In truth, Xu Ze remained a mystery in many ways.
Take his involvement in the world of fraud, for instance. He deliberately avoided domestic calls, instead opting to dial numbers in Myanmar—an inexplicable choice.
I clung to the waning clarity in my mind, trying to piece together any possible explanation: Perhaps, from the very start, the phone card I was using had been one of his "preys" sold online.
To him, this card could have been the perfect "trap card," or as it is known in the trade, a "zombie"—a card he could use to secretly extract the detailed information of the buyer, thereby executing his scams with precision.
Moreover, once the card was able to connect, it would mean the holder was in Myanmar. Should they fall victim to fraud, their chances of receiving help would be slim, leaving them isolated and vulnerable. Thus, his scam could unfold without any risk of failure.
Of course, there was another possibility.
Could it be that, deep within him, there remained a flicker of conscience? Perhaps, out of a sense of kinship, he simply could not bring himself to exploit his fellow countrymen?
While this possibility seemed remote, it was not entirely out of the question—perhaps.
If, by some stroke of luck, I managed to survive, I would certainly seek an opportunity to calmly confront him, to inquire and seek clarity—especially regarding the matter of his child. What truly happened?
How long had passed since then? Why had he still not returned my call? What had gone wrong?
In the suffocating darkness, suddenly, the phone's ringtone erupted violently.