The Mad Ҡìղց

Lan Wanji's life. 8

One evening, after yet another futile day of searching, Wanji found himself wandering the quiet streets of the suburb where Victor's cousin lived. The neighborhood was pristine, lined with large houses that spoke of stability and safety, the kind of place where families raised their children far from the troubles of the world.

As he neared the cousin's home, curiosity got the best of him. He approached quietly and, hearing muffled voices, edged closer. Suddenly, Wen Chao emerged from the house. Startled, Wanji quickly ducked behind a nearby car. Wen Chao got into his vehicle and drove away without noticing him.

Wanji took a moment to compose himself, adjusting his clothes and adopting a casual expression as if he had been walking up to the door the whole time.

He knocked, his pulse steady though his mind was racing. After a brief pause, the door creaked open, revealing a woman in her mid-twenties with dark hair tied in a loose bun. There was a graceful air about her, though her eyes carried a hint of sadness as she regarded him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice polite yet wary.

Wanji gave a respectful nod. "I'm Wanji," he said. "We met a few days ago, at the dinner before the festival?"

Recognition flickered in her eyes, and after a moment of hesitation, she stepped aside to let him in.

"Come in," she said calmly. "I suppose we have a lot to discuss."

As Wanji entered the townhouse, he was struck by the serene atmosphere inside. The space felt peaceful, almost luxurious, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked.

"Coffee," Wanji replied.

They moved to the kitchen, where she poured him a cup from a brewing machine and handed it to him. They returned to the living room, settling into a quiet tension.

Marie sat across from him, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. "So, Wanji," she said, setting her cup down, "I assume you're here because of Victor."

Wanji nodded. "Yes. I need to know more about him. About his past. There are things that don't make sense."

Marie's expression softened slightly, though wariness lingered. "What doesn't make sense?"

Wanji hesitated, then spoke, his voice low. "He's... perfect. Too perfect. Something about him feels off."

Marie leaned back, her gaze narrowing as she considered his words. "Victor's had a difficult life," she said slowly.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Wanji interrupted, his tone sharp. "At the campfire, I saw the way your husband looked at him. It was jealousy—the kind a lover has."

Marie shifted in her seat, her discomfort evident. "I don't know what you mean," she replied, trying to sound indifferent.

"Drop the act, Marie," Wanji said, his frustration rising. He leaned forward, his voice softer now, tinged with sadness. "The only man I've ever loved is entangled with Victor. Help me, and maybe I can help you."

Marie's shoulders sagged as she took a long sip of her tea, wincing slightly as it burned her throat. "I'm sorry for your situation, Wanji, but I can't help you."

"Please," Wanji urged. "You don't have to say anything. Just point me in the right direction."

After a pause, Marie stood up and walked to a nearby drawer, retrieving a piece of paper and a pen. She scribbled an address, handed it to Wanji, and without another word, picked up her cup and disappeared upstairs.

Wanji stood on the porch for a moment, letting the cool night air wash over him. The brief conversation with Marie had left him feeling even more unsettled. The address in his pocket weighed heavily on him. He wasn't sure if it was the key to finding out the truth about Victor, but he had no other leads. Whatever lay at that address, it was now his next step in uncovering the layers of deception.

He glanced around the quiet suburban street, its neatly trimmed hedges and perfectly manicured lawns in stark contrast to the chaotic emotions churning inside him. He had no time to waste. Wanji walked briskly, his mind racing. Who was this Victor really, and how deep did his secrets run?

Standing outside the entrance of a grand hotel, Wanji felt the evening breeze brush against his skin as the daylight faded. He had come here, searching for answers, but the receptionist had informed him that Wei Ying and Victor had already checked out. A wave of unease washed over him. He had missed his chance—again.

For a moment, he stood there, his mind churning with doubt. Should he have come sooner? Called ahead? He glanced back toward the road leading to his own hotel, but now it seemed as confusing as his own thoughts.

Reluctantly, he returned to his room, each step heavier than the last. The silence inside felt oppressive as he paced, glancing at the phone on the desk. Should he call Cheng?

But Wanji hesitated. A voice in his head warned him that involving Cheng might complicate things further. This felt like something he needed to handle alone.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he tapped his fingers on his knee, thinking about his next move. The address Marie had given him still burned in his memory. He hadn't told Cheng about it, and he wondered if that had been a mistake. The address could hold the key to everything—or it could lead them into a trap.

For now, Wanji decided to keep the information to himself. He would let things unfold a bit longer before involving anyone else. This was his burden to bear. He stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the distant city lights, lost in thought.