Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 240 Christ the Redeemer

Twelve o'clock at midnight.

The wind picked up.

It swept down the hillside, kicking up dust and scraps of paper, swirling endlessly.

Only a few broken streetlights remained lit along the entire street, flickering incessantly like a surveillance screen about to burn out.

A black Chrysler was parked on the side of the road, its exterior damaged and its tires half flat.

The windshield still had last year's towing warning sticker, and it looked no different from any other scrapped car.

The man sat in the driver's seat, leaning forward.

He raised his binoculars and aimed them at the nursing home on the street corner called "House of the Savior".

The second floor is glaring, so you can't see anything clearly.

The man leaned back in his chair and irritably touched his face.

It's very hot outside, but we can't turn on the air conditioner for privacy.

There are still seven hours until I get off work.

He took a sip of Red Bull, then lifted his watch strap to look at the small note tucked underneath.

Several names were printed there, but only one was circled in red: Zhao Wanpeng.

The man couldn't pronounce the words very well; he only remembered that the first character sounded like "周" or "照".

It’s pretty much the same anyway.

He thought about it listlessly.

Which Asian surname isn't like this?

This old fellow, on the other hand, has lived here for almost a year and has never left the front door.

It was tough on them; three groups of people took turns keeping watch, and no one was allowed to leave their posts.

The man started taking the night shift in December, and it's now the end of July.

Every day, he diligently recorded the movements, body types, and appearances of everyone who came in and out, down to the smallest detail.

Boring as hell.

But today is different.

The boss specifically instructed that we should "pay close attention to any unusual situations."

He asked if there were any new developments regarding the target.

The other party did not give a direct answer, but only said, "No mistakes allowed."

However, not a single ghost has appeared since evening.

The man muttered a few curses under his breath and then used the binoculars to observe Zhao Wanpeng's room again.

The curtains were drawn very tightly.

You can hardly see anything.

"What the hell are you guys plotting?" the man muttered to himself.

Just then, the radio suddenly crackled.

Immediately afterwards, a burst of static was heard, followed by silence.

He frowned and pressed the intercom button on his shoulder.

"Number 3, check the receiver. There was a lot of interference on your end just now."

no respond.

"can you hear me?"

There was still no movement.

The man had some doubts, but after hesitating for a few seconds, he decided to go and check it out.

Given the unclear situation, it's always good to be cautious at this critical juncture.

He tucked the pistol from the passenger side glove compartment into his waistband and opened the car door.

The road beneath our feet was an uneven concrete path, mixed with bits of sand and gravel.

Broken water pipes and discarded planks were piled up on both sides.

The man walked around his car and moved towards position number three.

It was a dark gray Toyota Camry, parked a dozen meters away.

The windows were raised and all the lights were turned off.

He went to the side, bent down, and tapped impatiently.

"Hey, what are you doing—"

Before he could finish speaking, a dark figure flashed into his field of vision and pounced quickly.

He covered his mouth with his left hand, gripped the dagger in reverse with his right, and swiftly plunged it into the area below his sternum.

The movements should be clean and low-angled to avoid spurting blood and soiling clothes and the ground.

The man was still in shock, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden turn of events.

The next second, his whole body shuddered, his limbs went limp, and he instantly lost all vitality.

Zhou Yi did not draw his sword.

He dragged the body from under his armpits, half-lifted and half-carried it into the back seat, then adjusted its position so that its hands rested naturally on its legs.

From a distance, it looks as if it's asleep.

The streets remained deserted.

The two remaining streetlights hummed erratically in the wind.

Zhou Yi pulled his hat down low, quickly crossed the street, and headed towards the sanatorium diagonally opposite.

The white wooden sign for "House of the Savior" is peeling and faded.

The courtyard wall is cracked, and several clumps of weeds are growing in the cracks between the bricks.

There was only a loose padlock hanging on the iron bars of the side door. Zhou Yi reached out and pulled, and the metal latch popped open.

The chain fell with a clang, but he caught it with his bare hands and put it back on.

There were no lights in the courtyard; moonlight streamed through the church-style windows and fell on the Jesus statue at the far end.

The sculpture is no more than a meter tall, with outstretched arms. The gilding on its face has peeled off, leaving mottled watermarks.

Zhou Yi didn't look around much, walked straight through the courtyard, and quickly entered the main building.

There was no receptionist or night-time nursing staff.

Only an old wall-mounted fan swayed gently in the corner, creaking softly.

The air was filled with the musty smell of herbs and damp carpet.

Zhou Yi continued walking inside.

The corridor was narrow and covered with a blackened synthetic carpet. Stepping on it made no sound, but stirred up fine dust particles.

A few oil paintings with Bible verses are occasionally hung on the walls.

Each wooden door has a room number and a printed nameplate affixed to its exterior.

Many of them have come unglued and are only held together by half a nail.

Zhou Yi silently counted the signs that passed by.

215.

217.

219.

Finally, he stopped in front of the room marked "229".

“Zhao W. Peng”

That's what was written on the note.

It was dark all around, except for the light that shone through the crack in the door.

There are people living inside.

For some reason, Zhou Yi felt very calm inside.

The jumbled thoughts that had been running through my mind vanished in an instant.

All that remains is a blank space.

A rare and precious blank space.

Nothing at all.

He took a flat black tool out of his pocket, held it close to the door lock, and carefully inserted it.

With his left hand, he pulled the tension plate out from the cuff and secured it at the bottom.

Then, continue applying pressure and use a pry bar to lift the spring little by little.

The first time, there was no movement.

The lock cylinder vibrated on the second tap.

The third time—

"Click."

A sound, extremely soft.

The latch retracts.

Zhou Yi did not push the door open immediately.

He remained still, listening to the sounds coming from inside the house.

It remained deathly silent.

Zhao Wanpeng seemed to be asleep.

Zhou Yi put the tools into his pocket, gripped the doorknob, and pushed the door inward inch by inch.

The room wasn't large; it contained a bed and a desk.

The light source was an old television that was still on, its image out of focus, illuminating the peeling latex paint.

A person is sitting in a wheelchair.

With his back to the door, his body was hunched over, and he was so thin that it looked as if all the flesh and blood had been hollowed out.

He didn't turn his head or say anything.

He just lowered his head, as if listening to something, or as if he was just sitting there waiting to die.

Zhou Yi stood at a distance, motionless.

The thousands of speculations in my mind have finally come to fruition at this moment.

It was quieter and more fragile than I had imagined.

Then, the man spoke.

"You've arrived." The tone was calm, as if recounting a casual family matter.

Zhao Wanpeng turned his head.

He is old.

They look frighteningly old.

His face was pale, his hair was white, his eyes were sunken, his lips were cracked, and his breathing was uneven.

“I thought you would come sooner,” he murmured, “but it’s about time.”

"I'm very sorry about Zhao Yifei."

"He shouldn't have taken that project, and he shouldn't have cheated you out of your money."

“I’ve said it many times, I don’t know where he went.”

“For a whole year, I’ve been waiting for you to come every day. Even if you kill me now, it doesn’t matter.”

(End of this chapter)