Chapter 1: You Call This a Vacation?

Beirut, capital of Lebanon.

"Headquarters, this is B2. I’ve just left the airport. Where do I go now?"

A rather unremarkable-looking Asian man, about one meter seventy-eight tall, glanced around in confusion as he spoke softly into his phone.

"Go to the embassy. Your vacation is waiting for you there," came a woman's languid voice from the other end of the line, sounding as if she’d just woken up.

"Who goes on vacation to Lebanon?" Zhang Liang muttered under his breath, exasperated. Who in their right mind would come to this godforsaken place for a holiday? Unless you wanted to see for yourself if Israeli artillery was as powerful as they say.

"Count yourself lucky. B1’s vacation spot is in Baghdad. Want me to switch you two?"

"Never mind, it’s all the same," Zhang Liang grumbled. As if Baghdad and Beirut were any different.

He hung up, resigned, and followed the directions on his map, hailing a cab to the Chinese embassy in the heart of Beirut.

"Hello, I have an appointment with Ambassador Han," Zhang Liang said to a nearby staff member after showing his credentials.

"Come with me."

The staffer, who wasn’t much for conversation, led Zhang Liang up to a room on the second floor. After a few knocks, a deep voice called from inside.

"Come in."

"Ambassador Han, your guest has arrived," the staffer announced quietly, nodding at Zhang Liang before leaving.

"Hello, Ambassador Han. I’m Zhang Liang."

"Here for your vacation?" Ambassador Han looked him over, a smile playing at his lips.

"Uh, yes, here for my vacation," Zhang Liang replied, putting extra emphasis on the last word. He really was supposed to be on leave—who knew what headquarters was thinking, sending him here on a whim!

As a covert operative in the Chinese Overseas Operations Group, he and B1 had just wrapped up a mission in Morocco. They’d both been promised a break—one ended up in Iraq, the other in Lebanon...

"Welcome, Zhang Liang. I hope you enjoy your stay in Lebanon," Ambassador Han said with a wry smile, then pressed his phone and summoned an assistant.

"You should get some rest. Your ‘companions’ will arrive tonight. I’ll have someone inform you when they do."

"Thank you, Ambassador Han," Zhang Liang replied, and followed the assistant up to a temporary lounge on the third floor.

"Would you like lunch?" the assistant, much younger and more cheerful than the other stern-faced staff Zhang Liang had seen, asked politely.

"Yes, please. I’m actually a bit hungry," Zhang Liang said gratefully. Airline food was never enough.

"Alright, but supplies are a little tight lately. Nothing fancy—just a boxed meal," the assistant said apologetically. But Zhang Liang wasn’t picky. After his years in the military, he’d eaten worse.

Fifteen minutes later, Zhang Liang was digging into his meal with focus, and decided to call the other unlucky soul.

"Hello, are the Iraqis as enthusiastic as you’d hoped?"

Distant gunfire crackled through the line. Zhang Liang struggled to keep a straight face.

"They’re very enthusiastic. Two groups of friendly Iraqis downstairs are currently greeting each other with AKs," came a calm but slightly irritable male voice.

"Looks like I’m the lucky one then. At least I’m sitting safely in the embassy having lunch," Zhang Liang said, amused—what else could you do when someone was worse off than you? Tease them, naturally.

"You’ll get yours. I’m hanging up," the other man replied, even more annoyed, and promptly ended the call before Zhang Liang could say more.

"As long as my luck’s better than yours..." Zhang Liang muttered, turning back to his meal.

The man on the other end was Zhen Ye. His name suggested a restless spirit, but in truth, he was calm and meticulous—the opposite of Zhang Liang.

Zhang Liang’s father had hoped he’d grow up to be a brilliant strategist like his namesake, but instead, he turned out lopsided, his brawn far outpacing his brains.

He’d joined the army because he’d become an infamous troublemaker back home—a classic cautionary tale. His family, unable to handle him, sent him off to the military, hoping it would straighten him out.

And it worked—the army took none of his nonsense, teaching this hard case a lesson or two. Still, Zhang Liang’s physical abilities were impressive. Special forces units liked such misfits, relishing the challenge of taming them. So he was assigned directly to a recon company.

He stayed in the military for seven years, including two and a half in a classified unit, until his current department came recruiting.

He only joined last year and hadn’t wanted the job, but experienced, exceptional operatives were in short supply. However they negotiated with his old unit, in the end, he had no choice but to come.

Zhen Ye had joined the year before, making him Zhang Liang’s senior. He too came from a classified unit, though he’d been recalled from retirement, not active service.

"Let’s hope this vacation isn’t too eventful," Zhang Liang sighed after his meal, lighting a cigarette and sinking into the sofa.

Their operations group wasn’t like those strict, rule-bound spy agencies. Their guiding principle was simple: eat when you want, drink when you like, as long as the mission didn’t suffer, do as you please.

After all, when their team was called in, it was always a matter of life and death.

Around six in the evening, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Even before the footsteps reached his room, Zhang Liang was already awake from his light doze.

"Hello, Ambassador Han asked me to let you know he’d like to see you," the staffer said.

"Alright, thank you," Zhang Liang replied. Looks like his ‘vacation’ had arrived.

He straightened his clothes and went down to Ambassador Han’s office without needing further guidance.

"Let me introduce you. This is Zhang Liang, your security officer for the trip," Ambassador Han said to the two people who had just stood up as he entered.

"These two are reporters from the main station. Your task is to ensure their safety during the assignment," Ambassador Han added, giving Zhang Liang a meaningful wink, as if to say, "Here’s your vacation."

"Hello, I’m Zhong Rong, and this is my cameraman, Kong Bailing," Zhong Rong said with a friendly handshake and smile to Zhang Liang, who was momentarily stunned.

Security in Lebanon was unpredictable, and the closer you got to the border, the worse it became. That’s why they’d assigned a military officer to protect them.

"Uh, hello," Zhang Liang replied quickly, nodding to both of them.

But inside, he was grumbling, perhaps even screaming:

"Dear family, does anyone understand? I didn’t sign up to be a babysitter!"