Chen Yongren spent three years embedded with Han Chen, with gambling-den smoke caked beneath his fingernails, and he hadn't even laid a finger on the warehouse keys. Huang Zhicheng said that if he found out when the shipment was due, he'd arrange for him to retire. Chen pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and sneered. "You've said that exactly nine thousand and three times." This road through hell still has another stretch to go.
