Sun Fatty glanced at the note, then looked at Gao Liang and said, "Director Gao, not to be blunt, but this is like putting no price cap on it. Even if they ask for a mountain of gold and silver, we'd just hand it over. This errand couldn't be easier. Just the two of us going—me and Lazi? Shouldn't we bring a couple more people to look more official?"
Gao Liang squinted at him, then gave a glance—intentionally or not—toward Blind Jin, and said, "I've arranged a local contact to assist you. She'll reach out after you arrive. To avoid unnecessary trouble, I'll notify the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to assign someone to accompany you the entire time."
As he spoke, Director Gao lit a cigarette, took a drag, and added, "Sun Desheng, you just said this job would be a cakewalk. Don't screw it up."
Sun Fatty grinned, still clearly not taking things seriously. I couldn't really chime in at this kind of meeting, so I stood silently as Gao Liang finished assigning the task—no attempt to avoid Blind Jin either. He gave us diplomatic cover identities and told us to take the earliest flight to the U.S. the next morning. Once everything was arranged, we were dismissed from his office.
As soon as we stepped out, I said to Sun Fatty, "Dasheng, just the two of us? Shouldn't we bring someone who actually speaks English? I don't know a word of American. What if something happens and you're not around?"
Sun Fatty tucked the note into his inner pocket, looked around to make sure no one was nearby, and whispered, "Don't be naive. You think it's good to have more people in the know? Let's not forget—Huang Ran and Hao Zhengyi used to be part of the Bureau. You think they don't have friends here still? Who knows who might be leaking info?"
What he said made some sense, but I still had doubts. "But what about Hugo? He came to the Bureau after Huang Ran and Hao Zhengyi left. We should be able to trust him, right? Besides, being a white guy has its perks—might help smooth things over in the U.S."
Sun Fatty sighed. "Lazi, you really don't get it. Hugo's even worse—he was a priest before he joined the Bureau. And if that old guy who runs the Church ends up getting the Heavenly Principle Diagram… well, we'd have no face left to come home with."
He was about to go on when the elevator dinged and opened. Vice Director Yi of the Fifth Division stepped out, supporting Ma Xiaolin. I didn't know what Dr. Ouyang had done to him, but Ma looked like a walking corpse—his face waxy, shirt soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead. His body was stiff like someone recovering from a stroke, and a bit of foam had collected at the corner of his mouth.
Sun Fatty and I were both startled—if Ma Xiaolin died right here in the Bureau, we'd be the prime suspects. After all, it was our fault he ended up in this state in the first place. Sun Fatty greeted Vice Director Yi, asking, "Old Yi, is Mr. Ma alright? Not to be rude, but are we just letting him walk out like that?"
"He's fine," Vice Director Yi replied with a smile. "Director Gao gave strict orders—no one's letting him go anywhere. Ma's health's been poor, which affected the stability of his soul. Dr. Ouyang just performed a soul stabilization for him. His body's reacting a bit, but he'll be fine in a couple days."
Ma Xiaolin looked extremely frail. He tried to speak a few times but couldn't get the words out. Sun Fatty tried to comfort him, and Vice Director Yi led him into Gao Liang's office. Watching Ma's staggering back, I muttered to Sun Fatty, "What do you think he'll do if he finds out you were the mastermind?"
Still watching Ma walk away, Sun Fatty turned to me and grinned. "He'll probably invite me to partner with him in opening a civilian version of the Bureau in Hong Kong. Wanna bet?"
I wasn't in the mood for his jokes. Just thinking about flying to the U.S. the next morning gave me a headache—I hadn't even packed. "Should I bring two cases of instant noodles?" I muttered.
Sun Fatty blocked my path with a laugh. "Lazi, come on. Just bring some cash and a change of clothes. America is the heart of capitalism—you've got money, you've got everything."
Originally, we weren't supposed to bring any weapons or gear. But Sun Fatty, on one of his whims, went and talked Gao Liang into letting us carry something for protection. With our luck—even going to a wedding could turn into a monster-hunting mission. Going abroad? Who knows what might blow up in our faces? We were allowed to bring some personal items—nothing flashy like guns or batons, but short swords were fine.
Gao Liang was generous too. Initially, the Bureau was footing the bill for the whole trip—hotel, meals, and daily expenses all charged to a credit card. He gave each of us USD 3,000 in cash for personal use. Later, Gao Liang bumped it up to USD 5,000 per person. Still, Sun Fatty somehow snuck me another USD 5,000 in cash. I knew he was rich, but I didn't expect him to just hand out foreign currency like candy. I'd been to his dorm room too—now I was really starting to wonder where he kept all his cash stashed.
The next morning, we traveled light and headed straight for the airport. With our diplomatic IDs, we skipped the inspection process and went straight to the departure lounge. A man in his forties was already there waiting for us. After some pleasantries, he introduced himself—Xiao Jintong, a relative of Xiao Heshang. He was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs liaison assigned to accompany us on this mission.
Xiao Jintong clearly didn't know the true identities of me and Sun Fatty. From the way he spoke, it was obvious he took us for field agents from some obscure department of the Ministry of State Security. Neither of us corrected him—we just played along until we boarded the plane.
After enduring thirteen mind-numbing hours on the plane, we finally landed at the legendary McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas, United States of America. Xiao Jintong led us through the diplomatic fast-track inspection. Just as we were about to leave through the special exit channel, we were stopped by airport staff.
Xiao Jintong went over to negotiate with them. They jabbered in English, none of which I could understand. I couldn't help thinking—don't tell me we're getting deported the minute we step off the plane? After some back-and-forth, it was clear the conversation wasn't going anywhere. The three of us were escorted into a small airport room.
Inside the room were a man and a woman, both around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The woman was Asian. As we entered, they both stood and flashed their badges. Then the woman rattled off a long string of English I couldn't make heads or tails of. When she finished, the white man spoke up: "Welcome to Las Vegas. Allow me to introduce myself—we are agents with the Department of Homeland Security. I'm Agent Reyes Martinez." His Mandarin was surprisingly clear and accurate, though some words were a little awkward—but still far better than Ma Xiaolin's garbled tones. He then gestured to the Asian woman and said, "This is Agent He Yiyang." So it turned out the Asian woman didn't speak Chinese at all—Agent Martinez was translating for her.
As soon as he finished, Agent He Yiyang glanced at Sun Fatty and started another round of rapid-fire English. Once again, Martinez translated: "We know that you gentlemen are officials of the Chinese government, and that at least one of you belongs to a certain special agency. Both Agent He and I have great personal interest in that agency. However, since you are now on the sovereign soil of the United States, we hope you will respect the laws here. Should you violate any U.S. federal or Nevada state laws during your stay, we will have no choice but to terminate your visit. If the offense is serious, you will face legal consequences."
Once Martinez finished, Xiao Jintong's face went cold. He replied tersely in Mandarin. I asked Sun Fatty to translate for me. Apparently, old Xiao was lodging a formal protest—accusing the two Homeland Security agents of making baseless assumptions without any evidence and hinting at criminal intent. As he grew more agitated, he pulled out his phone to contact the embassy, ready to escalate things diplomatically.
If this really turned into a diplomatic issue, things could get ugly fast. Seeing that he meant business, both Sun Fatty and I rushed to stop him. I held him back while Sun Fatty smiled warmly and launched into a string of English. He and the two agents went back and forth for a bit. After a brief exchange of glances between He Yiyang and Martinez, the latter said, "As long as no laws are broken, gentlemen, you'll encounter no obstacles during your stay. We wish you a pleasant visit—and good luck in Las Vegas." With that, the agents shook hands with each of us. Before leaving, Martinez handed a business card to Sun Fatty and added, "This is my card. If you run into any trouble, I'd be happy to help."
After they left, Xiao Jintong was still fuming. He turned to Sun Fatty and said, "Section Chief Sun"—that was our current diplomatic cover, mid-level functionaries under a sub-department—"you didn't need to be so polite. The softer we act, the more agencies will show up—Homeland Security, the FBI, CIA—you name it. Push back hard the first time, and next time they'll go through official diplomatic channels. That'll shut these spies down."
Sun Fatty blinked and gave a lazy smile. "Old Xiao, look, peace is precious. We're here to do a job. As long as we get it done, a little personal indignity doesn't matter. Trust me, I've swallowed worse insults than this—it's nothing."
Anyone overhearing him might've thought Sun Fatty was some modern-day Han Xin, willing to endure humiliation under a city gate.
After a bit more calming down, Xiao Jintong cooled off. As we returned to the airport hall and were just about to head out, we were approached by a woman both I and Sun Fatty recognized—we'd seen her a few times before. She walked straight up to us and said, "What's your deal? The plane landed an hour ago—what embarrassing stunt did you pull this time?"
Meng Qiqi?! Both Sun Fatty and I were stunned.
But Meng Qiqi didn't seem to care at all. She said casually, "You two aren't in a hurry, are you? Your Director Gao practically begged me yesterday before I agreed to come lend a hand. Remember, I'm flying back to Paris first thing tomorrow. If you've got business, handle it quick—don't dawdle."
Xiao Jintong sensed we had things to talk about and politely excused himself.
Sun Fatty narrowed his eyes and said to Meng Qiqi, "Not to accuse you, but whose side are you on, really? We'll let the thing with Huang Ran slide. But just a few days ago, you and Zhang were stealing from the Bureau. Now what? You've suddenly had a change of heart?"
"I'm not on anyone's side," Meng Qiqi rolled her eyes and said. "Last time, Huang Ran promised me and Zhang Zhiyan some items from the Religious Affairs Commission's collection. But that whole thing fell apart, and he bailed on the deal. We tried to take them ourselves—and got taken down by Yang Xiao. Oh, and by the way, your chubby boss better not stiff me too."
"Ask him yourself," Sun Fatty said as he saw Xiao Jintong walk off. He pulled out his phone and called Director Gao to confirm that Meng Qiqi was indeed our arranged contact. Then he took out the note Gao Liang had given us and dialed the number listed. No one picked up. He tried a few more times—still no answer. Sun Fatty frowned, eyes darting as he thought for a second. Then he grinned at me and said, "Lazi, let's go. Time to show you the decaying heart of American imperialism." He turned to Meng Qiqi and asked, "Miss Meng, you know how to get to Caesar's Palace?"
Just over an hour later, we arrived at Caesar's Palace. Modeled after ancient Rome, the hotel was the very embodiment of opulence—everywhere you looked, gold and marble gleamed. I used to think Ma Xiaolin's mansion was a luxurious estate. Compared to this place, Ma's house was a chicken coop.