Chapter 302 - Let's Get Started

That night, Qing Chen almost didn't catch a single wink of sleep. His mind wouldn't let him be at peace. Get to work, get to work, it whispered. But Feng Xuan was already asleep, cuddled next to him and was pillowed on his arm.

So all night, Qing Chen lay there in his small prison and thought about where he should start. He couldn't come up with anything. If there were clues on his back then he should've known about it years ago. One look at it, his mind came up with nothing.

It was almost morning when he closed his already burning eyes and then it was time to get to work.

"Still thinking about your tattoo?" Feng Xuan asked him while they were in the limousine to the hotel.

Qing Chen could feel the lines of the tattoo burning on his back. It had hurt when he got it. It had to be done in layers and took a few days before they were finished. Was it possible that it was hurting more now?

He flicked the newspaper that he was reading. "I'm not thinking about it," he denied. "I'm fine. I'll let Qing Lok and Wuming have a look at it and maybe we could start with something."

Qing Chen was thankful for the mountain of work that greeted him on his desk. Finally, something that would take his mind off his mother and the permanent reminder on his back that he had to do something.

He even planned to skip lunch but he didn't escape from Feng Xuan as she asked the kitchen to send a cart of food to them. They sat on the couch and began eating. It was evident that Feng Xuan was hungry as she slurped and did not even bother to use the utensils on some of the dished. She was eating with her fingers.

"Too much work?" he asked, stroking her back.

She shook her head. "Remind me not to take that much time off work. I have heaps of computations there. I feel like my brain is going to explode."

Feng Xuan ended their lunch with a loud burp that she did not even bother to apologize for and grinned at Qing Chen instead. She pressed a kiss on his lips before she left his office to return to her own.

Qing Chen immediately got up from his seat and back to his chair. His mind turned quiet again as he began working. This was a rare time that he was wishing that there was more to do, because as much as he wanted to find his mother—he actually did not want to find her.

He also wanted to believe that she was dead.

As much as he did not want to admit, he thought that he would react the same as Wuming if their mother was alive. He was going to be mad at her. What? Was their life not enough? Was three children not enough reason to stay? Did she fear for her life?

He shook his head, blocking the thoughts that kept on springing on him.

Wuming was right. What kind of mother was she if she left her children?

Was it possible that she left for the safety of their family? Why?! Wouldn't she get enough protection from the mafia? Was their father not enough proof that their family was untouchable?

Qing Chen pressed a hand against his temples, letting go of the folder that he was holding. He massaged his head. He was not going to be able to work like this.

He looked at the small clock on his desk. Five minutes, he said to himself. He was going to give himself five minutes to think about his mother and then he would get back to work.

Something from a movie… Qing Chen's mind whispered. Now he was cursing himself. He was not the kind of person who liked to sit around for a specific period of time with eyes trained on a screen. He hated watching movies. He hated the stillness.

Qing Chen stared at his computer then fired up his private connection—this way, not even the internet provider would be able to trace his searches.

He could not believe that he was doing it, but he asked the search engine: reasons to fake death.

He didn't expect something helpful, but the second result caught his eye: A faked death, also called a staged death and pseudocide, is a case in which an individual leaves evidence to suggest that they are dead to mislead others.

The next result did not help the anxiety that was building inside him: Faking your own death: How the Philippines became the...

He closed the window with the hot keys. He didn't want to read further. Everything just seemed to be pointing him in the right direction.

His five minutes was not yet even up but he grabbed the folder that he was reading and forced his mind to focus—hard enough that when he finished, his head was already aching. He pushed through the pile until it thinned and most of the folders were already in the 'done' pile.

He was about to get started on the priority pile for tomorrow when Feng Xuan opened his door. "Ready to go home?" she asked, her bag already slung on her elbow.

Qing Chen turned his seat and found that the sky was almost pitch black. "I think it's going to rain."

"Possibly," Feng Xuan answered. "Let's go?"

Qing Chen left a note on top of the folders for his secretary tomorrow, pulled the coat from his seat, and turned off his lamp. He pressed a kiss on his wife's cheek just before they went out.

In the elevator, he asked her, "Want to go on a detour?"

She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling his warmth. It had been a long day and her feet were killing her.

"Let's get started in finding my mother."