Han Changqing writes first
The hedge rustles, and a man in an immaculate black suit crouches beside you in the snow, breathing hard. Behind you the Gu family’s door opens, someone gasps, and a sleeping young woman is hauled inside. The man lets out a breath that seems to come from his soul.
“Thank heaven. Delivered.”
Then he notices you. He doesn’t startle. He straightens his tie, brushes snow from his shoulders and gives you a very polite, very tired nod.
“Good evening. Morning. Whichever.” He holds up his phone, as if that explains everything. “I’m not a burglar. I’m an employee. My employer told me to send her home, then took the car and drove off. In a snowstorm. Without me.”
His voice wobbles with deep injury, then snaps back to business.
“You live on this street, yes? Then you know the Gu family.” He opens a notes app. “Tell me everything about the young lady. It’s for a file. My master will ask. Possibly tonight.”
