Chapter 13.1

Rong Qing took out a box and opened it, revealing an antique Byzantine ring. After a brief silence, he said, “I never told you, but I actually won this ring at an auction.”

Mo Zimu’s gaze fell on the ring, its surface engraved with a matrimonial scene from the Holy Land. The intricate narrative style was rare, except in Byzantine rings, like a slowly unfolding epic cast in metal.

The first time he had seen it was at an auction in Italy. Half-jokingly, he had told Rong Qing, If someone gave him this ring, he’d invite them on a trip to China.

Mo Zimu had always been reserved and distant. Yet in this entanglement of emotions, he had been the first to fall. That meant he was destined to be the one chasing. Rong Qing’s elusive nature had made him forget his pride, something he had never compromised before. Asking for the ring and inviting Rong Qing on a private journey were things he never thought himself capable of.

But at that time, Rong Qing had only smiled faintly and said, “A gold ring on your finger might make playing the violin a bit inconvenient.”

His casual remark had embarrassingly flustered Seven, who had mustered up the courage to speak.

What Seven didn’t know was that Rong Qing had bought the ring after all. And with that impulsive act came the realization that he was beginning to waver, straying from his original goal. A subtle panic crept in, accompanied by a deep sense of guilt toward Merlin. That guilt drove him to hasten his plans, to end things before they unraveled further.

If he had told Seven then that he had purchased the ring, everything might have been different. They would have traveled to China. At the very least, he could have delayed his plans for revenge. Half a year later, Lin Lin would have returned, and Seven would never have known that their relationship had begun as a plot.

Mo Zimu withdrew his gaze and asked flatly, “Do you know what I regret the most?”

A trace of bitterness flickered in Rong Qing’s expression. “Meeting me? Or coming to the Caribbean?”

Mo Zimu looked into the distance, his voice eerily calm. “What I regret most is finding the courage to love someone, to believe in the possibility of happiness. Thanks to you, I’ll probably never dare to love again, never believe in love, never trust in family. My life has barely begun, and yet I have nothing left. Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? Wasn’t destroying your goal?”

He stood up. “I hope this is the last time I have to say this. Let’s not meet again, Rong Qing.”

Just as he turned to leave, he felt a tight grip on his wrist. Rong Qing’s fingers dug in firmly. Without looking at him, he spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Let’s get married.”

Venice’s lake shimmered in shades of blue, the surface rippling with golden sunlight, reflecting a riot of colors like the glassware juggled by street performers.

Rong Qing had pulled him back then, stopping him just as he was about to bump into guests disembarking from a gondola, too distracted by the performance to notice. It was their first intimate contact, and Rong Qing’s hand had been just as strong then.

Sweet memories are as delicate as glass, beautiful but fragile. In the end, they shattered into nothing but a lie.

When the dream broke, it left behind more than just regret. The once-beautiful memories etched deep in his soul became shards of glass, painful to touch upon reflection.

Mo Zimu forcefully pried Rong Qing’s fingers open and turned to leave.

The yard was beginning to buzz with the pre-dinner airing out, and Mo Zimu headed straight for the main building, wanting nothing more than to sleep.

His exhaustion must have been obvious because it caught Ivan’s attention. Mo Zimu hadn’t expected him to suddenly block his path after keeping his distance for days.

“Move,” Mo Zimu said coldly.

“Tell me, what’s wrong?” Ivan asked, frowning slightly as he raised a hand, intending to touch Mo Zimu’s forehead.

Mo Zimu tilted his head just enough to avoid the gesture, then turned away and said, “Officer Berrick, someone is blocking my path.”

This was the first time he was using the privilege Norton had granted him.

Berrick strode over, swinging his baton, while Ivan’s cold gray eyes lingered on Mo Zimu, who looked exhausted and sorrowful, yet there was a quiet indifference in his expression. A slow, amused smile spread across his face as he ran a hand along his chin.

Suddenly, several prisoners charged at Berrick. A chaotic scuffle broke out, drawing the officer into the brawl.

“Bastards, stop!” Berrick shouted furiously, struggling to regain control as the scene spiraled into mayhem.

Before Mo Zimu could react, Ivan seized him and kissed him. The sharp scent of tobacco mixed with the overwhelming presence of the man, wrapping around Mo Zimu like an inescapable net.

His warmth seeped into Mo Zimu’s trembling body, sending a wave of disorientation through him.

By the time Ivan finally let go, Mo Zimu was on the verge of suffocation. Holding him close, Ivan smirked, his gaze dark with mischief. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Mo Zimu lowered his eyes and suddenly kicked Ivan hard in the groin. Ivan had quick reflexes, but the sheer force of the unexpected attack still sent pain shooting through him. He staggered back, his face twisting in agony, a deep purple flush spreading across his skin.

For a man like Ivan, who had commanded authority in both the New York underworld and in Mammon, this moment of humiliation was likely the worst he had ever suffered.

The sudden shift in events silenced the entire yard. Even the prisoners who had been fighting Berrick froze, turning their attention to the unfolding scene.

Mo Zimu took advantage of the moment to wrench himself free from Ivan’s grip. “Stay as far away from me as possible. Got it?” he said coldly. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

He had barely taken a few steps when Ivan, still gritting his teeth through the pain, called out his name.

Mo Zimu turned back lazily, expecting a threat, a vow of revenge.

Instead, Ivan raised his right hand, his expression solemn as he slowly swore, “Seven, I, Ivan, swear to the heavens. One day, I will have you, and you will want nothing more than to sleep in my bed every single night.”

Mo Zimu smirked and raised an eyebrow, ‘We shall see about that,’ he said, then turned and left.

Compared to the upheaval on Mo Zimu’s side, the tunnel Tom and the others were digging was progressing smoothly. They had successfully penetrated the concrete wall and could now move from the library to D Block. Fortunately, they also located the vent in the garbage disposal room.

“This Wednesday is when B Block does the cleaning. That’s our chance to steal the hydrogen peroxide,” Tom said. “But I still don’t get what you need it for, or why you wanted baking soda. I swiped some from the kitchen. Care to solve the mystery for us?”

Mo Zimu took the plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide Tom handed him, along with a small bag of powder. He poured in a bit of whiskey from the bottle he had taken from Ivan, added the powder, and shook the mixture vigorously. Taking a fork from Tom, he poked several holes into the cap before standing up.

He wrote a line on the wall, then said, “Turn off the lights.”

Tom, curious about the damp streak, flipped the switch.

As darkness fell, a row of glowing green words appeared on the cell wall.

Tom trembled, nearly shouting in excitement. “Seven, you’re a genius!”

“It’s just a chemical reaction,” Mo Zimu said.

“But… what does this line mean?” Jack asked curiously.

“It’s Latin: Veni, Vidi, Vici—I came, I saw, I conquered,” Mo Zimu explained, gazing at the glowing words.

He flicked the light switch, and under the bright light, the green letters reverted to ordinary water stains.

Tom said, “We’ll pack this mixture in trash bags, and at night they’ll light our path. We’ll know exactly which route to take on.” His voice trembled with excitement.

“Once we reach the docks with the outgoing trash, we might have a chance to sneak into a cargo hold,” he continued. “I know those Mammon supply ships have fresh water tanks. We drink rainwater and desalinated seawater, but the guards get fresh water brought in by ship.”

“Mammon gets a lot of rain!” Tommy added.

“That’s why we have to move in the spring. During this season, Mammon has a month of dry weather,” Tom continued.

“And transporting all those goods and fresh water up the mountain relies entirely on manpower. Mammon Hill has never had a road. That’s why no prisoner has ever successfully escaped. They literally have nowhere to go,” Tommy added.

Tom rubbed his hands together excitedly, then suddenly asked, “What about Jack? How does he get out?”

Everyone fell silent. Jack’s large size meant not only that he couldn’t fit into the ship’s hold but that he’d likely be recognized the moment he showed up.

Jack seemed to realize he was a burden and kept murmuring thickly, “Don’t… don’t leave me behind, Seven.”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath and said calmly, “I’ll take you with me.”

Tom twisted his mouth in resignation, and Tommy patted Mo Zimu on the shoulder.

Like all countries in the northern hemisphere, dawn came early in Mammon, and soon the sun rose.

After breakfast, Berrick stood reluctantly at the door, watching the prisoners come out of their cells in pairs and groups for their morning yard time.

He had once been shocked by the crimes of the men locked up in Mammon Prison, but the generous pay made it easy to overlook the risks. The power he held over life and death fed his ego, inflating his reckless confidence. Yet, escorting a prisoner was something he particularly resented.

When he saw Mo Zimu approaching, he almost instinctively felt discomfort.

“Boss, I’m feeling a bit off, chest tightness, coughing. It might be that the cold I had last time hasn’t fully cleared up yet. Can I go to the infirmary?” Mo Zimu asked.

Berrick glared with his bulging eyes and arrogantly said, “Seven, do you think you have some precious body? A minor cold from over a month ago still bothering you now? Don’t think you’re anything special just because you’ve caught the warden’s eye!”

Mo Zimu coughed twice with a bitter smile and said, “Dr. Mike said I had pneumonia, and I didn’t take it seriously at the time. I’ve been dragging it on for so long, I wonder if it’s contagious…”

Berrick’s eyes widened in shock and anger. He pushed Mo Zimu away with his baton, “Damn it, walk ahead of me!”

Mo Zimu obediently stepped back and headed towards the medical office.

Seeing Mo Zimu again, Mike didn’t seem too surprised. People always have to bow to reality, and he had witnessed this truth countless times at Mammon.

“Tell Geoffrey I want to see him.”

“Just that?” Mike prompted kindly, “Considering how tense things were last time…”

Mo Zimu smiled. The bright lights in the medical office reflected in his glasses, and through them, Mike could see his confident green eyes, carrying an allure that was almost suffocating.

“Tell him I have a question for him. Has he secretly liked me for a long time? If he refuses to answer directly, then I’ll already have my answer.” His tone was light, but Mike nearly dropped his jaw.

At long last, the sluggish Berrick appeared at the entrance. Standing just outside the gate, he called out, “Mike, does this kid have contagious pneumonia?”

“No, just a minor issue,” Mike replied, glancing at Mo Zimu.

“Shit!” Berrick cursed, visibly relieved.

Mike lowered his voice. “Seven, don’t provoke Geoffrey. You know how things work in Mammon. The consequences could be serious.”

“Pass him a message from me. He’s never made me bow my head before, not in the past, not now, and he won’t in the future!”

Mo Zimu gave him a look, picked up a piece of notepaper from the desk, folded it into a paper airplane, and threw it. The paper airplane flew out the window beside Mike and headed toward the cliff.

“I have a different view because your world is inside, and mine is outside. Just arrange that meeting with Geoffrey for me,” he said as he headed to the door.

Turning back with a smile, he added, “Although seeing a rainbow through glass is quite different from seeing one under blue skies and white clouds, a rainbow is still a rainbow. Your painting is beautiful!”

Mo Zimu turned and left.

Mike turned back to watch the paper airplane drift far on the wind, further than expected. The curtain next to the easel in the corner slipped, revealing a painting of a rainbow after the rain.

Although Mammon had many rainbows, this rainbow painting was never completed. Mike sighed, “Even though a rainbow is still a rainbow, perhaps I really should go see one under the blue sky and white clouds.”

Mo Zimu left the medical office and looked through the wire mesh at Mammon’s buildings. They seemed magnificent, but were made of things that would not stand up to scrutiny.

The Caribbean sun was glaring, making him squint slightly. On the other side of the wire mesh, Tom and Tommy waved at him. The wildflowers he had been nurturing were in full bloom, a vivid shade of purple.

Mo Zimu started walking toward them.