"Bangkok's not as interesting as xico City." Zhang Ming muttered, fingers clenching tightly around the phone in his pocket, "My online friend Ajie is studying in xico City, he says it's chaotic like a battlefield, with ard police everywhere on the streets."
Zhang Quan was getting a bit tipsy, the alcohol bloating his vigilance.
He slapped the table, the scar on his face twisting into a distorted worm: "Battlefield? This is just the beginning." He lowered his voice, but loud enough for the eager Zhang Ming to hear clearly, "In a few days, there'll be a bigger commotion over there, ten tis worse than now. The good stuff we sent, they'll have a hard ti handling it."
Axiu gave him a shove, "What nonsense are you talking!"
Only then did Zhang Quan sober up, glaring fiercely at Axiu but didn't deny it further.
Zhang Ming's heart started pounding like a drum, pretending to pick up pieces of a broken bowl, he glanced at his father's canvas bag with the zipper slightly open, revealing the plastic packaging of black syringes just like he secretly saw outside Kunsha Group's warehouse.
"I'm going out to send sothing." Zhang Ming suddenly stood up, his steps rushing and slightly stumbling.
He dashed into his small room cluttered with old textbooks, shut the door behind him, and pulled out his phone. In the darkness, the screen brightened, reflecting his flushed face, the na "Ajie – xico City" jumping in his contacts, a Chinese descendant he t last year at an international repair competition.
The phone connected, Zhang Ming lowered his voice, his breathing trembling: "Ajie, guess what I just overheard!"
"Overheard what? I'm hiding in the dormitory right now, sirens outside are about to collapse the building."
On the other end, there's a sound of glass breaking, Ajie's voice mixed with the noisy background, "What's going on over there?"
"My dad… my dad and them are sending sothing good to xico." Zhang Ming's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet every word was clear, "It's not ordinary goods, it's stuff that can cause big commotion. I think this news could get a sports car, the kind you sent photos of, a Lamborghini with wings, what do you think?"
The phone went silent, only rapid breathing heard. After half a minute, Ajie's voice resud, quivering with disbelief: "What… what good stuff? Related to the recent poisoning incident?"
"I don't know what exactly," Zhang Ming's fingers turned white gripping the phone, "but I saw syringes in my dad's bag, just like the ones he brought back from his eting at Mr. Khun Sa's place. He also said, in a few days, xico would have big commotion, ten tis worse than now."
Suddenly, there ca the sound of AK-47 test shots from afar, the sentry on the hill was changing shifts.
Zhang Ming shivered, hurriedly said: "I'll talk later, my dad seems to be coming. Rember, this matter can get a sports car, no, worth way more than a sports car!"
He hung up, and when he opened the door, Zhang Quan was standing there, his scarface looking especially somber under the kerosene lamp: "Who were you talking to on the phone?"
"N-no one, discussing exam questions with a classmate." Zhang Ming's voice floated, not daring to et his father's eyes.
Zhang Quan stared at him for a while, suddenly pulling his mouth into a creepy smile: "Prepare well for Bangkok, don't learn those useless things."
As he turned, the strap of the canvas bag knocked lightly against the wall, the hard item inside making the bag's surface bulge slightly, like a heart beating secretly.
Inside the small room, Zhang Ming slid down against the door, cold sweat soaking through his T-shirt.
He didn't know what that phone call just ant, only felt a fiery sensation in his chest, a fire filled with fantasies of sports cars, longing for distant places.
He wanted to leave Myanmar, this place... it's really bad!
And in the student dormitory in xico City, Ajie held his overheated phone, the words "Call ended" on the screen stung his eyes.
Outside the window, the ambulance sirens ca and went, fading into the night. He suddenly grabbed the recorder on the table, hit the save button, preserving the mountain-accented voice of Zhang Ming and his crazed words, "enough to trade for a sports car."
"I'm going to get rich too!"
…
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