"Although the fighting has stopped here, this place is far from paradise. Most people who had the means have already left."
Noticing Jiang Hai's gaze, Azarina spoke with a hint of helplessness.
Yes, this was the reality of the world: those with the ability and opportunity had already fled, while those who remained were ordinary people—stuck, powerless. For the sake of survival, they had no choice but to stay, even if danger loomed at every corner.
Hearing her words, Jiang Hai let out a soft sigh. Clearly, things weren't as simple as he'd imagined.
Back in China, many people were always complaining—this wasn't good, that wasn't right. Jiang Hai had once longed for life abroad too. It wasn't because he was a traitor or anything like that—it's just natural for people to yearn for a better life.
Some strive to change their environment and improve the world around them. Those are the people others call leaders. But Jiang Hai wasn't one of them. He admitted it—he was just a salted fish. So he chose to go abroad.
Yet once overseas, he realized that life outside China wasn't as rosy as people back home believed.
Taxes were much higher than in China. Fruits and vegetables cost ten times more than the best produce back home. Life was harder. Standards weren't necessarily higher. Yes, foreign countries had their strengths—cheaper gasoline, cheaper cars, more affordable luxury goods, cleaner air, lower housing costs, and greater food safety.
But when compared to China, daily necessities there were significantly more expensive. In China, not only was food cheaper, but so were clothes and everyday items. The overall cost of living was far lower. Taxes were lighter. More income stayed in people's pockets. Plus, there was always a safety net for the underprivileged—something that couldn't be said for many countries abroad.
In the West, you pay for health insurance, so medical care is free—but only if you pay first. You contribute to unemployment insurance, and if you lose your job, the government might help you find another—but only within a time limit.
Most importantly, China is safe. At least there, you didn't have to worry about someone bursting out from the corner with an automatic rifle and turning you into a sieve. That kind of safety was priceless—and unmatched.
Take Ulan*, for example. It's certainly no better than China.
With Soviet troops stationed at the borders and the local government desperately trying to maintain order, the region remained divided. Pro-Western forces were pushing for alignment with Europe and America, creating a chaotic three-way power struggle. Though the place hadn't turned into outright ruins like some war-torn regions, panic simmered under the surface.
And when people panic, they do irrational things. Crime rises. Sensitivities spike. That was the current state of Ulan.
"Let's go. I value my life." Jiang Hai chuckled at Azarina's words and followed her out of the airport.
Just as they stepped outside, a black stretch Lincoln approached from down the street and came to a smooth stop in front of them.
A moment later, a tall Slavic man stepped down from the front passenger seat. He had sharp, chiseled features, a high nose bridge, and deep-set eyes—his entire demeanor was serious and stoic.
"You must be Mr. Jiang Hai. I'm the local liaison from Ukbo. My name is Kurolebaclena Vroganis Lishovkovsky. You may call me—"
Before the man could finish, Jiang Hai extended his hand.
"Hello, Mr. Kurole." He kept his voice calm, clearly uninterested in the man's full title.
Kurole clicked his tongue slightly. Cutting someone off like that wasn't considered polite in Ulan. Still, considering Jiang Hai was a Chinese-American with deep pockets, Kurole let it slide. He smiled, nodded, and led them into the car.
Once inside the Lincoln, Jiang Hai leaned toward Azarina and asked in a low voice,
"Isn't your organization called KGB? What's this Ukbo thing?"
Azarina looked over and explained softly, "Ah, there's some history there. The KGB originally evolved from the Cheka after the October Revolution. Its headquarters were first in Petrograd—now Saint Petersburg—and then moved to Moscow in 1920. It officially became the KGB in 1954. At its height, it rivaled Britain's MI6, America's CIA, and Israel's Mossad. But in 1991—well, you know what happened. Let's not go into detail or this might get censored.
"After that collapse, the KGB split. The largest branch became the Federal Security Service. Other segments were absorbed by the independent republics. What remains here in Ulan is their version of the KGB—abbreviated as Ukbo."
Jiang Hai nodded silently. He understood.
Soon, the car entered Kyiv. But the Kyiv Jiang Hai saw wasn't vibrant or blossoming like spring.
Though the grass was green and new leaves dotted the trees, the city streets felt hollow. As the capital, it should have been bustling—but hardly anyone was around. The few pedestrians they passed were mostly men. The legendary image of "Ulan's streets full of beauties" clearly didn't apply here.
Everyone moved quickly, cautiously giving the stretch Lincoln wide berth.
"When the nation prospers, the people suffer. When it declines, the people suffer too," Jiang Hai murmured, recalling an old saying. That was the only quote he remembered from school.
Before he could dwell too long, the car pulled up in front of a hotel.
It was clearly a local establishment, likely with government connections. Jiang Hai had never heard of it before, so it was clearly not part of a major chain.
After the vehicle stopped, a doorman took it to the underground garage, and Kurole led Jiang Hai and Azarina into the lobby. After a brief conversation with the receptionist, he handed Jiang Hai a room keycard.
"Sir, this is your suite key. My superior will visit later to discuss the auction scheduled for the day after tomorrow."
Kurole gave a polite nod and departed.
Jiang Hai and Azarina took their luggage and went upstairs on their own. No bellboy, no tipping opportunity.
As they exited the elevator, they immediately saw a group of people waiting. The leader was a short, rotund Western man—about 1.7 meters tall—with a hooked nose and a bald, Mediterranean scalp. His sharp gaze sized up Jiang Hai and Azarina briefly, but upon failing to recognize them, he looked away.
Four large bodyguards flanked him, each built like tanks, dressed in black suits and sunglasses. They stood still as statues.
Once Jiang Hai and Azarina had passed, the group entered the elevator and descended.
"Boss, don't leave my side while we're here. Not even for the bathroom," Azarina whispered, her tone serious.
"What's going on?" Jiang Hai frowned slightly.
"If I'm not mistaken," Azarina said under her breath, "that man was likely a Colombian drug lord. He's probably here to buy people. And if the chance to profit arises… well, he wouldn't mind a little side business either."
Jiang Hai's expression darkened slightly. It seemed the people coming here to "shop" weren't exactly saints. He nodded and followed Azarina to their room.
The suite was luxurious—about 230 square meters with a large bedroom, a guest room, a study, a lounge, and two bathrooms. Clearly, everyone on this floor had similar accommodations. People like this cared about appearances. It wouldn't do to have others in better rooms than themselves.
As they entered, Jiang Hai was about to speak when Azarina motioned for silence. She carefully searched every corner of the room and uncovered three small devices, no larger than watch batteries.
Even Jiang Hai recognized them—bugging devices.
"This place is really something..." Jiang Hai muttered as Azarina tossed the devices out the open window.
"They wouldn't dare harm you," she said with a faint smile as she returned. "You're Chinese and American. Unless someone's truly desperate, they wouldn't dare disrespect that."
Jiang Hai chuckled and pulled her into his lap.
"Fair point," he agreed.
After all, China and the former Soviet Union had long been close allies—despite their tensions, they were essentially on the same team. Pro-Soviet factions wouldn't harm a Chinese national. And being American only added an extra layer of protection.
Feeling relaxed, Jiang Hai gave her a playful pat. As long as neither side had a reason to target him, he was probably safe here.
"Hungry? Let's go eat something," Jiang Hai suggested.
"Sure," Azarina replied with a smile. She began packing. Before they left, she took several precautions: pulling out hairs and laying them across the windowsills, slipping paper into the vents, and placing more hairs at strategic points.
She gestured for Jiang Hai to leave first, did something at the door, and finally joined him downstairs.
Watching all this, Jiang Hai couldn't help but smile wryly. She really made him feel like he was in a spy movie.
Still, better safe than sorry.
Downstairs in the hotel restaurant, they saw the same fat man again. There were many guests with bodyguards, all keeping their distance from one another or staying in private rooms.
Jiang Hai and Azarina picked a quiet corner. After ordering, they ate quickly and returned upstairs to inspect the room again. Once Azarina confirmed everything was still secure, they finally settled in.
Truth be told, there was something thrilling about this kind of life.
After showering, Jiang Hai lounged in his bathrobe and watched TV. But just as he was getting comfortable, there was a knock at the door.
Azarina got up first and checked the peephole.
"It's Kurole… and another man. I'm guessing his boss," she said, glancing back at Jiang Hai.
Hearing that, Jiang Hai sat upright and adjusted his robe.
(To be continued.)