Chapter 37 — Who Kills Whom?
The Blossom Guardian · Page 2 of 2
"Why kidnap her?" Wei Zhao narrowed his eyes, eager to know what the man wanted with Gu Mengyao. If money was all he was after, then this bank job had already netted him no less than a million — did they mean to extort Gu Pengzhan on top of that? That was a dangerous game; more likely than not, the extortion would fail and the police would catch them instead.
"Why? Good question." The bald man curled his lip, pointed at the bundles of cash on the floor, and said, "Simple. I did it for money."
"For money?" Wei Zhao frowned. "A kidnapping? You mean to use her to pressure Gu Mengyao's father, then make him pay a ransom?"
"That's none of your business." The bald man, irritated that Wei Zhao was asking far too many questions, spoke with open displeasure.
"No harm in telling me. At the very least, a man ought to die with his eyes open, don't you think?" Wei Zhao now wore an expression of pure curiosity, so innocently earnest that it was hard to refuse him.
The bald man looked him over and thought, what's the harm in telling the boy? He's going to be killed sooner or later anyway. So he said, "Someone paid us to snatch this girl."
"And after you snatch her?" Wei Zhao asked.
"They haven't said yet. We're waiting for a call," the bald man said.
"Then who hired you to do it?" Wei Zhao pressed on.
"Don't know. Brother Cihua introduced us," the bald man said.
"Who is Brother Cihua?" Wei Zhao asked again.
"**Why the hell does a brat like you have so many questions? Motherfucker, ask one more and I'll kill you**" The bald man, worn past endurance by Wei Zhao's questioning, erupted in a stream of curses.
"Oh, all right then. Nobody move, or I'll kill you." A gun had suddenly appeared in Wei Zhao's hand, and in an instant it was pressed against the bald man's temple.
"You... you..." The bald man's eyes went wide. Would someone please tell him what on earth was going on? Weren't the kid's hands tied? How did he still have a gun?
Inside the van, the other kidnappers were frozen in shock, unable to make sense of it — Wei Zhao had a gun pressed to their leader's head.
"You... you... how did you get your ropes off?" The bald man could not work it out. And truly, he could not: weren't both of Wei Zhao's hands bound together?
"Oh, I was a clumsy kid. Whenever I played cat's cradle, I'd always end up tying my own hands together in a dead knot. After enough practice, I learned to undo them myself," Wei Zhao said.
"Unbelievable." The bald man's jaw dropped. That actually worked? Cat's cradle could make a man that capable? Still, he remained astonished. "Then where did you get the gun?"
"Lifted it off that Ma Liu over there." Wei Zhao jerked his chin toward the man nearest him.
Ma Liu instinctively patted his trouser pocket and gave a start — his gun was indeed gone. It seemed it really had ended up in Wei Zhao's hands.
This time the bald man was utterly speechless. He was beaten, and he knew it. What kind of game was this? The kid was far too formidable. Inwardly, though, he cursed Ma Liu's ancestors through eighteen generations.
"All right, nobody move. Your leader's head may look nice and smooth and shiny, but one bullet and it'll basically explode." Wei Zhao spoke lightly, yet the bald man could not help but shiver.