65: Chapter 65 She cried after her first bite of hot pot.

Jiang Rumu's stomach growled.

It wasn't a subtle, ladylike, easily ignorable rumble.

It was the kind of—

"Grumble, grumble, grumble—"

The entire gravel beach went silent for a second.

Even the rhythm of the waves hitting the rocks slowed by half a beat.

Jiang Rumu froze in place.

Her fist was still pressed against Li Li's bulletproof vest.

Tears still hung on her cheeks.

The solemn atmosphere of surviving a catastrophe hadn't completely dissipated before her stomach betrayed her.

Her entire face burned from her chin upwards, red to her earlobes, red to her hairline.

“...”

Li Li looked down at her.

"Your stomach is more punctual than an air-raid siren."

Jiang Rumu bit her lower lip, her cheeks puffing out slightly.

Just as she was about to retort.

"Grumble—"

It growled again.

Jiang Rumu buried her face in Li Li's bulletproof vest.

She didn't want to talk anymore.

She didn't want to be human anymore.

She certainly didn't want to be a top star in the domestic entertainment industry.

She just wanted to find a crack in the ground and burrow into it.

Next to the white G-Wagon, Delia held up the bag of Haidilao Hotpot seasoning in her arms.

"Want some Hotpot?"

Jiang Rumu lifted her head from the bulletproof vest.

Messy long hair, red-rimmed eyes, chapped lips.

She stared at the bag with Chinese characters in Delia's hand.

Her mind spun three times.

It didn't quite catch up.

"...What?"

"Hotpot." Delia repeated in a cumin-flavored Chinese, her pronunciation strangely odd, "Spicy. Beef tallow."

Jiang Rumu turned her head and scanned her surroundings.

Gravel beach. Reefs. Waves. Morning light. Two G-Wagons. A woman in a bathrobe. Two veiled Arabic women. A man covered in gunpowder and blood, with an assault rifle slung over his body and his hands tied behind his back.

Eating Hotpot here?

She turned to look at Li Li.

The meaning was clear—is this woman in the bathrobe next to you normal?

Li Li rotated his left wrist.

He was also speechless.

Delia ignored their expressions and gestured to the veiled woman.

"Fatima, get that woven bag from the car."

Fatima quickly went around to the back of the Land Rover Defender and opened it.

A bulging woven bag was taken out.

Haidilao Spicy Hotpot seasoning. Five packs of wide noodles. Two bottles of Lao Gan Ma. Three cans each of chicken, beef, and luncheon meat. Two bags of beef balls. One small aluminum pot. One stainless steel ladle. A large bunch of bok choy.

All laid out neatly on the gravel beach.

The Oman Border Gas Station Chinese Supermarket Family Bucket.

Jiang Rumu's mouth was slightly agape.

She had seen grand occasions in her life. Lavish banquets, international film festival red carpets, brand launch events worth tens of millions.

But a spy princess in a bathrobe setting up a full Hotpot spread on the beach—

She had never seen that.

Truly never seen that.

"When did you buy all this?"

"On the way." Li Li leaned against the Land Rover's door. "Two in the morning, at the Oman border gas station."

Two in the morning.

Gas station.

Buying Hotpot seasoning.

Jiang Rumu realized that her brain had crashed and rebooted too many times in the past twelve hours and had completely given up on understanding.

The short veiled woman was quick and nimble, setting up a simple stove with three rocks and pulling a portable butane gas canister from the back seat of the G-Wagon.

Click.

A blue flame shot up.

The small aluminum pot was placed on top, half-filled with mineral water.

Delia squatted on the ground, prying open the seasoning packet with her fingernail.

The entire block of beef tallow seasoning slid into the aluminum pot. The red oil slowly dissolved in the hot water. The savory aroma of beef tallow and the pungent smell of chili spread in all directions with the morning breeze.

Jiang Rumu stood two meters away.

The wind carried the scent over.

Her stomach once again sent out an uncooperative signal.

This time, she didn't blush. She couldn't blush anymore.

"Sit." Delia pointed to a flat rock nearby.

Jiang Rumu hesitated for a second and then sat down.

The hem of her red haute couture gown spread out on the rough rock, covered in dust.

1.4 million.

Eating Hotpot on a rock.

The brand's public relations department would collectively ascend to heaven if they saw this scene.

The pot boiled, the red oil bubbling.

Delia personally sliced the luncheon meat thinly and threw it in, followed by the wide noodles, and finally the bok choy.

The first chopstick-full of wide noodles was scooped out.

Delia blew on it twice and put it in her mouth.

Chewed for three seconds.

She froze.

Then—

"Ugh—!!"

She stomped her feet frantically on the gravel, her bathrobe hem flying everywhere, one hand fanning her mouth, the other frantically reaching for the pot with her chopsticks.

Tears streamed down her face from the spice, but her chopsticks wouldn't stop.

Fatima leaned over, tentatively picked up a slice of luncheon meat, and a muffled gasp came from under her veil.

Then she also squatted by the pot and didn't move.

Jiang Rumu watched the three women squatting in a row, scrambling for food around a small aluminum pot bubbling with red oil.

She looked down at her empty hands.

Then looked at the pot again.

She maintained her composure for five seconds.

Delia, without looking back, handed a pair of spare chopsticks behind her.

"Eat."

Jiang Rumu took the chopsticks.

She picked up a piece of wide noodle, blew on it, and put it in her mouth.

Hot. Spicy. Numbing.

All flavors exploded simultaneously, burning from her tongue all the way to her stomach. A warmth rose from the pit of her stomach, traveled up her spine, and reached her nasal cavity—

Jiang Rumu's eyes reddened.

Not because of the spice.

But because it was the first hot meal she had eaten in the past twelve hours.

She lowered her head, quietly chewing the wide noodles.

Tears fell on the rocks, dried by the wind.

No one saw them.

Except Li Li.

Li Li leaned against the Land Rover's door, watching the four women enthusiastically eating around a small aluminum pot.

Jiang Rumu occasionally turned her head, offering a slice of luncheon meat with her chopsticks.

"Aren't you eating?"

Li Li opened his mouth and took it.

Chewed twice.

His stomach twitched.

Early morning, empty stomach, spicy red oil Hotpot.

His stomach was protesting in an extremely tragic way.

But he didn't throw up.

Jiang Rumu fed him; he had to save face.

Delia drank the red oil broth at the bottom of the pot clean.

She put down her chopsticks, let out a long breath, and leaned back, lying directly on the gravel beach.

Her bathrobe spread out, her hair scattered on the ground.

The morning light shone on her face. She closed her eyes, her hands folded over her stomach.

"Mr. Li."

"Hmm."

"If you die later, put a pot of Hotpot seasoning on your grave, and I'll come to pay my respects."

Li Li glanced at her.

"I'm not dead yet, and you're already picking out my burial plot?"

"Pre-planning." Delia didn't open her eyes. "I heard good burial plots in Dongda are in high demand, some even use residential homes as burial plots."

"It's not allowed now; the neighbors get spooked."

Jiang Rumu was also full. She put down her chopsticks and wiped the red oil from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

Fatima and the short woman were tidying up the pots and bowls.

The sound of the waves filled the silent gaps between everyone.

A small speedboat approached from the coastline. The engine sound was very low, and the deep blue hull had no numbers or markings.

The speedboat docked.

A man in a dark jacket jumped off the boat, said nothing, looked at no one. He walked directly to the white G-Wagon, opened the door, and got in.

The engine roared once, the G-Wagon turned around, and drove off along the coastal road.

Delia sat up from the gravel beach, patting the small stones off her bathrobe.

"Get on the boat."

Jiang Rumu stood up and followed Li Li towards the shore.

The gravel made her frown. Her high heels had broken long ago, so she was essentially walking barefoot on stones.

Li Li stopped.

He squatted down.

"Come on."

Jiang Rumu paused for half a second, then climbed onto his back.

Her hands rested on the bulletproof vest's shoulder straps, the rough Kevlar fibers chafing her fingers.

Li Li carried her, stepping on the gravel towards the speedboat, his tactical boots crunching.

Jiang Rumu rested her chin on his shoulder.

The wind blew her messy hair onto Li Li's face.

It tickled.

Li Li tilted his head slightly, saying nothing.

Once on the speedboat, Jiang Rumu sat on the stern seat.

Delia stood in front of her.

In her hand was a transparent plastic bag containing a piece of gauze soaked in liquid.

The woman who was just scrambling for wide noodles on the gravel beach now had an aura as if a switch had been flipped—the bathrobe was still the same bathrobe, but the person inside had changed.

"You cannot know the way from here on."

Delia squatted down, meeting Jiang Rumu's gaze.

"Take a breath, sleep, and you'll be there when you wake up."

Jiang Rumu stared at the gauze.

She froze for a moment, instinctively shrinking back half an inch.

She turned to look at Li Li.

Li Li leaned against the gunwale and nodded at her.

"It's okay."

Jiang Rumu turned back, staring at Delia.

She reached out, took the gauze, and held it over her mouth and nose herself.

Three seconds.

Her eyelids drooped, and her body tilted sideways.

Li Li reached out to catch her, letting her lean against the seat back.

Delia stood up.

She pulled out another identical piece of gauze.

"You too."

Li Li looked at the gauze.

"Can't I not inhale it?"

"No."

Delia held the gauze out to him.

"The island's coordinates are top secret. Your being alive on the island is already a gamble I'm making with my life."

Her other hand pulled a small revolver from her bathrobe pocket and pressed it against Li Li's temple.

The metal was cold.

"Pleasure doing business?"

Li Li rotated his left wrist.

He took the gauze and held it to his face.

A sweet chemical smell filled his nasal cavity, and his vision quickly blurred.

Before he collapsed, the last thing he saw was—

Delia turned around and walked towards the bow of the boat.

Fatima and the short woman stood on the shore.

Delia stopped.

She looked back.

The three women looked at each other for a second.

Delia spread her arms.

Fatima rushed over and hugged her. The short woman also rushed forward.

The three embraced, the wind lifting the hems of their bathrobes and veils.

No one spoke.

They hugged for a long time.

Fatima let go, stepping back. A very low sob came from under her veil.

Delia raised her hand and straightened the veil that the wind had blown askew for her.

Her fingers paused on Fatima's cheek for a moment.

"Go back."

Delia turned and got on the boat.

She didn't look back.

The speedboat engine roared, its bow cutting through the shallow water, heading towards the horizon shrouded in morning mist.

The two women stood on the shore.

They kept standing.

Until the speedboat became a black dot and disappeared where the sea met the sky.

On the speedboat, Delia sat at the stern, controlling the small boat.

The wind made her bathrobe flap loudly.

She looked down at the old scar on her ring finger.

Then, from an inner pocket of her bathrobe, she pulled out an old photograph folded many times.

The photo was worn at the edges.

It showed a woman in a floral dress, holding a little girl, probably five or six years old, in her arms.

The woman was smiling.

The little girl was also smiling.

Delia pressed the photo to her chest.

She closed her eyes.

The sea breeze filled her bathrobe.

Her lips moved, her voice completely swallowed by the engine noise.

But if someone could read lips, they would see her saying it in Arabic.

Very short.

Two words.

"Mama."

The seawater beneath the boat crashed against the hull, making a dull roar.

The outline of Masirah Island was faintly visible in the morning mist.