"Master Zhi, come with me."
It was Jiang Zhi's man.
Su Qinghou stood with his hands behind his back, unresisting: Clink, clink, this Jiang Zhi, such a fox spirit.
Lin Yin Street was closed off, several cars had trapped an ambulance on the road.
George removed the woman's mask: "Mr. Zhi, it's not 011."
It was a decoy strategy.
Su Dingzhi's expression darkened as he faced Jiang Zhi, "Where are they?"
He leaned casually against the back of the ambulance, checking his wristwatch, "On a plane."
"You're playing me?"
"You bribed my people first, I bribed yours afterwards, so who's playing whom?" Jiang Zhi spoke calmly, "Mr. Su, even bandits should have principles."
Su Dingzhi had ruled over Pullman like a bandit for decades, indeed acting the part. But to have someone berate him to his face, calling him a bandit, Jiang Zhi was the first.
"What good does sending away 011 do you; you think you can just walk away?"
