2:25 p.m., John F. Kennedy International Airport
Mùchén picked up his suitcase, slurping on a latte. He walked towards Lan, who tapped her foot.
"What took you so long?" She snapped at him.
He simply placed the suitcase down and walked away.
"I'm never flying again," he muttered.
Lan shouted after him as her men picked up the suitcase and trailed behind her.
Mùchén gave no heed as he scanned through ever hotel in New York.
Hotel, hotel, hotel...
He glanced up, and froze mid-step.
A woman wearing a bob stared right at him. She wore a black jacket, white crop shirt, blue jeans and shockingly red heels.
Her red lips curled into a confident smirk, her hands in her back pockets.
Uh oh.
The Liu Clan is a step ahead of me.
Hurray....
Lan grabbed on his sleeve.
"Are you deaf? Didn't you hear me?" She snapped, pulling on it.
He simply reached and grabbed her chin, turning it forward. Spotting the woman, her blood ran cold, and her skin paled.
"Is that—"
"是的," he nodded, teeth clenched. "你会死的." (Yes, you're going to die.)
Lan glanced up at him, shivering. She swallowed hard.
"你可不能让我死. 我爸的鬼会来缠着你的!" (You can't let me die. My dad's ghost will haunt you for it!)
A sly smirk came across Mùchén's face.
"Go, go," he instructed.
Lan sprinted off, barking at her men to follow her.
They ran for the elevator, as Mùchén walked deliberately towards the bobbed assassin. The woman mirrored his slow, confident stride. Soon, the two were meters apart.
"瓢虫..." she cooed. (Ladybug....)
"我不知道你为什么来这里,但我坚持要你离开." (I don't know why you're here, but I insist you leave.)
The woman laughed, turning, and clapping slowly.
"So cute," she smiled, turning back. "I will enjoy killing you."
This must be the "overly dramatic assassin. "
Yay....
She reached into her jacket.
"No..." He warned.
She pulled out a dagger and aimed for his throat but, he leaned back, just out of reach. Straightening, he ducks every overhead strike and parried the low ones. She tossed the dagger and caught it mid-air with her left hand.
Now, you're just copying The Winter Soldier.
My favorite movie of all time.
She aims for his neck, but it was blocked.
"你到底叫什么名字?" Mùchén grunted, pushing her back. (What exactly is your name?)
She smiled at the question
"安女士," she sneered. (Lady An)
He blinked.
The no. 3 most prolific assassin?
Why did they send female Tom Cruises after the young girl?
For me no-less.
I'm only no. 1.
Lan looked behind her, shocked to see the assassin woman flip Mùchén to the ground. He quickly got up but was jabbed in the throat by her elbow then, flipped over her shoulder again.
"Is he losing?" Lan thought, a wave of fresh panic hitting her. "What kind of ass-bodyguard..."
Her thoughts snapped as one of her men grabbed her by the elbow, yanking her into the waiting elevator.
Lady An waited, hopping on her toes as he gets up. Mùchén grunted, hand pressed on his back.
Oh no.
That injury from India...
The pain's back.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.
Lady An tossed the dagger aside. Before he could react, she sprinted forward, leapt into the air, and wrapped her legs around his neck— using that momentum to hurl him across the room.
He lands heavily with a grunt, sliding.
The crowd finally scattered, confusion scrawled across their faces.
Oh, now you notice a fight's happening?
Lady An, perhaps realizing the attention they were drawing, walked up to him and, with an overly sweet grin, helped him up. She began dragging him away, still smiling. "Sorry about that," she chirped to the bystanders.
Out of earshot, Lady An reaches into her jacket—
Mùchén jerked free of her grip and bolted in the other direction.
Lady An turns and runs up an escalator, before turning left. Mùchén, noticing his trailing assailant, pressed on, pushing pedestrians out of the way.
Sorry.
Excuse me.
Lady, stop chatting on your phone, I'm about to be killed....
Meanwhile, Lan was guided into the waiting car. "What about that loser, Mùchén?" She asked on of her men.
"He's your bodyguard," the man answered, unflappable. "It's his job to give his life for you."
Lan sat there, stunned as the man got in beside her. The car roared to life and drove into traffic.
Lady An skidded to a stop as he neared the exit. She vaulted onto the banister, leapt, grabbing a hanging flag—and swung like Tarzan.
What the hell?
This is stupid.
That's not legal.
This isn't Rush Hour. 1, 2 or 3.
She flipped in the air and landed a few meters from him, pistol aimed at his back.
"够了哦～" she sang. (That's enough~)
Mùchén froze, slowly turning around. Lady An slowly approached him, chuckling. "You can't escape me."
Yes, I can.
Watch me.
"I also know," she purred, aiming the gun under his chin. "You can't kill me. It must pain you, no?"
Mùchén nodded, smiling. "Sure does."
He grabbed her wrist, twisted the gun from her hand and spun her around. She stumbled back, and reaches into her jacket but noticed he's gone.
Looking down, almost in slow motion, she saw Mùchén sweeps her legs out from under her. Lady An collapsed heavily, red heels splayed out from under her, her smirk finally gone.
He caught the back of her head before it hit the ground, and sighed.
"You're an idiot," she spat, glaring up at him.
"Stay out of my way," he glared back, before pressing on her carotid artery.
Lady An's eyes fluttered closed.
"Sleep tight," he murmured.
Mùchén gets to his feet, grunting as he hobbles away.
I won the battle. But....my back still hurts. I knew I should've stretched before.
India was three years ago yet my body has to remind me.
Because it hates me.
-
The car pulled into the Plaza hotel. Lan is helped out, her luggage trailed behind her. She ignored the pretty interior, the bright lights, the expensive smell, her mind dwelling on Mùchén.
She was...worried about him
"Could he be dead?" She thought.
Her mind tuned out all noise, until a familiar voice cut through the lobby's hum.
"Yes, I would like this suite."
"Could it be?" She wondered.
She pulled out of her men's grip and raced towards the person speaking. She smacks his back, hard. He turned, absolutely livid. "Why would you—"
"You bastard!" Lan snapped, smacking her hand across his cheek.
Mùchén blinked, his head snapping back to her. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Don't you dare give your life for me," she spat, jabbing her finger into his chest.
"I'm in pain, right now," he whispered as her men ran up to them.
"How did you—how!? I thought you were dead."
"Lady An is good but I'm more skilled."
Lan fell silent, her mind piecing together her thoughts.
"Why didn't you just...." she gestured wildly, as if miming invisible stab wounds.
"First of all, that's graphic," Mùchén pointed at her. "You need to cut back on the movies, and second of all...I can't."
"Sir?" The receptionist interrupted, looking uncomfortable with the public spectacle. "I'll take this suite, thank you," he said, offering the receptionist a polite smile.
She handed him the key. "Enjoy your stay."
He hobbled away, wincing with each step as Lan followed, her arms spread wide. "What do you mean you can't?!"
The two, along with their entourage, stepped into the elevator.
"I need pain killers," he muttered, leaning against the wall. "
What the hell do you mean you can't?!" she repeated, almost shrieking as the door slid shut.
-
The elevator doors opened and the group stepped out.
"You haven't answered my question!" She snapped as she followed him.
I don't want to...
Mùchén ignored her, scanning the numbers on the doors until he found it: Room 024.
He inserts the key and turned. The lock clicked.
The door swung open—and both of them jumped.
A young maid stood inside. Her black hair was tied in a neat bun, held in place by two white bows. Her black leather-gloved hands clutched a rag and a bottle of disinfectant spray. A white apron snuggly hugged her waist, and her black heels clicked nervously as she stepped back.
"I'm sorry," she said with a bright cheery smile. "Who are you?" Mùchén asked, eyes narrowing.
Her gloves weren't standard issue. Black leather. Not ideal cleaning gloves.
"We didn't ask for room service," one of the men barked. "Get out."
The maid nodded quickly, and wheel her trolley out of the room, her voice light as she hummed Spanish Lullaby.
Mùchén gave her one last glare before stepping inside.
Once out of sight, the maid's cheerful expression drooped into something colder. She peeled off her gloves.
So that's Shen Lan.
She'll be easy pickings.
-
In the suite, Mùchén switched into slippers, his feet aching. The others did the same.
Lan marveled at the room. The rug was yellow, as well as the wallpaper. The foyer led into a vast living room with white curtains and massive windows.
In the center stood two golden armchairs with yellow pillows. Between them, a golden, table with craved dragon legs gleaming.
She made sure not to trip as she sprinted around the corner, searching for her bedroom.
Unable to bear the pain, Mùchén sank into a chair with a grunt. He ran his fingers through his black hair.
"Are you okay, friend?" Jun De, one of the men, asked, removing his dark shades. His dark brows creased in worry.
"Lady An banged me up a little," Mùchén muttered, forcing a smile as he cracked his back. He glanced at the other men, who averted their gazes. "I feel like I'm not welcomed."
Jun De chuckled. "They just don't see the value of an assassin. They think you'll slow us down."
"They're probably right," Mùchén said with a dry laugh.
Lan reappeared, chin held high and mischief glinting in her eyes.
"I'm going to shower now," she announced. "You all get out of here."
The men groaned, shuffling towards the door.
Jun De slid his shades back on. Lan's gaze snapped from him to Mùchén. "As well as you too," she said coldly.
Mùchén shook his head. "Absolutely not," he spat.
She's trying to get rid of me in a very dumb manner, so Lan can be placed in danger. You can't get rid of me that easily, little author.
Lan crossed her arms. "Then tell me why you can't kill those assassin women."
"I'll tell you later," Mùchén groaned, cracking a vertebrae in his back
Lan huffed and stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
He barely flinched as she slammed the door in anger.
She'll understand it's for her own good.
Mùchén froze,
A floorboard creaked.
He rose silently and pressed his back to the wall.
The door creaked open. A figure slipped inside, humming softly.
Spanish lullaby .
The maid.
Or more accurately—
Feng Jing.