Solitude's Crucible (8)
After sunset, I arranged for the subordinates to set their own shifts so they could drink. Even if it was to get them in the Christmas Eve spirit, this was fundamentally just a break on the battlefield.
The one who was happiest about it was, of course, Kyung-tae. The most indifferent was Suyeon. The rest of the subordinates' reactions varied in degree but leaned closer to Kyung-tae's side. I understood them. For men who did dirty, rough work, staying away from alcohol was no easy feat. If anything, it was like a mental anesthetic. As long as they didn't overdo it and ruin their bodies or minds, it was fine.
I couldn't very well sit out entirely, so I had a narrow wine glass placed in front of me. What it contained was non-alcoholic red wine—you could drink as much as you wanted without getting drunk. As I sipped from it occasionally, I spoke to Park Mi-joo, who was seated at the same table.
"Aren't you having something else? This feels a bit lacking in flavor somehow."
Mi-joo looked a little flustered at my words.
"I'm fine. Last time I got drunk, I feel like I made a mistake in front of you, hyungnim…"
"Mistake? What mistake? You didn't say anything you shouldn't have. You just poured out what was bottled up inside."
The time Mi-joo had gotten drunk on maotai, she'd opened up about her feelings for the late Gapsu. He'd rejected her confessions repeatedly, citing their age difference and his own children, but she couldn't give up on that gentle man who broke out in cold sweats every time. So his death had been like a bolt from the blue, ending years of unrequited love.
The subordinates I'd gathered had all hit rock bottom in life at least once, so they sometimes showed unexpected vulnerabilities. Considering it a hassle to manage them at times like this would be dereliction of duty as their leader. I continued quietly.
"If anything, I see it positively. The fact that you shared such a personal story with me means you trust and rely on me that much as your boss."
Where else would they not resent me for assigning them missions? Of course, it would be an unreasonable grudge, but human hearts were fundamentally distant from rationality. Otherwise, I would've lost two capable subordinates.
"Thank you for seeing it that way."
Mi-joo replied in a subdued voice and drank her wine like a thirsty person. It was better that she felt embarrassed like this. She was from a different department than the others, rarely crossed paths as a fixed contact, and had been sitting alone, lost in grief over Gapsu's death.
I refilled her empty glass.
"Someone might think you're drinking grape juice."
"…If it's non-alcoholic, isn't it basically juice?"
"Kyung-tae would get mad if he heard that."
At my calm remark, Mi-joo let out a short, small laugh. There was a difference between juice and non-alcoholic wine in the fermentation process. The latter was fully fermented, then had the alcohol removed through a separate process. It couldn't match regular wine's depth because alcohol carried so much aroma, but it was still too good to compare to ordinary juice.
I shifted the topic to the apple basket on the table.
"So, Gao Xusen's secretary gave you this? Not Gao Xusen himself?"
"Yes. She made it clear it was a gift from her personally, not on behalf of her department head. She asked me to pass on her message to you properly."
In China, there's a custom of gifting apples on Christmas Eve. They consider it auspicious because the first syllables of "Peaceful Night" (Ping'an Ye, for Christmas Eve) sound like "apple" (pingguo). It was the kind of pun-based superstition common in this country.
Inside the gold-trimmed basket was a card with a short note and a phone number. Phrases like "I've admired you since the first time I saw you" were so contrived they weren't worth a second glance.
I stared at the card for a moment before asking,
"Nice handwriting, at least. This the same woman who wrote me off as done for on her first day here?"
"Yes."
Mi-joo nodded immediately. I frowned, half-consciously disgusted.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do, but the customs here just don't suit me at all."
"It's Gao Xusen's way of showing maximum goodwill. Proof of how deep an impression your first engagement left on him."
"Who doesn't know that? But goodwill comes in its own flavors. To use a different example, no one actually chews and eats a mouse a cat brings as a 'gift of goodwill.' Unless they're crazy."
Mi-joo laughed softly again.
"Anyway." I slipped the card between my fingers and tapped it firmly on the table. "The fact that she went out of her way to bring this to me means there's a reason worth it… What is it?"
"From my observations, she's a potential instability factor."
"Instability factor?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"From sustained wiretapping, it seems she's looking for an escape horse in case things go south. Someone who can guarantee her lifestyle and safety even if Gao Xusen falls, and help her flee abroad if needed. You're her top candidate. From her perspective, you're practically pre-approved by Gao Xusen, so low risk."
"Meaning if I say no, she might go to someone else next. Who could end up as one of Gao Xusen's rivals."
"Exactly."
"Then kill her."
Mi-joo fell silent, perhaps because I'd reached the conclusion too quickly.
"Can I hear that wiretap recording now?"
At my request, Mi-joo nodded and opened an encrypted folder on her phone. The playback confirmed my expectations—pitch-black contents.
The communist nobles and tycoons who collaborated with the Party thought their concubines were all obedient, passive trophies. Wrong. Concubines with ambition and talent saw power-holders as mere horses to ride. Party cadres were surprisingly short-lived flies in that dangerous power struggle. Why fight it themselves when they could skim the fruits without risk? Just switch horses whenever one aged, got injured, or died, and they could amass wealth and retire before their beauty faded.
To put it another way, it wasn't the strong who survived—it was the survivors who were strong. So they had no qualms about being used as entertainment or tribute tools. It created new connections and backup horses. The only trick was wresting and holding the reins from rival riders on the same horse.
The continent of false communists was a crucible forging solitude in every shadowy corner.
A'udhu billahi min ash-shaytan ir-rajim (I seek refuge in the Lord Allah from the accursed Satan.)
Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim (In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.)
Alhamdu lillahi Rabbi al-'alamin (Praise be to God, Lord of the Worlds...)
Mi-joo, who'd been hesitating, spoke cautiously.
"If I may be so bold… Maybe consider it for the future?"
"You mean preparing for when Gao Xusen rises higher as planned?"
"Yes. The more safety nets, the better. No one monitors movements up close like a woman sharing your bed…"
"Hm."
"Plus, her own connections have value. From pillow talk, she placed over forty relatives and acquaintances in positions everywhere. Even if Gao Xusen gets purged, her network won't suffer much… Useful as a local collaborator group."
Mi-joo kept trailing off, glancing at me, because she knew my aversion. A writhing mass of flesh and guts pulsing with information colors. Fucking that induced self-loathing sometimes.
I reconsidered for the sake of the subordinate who'd made a tough suggestion, but no—it still didn't sit right. Businesswomen who'd built fortunes wielding their beauty were sensitive to whether their weapon worked. I knew it was survival instinct before pride. The moment their lifelong absolute weapon was neutralized, their reaction was like a tailless scorpion or fangless viper. Alertness alone made friendly dealings impossible.
I wasn't skilled at acting in these matters. I could fool normals, but someone who'd built a guanxi micro-kingdom with her body alone? Too risky she'd see through me.
"Better to kill her. I have other safety net candidates in mind."
"I see…"
"You kill her."
Mi-joo fell silent again.
"You said you'd owe me a heavier debt, so I need to use you more heavily. Kill her with your own hands. Plan it so there's no backlash."
Sales roles were all networking and entertaining, but Mi-joo was organization-trained executive material. Our executive maintenance training included irregular murder drills. Multiple armed execs pulling triggers on one target. It lowered instinctive resistance to killing. Victims were usually grudge-settlers—deserving scum. Even kill-virgins overcame it by recalling their own humiliations.
It intensified shared solidarity. As sessions piled up, we switched from guns to bludgeons, then blades. A promotion requirement—mid-managers and above had all stabbed someone.
Gapsu was the exception, dead before the system solidified. Never even fired much. I remember him tearing up every time.
His perpetual deputy status stemmed from lacking murder aptitude too. Mi-joo, a later recruit, had full training and quals. Suyeon's HR calculus to cover her master's shortfall.
"…"
Mi-joo's heart raced faster than usual, lost in thought. Training and real ops differed. She closed her eyes briefly, then replied clearly.
"Understood. I won't disappoint you."
"I expect great things. Ask Kyung-tae or Suyeon for support if needed."
"Yes."
Time for nearly seven. Sunset before six, so we'd started early. Sipping wine, I pulled up the remote surveillance on my phone. Feed from Yongping Lake ship's internal CCTV housing Uyghur Muslims.
Allah's faithful eyed armed guards warily but prepared evening prayer. I focused on one.
When we'd housed rescued Uyghurs temporarily on Becklux's cargo deck, they'd panicked at the clocks. When one brave soul used window light to face Mecca and pray—despite fixed times—guards didn't react violently, surprising them again.
This was the first prayer leader. Along with him, a few others caught my eye—inspiring ways to privatize Uyghur hearts.