Game Begins

“Stall him as long as you can. Buy us time to pinpoint his location.” Li Weiguo’s voice came through the earpiece.

“How do we play?” Wen Yiqian took a breath, steadied himself, and spoke into the phone.

“Do you watch many movies?” Kid asked, as casually as if they were catching up over coffee.

“Quite a few.” Wen Yiqian had no idea where this was going, but answered honestly.

“Then this time, you get to be the protagonist.” Kid laughed. “The device on Sister An Zhi is something I put together myself. Six wires, all different colors. Cut the right one and it stops.”

A brief pause. “Cut the wrong one and this little toy will… boom. Blow you both apart.”

“In every movie I’ve ever seen, it’s always two wires. Why do I get six?” Wen Yiqian’s eyebrow twitched.

“Because I expect more from you.” Kid’s voice stayed light. “Here’s your hint: the answer is somewhere in the amusement park.”

“That’s not a hint, that’s nothing.” Wen Yiqian’s anxiety climbed. “Can you be more specific?”

“Oh, I nearly forgot the rules.” Kid pressed on, ignoring him entirely. “Simple ones. You have five minutes. During those five minutes, neither you nor Sister An Zhi can move more than one meter from that bench.”

Another pause. “And you cannot involve anyone else. Break any rule, and I detonate immediately. Five minutes. Starting now.”

“Wait, hold on—”

“Beginning now.” Kid’s voice was final. The line went dead.

Beep.

An Zhi slowly unzipped her jacket again.

The device strapped to her abdomen lit up and began counting down.

4:56. 4:55. 4:54.

…

“If you want me to cut something, the least you could do is have a pair of scissors.” Wen Yiqian said, his face tight.

An Zhi reached into her pocket without a word and produced a small pair of scissors. “He gave them to me.”

“You knew he was going to do this? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Wen Yiqian grabbed them.

“Would earlier have made any difference?” An Zhi’s eyes went flat.

Wen Yiqian had nothing to say to that.

He looked at the device. Six wires: red, orange, blue, green, purple, black.

Even a coin flip ruins people. One in six was pure suicide.

His legs had started to shake. He sat down heavily on the bench beside An Zhi.

“You can still reach the captain through the earpiece, right?” An Zhi asked.

Wen Yiqian nodded.

“Tell him to start moving people away.” A quiet resolve settled into her expression. “When this thing gets close to going off, I’ll try to move toward somewhere less crowded.”

“You faked your own disappearance, and you still have this kind of presence of mind?” Wen Yiqian stared at her.

“I am a police officer.” Her expression didn’t waver.

“Then may I ask, Officer, where exactly should I run when the moment comes?” Wen Yiqian said. “If I move more than one meter from this bench, he detonates it on the spot.”

He exhaled. “Even if I could fly, I wouldn’t clear the blast radius.”

“It’s fine.” An Zhi’s expression remained composed. “Getting rid of you would practically be a public service.”

“I—” Wen Yiqian felt a surge of something hot rise in his throat that had nowhere to go. “I put my life on the line to come here, and not only do you not thank me, you’re talking about dying together like it’s nothing special?”

“Someone like you…” An Zhi gave him a sidelong look. “Doesn’t deserve to live.”

“Would the two of you please stop arguing and think about which wire to cut!”

Li Weiguo’s voice crackled through the earpiece, barely holding its shape.

Wen Yiqian swallowed everything he wanted to say, turned to face forward, and made himself think.

Kid’s hint: the answer is somewhere in the amusement park. But the rules kept him within one meter of this bench.

Which meant the answer had to be visible from where he was sitting.

Kid. Children’s Day. Gift.

He turned the fragments over slowly.

The color of a child’s clothes? A toy some kid was holding?

He scanned the area. At least twenty children within eyeline, every one of them in something different, carrying something different. A full spectrum of colors in every direction.

The sheer noise of it made his head swim.

“What is the answer?” He pressed his knuckle against his temple, feeling acutely that his brain was not built for this.

The countdown kept moving. The anxiety tightened.

Through the earpiece, Li Weiguo kept throwing out suggestions: red, then blue, then a frustrated instruction to just decide. None of it helped.

“Enough.”

Wen Yiqian pulled the earpiece out, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it under his heel.

He let out a long breath, sank back onto the bench, and covered his face with both hands.

An Zhi watched him with an expression she couldn’t quite resolve. She said nothing.

…

My thinking is too slow, and this fear is making it worse. Everything feels stuck.

The problem is that Kid isn’t a character I created. I know nothing about him.

And the unknown is always more frightening than the familiar.

If I can’t break out of this, I’m going to die here.

What do I do?

Flashes of the previous performances came back to him. Both times, the fear had disappeared entirely the moment he stepped into the role. It only returned after, like a wave hitting once the adrenaline had gone.

It was the same as stage fright. The moment your focus shifts, the nerves ease.

And he had noticed something else. When he was fully in the performance, his mind moved faster. Thoughts came quicker, reactions sharpened. It was as though something switched on.

The cost was losing himself. Doing things beyond what he intended. Possibly losing control entirely.

…

“Giving up?” An Zhi watched him, motionless, the light in her eyes dimming.

Wen Yiqian’s eyes opened.

A small smile settled at the corner of his mouth. When he spoke, his voice carried a certainty that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“The game has only just begun.”

(End of Chapter)