"Wake up… can you hear me? Wake up…" Someone was slapping my face. I forced my eyes open, heavy with exhaustion, and saw a familiar, dependable face.
Damien. He'd made it after all.
"Come on, man. I fought three hyenas by myself and didn't end up like you." Damien chewed up some pale-green grass and pressed the pulp onto the wound on my right leg.
"You're the cop. I'm not," I managed a weak smile. The wound began to itch.
"I already sucked out the snake venom. With these herbs, you'll be fine in a few days. Drink some water. Then we'll plan our way out."
Propping myself up on my elbows, I realized we were in a strange cave. Damien must've carried me here while I was unconscious. His tone was light, but his body was streaked with blood—he'd clearly taken his share of hits.
"Where are we?"
"The treasure site. The waterfall was too dangerous. I figured there'd be more snakes, so I brought you here. According to the map, the treasure should be in this cave."
Butterfly handed me a canteen. Since discovering the "provided" water was spiked, we'd been drinking from streams. She fed me a few sips and pointed to a spot on the ground not far away.
There was an "X" mark etched into the dirt, with two entrenching shovels lying beside it.
"What now?" I asked Damien.
"Based on our intel, this should be the last experiment. If we clear it, we'll meet the organizer behind all this. If I'm right, it's Dorian—the chairman of the House of Qin Consortium. Dangerous man. Deep pockets, deeper cunning. So we prepare for two outcomes." Damien stood, picked up a shovel, and started digging.
"What kind of outcomes?"
"Best case: I apprehend him. Then this sadistic experiment and the corrupt conglomerate behind it both fall, and no more innocent people get hurt." Sweat streamed from his brow as he swung the shovel. "Worst case: if I'm exposed and killed, you must take everything you know off this island. Get it to my colleagues so they can continue the investigation."
"If you're exposed, I'll die too."
"No. If it's necessary, you can kill me to win that old fox's trust. As long as you get off the island, my mission succeeds." His expression was steel—he spoke of his death as casually as tomorrow's weather.
"Is your mission really that important, worth your life?" My eyes stung watching him dig.
"When I was a kid, my father told me a story. Long ago there was a demon, ruthless and unstoppable. Villagers sent a hundred young men to challenge him one by one. Each died, but eventually they found the demon's weakness. Only one youth remained, and he struck the demon's heart with an iron sword."
"My father asked me who I thought the hero was. As a boy, I said it was the one who killed the demon. But then my father died on a mission. I became a cop. And I learned the real answer." The shovel hit something with a dull thunk. Damien wiped his face.
"Every person who dares stand against the demon is a hero."
He reached out and hauled me to my feet. We finally saw the "treasure."
A lavish coffin. Inside lay a heavily decayed corpse. On the coffin sat a red button.
"Whose body is that?" I asked.
"If I'm right, it's Victor, Dorian's younger son. Look at the ring on his left hand—I've seen it in the files."
"Why bury his own son in a place like this?" Butterfly shrank behind us, afraid to look at the corpse.
"It means the old fox has gone completely mad. Whatever he does next won't be surprising." Damien's expression hardened. He slammed his palm on the red button.
Scarlet smoke billowed through the cave, choking us. We coughed violently.
"What now?" I shouted.
"Wait. This is the signal. They'll see it and come pick us up."
No sooner had Damien spoken than he collapsed. Butterfly sagged against me. My head swam.
Maybe it was a hallucination—but I could swear the rotting corpse was grinning at me.
"Hello, young man."
An old voice woke me. I blinked through the haze and found myself staring at a huge electronic screen.
In the center of the screen sat an elderly man with a full head of silver hair. Deep wrinkles radiated from his eyes. He was old, but he carried an authority that made you look up to him. He sat in an antique wooden chair, his left hand resting on a dark-gray cane carved with a dragon's head.
"Who are you?" I asked, shaking my head to clear the dizziness.
"My name is Dorian. You've probably heard it on the news." He smiled faintly. "You must be wondering why I staged such a strange experiment. Truth is, I'm searching for someone to inherit my ideals. I set out into the world at fourteen and built an empire from nothing. There's an old saying: by fifty you know your fate. I'm sixty-two now, and I feel I've only just begun to understand destiny."
He paused, as if remembering something painful; the skin at the corner of his eyes trembled.
"I have two sons. The elder went mad. The younger is dead. Time isn't on my side. Maybe it's the way trees stand out and the wind pulls them down — everywhere I turned luck once smiled on me, but now in my twilight I face ruin. Perhaps this is fate's punishment: all the brilliance of my life must be paid for with loneliness. So in my remaining time I want to find a worthy successor — someone to inherit my ambition and my fortune, so my life can continue in another form."
The old man opened his eyes slowly. His gaze fell over me like a chill.
"I'm not the person you want," I said. "I only want a quiet, ordinary life." I looked around and realized I was standing in a vast, empty hall. Damien and Butterfly were nowhere to be seen.
"Ordinary?" Dorian scoffed with contempt. "The most pathetic people are those who give up striving and call themselves content. We are born to push limits. Now I'll show you where your limits lie."
The screen went black for a moment, then switched to another scene. My daughter lay on a shabby bed coughing; my wife sat nearby, wiping her eyes.
"This was your life," the old man intoned. "And this could be your life."
The images flickered: the hottest movie stars posing naked, smiling seductively at me; a mountain villa; a private yacht; a limited-edition supercar; the chairman's seat in the House of Qin Consortium's headquarters; bank accounts with endless zeroes…
Each frame hit me like a blow.
Desire, sharp as a blade, began to carve away the last of my conscience.
"What do you want me to do?" My voice trembled with a strange excitement.
"Good. I knew there was something in you." The screen Dorian nodded approvingly. At that instant the hall's lights snapped on — blindingly bright.
"This girl," he said, pointing at Butterfly on screen, "is not as innocent as you think. She's an addict who sells herself to feed the habit. She lies without a second thought. For money she even killed a seventy-year-old woman in her room. Killing someone like that carries no moral weight. To achieve greatness you must learn to distinguish truth from lies. I've been fooled before, but I never let a liar escape."
Butterfly was bound to a chair; a loaded pistol rested on her lap. She shook her head violently, tears falling like crystal beads. Her eyes begged me.
"Okay." I whispered.
My hand trembled as I raised the gun and pressed it to Butterfly's chest.
The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils. Butterfly's face held an expression I could not read — was it pleading, repentance, or something else? Whether Dorian's accusations were true or false, the line between them had vanished.
"The cop isn't as noble as you think, either," Dorian went on. "He hurt civilians to get his badge, and he came undercover to save his job. He's been using you. No matter how many grand words he spouted, when real danger came he'd toss you aside like used trash. His goal is power. People like him don't deserve mercy. The badge should be like the gun in your hand — if the gun's pointed at us, what do we do?" He spoke like a teacher imparting cruel lessons.
Damien was tied to another chair, staring straight at me.
"I know what to do," I said.
I put the pistol to Damien's throat. My hand shook so badly I could hardly hold it.
"Fuck you—if you've got the guts, pull the trigger. I'll blink and next thing you know you'll be my son, you motherfucker…" Damien roared, rage straining the ropes.
A shot cracked. Blood sprayed across my face.
It burned — hot and terrifying. Tears stung my eyes.
"Good child," Dorian said softly. "From now on you are the acting chairman of the House of Qin Consortium. In time I will teach you how to conquer this weak world."
The screen faded. The lights in the hall dimmed.
Dr. Wen — the man with the gold-rimmed glasses — approached me deferentially, holding a tailored suit. He bowed like a sycophant, his smile oily. "Chairman, change into this suit and I will escort you from here."
"Now I can do whatever I want?" I asked him.
"Of course. All power is at your disposal." He looked eager.
Anger shot through me. Without thinking I slapped him — once, twice, again and again — ten stinging slaps until my hand went numb. His face swelled like a pig's, blood running from his nose, yet he kept his head bowed, utterly submissive.
"Throw the bodies into the sea. Take me back." I grabbed his tie, wiped the blood from my hands, and walked toward the bottomless dark.