"Use deception to hide your true intentions.." – Art of War – Sun Tzu - First Strategy

  Hangzhou, China – October 9th, – 10:00 AM

  For months, Kang had worked to embed himself as a Burmese militant, earning Wu Bambang's trust through strategic purchases of luxury goods, drones, and high-end communication tech. The subtle hints he'd dropped about his unreliable "weapons dealer," paired with the allure of precious gems, had been enough to secure tonight's invitation.

  Wu had assured him that supply chain issues would be resolved—after Kang met the big boss, a figure hardly anyone had heard of and even fewer had seen. The smuggling enterprise was so meticulously run that the Anti-Smuggling Bureau would never have uncovered its existence if not for a tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

  The incident led back to Wu Bambang, though it quickly became evident he couldn't be the mastermind behind the operation. Every dirty deal and risk had been methodically calculated to bring Kang closer to uncovering the leader's identity. He can't afford for anything to go wrong.

  When the door swings open, Wu's lackey enters, hauling an obviously unwilling woman into the room. The woman is dropped in front of them, like a hunk of meat thrown to a pack of ravenous dogs. Shit, Kang's instincts were right—this night just got complicated.

  Her green eyes blaze with defiance, sparks flying with every furious glance. Her hair, a captivating blend of red, brown, and gold, shimmers under the chandelier's light. She fights relentlessly against her restraints. She reminds him of a bonfire atop a mountain—intense, unpredictable, and desperate to break free.

  When their eyes meet, Kang feels the blaze of raw, unyielding determination in her gaze. He knows he could never forgive himself if he allows her spirit to be broken. It's not a question of if he will save her, but how—preferably without blowing his cover.

  Kang calculates his options. Contacting his agency is a gamble—one that could force his boss to choose between prioritizing the mission or saving an innocent life. Worse, a nagging suspicion has been growing in his mind: someone inside the ASB might be feeding information to the smugglers.

  The locals are his best bet. They're close by, and reaching out to them would keep his cover intact. If they arrive searching for a missing tourist, he can continue playing his role.

  He watches Red take a kick at Wu, only to be slapped for her defiance. Every instinct in him wants to intervene, but he forces himself to stay still. He admires her spirit, but for her sake, he hopes she'll back down—it will be less painful for her.

  Kang sends a message to the local police on his phone.

  "Kidnapped foreign female. Undercover op in progress. Come in easy." He includes the location.

  Hopefully, they'll get here quickly and quietly. Wu orders Li Jingsheng to strip Red. To Kang's relief, Li doesn't seem to be in a rush. He starts by removing her hair elastic and shoes first, dragging out the process. Kang's estimation of this criminal rises slightly – he wasn't enjoying this either.

  Unfortunately, there isn't much choice left for clothing. Too bad it's not winter. It would've been convenient if she had a few more layers. On the edge of his seat, Kang watches the unsettling scene unfold. Unable to tear his eyes away from her, he waits for an opportunity to recoup the situation.

  Then Red opens her mouth and lets out an ear-piercing shriek. The sharp, high-pitched noise cuts through everyone's eardrums like a rapier. Clever girl, Kang thinks, even if she can't fight, she can still cause pain.

  His phone buzzes. Help is on the way.

  When the noise stops he looks up from the screen. Li holds a knife and tears are streaming down the Red's face. Kang is ready to spring- but Li simply cuts the bottom of her shirt and uses the rag to wipe her face. Kang settles back into his chair. It's not the time.

  He watches in disgust as the roomful of scum cheer louder as inch by inch the knife cuts the fabric and reveals more of her smooth skin. He is sickened by his complicities in her humiliation. But if he acts now, it won't end well.

  There are too many thugs guarding the room, and he doesn't know how Li will react to interference. Li is the one person in the room Kang isn't sure he can defeat one-on-one—never mind when he is outnumbered.

  Kang watches as more of her skin is exposed. His mind races. If he could take Li down first, while the man is distracted, he might have a chance. The guests, drunk and high, wouldn't pose much of a threat. But Wu's thugs and the guests' bodyguards would be another story. Still, if he could keep them occupied, Red might have a chance to escape. If she could just make it out of the house...

  He shifts his weight slightly, preparing to act. If he can get behind Li, he'll only need ten seconds to cut off his air supply-ten seconds.

  The tearing sound of the fabric seems to echo in his ears. The jeers and cheers come to an abrupt halt. Kang's eyes lock on the long, jagged scars crisscrossing Red's chest, stark against her pale skin.

  Crash, Wu flips the table in front of him. The sharp sound of glass shattering cuts through the room like a blade, breaking the tension. Kang immediately straightens, slipping back into his unthreatening posture, every nerve on edge.

  "Damaged goods." Wu spits out, his fun ruined. "Do whatever you want with it."

  Wu storms off to the main party room, taking the guests and their bodyguards with him. To Kang's relief, Li follows. It's just him and the thugs now. Maybe, just maybe, he can salvage this.

  ***

  The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Kang waits, knowing the men will be too focused on their "prize" to notice him. As expected, Red is forced to the ground, and the thugs form a leering circle around her. This is his chance to pick them off, one by one.

  Là Měinǚ, he thinks grimly. Hold on a little longer.

  He targets one of the men lingering on the edge of the fray. A quick hook punch to the jaw sends the man crumpling to the floor. Two of his buddies notice and charge at him simultaneously- now the fight begins.

  Kang acts fast. He drives a hard kick into the first man's gut, doubling him over. The second thug rushes him from behind, but Kang sidesteps at the last moment, hooking a foot around his ankle and tripping him. The man crashes into an expensive table lamp, glass shattering in an explosion of sound.

  The crash draws everyone's attention. Kang feels the weight of the room shift as the remaining thugs realize he's a threat. Their gazes lock on him, predatory and focused.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kang spots Red struggling. The thug pinning her is trying to strip away her clothes. She's kicking and clawing, but it's a losing fight.

  The remaining three thugs close in, circling him with more caution now. These ones aren't stupid; they plan to overwhelm him with numbers. But Kang doesn't give them the chance.

  He moves first, driving a powerful front kick into the closest man's chest. The impact sends the thug flying backward, crashing into the one attacking Red. The weight knocks the scumbag off her, giving her a fleeting moment of freedom.

  The remaining two thugs rush him, one aiming low, and the other high. Kang intercepts the first with a vicious sidekick to the knee, and the man goes down with a howl of pain. But the second thug connects—a reverse punch slams into Kang's ribs, stealing his breath.

  Kang staggers but regains his footing in time to see Red trip over a body and hit the floor hard. The bastard she escaped from is already staggering toward her, murder and malice in his eyes.

  Kāi dàn! Kang curses silently. He has seconds to end this before it's too late.

  Kang ducks under a punch from thug two, catching the man's arm and yanking him off balance. In one fluid motion, Kang slips behind him and locks the thug in a rear choke, cutting off his oxygen. He thrashes, but Kang holds firm.

  His grip doesn't loosen, even when the first thug charges at him from an angle, a jagged piece of glass clutched in his hand like a makeshift knife. Kang watches, calculating the timing. As thug one lunges, Kang pivots, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to his jaw. The blow lands with a satisfying crack, sending thug one sprawling unconscious to the floor. At the same moment, the man in Kang's grip goes limp, his body sagging as he loses consciousness.

  Kang drops the unconscious thug to the floor with a thud and turns his gaze to the bastard pinning the Red beneath him. So focused on the little pepper in his pants he is oblivious to the threat stalking toward him. Kang's muscles coil, each step he takes deliberate and lethal. Kang lines up his strike with ruthless precision.

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  Without a word, Kang's boot swings upward in a clean, brutal arc. It connects squarely with the man's groin. The sickening crunch is followed by a shrill, gut-wrenching scream that echoes off the walls. The bastard crumples instantly, clutching himself as his face contorts in agony.

  Kang doesn't stop. He hauls him up and slams the man's head into the nearest wall, ensuring he won't be getting up anytime soon.

  ***

  He scans Red's body for serious injuries, noting every detail. Bruises old and new, spot her skin- like a leopard he muses grimly. There are some superficial cuts as well that should be cleaned and treated, but nothing life-threatening.

  A rush of admiration floods him, tinged with guilt. He wishes he could have intervened sooner, spared her the pain and humiliation she'd endured. Most men would be crumbling under the weight of the trauma she's faced, but not her, she endures.

  As if to prove him right, when her eyes flutter open, she immediately tries to push herself up off the floor. While her intention is admirable, the results are less than sufficient. The exhaustion and pain make it difficult for her to stand, she wobbles unsteadily. Without hesitation, Kang scoops her into his arms, settling her securely over his shoulder.

  Her reaction to being rescued is immediate and unexpected—a sharp scream escapes her as her eyes fall on the bodies strewn across the floor. "Now's not the time," he mutters under his breath. He needs to get her out of here, and fast.

  Kang finds a secluded room. First, he needs to free Red's bindings and then get her to an exit. Ideally, she'll intercept the police before they arrive, avoiding unnecessary trouble. Once she's in their custody, they can wrap this up without drawing further investigation.

  He sets her down gently on a red velvet chaise, its plush fabric matches the room's garish decor. If Wu weren't already going down for smuggling, drug possession, and a laundry list of other charges, he should be arrested for what he's done to this house. The gorgeous hardwood floors are painted over, and the furnishings scream "overpriced whorehouse."

  Red shifts nervously, trying to get up. He wishes his high school English was better, his reading and writing skills had been passing, but conversation skills have never been his strength. He is fluent in Burmese and Russian, but that isn't going to help.

  She tries to bolt, but he gently guides her back down to the chaise and pulls the knife from his boot. Her wrists are raw, and the open wounds are an invitation for infection in this filthy environment. Sacrificing one of the pillows, he tears the fabric into strips for makeshift bandages, hopefully, the color red will bring some luck.

  She mutters something under her breath, her expression sharp. Probably snarky, he thinks. It's good to see she hasn't lost her edge, but now isn't the time for defiance. He reaches behind her, slicing through the plastic binding her wrists. She hisses, he knows it must sting like hell, but offering her sympathy would only encourage her to give in to the pain.

  Working quickly, he wraps the fabric around her wrists. It isn't ideal, but it'll keep the worst of the dirt and sweat out. He's tying off the bandages when the door creaks open.

  Kang pulls Red under him hiding her from view. A drunk guest stumbles in with a hostess, oblivious to the room's other occupants.

  "Get out," Kang barks, his annoyance clear. The man blinks at him before muttering something and dragging the hostess out in search of privacy.

  The door clicks shut, and Kang relaxes slightly—until a sharp pain shoots through his arm. He jerks upright; she bit him! Her tear-filled eyes take him off guard. He's the injured one, yet she's the one crying.

  Then his gaze drops to the crimson threads of hair weaving around his fingers. Fate, he muses.

  "I'm sorry," he murmurs, tying off the bandages before she can lash out again.

  There's no more time to linger. He needs to get her out before anyone else barges in. Kang doubts she'll obediently follow, so he tosses her back over his shoulder.

  Red immediately starts punching his back, her anger palpable. Apparently, freeing her hands isn't enough to prove he's not a threat. He loosens his grip slightly, lowering her down his back. She stops punching, only to pinch him instead. Little spitfire.

  A light tap to her backside, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point and she desists. There are more ways to communicate than with words. Besides with her stubbornness, her parents probably had to redden her backside a few times as a kid.

  Reaching the door, he hears shouts and the sound of running footsteps on the other side. He tenses. What now? Then, through the window, he spots the flash of blue lights. Relief washes over him. "Good," he mutters under his breath. The police are here, but he needs to act fast.

  Crouching, he takes Red's chin in his hand and speaks firmly, willing her to understand. "Táo chū chuāng wài," he orders, gesturing to the window. He'll jam the door to buy time. It's too dangerous inside the house, and once she's outside, she should be able to find safety. He only hopes she doesn't panic and ruins their slim chance at success.

  ***

  Kang Jia Zan can hardly believe his eyes. There, peeking around the corner in the middle of a shootout is Red. She better not get herself killed—especially after ruining my case.

  Why didn't she escape through the window like he told her? Most people run away from gunfire, not toward it.

  Kang ducks behind a flimsy decorative chair, its lacquered wood offering little protection against the barrage of bullets. He risks a glance toward the center of the room, where the last two thugs are holed up behind an overturned table. If he can just get close enough to take them out, he can put an end to this chaos. His case is in shambles now anyway.

  Gritting his teeth, Kang dives for the center of the room. A bullet sears past his arm, the heat biting into his skin, but he doesn't stop. The goons behind the table seem relieved, mistaking his approach for backup. Their relief is short-lived.

  Kang grabs them by their collars and slams their heads together with a sickening crack. Both men slump to the ground, unconscious.

  "Hold fire!" a cop shouts, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  The room falls silent.

  Kang stands slowly, his hands raised behind his head in a gesture of surrender. He knows the drill.

  An overeager rookie hurries to take him into custody. As the young officer secures the cuffs around his wrists, Kang spots movement from the corner of his eye. It's Red. What the hell is she doing now? Kang thinks as she bolts into the room.

  Surprised by the sudden movement, the rookie's hand darts for his gun. Kang moves fast. He slams his body into the officer, knocking him to the ground. A swift kick sends the gun skidding across the floor, and in a matter of seconds, Kang kneels on the rookie's neck, keeping him immobilized.

  "Look before you shoot," Kang growls, his voice low and dangerous.

  Before the rookie can respond, a commanding voice cuts through the tension.

  "Hands above your head!"

  Kang looks up to see a senior officer—likely the leader of this operation—approaching, weapon aimed steadily at him.

  Kang slowly raises his hands back behind his head. "ASB Agent Kang Jia Zan," he announces, his tone measured. "I'm the one who notified you of the hostage's location."

  "Where's your phone?" the officer demands.

  "Coat pocket."

  "Take the jacket off."

  Kang smirks faintly. Smart. He's not about to give me a hostage. Shrugging off the coat, he slides it across the floor. Another officer retrieves it and pulls the phone from the pocket.

  "It's locked with retinal ID," the officer says, holding the device up.

  The leader nods. "Proceed."

  The officer carefully holds the phone up to Kang's face, keeping his distance. The screen unlocks with a soft click.

  "I can't find the text," the officer reports after a moment.

  "Check the deleted folder," Kang says calmly.

  The officer navigates to the folder and then nods in confirmation. The leader lowers his weapon slightly.

  "Detective Man Zhu Bai, Hangzhou Public Security Bureau," the senior officer introduces himself, his posture relaxing. "Thank you for your assistance."

  Kang stands, brushing off his sleeves. His eyes scan the room, searching for Red. He spots her across the chaos, tending to the wounded. She's swift and efficient, moving from patient to patient with an air of practiced expertise. She should be a patient herself, not treating them, he thinks.

  Her hands move with confidence, her voice crisp as she barks orders to nearby officers. "Bullet wound to the chest, collapsed lung," she instructs, her tone sharp and commanding. "Get two pieces of plastic, bandage tape—now!"

  Detective Man Zhu Bai brings a first-aid kit, while Kang steps in to assist. He kneels beside Wu, steadying the injured man so Red can seal the wounds.

  Kang watches her work, her focus unwavering. She treats everyone the same—cops, thugs, even Wu. He can't help, but be impressed by her efficiency.

  He waits for the inevitable moment when the adrenaline will run out. She has to be approaching her limit, and it's only a matter of time before she hits the wall of fatigue and her body betrays her. Kang remains nearby, ready to step in when the moment comes.

  When the EMTs arrive, taking over the triage efforts, Kang sees the telltale signs. Her hands tremble, her face turns pale, and she sways unsteadily.

  Man Zhu Bai crouches in front of her, speaking gently. "Anna Westcott?" he asks, an interpreter at his side.

  Anna, Kang muses, the name echoing in his mind. The irony isn't lost on him—An means peaceful, calm, or safe in Mandarin. She's anything but calm, but like the character Na, there's an implicit graceful power and beauty in the way she moves, like a master at work.

  She tries to stand, muttering something under her breath, but her knees buckle. Kang steps in, catching her before she collapses completely.

  Her pulse races beneath his fingers. "Get an EMT over here, now!" he orders, lowering her gently to the floor.

  As the medics prepare a stretcher, Kang overhears the interpreter translating her words to Man Zhu Bai.

  "What does 'Ryan... the girls' mean?" the interpreter asks.

  Man Zhu Bai frowns. "Not sure. Let's start interrogating these guys."

  Kang's gaze hardens as he scans the room, focusing on the thug who had attacked Anna earlier.

  "Start with him," Kang says sharply, pointing to the man.

  As the officers lead the suspects away, Kang follows the EMTs carrying Anna.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Man Zhu Bai calls after him.

  Kang glances back. "Protecting the witness," he replies, climbing into the ambulance.

  ***

  The EMTs work efficiently, but Anna's erratic heart rate and shallow breathing grow more alarming with every passing moment. The oxygen mask is secured over her face, and the steady beeping of the monitor echoes the uneven rhythm of her pulse.

  "Give her something!" Kang demands, his tone clipped and urgent.

  "We can't," the senior EMT replies firmly. "Without her medical history, anything we administer could make things worse. The IV is all we can do for now."

  Anna's eyelids flutter, and her face contorts with distress as she drifts in and out of consciousness. When the EMTs try to insert the needle, her agitation spikes. She struggles weakly against their efforts, her breathing growing shallower.

  Kang presses his hands over hers to hold her steady, his grip firm yet careful. But being restrained only seems to make her condition worse. Her heart rate spikes again, the monitor's frantic beeping amplifying the tension in the cramped ambulance.

  She needs to calm down.

  Kang tries to put himself in her shoes. He recalls his own moments of panic during his training, the drills meant to simulate capture and interrogation. The disorienting lights, the harsh voices in languages he barely understood

  Kang raises his hand to shield her eyes from the glaring overhead lights. Then, hesitantly, he leans close to her ear, scraping the bottom of his memory for the simplest English he can recall.

  "A-B-C-D..." His voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he sings the alphabet song. The melody is slow and deliberate.

  Her heart rate monitor shows the first signs of improvement—a slight but noticeable drop. It could be the IV starting to work, but Kang doesn't want to take any chances. He keeps singing, his deep voice steady and calm, weaving the familiar tune through the small space.