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墨書 Inktalez
As we climbed ashore, the motorcycle had already sunk out of sight. Fatty and I were covered in mud, looking utterly disheveled. Finally, Fatty seized the opportunity to mock me relentlessly. Although I felt guilty, I wasn't about to let him have the last word; I came up with various excuses to counter his jabs. We bickered all the way back to Old Wokeng Village, thankfully before it got dark.
When we arrived at the Bamboo House where we were staying, I saw a boy waiting for someone. As soon as he spotted Fatty, he started chattering away excitedly. I only caught one word—motorcycle—before I turned and headed into the Bamboo House. This was quite an embarrassing situation; seeing Da Zhang's astonished expression, I didn't feel like talking to him. Instead, I rummaged through my things for some clothes and went to wash up in the creek behind the village. Just as I was leaving, Fatty came in and said to Da Zhang, "Kids these days can really twist things around. They don't want money; they just want a new bike. Isn't that infuriating?"
That evening, I announced my decision: we would go to Laos to look for clues.
While Fatty clapped his hands in approval, he couldn't resist teasing me: "Just don't try riding a motorcycle there."
Da Zhang couldn't hold back his laughter from the side.
We revealed part of our action plan to Da Zhang; we needed his assistance for our trip to Laos and couldn't keep him completely in the dark. How much detail to share was up to Fatty since I had asked him to handle that conversation with Da Zhang. The principle was simple: it should benefit us in gathering information while being limited to helping us find out about Xiao Guolin.
The Vietnamese contact office in Laos was located at Lang Nam Tower, near the Chinese border town of Mohan, southeast of which lay the famous Golden Triangle region. The only advantage of this location for us was that if we encountered any insurmountable danger, we could potentially escape back into our country. Fatty was very cautious about this and specifically asked Da Zhang to scout out the route back home from Lang Nam Tower. They had traveled this road before and it should be fine overall; however, he was concerned about whether any bridges along the waterways had been damaged during the chaos.
None of us had border crossing permits, but there were some areas where border residents lived without security measures. Given our proximity to the Golden Triangle, where neither government could effectively enforce control, we easily crossed the Myanmar-Laos border. After getting off the bus at Lang Nam Tower, Fatty instructed Da Zhang to scout out the way back home.
I hurriedly said, "Let's find a place to stay first before sending Da Zhang off; otherwise, how will he find us when he returns?"
Fatty chuckled lightly. "No need; he'll find us."
Seeing his confidence made me drop my insistence on my viewpoint. They were familiar with this area, so I didn't want to impose my ideas. After Da Zhang left, Fatty found a convenience store with a phone and started making calls. I couldn't understand anything he said; not a single word of Chinese came out of his mouth. After several calls, Fatty nodded at me and said, "We've got news; let's go."
On a bustling street, Fatty found a six-story hotel and negotiated with the receptionist for a room. As we stepped into the elevator, I asked him, "Don't we need to register here?"
"Of course we do," he replied. "I'm registering under someone else's name; you can do that here as long as you have the right identity." He winked at me and added, "It really depends on who that person is. If they can't afford to offend them, they'll comply."
Our room was on the top floor, a suite with a living room. The decor was quite old, but at least it was clean. Our luggage was simple; we had just bought a few things on the way. After dropping off our bags, Fatty stood by the window. After a moment, he remarked, "The view is decent."
I felt a stir of curiosity and walked over to join him at the window. Below us was a bustling street. Across from our hotel stood another hotel, angled slightly toward us. It was an old-fashioned three-story building with a large courtyard behind it, and further back, there was another three-story structure. From our elevated position, we had a clear view of the courtyard. Directly across from us was a bank, with the three-story hotel to its right. Beyond that was a flower shop. To the left of the bank was a restaurant selling Laos's specialty sticky rice.
Fatty's gaze was fixed on the hotel diagonally across from us, and naturally, I followed his attention there as well. Several vehicles were parked in front of the hotel, mostly local taxis—simple three-wheeled carts. The foot traffic was heavy, indicating that business was thriving. In contrast, there were few people in the courtyard behind the hotel; perhaps the dense tropical plants obscured the view of those below. In front of the three-story building at the back was a small swimming pool where several women in revealing swimsuits lounged on deck chairs soaking up the sun.
I swallowed hard and turned to Fatty, asking, "Why didn't we stay across the street?"
I noticed Fatty's throat move slightly as he replied, "I wanted to stay there too. But you can't see what's happening behind that place."
"Isn't that courtyard part of their hotel?"
"Yes, but generally, people can't go in."
"Are you saying that courtyard is a contact point for Ruan General Group?"
"Yeah. Do you think calling it Reception is appropriate?"
I found myself at a loss for words. The environment would put even five-star hotels back home to shame. The term Reception seemed inadequate; something like Top-tier Club VIP lounge would be more fitting.
After observing for a while, Fatty returned to the living room. I heard him making a phone call in a language I couldn't understand. As I gazed down at the vibrant scene below, I thought that while I couldn't experience it firsthand, at least I could enjoy it visually—even if it felt somewhat distant and unclear.
Before long, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, a server brought up a suitcase. Fatty took the suitcase into the bedroom, first drawing the curtains before opening it. Inside was a collapsible tripod and a monocular telescope. I stroked my chin thoughtfully—was this for spying?
Fatty skillfully set up the tripod and secured the telescope before dragging over a chair to sit by the window and adjusting its height. I realized this setup wasn't meant for me; it was all for him.
After finishing the adjustments, Fatty extended the Monocular Telescope slightly through the curtain gap and leaned down to look through it. After about ten minutes, he straightened up, pulled the telescope back inside the curtains, and said with a hint of excitement, "Damn it, Baymax is really getting into it."
I stared at him, speechless. However, I felt my face must have turned a bit red. Fatty glanced at me and said, "Want to take a look? Never mind, the White Lens reflects light easily; it would be troublesome if they noticed."
I reminded myself to be composed. "What do you need a telescope for? We’re not here to spy on this."
Fatty grinned at me. "You're anxious, huh? The real show is tonight; you'll get to see."
I really wanted to kick Fat Man. My expression darkened. "What’s going on? What are you trying to see?"
Only then did Fatty become serious. He pulled out a large envelope from that suitcase and dumped out several photos. I picked one up and saw that they all featured the same person—a slightly overweight middle-aged man.
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