Chapter 22.1

When Tom saw Mo Zimu, his face lit up with both joy and surprise. “Seven! Seven, save us!” he shouted.

Mo Zimu noticed Tommy’s pale face and Nelly’s tear-streaked cheeks. He rushed over to help them up.

“Please! Don’t kill them!” Mo Zimu pleaded in a low voice.

Jack seemed deaf to his words. He grabbed Noè first. Though Mo Zimu didn’t particularly like the Italian-Eurasian, he didn’t hate him either. After all, despite being sent by Rong Qing to kidnap him, Noè wasn’t a bloodthirsty man. In some ways, he had even indirectly saved them.

“You’re not—”

Before Mo Zimu could finish, Jack interrupted him. His thick lips moved slightly as he said, “Seven, don’t tell me you still have lingering feelings for Rong Qing. Are you planning to save even him?”

Mo Zimu said calmly, “Jack, this guy isn’t a bad person. If possible, don’t kill him.”

Jack sneered. “I’m not killing him. When I let him go, he’ll still be alive.”

“Tying him up and tossing him into the sea counts as letting him go?!”

Jack replied indifferently, “I’ve kept my word. That’s what matters.” With one hand, he effortlessly hoisted Noè into the air and dangled him over the railing.

Noè glanced down at the deep blue Caribbean waters below and let out a bitter laugh. Jack loosened his grip, and Noè began to fall, expecting to plunge into the water. But before he hit the surface, his descent was suddenly halted. Straining to look back, he saw Mo Zimu gripping the rope tied to him with both hands.

The force of Noè’s fall slammed Mo Zimu’s abdomen hard against the railing. Jack raised an eyebrow in surprise, then shrugged. “Seven, this isn’t necessary. You’re just wasting your energy.”

Turning away, he grabbed Tom, who trembled as he was lifted into the air. “Tom, today I’ll teach you what it means to be a swimming cat,” Jack said with a smirk.

“No, don’t!” Tom screamed as Jack unceremoniously tossed him into the sea.

Furious and panicked, Mo Zimu watched as Jack casually threw a life ring into the water after him. “For the half a year we shared a room, I’ll give you this. Don’t drown too soon,” Jack remarked.

Mo Zimu’s breath caught as he watched Tom flail in the water before finally grabbing hold of the life ring. Relief flooded through him, though Tom’s distant curses made him chuckle despite the tense situation.

Jack turned toward Tommy, who stood silently. “And you…” he began.

Mo Zimu stepped forward and shouted, “Jack, Tommy’s arm is injured! He can’t go into the water. He’ll be torn apart by sharks!”

Jack rolled his eyes. “God, Seven, your soft heart will be the death of you. People like you will always end up surrounded by the old, weak, and helpless.”

Pointing toward the lifeboat at the back of the yacht, he barked, “You two, get on the lifeboat. Now.”

With Nelly’s help, Tommy climbed aboard the lifeboat. Jack fired his gun, snapping the mooring line, and the lifeboat began to drift with the waves.

At that moment, Mo Zimu’s expression changed. A flicker of resolve appeared in his eyes. He turned to Noè and said quietly, “Want to make a deal?”

Noa glanced at him and smiled faintly. “Do I have a choice?”

Mo Zimu pulled out a sharp fork he had taken earlier while helping Tommy. He sliced through the ropes binding Noè, who immediately leaped back onto the yacht. Mo Zimu flipped over the railing and dove into the sea.

Noè sent a powerful kick toward Jack, knocking the gun from his hand. With a grin, he said, “I just made a deal, so it looks like I’ll be staying with you for a while. Unlike you, I always keep my word. That’s why they call me Noè.”

Tommy and Nelly pulled Mo Zimu onto the lifeboat. The usually reserved Tommy wrapped his remaining arm around Mo Zimu in a silent gesture of gratitude. Mo Zimu patted him on the back before rushing to help Tom, who was still trembling from the ordeal. Even though they were already far from Mammon Island, the strong currents carried them further away from the yacht, increasing the distance between them.

No matter how beautiful the evening scenery over the Caribbean Sea was, Tom had no interest in appreciating it. He wanted to ask Mo Zimu where they were headed, but Mo Zimu seemed lost in thought, staring out at the ocean with no desire for conversation.

The lifeboat drifted with the strong current, and just as Tom was about to lose his patience, Mo Zimu suddenly exhaled and said, “It’s here!”

A private yacht appeared in the distance, seemingly spotting them and speeding their way. Nelly tensed up, but Mo Zimu calmly reassured her, “Don’t worry.”

As the yacht drew closer, a tall, lean man stood on its deck, his coat collar turned up high. He wore oversized sunglasses and a hat pulled low, obscuring his features in the darkness.

Tommy and Tom, both seasoned in the underworld, recognized the man’s intention to remain anonymous.

True to form, once they boarded the yacht, the man simply gestured toward Mo Zimu. Keeping silent, Mo Zimu followed him into another room.

He was gone for quite a while. When he returned, the silhouette of the mainland was faintly visible on the horizon.

Carrying a suitcase, he placed it on the table. Opening it, he pulled out three sets of clothes, two passports, and two bank cards. “Here are three outfits for you to change into. These passports are your new identities, and each of these bank cards has enough money to buy a small farm or a trailer.”

He handed the items to Tommy and Tom one by one, saying, “This is where we part ways. Take care.”

Tommy and Tom were quick to understand and changed into the clothes. Tommy, the first to step forward, gently brushed his shoulder against Mo Zimu’s and said quietly, “No need for goodbyes, Seven, but I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us.”

Mo Zimu smiled and gave him a shoulder bump in return. Tommy and Nelly quickly left the yacht.

Tom exchanged a fist bump with Mo Zimu. “You’ll meet me in Las Vegas this winter, right?”

Mo Zimu raised an eyebrow. “If you haven’t gambled all your money away by then.”

Tom chuckled. “You know where to find me, huh?”

Mo Zimu nodded.

Tom pointed at him, walked a few steps, then turned back.

Suddenly, he rushed forward and embraced Mo Zimu tightly, his eyes red. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll be waiting for you in Las Vegas!”

“Take care.”

A cough came from outside the door.

Tom wiped his nose, patted Mo Zimu’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll stop holding you up.”

He leaped off the yacht and quickly disappeared into the docks.

As soon as Tom was gone, the man outside stepped in and said, “Seven, I hope your decisions won’t cause you trouble.”

Mo Zimu smiled faintly. “Thanks, Andy.”

Andy removed his sunglasses and took out a few cards. “Here’s $50 million transferred from Cyril Aluero’s account. The largest single payment came from Henry Bonanno, who wired $30 million. As per your request, I’ve loaded $10 million onto each card. Including the two cards you just handed out, there are three left here.”

Mo Zimu smiled faintly. “Norton sure is loaded…”

“Additionally, you opened a total of 80 credit cards under Norton and Adolf’s names. I’ve maxed out $10,000 on each card, so they now owe $4 million each. Adolf spent most of his money on that seaside villa, and $4 million was just enough for the down payment. Norton, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to own much property.”

Mo Zimu chuckled. “Uncle Norton always thought far ahead, though it’s a shame he won’t get to go much further.”

Andy smirked. “I’m not sure if they’ll survive on Mammon Island. Even if they do, they’re in for a rough time. Oh, and I leaked the Johnson data you gave me to one of his clients. I imagine he’s currently running for his life, trying to escape a senator’s wrath.”

Mo Zimu nodded. “An old man somewhere will thank you for that.”

“I’m not interested in anyone’s gratitude!” Andy said with an exaggerated shrug. “Here’s your passport. Seven, from now on, your name is Mo Zimu. Best wishes for your new life!”

Mo Zimu took the passport and drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Andy. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it this far. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“Honestly, when I received your first email, I debated whether I should help you,” Andy said with a laugh. “But since you helped me first, I couldn’t refuse your request.”

“I never saw it that way,” Mo Zimu replied. “I was sincerely asking for your help.”

“Well, in any case, I’m glad I chose to stand by you. Seven, helping you was a risky move, but I have to admit that it was also quite satisfying.”

The boat docked at a small pier in Florida. Mo Zimu removed his police uniform and changed into a beige trench coat. Turning back to Andy, he said, “This is where we part ways.”

Andy extended a hand, and they shook firmly. “Farewell, Mo Zimu.”

Mo Zimu jumped onto the pier. It was dawn, and a light mist shrouded the entire harbor. The warm glow from the old-fashioned streetlights added an ethereal quality to the scene.

Andy watched the slender figure disappear into the distance, the ocean breeze lifting a corner of his trench coat. The sight only made Mo Zimu’s departure seem swifter.

Andy murmured, “You’re beautiful.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I’ve actually wanted to tell you that for a long time. Goodbye, Seven.”

—

On a foggy Monday morning in London, the city was still cloaked in its usual haze. Inside the British Museum, a tall, poised young man was speaking with the museum director.

A secretary entering the office noticed the young man at once. As their eyes met, he turned and gave her a polite, gentle smile.

He was strikingly handsome. Though he wore black-rimmed glasses, they only added to his intellectual charm. Despite his reserved demeanor, he radiated elegance and warmth, with none of the arrogance one might expect from someone of his stature.

The secretary couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration for this young man.

“Oh, yes, you are indeed Mr. Seven. Here are your documents.” The secretary handed Mo Zimu his belongings, her heartbeat involuntarily quickening. My god, she thought, he even has beautiful fingers. Long, slender, and strong.

“Thank you.” Mo Zimu touched her hand briefly, leaving her blushing, and casually grabbed the Times newspaper from her desk. On the second page, there was an article titled: “American Prison Riot: Duke of Sutherland Named as Suspect!”

“Director!” Mo Zimu turned to the museum director, who was dressed impeccably in an Armani suit, and said, “I’ll have my people pick up the statue now.”

“Oh, of course…” The director replied with a hint of regret. “Mr. Seven, have you considered leaving the statue here long-term? We can pay you a generous rental fee and take care of all maintenance and security free of charge.”

“Thank you, but unfortunately, this statue is my mother’s cherished possession. She wants to see it every day. If it weren’t for the house renovations, we wouldn’t have agreed to lend it out.”

“What a pity…” the director sighed, gesturing politely for him to proceed.

Mo Zimu smiled and nodded before walking away.

“So wealthy…” the director lamented. “To use such an invaluable Mithra statue as a home decoration…”

“And so handsome…” the secretary sighed as well. “He seems so well-mannered.”

“Perhaps he’s connected to the Sutherland family…” the director mused with a knowing smile.