Chapter 147 — The Long-Awaited...

Sure enough, from the fifth issue onward the text in every issue was different—the two parties had evidently begun communicating in this cipher. In the fifth issue, it should have been the client's message: he had left the information and particulars of the man to be killed.

The target was named Zheng Shaopeng, chief dealer and senior consultant at Macau's Huawei Casino. He was something of a celebrity in Macau's gambling trade. As for the reason he was to be killed, the message said nothing—and that did not much matter anyway.

Yang Ce was not the sort consumed by a sense of justice, and being a killer himself, Yang Yongjin was hardly likely to go spoil a fellow tradesman's business. And this Zheng Shaopeng was surely no good bird either; a man in his position had no doubt ruined countless people in his time.

So Zheng Shaopeng's life or death was not worth a penny to him. What made Yang Ce curious was that this client should have used the cipher dictionary reserved for the assassin's trade.

That struck Yang Ce as very odd. Ordinary people would never use these ciphers, yet this man had done so with ease, which showed he knew the assassin's trade inside out—at the very least, he had friends among killers.

But if that were truly the case, then why go to the trouble of advertising in a magazine to hire one?

This was what roused Yang Ce's suspicions. And having grown suspicious, Yang Duoran did not dare delay: he phoned Fang Tian and told him everything he had seen and heard, along with all his analysis.

After all, old ginger is hotter than new. Yang Ce was still badly short of experience as a killer and no match for Fang Tian. Fang Tian listened to Yang Juehuan's account without saying much, and merely asked, "Which cipher was he using?"

"Cipher No. 99 in the dictionary," Yang Yanzhou said.

"No. 99? You're certain?" Fang Tian had been all detachment and indifference, but at the words "No. 99" he was instantly on alert.

"That's right, No. 99. Is something wrong with it?" Yang Mo asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Cipher No. 99 is not the common cipher of the assassin's world," Fang Tian said, suddenly anxious. "That one was invented by the Butterfly Family."

"The Butterfly Family?" Yang Minlan was hardly unfamiliar with the name—his training in Europe had taken place within the Butterfly Family itself.

"For now, do everything you can to find out who posted that message and how far matters have gone. I need to get in touch with an old friend of mine—this may not be as simple as it looks," Fang Tian said after a moment's brooding.

Yang Yongjin did not know what trickery lay behind it, but on hearing that this was not a cipher in general circulation, he too felt certain the matter was anything but simple. Not far from the coffee shop where Yang Ce sat, the window of a limited-edition Ferrari rolled slowly down. A somewhat gaunt man flicked out his cigarette butt, a cold smile flickering at the corner of his mouth: "With any luck, I can kill two birds with one stone this time." To be continued.

820. Following Up

820. Following Up. The last message had been posted by the client. He arranged with the hired killer that the next issue of the magazine would print where Zheng Shaopeng would be going that night, so the killer could seize the moment and make his move.

The magazine was typeset and printed several days in advance, but its release date was fixed beforehand. And a man like Zheng Shaopeng would have his daily schedule set well in advance, quite possibly days ahead.

So it was nothing strange that the client should know his movements beforehand. In itself this was a matter that concerned no one, but once Fang Tian explained it, it became a matter connected to him.

Yang Ce would not admit to being any son-in-law of the Butterfly Family, but it could not be denied that his standing, and Fang Tian's, in the assassin's world was bound up with the Butterfly Family.

Now that the business had turned strange and touched on the Butterfly Family, Yang Duoran was determined to get to the bottom of it. The crucial question now was when the next issue would come out, and just who were the people who had posted these two messages.

As for the identity of the person who posted the messages, Yang Ce in truth held out little hope. Anyone who chose this method to hire a killer wanted to conceal his identity—so how could such a man expose himself?

Yang Ce looked up the address of the magazine's publisher online. The magazine was run by a website called "Macau Street Shopping," with offices in a tower not far from where he was.

Yang Ce noted down the address, shut down the computer, and left the hotel. Below the hotel a long line of taxis was already waiting; he got into one and headed for the tower that housed the website.

Following the address he had written down, Yang Ce found the website's offices with ease. The operation looked sizable, occupying an entire floor of office space in the tower and divided into several departments.

Yang Ce made inquiries at the front desk and made his way to the editorial department of the magazine. He approached the editors in the guise of a reader. The editorial department had set up a separate reader feedback office, with dedicated editors in charge of it.

A magazine like this, devoted mainly to advertising, took its readers' opinions very seriously, for any reader might become a customer of the website or of the website's sponsors. So Yang Ce obtained a warm reception without any trouble at all.

"Good day to you, Mr. Wang, and welcome to our editorial office. Might I ask whether you have any comments or suggestions regarding our magazine?" A refined, gentle-mannered editor received Yang Ce. Naturally, Yang Ce had not used his real name here either, but had casually written down "Mr. Wang."

"It's like this. I've read several consecutive issues of your magazine, and I noticed that each issue contains a strange message." With that, Yang Ce picked up a magazine from the tea table, flipped to the page bearing the coded words, and pointed at it as he spoke to the editor.

"Oh, that." The editor wore a somewhat helpless, apologetic smile. "As for that, quite a few readers have already called in to ask about it, but you're the first to come in person. I'm truly sorry for the trouble it has caused you."

Yang Ce waved a hand and said, "No trouble at all, really. I'm simply curious. I'd like to know what exactly it is that gets printed there."

"To be honest, I'm not clear on that myself," the editor said with some embarrassment. "Certain of our magazine's advertising columns are flexible, offered to people who need to place short-term advertisements. This particular advertisement was requested by someone else. We don't know what it actually means, but they've already mailed in the advertising fee, and we can't very well refuse—after all, it doesn't violate any law."

"But who exactly is placing these things? I'm a rather curious sort, and I'd like to find the person who placed them and ask for an explanation." Yang Ce did his best to look harmless.

"Heh, the other party left no contact information, and we don't know their specific identity. Each issue's advertising fee and advertising content are sent to us by mail." The editor smiled apologetically. "You're not the first reader to ask about this. Many curious readers have wanted to get to the bottom of it, but it's probably just someone deliberately making fools of the public."

"I see." Yang Ce nodded. It was just as he had anticipated—these people would not show themselves. "By the way, I'd like to ask: is the message in each issue placed by the same person?"