One Third Remaining Chapter Thirty-One: The Escape (Wishing everyone a Happy Spring Festival)

Some people are born in Rome, while others are born as beasts of burden. Han Yuan was dealt a poor hand in life—he lost his parents young and, in order to survive and care for his sister, wandered from city to city, enduring every hardship the world could offer. Eventually, he managed to find an easy job at a restaurant, but for his sister’s sake, he didn't keep it for long.

With every job, he learned a new skill. By now, Han Yuan couldn't think of anything he couldn't do—at the very least, there was no lock he couldn't open.

He glanced down at the man, stark naked, curled up in the cabinet under the detention center’s cafeteria kitchen. Han Yuan sneered, picked up a small knife from the table, grabbed the man’s bushy sideburns with one hand, and, wielding the knife with the other, sliced through them quickly, as if harvesting wheat in the fields at autumn. In no time, a heap of shaved-off whiskers gathered on the floor. Han Yuan felt his own stubble, pursed his lips, tossed the knife onto the table, and replaced it with a sharper, wide-bladed fruit knife, scraping his face clean bit by bit.

A few minutes later, Han Yuan, now dressed in a prison guard’s uniform, exited the cafeteria, donned a blue mask, pulled his cap low, and strode confidently toward the staff exit. At the gate, he exchanged nods with several guards coming on shift, then stepped out into the world. He lifted his gaze to the blazing sun, drew a deep breath of fresh air, stretched lazily, and made his way to a small delivery truck parked by the curb—one used to transport provisions to the detention center. Bending down as if to tie his shoe, he retrieved a slender wire from his sock, bent it a couple of times, and slid it into the keyhole. In less than four seconds, the door clicked open.

He jumped into the driver’s seat, closed the door, ducked down, and produced a small knife from his pocket. With practiced ease, he sliced through the ignition wires, then touched the exposed copper ends together. The engine roared to life. Sitting up, Han Yuan glanced through the rear window at the boxes of fruits and vegetables stacked in the back, a smirk of satisfaction curving his lips.

After driving the truck a fair distance from the detention center, Han Yuan pulled up in front of a restaurant, shed his uniform jacket and cap, and got out. He went around to the back, opened the cargo doors, and began meticulously checking the inventory.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from behind a box of apples. Han Yuan’s eyes darkened, and he frowned, his voice cold: “I’ll count to three. Come out on your own, or I’ll shut the doors and turn on the freezer. One, two…”

Before he got to three, a blond youth emerged from behind the box, hands raised, cheeks bulging with half-chewed apple, grinning sheepishly. “Boss… hang on, I’m coming out. I was just too hungry—haven’t eaten in days. I only meant to sneak a couple of apples, but then you closed the door before I could get out. It’s not that I’m greedy…”

Han Yuan sized the young man up, then, relieved, discreetly put away the knife. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Where did you get on? The detention center?”

The blond youth took another bite of apple, chewed and swallowed. “That’s right… Honestly, I was terrified—being so close to the cells, I was afraid you’d throw me straight in there if you caught me. But this hunger was killing me…”

A trace of melancholy flitted through Han Yuan’s eyes as he recalled the days when he and his sister barely scraped by. He sighed and waved a hand impatiently. “I’ll let you off this time. Now get lost—hurry!”

The blond grinned awkwardly and pretended to offer him the half-eaten apple. “Want the rest? Only took a few bites.”

“I’ll give you three more seconds. If you’re still here after that,” Han Yuan growled, “you won’t be leaving at all.”

“I’m gone, I’m gone…” the youth jumped down, chuckling. “Thanks, see you around if fate allows!”

Han Yuan turned his back, ignoring him, keeping a stern face as he finished counting and recording the inventory. Once done, he strode into the restaurant and headed for the cashier. Clearing his throat, he tapped on the counter and addressed the attendant behind it. “Hey, brother, do you guys need any fresh fruits and vegetables? I’ve got a truckload to spare—great prices, you’ll make a killing…”

The cashier lazily glanced up. “Where is it? How much do you have?”

“Two crates of carrots, thirty heads of cabbage, one crate of potatoes…” Han Yuan rattled off the inventory, gesturing outside. “The truck’s just out front. If you’re interested, I’ll unload it right now…”

“How much?” the cashier asked, bored.

“That’s easy,” Han Yuan said, spreading all five fingers. “Five hundred, and it’s all yours.”

The cashier perked up, slapped Han Yuan’s palm. “Deal!”

Han Yuan’s lips curled in a slight smile. He helped the cashier carry the goods inside, took the five hundred in cash, wiped the sweat from his brow. “That’s everything—so I’ll be off.”

The cashier waved him away, counting the goods and simultaneously dialing a number on his phone. “Hey, boss, I’ve bought the produce. Thirty cabbages, two crates of carrots, one crate of potatoes—cost me a thousand. They said it was on discount, and I drove a long way to get it… No, no trouble at all. Forget about a bonus, just reimburse me two hundred for gas…”

While the cashier was on the phone, Han Yuan took the opportunity to quietly swipe a work jacket with the restaurant’s logo from behind the counter. He strolled out to the parking lot, slipped into the jacket, checked the time on his watch, and waited patiently by the roadside.

One minute and thirty-seven seconds later, a sleek black luxury coupe pulled up. Han Yuan immediately put on his best professional smile and waved enthusiastically.

The car rolled to a halt beside him. The window lowered, revealing an elegantly dressed woman, her face weary. She glanced at Han Yuan. “Do you have Sichuan cuisine here?”

“We do, we do! Mapo tofu, spicy chicken, twice-cooked pork with hot peppers, mute rabbit stew…” Han Yuan rattled off a list of dishes, brimming with excitement. “Our Sichuan dishes are the most famous around—outstanding in color, aroma, and taste!”

The woman swallowed, switched off the engine, got out, and tossed Han Yuan the car keys. She rubbed her neck and shoulders. “Park the car for me… The food better be as good as you say, or I’ll file a complaint for false advertising.”

Han Yuan took the keys, gave a polite bow. “We won’t let you down. Enjoy your meal!”

The woman nodded lightly, her high heels clicking as she sashayed toward the restaurant entrance, swaying like a willow in the breeze.

Only after she entered did Han Yuan straighten up, slip into the driver’s seat of the luxury coupe, shut the door, take off the restaurant jacket, start the engine, and slam his foot on the gas. The car’s engine roared wildly, and he vanished down the road’s horizon.