Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 51: Patient Zero (1)

Dragon Raja 4

A sky-blue plane streaked across the night sky, with the black sea below and a brilliantly lit city ahead.

A girl dressed in a flight attendant uniform hurried into the business class cabin, knelt before a sleeping young man, and shook his arm. “Mr. Lu! Mr. Lu Mingfei!”

Lu Mingfei woke up with a start, sitting up straight and blinking at the beautiful pair of gray-green eyes in front of him.

It was the prettiest flight attendant on the flight, clearly of Bavarian descent, with long golden hair braided around her head, a slender waist, and long legs. From the moment they boarded, this Bavarian girl had attracted the attention of many single male passengers, who kept asking her for small things, hoping for a chance to chat and maybe even get her number. Lu Mingfei had also glanced at her a few times, unable to resist, as he never had much immunity to beauty. The Bavarian girl had been polite to him but had not given him any special treatment just because he was in business class. Now, however, she was kneeling before him, her bright starry eyes gazing up at him, like a medieval servant waiting on a prince just awakened from a nap.

Who am I? Where am I? Where am I going? Lu Mingfei couldn’t help but ask himself the classic philosophical questions.

Just a moment ago, he felt like he was sailing on a vast ocean, sipping champagne and chatting with a little devil. Now, he was waking up on a flight, a bit of drool still at the corner of his mouth.

A moment later, his memory returned. He remembered that he was on a flight from Oslo to Rio de Janeiro, and the bright city spread between the mountains and the sea outside the window must be Rio. Frequent travelers often have this problem—jet lag messes with their memories. He glanced at his elegant world-time watch; the plane was delayed, as they should have landed half an hour ago.

“Mr. Lu, due to air traffic control, we have to circle for a while. We’ll need to trouble you to jump out with a parachute,” the Bavarian girl said gently but firmly.

She grabbed his hand with one hand and picked up his travel bag with the other, leading him toward the middle of the cabin. Lu Mingfei sighed softly as he walked past rows of male passengers, all casting envious and resentful looks his way.

The chief flight attendant had taped a cross on the cabin floor in the middle of the plane. The Bavarian girl positioned him on that mark while three other flight attendants helped him into a parachute.

Five gentle hands busied themselves around him, with the chief attendant straightening his collar and the Bavarian girl even pulling out a comb to tidy his hair.

“Could someone please explain what’s going on? Are you guys from the college or some associated organization? Don’t pretend with me—what kind of commercial flight carries parachutes? I paid full price for this business class ticket. You’re responsible for getting me safely to the airport,” Lu Mingfei whispered. “And what about my checked luggage? You’re asking me to jump out of the plane?”

“Your checked luggage will be sent to your hotel later. It’s just air traffic control that’s preventing us from landing on time, right? And you’ve got such urgent business to attend to—what’s a parachute jump for you? Heck, even jumping off a building wouldn’t be an issue for you!” The Bavarian girl whispered in fluent Chinese. “We’re not from any associated organization. We’re part of the college’s investment in this airline. Otherwise, how do you think you got a platinum card on your first flight with us?”

“If you have time after your business is done, feel free to give me a call.” The Bavarian girl slipped her business card into his pocket and patted his chest.

Lu Mingfei sighed, took out the card, and handed it back. “I dare not. If I make that call, EVA will definitely know.”

The chief attendant forcefully pulled the pressure valve, and the high-pressure airflow from the cabin blew Lu Mingfei out, along with the detached cabin door, into the brilliant night sky.

“Thank you for flying with us! Hermes Air looks forward to serving you again!” The flight crew’s crisp voices echoed above the clouds.

A white parachute bloomed in the night sky as Lu Mingfei floated over bustling streets, over brightly lit shantytowns, and through a landscape of fireworks, soaring as if riding the wind.

He vaguely remembered that in a dream, he had flown like this too, with an endless sea below and clouds swirling at the horizon.

It seemed like he’d read somewhere that dreams of flying symbolize insecurity, a reflection of feeling uncertain in life and being confused about the future. But how could he not feel uncertain? The schedule assigned by the Execution Bureau was packed to the brim. Sometimes he woke up in unfamiliar hotels, needing his phone to remind him what city he was in. And risking life and limb was the least of his worries. Stuff like getting pushed out of planes was just another day, with no regard for human decency.

Maybe this was what they called “the price of growing up.” As a child, he thought the future held many things to accomplish, but as an adult, he felt like everything was just about getting by.

The sparkling map of Rio de Janeiro grew larger beneath him. He pulled out his phone to check his location, floating lightly over Copacabana Beach, heading toward his destination.

The night sky was lit up by fireworks of all colors, and loud music filled the air. Floats paraded through the streets, with dancers atop them performing fiery samba routines. It was the annual Carnival, where tourists from all over the world gathered in Rio, wandering through the streets, drinking, flirting, and acting as if there were no tomorrow.

The parade was blocked from crossing a long street. Men with fierce expressions, carrying machetes, stood at the entrance, silently signaling for them to find another way.

The long street was eerily quiet, devoid of any festival atmosphere. On the rooftop of a white building nearby, a long dining table was set. A chef stood by the grill, and white-clad musicians were tuning their instruments. Locals called the white building the “Old Palace,” a former governor’s residence from the Portuguese colonial era, now a famous upscale restaurant. Tonight, someone had rented out the entire place but set only one table. Around it sat young women in feathered dance dresses and glittering high heels, their long, brown legs dusted with gold powder.

The only man at the table sat in the center—a small, thin figure with a pencil-thin mustache, wearing a colorful suit. His head was full of dreadlocks tied into a ponytail, and his fingers and neck were adorned with diamonds. His appearance made him look like a hip-hop artist, but the girls’ fearful gazes revealed his true nature.

Porquinho—his name was well-known in Rio. He controlled the city’s drug network. He had no nationality or ID, and no one knew his real name. He claimed he wanted to live as a happy little pig, so everyone called him Porquinho. Thirteen years ago, he had suddenly appeared in Rio de Janeiro, leading a group of brothers to overthrow the local Russian mafia, nailing the previous boss to a cross in a church. From then on, he ruled Rio’s underworld. Sometimes ruthless, sometimes humorous, generous to the poor, Porquinho was respected in both high society and the favelas. Even the police chief would visit him with gifts before taking office, hoping for his protection during their tenure.

A powerful man like Porquinho had a change of expression when he received a postcard three days ago. The postcard contained only a few words, stating that their representative would visit Rio de Janeiro in three days’ time and that he should set aside time for the meeting, posting the location on a designated notice board. The signature was a badge, with two dragons guarding a cruciform emblem.

That night, Porquinho got thoroughly drunk and then summoned his deputy. He said that in three nights, he would entertain an important guest on the top floor of the Old Palace, and no police should be present on the streets.

A light breeze swept the fallen leaves across the street. Occasionally, sharp gazes flickered from behind windows on both sides of the road. Despite being in the heart of a bustling international city, the atmosphere was somber and tense.

A tall, pretty girl stood at the entrance of the Old Palace, peering toward the end of the street. She wore a revealing samba dress and pink stockings, balanced on 15cm platform heels, with a large feathered tail trailing behind her like a standout flamingo. She was last year’s “Samba Princess,” the best dancer of the carnival. Many nightclubs had invited her to perform, but here at Porquinho’s place, she was merely a greeter. She vaguely guessed that an important figure would arrive tonight and knew there were dozens of eyes and gun barrels trained on the street from the shadows. Porquinho had summoned a group of renowned gunmen from all over, each armed with weapons capable of leveling the entire block.

The flamingo girl had brought a small handgun, hidden in her large tail. She kept touching the tail nervously, her palms sweating.

She was determined to make an impression tonight, whether on Porquinho or the unknown big shot. In Rio, there were countless girls with good looks, good figures, and the ability to dance samba. Talent alone wasn’t enough to stand out — you needed powerful backing. Brazil had a wide gap between rich and poor. If you didn’t fight for your future when you were young, you would end up living in the slums when you were old.

As she mentally rehearsed how to make a striking first impression, the most important being the first glance, she imagined showing off her best side profile and casting a seductive look. Then she would step forward to greet the man with a kiss — her skimpy outfit would likely make his bodyguards hesitate to stop her. Brazilian greeting customs didn’t usually involve skin contact, but the pheromone-laced perfume she had just sprayed would surely leave a strong impression…

At this point in her pink daydream, the flamingo girl suddenly felt a strong gust of wind above her head, blowing her skirt and tail feathers wildly.

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