Chapter 12.2

Norton exhaled slowly and said, “Seven, starting tomorrow, you’ll come here every day. I’ll hand over these identities to you in batches.” He paused, then suddenly pressed the gun hard against Mo Zimu’s forehead, his tone turning vicious. “But if you dare play any tricks…”

“This is Mammon, isn’t it?” Mo Zimu raised his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender. “It’s surrounded by water, with nowhere to run. You need my help to get out, and, conveniently, I need yours too.”

Norton’s thin lips curled up slightly as he repeated, “Conveniently…” After a brief pause, he lowered his gun, patted Mo Zimu’s shoulder, and said, “Not bad, Seven. Remember, as long as you cooperate with me, I’ll take you with me… After all, you’re my masterpiece.”

Mo Zimu gave a slight nod in agreement, knowing that asking Norton to stop his perverse tattooing was too much to ask, so he said nothing more.

He enjoyed a lavish meal prepared by Norton, who clearly was a connoisseur when it came to food. The steak, although not Japanese Wagyu but prime-grade American Angus, was prepared with a touch of olive oil, making for a fine French-style steak. The sautéed foie gras with a few slices of cold lemon complemented it well, and the fruity Bordeaux wine paired with it nicely neutralized the gaminess of the rare steak and enhanced the palate’s sensitivity to the tender meat, making the steak’s flavor indescribably delicious.

Norton was extremely particular about his food and preferred eating in silence, so Mo Zimu left immediately after finishing his meal.

Berrick, both surprised and envious that Mo Zimu had returned unharmed, watched as he carried himself with the same composed dignity, as if nothing had happened.

Upon entering his own cell, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Tom appeared a bit apologetic but couldn’t hide his excitement.

“You’re absolutely right, Seven. That cement is as crumbly as tofu dregs. I think it won’t take more than ten days to break through that wall,” He whispered.

Despite this being only a small step in their escape plan, the start of success genuinely excited Tom and the usually reserved Tommy.

Seven sat cross-legged on his bed and asked them, “If you get out, have you thought about what you’d do?”

“Get a girl, no, ten girls to have fun with. Three white girls in the morning, three Asian girls at noon, three black girls in the evening…” Tom fantasized lustfully.

“That’s only nine, Tom!” Jack reminded him.

“The last one is a shemale!” Tommy joked.

“And what about you, Tommy?” Mo Zimu asked.

“I…” Tommy played with a fork in his hand, “I want to go back to Idaho. It’s been thirty years since I’ve been there. I miss the farms, the endless fields of corn.”

Tom laughed, “I thought you’d go back to Puerto Rico, but hanging out with Native Americans in Idaho isn’t bad either!”

“I haven’t decided yet…” Jack said.

Tom maliciously interjected, “Why don’t you just stay in Mammon then?”

Jack’s flesh shuddered instantly, “No, no, I don’t want that!”

“If you had ten million dollars, what would you do?” Mo Zimu asked again.

“Ten million dollars, wow… I’d probably buy the most luxurious RV with two bedrooms and all the trimmings, then pick up a few beautiful ladies. Drive wherever Monday to Friday, and hit Las Vegas on the weekends to gamble big!” Tom laughed loudly.

Tommy chuckled, “With ten million… God, I could hire half of America’s private detectives to find my daughter.”

Jack asked, “What about you, Seven?”

Mo Zimu smiled, “I would go to Seattle, buy a condo with a view of the sea, then play the violin on the balcony at sunrise and walk along the bay at sunset. Surf in the summer, or buy a second-hand yacht and go fishing in the Gulf of Alaska, then host an outdoor salmon barbecue. In the winter, I’d drive east, maybe to Yellowstone Park or meet up with Tom in Las Vegas.”

“My goodness…” Tom closed his eyes, “That would be a beautiful life! If only we had that kind of money.”

Mo Zimu said pensively, “Maybe Uncle Norton will foot the bill for us.”

Tom snorted, “Yeah, the first thing I’d do after getting out is rob Norton’s house.”

Mo Zimu smiled faintly, no longer speaking.

He looked at the ceiling, a book resting on his bent knees, but his eyes weren’t on the book.

His thoughts flew beyond the thick walls, as rain began to fall on Mammon, seeping into the soil, where grassroots sprouted and began to breathe the air of freedom.

He slowly closed his eyes.

—

From the day Mo Zimu made an agreement with Norton, Berrick had been his bodyguard in cell block C-204. His sharp, horse-like eyes fiercely watching over the other prisoners.

The library was another privilege Mo Zimu had requested. He was allowed to organize books there or browse the internet for information.

Berrick patrolled outside the door, deterring anyone who dared come too close.

Even Ivan had stopped his relentless harassment. Mo Zimu hadn’t expected him to be so considerate.

Ivan only watched him from a distance, but whenever Mo Zimu’s gaze accidentally met his, he would catch the ambiguous smile in Ivan’s eyes. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at him, the way his towering presence seemed to linger even from afar. Mo Zimu would quickly turn his head away, unwilling to meet those eyes for too long because the moment he let his guard down, images of their tangled, bare bodies would flood his mind.

He didn’t want to be entangled with that man, yet he couldn’t deny that Ivan had awakened something in him, a desire he had no control over.

One day, as he was leaving the library with a book in his arms, he caught sight of Ivan leaning against the chain-link fence, listening to someone with a furrowed brow. His posture was relaxed, one shoulder tilted slightly, and without meaning to, Mo Zimu’s gaze drifted to his strong, well-proportioned legs.

His heart skipped a beat.

When he looked up, he found himself caught in Ivan’s cold gray eyes, sharp and piercing as if they could see right through him. Beneath the flecks of coffee-colored hues, something burned. There was an awareness in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the thoughts Mo Zimu was trying to suppress.

That night, Mo Zimu woke from a dream to find dampness between his legs. The weight of Ivan’s gaze lingered in his mind, pressing down on him with a pressure that made him want to avoid meeting those eyes again.

In contrast, he remained composed in his dealings with Norton. As their dinners together became routine, Norton gradually began to acknowledge him as a partner. At least for now, they had a working relationship.

From his occasional complaints, Mo Zimu also came to understand that the biggest clients of Mammon actually paid the least.

Those who knew how to manage wolves knew not to feed them too much to maintain their ferocity. They kept a greedy Norton always feeling desirous.

For security reasons, they also restricted Norton from selling identities to individual buyers, effectively cutting off his path to sudden wealth. What should have been a mutually beneficial business had turned into Norton working under their control, and Mo Zimu could see the deep resentment festering within him.

Despite their growing partnership, Norton remained tight-lipped about his client list. So far, he had only shared vague details about anonymous buyers. Mo Zimu knew he was withholding the names of the most powerful clients, including the Geoffrey family, likely among the top three. Norton clearly lacked the courage to threaten such influential figures, but Mo Zimu was in no rush.

Searches took time, as did his plans.

The rainy winter gradually passed, and the dry season arrived quietly. The spring light in the Caribbean was dazzling, especially in the afternoon.

Like any other day, in the afternoon, Mo Zimu left the main prison building and leisurely crossed the empty yard towards the warden’s office. The moment he opened the door, his usually composed expression stiffened slightly.

Rong Qing was sitting in the master’s chair with his arms crossed, talking to Norton, who had some documents spread out in front of him. Norton’s expression seemed troubled, as if he was in a difficult situation.

When Norton saw Mo Zimu, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and said, “Seven, you’re here. Daniel said he wants to transfer you.”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath, regaining his usual demeanor, and said indifferently, “I’ve already told this gentleman that he need not worry about my affairs.”

Norton picked up the documents in front of him and waved them, “But he has your guardianship rights.”

Mo Zimu was taken aback but then understood. It was difficult for Rong Qing to get guardianship from Glenna, but Merlin could.

“According to Austrian law, you are a minor until the age of twenty-one. According to US law, a guardian can legally choose an appropriate juvenile detention facility for the ward,” Norton added.

“May I have a word alone with Seven?” Rong Qing asked.

Though Norton was reluctant, he seemed to have no choice. He shrugged his shoulders and said as he passed by Mo Zimu, “Good luck!”

Mo Zimu slowly sat down on one side of the dining table, and Rong Qing said quietly, “Lin Lin didn’t come. He was afraid you’d blame him.”

Mo Zimu remained silent. He was always a man of few words, partly by nature and partly due to the environment he had grown up in, which made him maintain a distant attitude towards others.

Some time ago, the head of the violin department at the conservatory came to ask him to perform a piece for a new board member visiting the school. It was an opportunity he responded to with just a nonchalant hum.

He didn’t give it much thought until that morning, when he finally went to the violin room to collect the score. As he crossed the campus lawn, a melody drifting from the music room caught his ear. Someone was playing the piano.

The piece was called “Dance of the Water Grass,” a Chinese composition. This piece was Li Mo’s favorite to play. It told the story of a mermaid bravely pursuing her happiness, a hopeful vision of lovers finally coming together. The melody was gentle and fluid, evoking images of waterweeds swaying gracefully beneath the waves, moving freely with an effortless elegance. It was beautiful, yet rarely performed outside of China.

Drawn by the music, Mo Zimu followed the sound to the slightly open door. Peering through the gap, he saw a young man seated at the piano, playing with deep concentration. His technique was masterful, no less refined than Li Mo’s. The melody was exquisite, yet tinged with melancholy, just like the pianist himself.

Mo Zimu did not disturb someone so lost in the world of music. When he saw the young man again, it was at his own small recital. As the principal warmly introduced the program, Mo Zimu did something bolder than he ever had before. He stepped down from the stage and extended his hand toward the pianist.

Rong Qing lifted his gaze, meeting Seven’s striking dark green eyes. The principal had once privately introduced several prodigies in the school, describing the Asian student Seven as diligent yet withdrawn. But in this first encounter, Seven’s enthusiasm far surpassed what one would expect from someone so supposedly reclusive. Rong Qing’s lips curled slightly in a silent, knowing smirk.

To Mo Zimu, their first meeting was of a melancholic pianist. To Rong Qing, it was of a boy whose outward charm concealed something far deeper.

That day, their fates seemed to intersect, yet they were destined to diverge, moving in opposite directions, never to align.

Seven promptly sold Merlin’s old house, taking none of Lin Lin’s belongings with him. So, when Rong Qing bought it back, nothing that belonged to Lin Lin remained.

Standing in the filthy house, littered with the last owner’s discarded trash, Rong Qing felt nothing but pain, and a deep resentment toward fate itself. But in the end, all of it condensed into a singular, burning hatred for Seven.

He would make him pay.

Rong Qing was no longer the kind of person who acted impulsively for the sake of emotion. He had long equated his years of innocence with Merlin, and for him, plans had long since replaced sentimental choices. His revenge against Seven was meticulously crafted and executed without deviation.

A heart that had already been swayed was like the city of Troy. Its walls appeared impenetrable, yet inside, it had already fallen. For someone like Rong Qing, making Seven fall in love with him was not a difficult task, even with Seven’s intelligence.

They played the piano together. Sometimes, they traveled through Europe, visiting Brussels, Rome, or wherever their curiosity led them. In Belgium, street vendors sold escargots for one euro a box, Seven’s favorite snack. Tourists crowded around the Manneken Pis, not out of admiration but in surprise at how such a famous statue turned out to be small and unimpressive.

Seven also loved Italy’s two-flavor gelato scoops, one euro each. He always bought two, even though Rong Qing did not care for sweets. Seven would often end up holding one in each hand, sitting on the worn, aging Spanish Steps. Maybe those places were not as beautiful as imagined, but in memory, they remained romantic because emotions gave them meaning.

When Seven playfully jumped into a pair of oversized wooden clogs outside a Dutch bookstore, flashing a brilliant smile at him, Rong Qing froze.

He had always treated Seven as a temptation, carefully guarding himself, resisting with silent endurance. The pain Seven had inflicted on Merlin was his greatest weapon.

But once his plan had been executed, once he had avenged Merlin, everything about Seven came flooding in like an unstoppable tide.

Only then did he realize that Seven had already made his way into his soul, and by the time he understood, it was already too late.

Seven treated the past with a ruthless finality, like a storm sweeping away the last traces of what once was, just as he had done with Merlin.

And that was the part of him Rong Qing understood most deeply.

Rong Qing looked at Mo Zimu and suddenly asked, “Seven, do you know what I regret most in my life?”