At Ruili Airport, I waited for the flight with Zhao Kui, Xiao Mi, and Wang Gui. I called Xuan Ling to let her know I'd be in Myanmar for a few days and asked her to take care of my mother until I returned. She didn't say much, only reminding me to stay safe.
Setting aside my doubts and worries, I embarked on the journey to Yangon. No matter what lay ahead, the road had to be traveled. The future would reveal itself in time.
The flight to Yangon marked my first visit to Myanmar's former capital, a city known as the "City of Peace." Paradoxically, it's also the dazzling heart of the jade trade. Before the capital relocated, billions of dollars' worth of jadeite stones were traded here annually.
Upon landing, Yangon made a strong first impression. Though the city was somewhat chaotic, it was clean. The taxis on the roads were decrepit, mostly relics from Japan's 1970s car models. Instead of hailing one, I waited outside the airport for Mr. Wei's car.
After some time, Qian Lao Wu emerged from the airport's outer gates. We approached him without saying much and got into his car.
The vehicle—a battered Toyota SUV—reflected the city's rustic charm. As the car started and headed into the city, I glanced around, struck by the unfamiliar surroundings. Like many Southeast Asian countries, Myanmar had a significant Chinese population—over 2.5 million, with more than 300,000 in Yangon alone. Yet, Chinese script was noticeably absent from the city's streets and alleys.
Yangon, surrounded by water on three sides, could be described as a tropical seaside city of beauty. British colonial rule left behind a legacy of Western-style buildings that imparted an unusual and somewhat surreal atmosphere to the cityscape.
Eventually, the car arrived at a run-down alleyway. The moss-covered walls of the old buildings caught my eye. Qian Lao Wu remarked, "This is Chinatown in Yangon. We'll be staying here."
Looking around, I noticed the narrow alleys and dilapidated houses. The local Chinese community largely hailed from Fujian and Guangdong provinces, with Cantonese being the dominant dialect—one I couldn't understand.
After walking through the alley for a while, we reached a standalone building with a sign reading "Yunnan Barbecue" by the entrance. Inside, the smell of grilled food permeated the air. Two men greeted Qian Lao Wu, addressing him as "Brother Wu." He merely nodded and led us upstairs.
The upstairs environment was better than I expected—reminiscent of 1980s Kunming, albeit clean. On the third floor, he opened a sparse room with only a table and an old ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
The accommodations were simple: four small private rooms and an antiquated restroom. The beds were wooden frames, as rudimentary as the rest of the space.
Xiao Mi didn't seem to mind, collapsing on a tatami mat with an exhausted look. Meanwhile, Qian Lao Wu cursed under his breath, "That bastard Wei lives it up in Yangon's posh Royal Lake district, while I'm stuck in this mosquito-infested dump. Damn him..."
His frustration intrigued me. Why would Mr. Wei send Qian Lao Wu to pick me up if he didn't want Qian Guang to know I was here? It didn't add up. Perhaps Qian Lao Wu had been bought off.
I asked, "How are things progressing here?"
"This building cost me seven million yuan. The seller, an elderly Chinese expatriate, needed money to return to China, so I bought it. I've recruited over 30 local men who speak Chinese and opened a barbecue shop. Business is decent, but those damned Indians keep causing trouble. If I had a gun, I'd take care of them once and for all."
I frowned. "But Guang only gave you five million yuan."
His reaction was telling—a slight hesitation and furrowed brows.
"Was the extra two million from Wei? And you didn't inform Guang that I'm here, did you?" I pressed.
Swallowing hard, Qian Lao Wu appeared uneasy. I continued, "So, two million yuan was all it took for you to betray your brother?"
His expression darkened, but Xiao Mi intervened, laughing. "Well done, Lao Wu."
Qian Lao Wu retorted, "Zhao Fei, I know you have a good relationship with my brother. But stay out of our affairs, or else..."
Xiao Mi rose, patted his shoulder, and cradled his face with a smirk. "He won't interfere—he's on my side."
Qian Lao Wu glanced between us, his face clouded with suspicion. "I hope so..."
Their schemes and feuds didn't concern me. This volatile situation was a whirlpool, and my priority was to avoid being dragged into it.
"Did Wei strike any deals with you?" I asked.
"He told me to steer clear of his dealings with you in Myanmar and, in return, provided me with operating funds," Qian Lao Wu replied.
"No orders to go against your brother?"
He shook his head. "As long as I leave his matters alone, he leaves mine alone."
Standing by the window, I watched the bustling streets below. Wei was clever—his aim wasn't to confront Qian Guang but to draw me into his fold. He understood that directly opposing Qian Guang wasn't worth the risk. Wei wasn't about to gamble on Qian Lao Wu overthrowing his brother, recognizing that the latter lacked the capability to succeed.
"When will Wei arrive?" I asked.
"Tonight. The Myanmar Jade King is hosting a private jade gambling banquet at the Karaweik Palace by Inya Lake. Wei's people will come to escort you there."
Night fell, and the honking of car horns woke me. Wang Gui entered the room, announcing, "Brother Fei, Mr. Wei's men are here."
I got up and joined them downstairs, where a black Honda waited at the alley's entrance. Wei sat inside. Opening the car door, I joined him, while Wang Gui and Zhao Kui boarded a separate vehicle.
"Brother Zhao Fei, thank you for your efforts," Wei greeted me politely.
"It was nothing—direct flights make for an easy trip," I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
The car glided through the city, the scenery enchanting despite the pervasive darkness. Frequent blackouts left Yangon shrouded in gloom, its underdeveloped economy unable to ensure stable electricity supplies. Even so, the illuminated pagodas and temples shone brilliantly, their golden glow lending an air of mystery.
The car drove along a lakeside road, offering glimpses of Yangon's finest night views. In the distance, a grand, golden bird-shaped vessel floated on the water—the Karaweik Palace, resplendent in its opulence.
"This floating restaurant will host tonight's jade banquet," Wei explained, pointing to the majestic structure.
As we arrived at the parking lot, luxury vehicles filled the spaces. Exiting the car, we approached the glittering palace. At the entrance, armed guards in suits checked invitations. Only those with the proper credentials could enter.
Inside, the palace was a masterpiece of ethnic artistry. The architecture and decor vividly portrayed Myanmar's cultural essence, with red and gold dominating the color palette, symbolizing prosperity and peace.
To my astonishment, the banquet tables didn't feature food but jadeite stones. Rows upon rows of raw stones stretched across the hall—a true banquet of stones.