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Chapter Text

Wu Suowei left his apartment in the middle of the night, cursing under his breath. He had run out of shampoo that morning and, in his rush, forgotten to buy some on the way home. It was a small nuisance, but enough to drive him to the convenience store just down the street.

The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that made every footstep echo louder than it should. He was halfway down the block when a sudden sting hit the side of his neck, sharp, precise. His breath caught in his throat.

Confusion flared. He tried to lift a hand, to speak, but the world was already tilting sideways. Darkness swallowed the edges of his vision, and before he could take another step, everything went black.

When Wu Suowei opened his eyes, the world felt wrong. His head throbbed, a dull, insistent pain radiating from the side of his neck. The floor beneath him was cold, stone or concrete, and the air smelled faintly of rust and damp. He tried to move, but his wrists didn’t obey, something bit into his skin. Rope.

Panic surged. His breaths came fast and uneven as his eyes darted through the dim light. Bare walls. A single door. A bulb overhead that flickered as if it might die any moment. He was alone. Or, at least, he thought so.

Then he heard it, footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Getting closer.

From the other side of the door, a man adjusted the gloves on his hands, listening to the ragged rhythm of Wu Suowei’s breathing echo through the cracks. The drug had worn off faster than expected; he hadn’t anticipated his target would wake this soon. Still, it didn’t matter. The ropes would hold.

He allowed himself a small smile, cold and sharp. Everything was proceeding as planned.

The door swung open, and a silhouette filled the frame, backlit by the harsh hallway light. A man stepped inside, gloved hands folded, as if crossing a threshold into a routine chore. He flicked the overhead bulb on with a practiced motion.

For a heartbeat he only saw the shape of a man, bound, blinking up at him. Then the light cut across Wu Suowei’s face, and something in the man’s posture snapped like a twig.

“Tsk!” 

The man took a step closer, scanning too quickly, Wu Suowei had an almost unfair kind of adorableness about him. His dark, tousled hair framed his face in a way that made him look effortlessly boyish, as though he’d just rolled out of bed and still managed to look good. But it was his eyes, big, round, and doe-like, that stole all attention. They held a softness, a wide-eyed sincerity that made even the simplest glance feel disarmingly innocent. He had a picture in his hand, a face in a file, but the face on the floor didn’t match the grainy photo, the way it should have. Different angle of the cheekbones. Different mole. He flipped the photo in the light; the edges trembled.

“Gang Zi!” the man shouted, and the door opened with a bang.

“Boss Cheng!”

“What is it?”

“Send him back.”

“What?!”

The man—Chi Cheng, slapped the photo into Gang Zi’s face, and he scrambled to get it. His eyes darted between the paper and the young man on the floor.

“That’s not him.” Chi Cheng’s voice was sharp. “Look properly. Does this face—” he jabbed a finger at the photo “—look like that one?”

Gang Zi blinked, then turned his head toward the young man. The boy’s wide, doe-like eyes blinked back at him, soft and uncertain, lashes trembling as if he might cry at being caught up in something he didn’t understand.

Gang Zi froze. “Oh”

Wu Suowei watched silently as the men argued, shoulders drawn in tight. His lips parted, a faint pout forming, as if the words were too shy to leave him.

“Uhm… I—I think…” he whispered, voice small and trembling, “you got the wrong person…”

His gaze lifted, wide and shimmering, so innocent and guileless that it struck straight through the air like a soft arrow. Even Gang Zi, who had manhandled more than his share of people without blinking, felt his chest pinch with guilt under those eyes.

Chi Cheng, mid-lecture, stilled. He turned slowly, narrowing his eyes at Wu Suowei, but the effect was ruined the instant the boy blinked up at him, lashes trembling, pout still in place. And that fucking adorable doe eyes.

Gang Zi coughed awkwardly, shuffling his feet. “Boss, maybe he’s right. Doesn’t—doesn’t really look like the guy in the photo, does he?”

Wu Suowei’s fingers fidgeted in his lap, voice no louder than a breeze. “I’m good at household chores and stuffs, not, whatever this is”

Chi Cheng dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “For heaven’s sake. Of all the mistakes…”

“Tsk”

Chi Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. “You idiots dragged me the wrong guy. Let him go before those eyes curse us all.”

The young man blinked up at him, relief flooding his expression, his big brown eyes shimmering like a startled deer set free. So innocent.

“You idiot,” Chi Cheng said under his breath, furious at whoever had greenlit the job. He crouched until he was level with Wu Suowei, eyes darting for some definitive confirmation, name tag, tattoo, anything. His stare burned, demanding answers.

“What’s your name?” he demanded, voice low but sharp.

Wu Suowei froze, pulse hammering in his ears. His lips parted, then closed again, like a fish gasping for air. He could lie, but what if they already knew? He could tell the truth, but what if that sealed his fate? His throat worked, dry and tight.

“Wu… Wu Suowei,” he whispered at last, the syllables trembling out of him.

Chi Cheng’s brow furrowed. He leaned back slightly, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He muttered a curse so soft it was almost swallowed by the warehouse walls, then stood abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair.

Gang Zi hovered, shifting uneasily. “Boss?”

Chi Cheng snapped his gaze toward him, eyes flashing. “Shut up. Don’t say a word.” His hand clenched around the rope binding Wu Suowei’s wrists, then loosened, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to hold on or cut it loose.

Wu Suowei dared a tiny glance up at him, eyes wide, uncertain, hopeful.

For a fleeting second, Chi Cheng almost cursed again, not at his men, not at the botched job, but at the way those innocent doe eyes made him feel like the villain in a story he hadn’t meant to write.

“Damn it,” he muttered, jerking the rope to force Wu Suowei to his feet. “You’re coming with me until I sort this out.”

Gang Zi hovered a step behind, guilt practically dripping from his shoulders. His eyes darted to Wu Suowei’s bowed head, then back to his boss. “Boss Cheng… should I—should I call the others off? If this isn’t him—”

Chi Cheng shot him a glare over his shoulder, sharp enough to cut. “Shut it. We don’t release anyone until I say so. Mistake or not, he’s already seen too much.”

Wu Suowei’s stomach dropped. Seen too much? He wanted to protest, wanted to cry out that he hadn’t seen anything except a dingy warehouse wall and the faces of men who looked more confused than threatening. But his throat tightened, the words strangled before they could form.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, timid and trembling, “I—I really don’t know what you think I did.” His doe eyes lifted again, desperate but unblinking.

For the briefest moment, Chi Cheng’s jaw clenched, as if he had to wrestle down the pang of guilt that flickered through him. His grip on the rope faltered, tightening again as if to remind himself to stay firm.

“Quiet,” he snapped, but the harshness rang hollow now.

Gang Zi blinked in surprise. “Boss, we’re keeping him? But—”

Chi Cheng’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “Do you see his face? That’s not our target. Because somebody took the wrong guy.” His voice was low, seething, but firm. He tugged Wu Suowei closer, forcing him half behind his broad frame like a shield he refused to admit he was offering.

Gang Zi hesitated. “So, we let him go?”

Wu Suowei’s heart leapt at the words, his lips parting in a tiny gasp of hope.

“No,” Chi Cheng snapped, killing the moment. His eyes flicked down at Wu Suowei, then back at his men. “If he walks out now and starts talking, the whole damn city will know we botched this. He stays with me until I figure out who screwed up.”

Wu Suowei’s shoulders slumped, but not from despair. Oddly enough, a thread of relief seeped into him. For reasons, he couldn’t explain, being dragged along by Chi Cheng felt safer than being left behind with the others.

“Boss…” Gang Zi started again, but Chi Cheng cut him off with a snarl.

“One more word, and you’ll be the one tied up instead of him.”

Gang Zi shut his mouth instantly.

Chi Cheng turned back to Wu Suowei, their eyes met. His voice dropped, rough and quiet, meant for Wu Suowei alone.

“Listen to me, Wu Suowei. You don’t talk. You don’t run. You stay where I put you, and maybe, just maybe, you walk out of this alive. Understand?”

Wu Suowei nodded quickly, eyes wide, throat too tight to form words.

For the first time, Chi Cheng sighed, not in anger, but in something dangerously close to resignation. “Damn it all,” he muttered again, hauling Wu Suowei gently but firmly to his feet.

And just like that, the wrong man became his responsibility.

Chapter Text

The night air was sharp as Chi Cheng tugged Wu Suowei toward the waiting black car. His grip on the rope was firm but not cruel, more like a leash he refused to let go of. Wu Suowei’s steps were unsteady, shoes scraping against the concrete, but Chi Cheng adjusted his pace without a word, guiding rather than dragging.

When they reached the sleek vehicle, Gang Zi was already holding the keys, his expression uncertain. “Boss… you sure?” he asked in a whisper that carried anyway.

Chi Cheng shot him a look that silenced every doubt. With one hand, he yanked the back door open, the motion brisk and authoritative. But what followed left every man on the lot staring.

He bent slightly, his hand lifting, not to shove Wu Suowei inside, but to hover above his head, shielding him from the doorframe. “Careful,” Chi Cheng muttered under his breath. His tone was so soft, so strangely protective, it almost didn’t sound like him at all.

Wu Suowei blinked up at him, doe eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. He ducked into the car obediently, almost shyly, the ghost of a pout still clinging to his mouth.

Around them, the crew froze. Not one of them spoke, though their disbelief was written across every face. Their boss, who would sooner break a man’s jaw than spare a word of comfort, was… protecting this stranger.

Gang Zi’s jaw went slack. One of the younger men muttered, “Did Boss Cheng just—” before Chi Cheng’s icy glare sliced through him like a blade. The words died instantly.

Chi Cheng straightened, shutting the door with a sharp thunk, his hand lingering on the roof for a beat longer than necessary. His expression had hardened back to stone, but the image of his small act lingered, impossible to ignore.

“Get in,” he barked to the others, climbing into the car himself. “And not a damn word from any of you.”

The engine hummed to life, low and steady, filling the silence that no one dared break. The car eased out of the warehouse lot, headlights cutting through the darkness of the empty streets.

Wu Suowei sat stiffly in the back seat, the rope still snug around his wrists, but Chi Cheng had adjusted it just enough that it no longer bit into his skin. It wasn’t freedom, but it wasn’t cruelty either. He sat pressed against the door, every muscle taut, yet his wide doe eyes kept sneaking glances at the man beside him.

Chi Cheng leaned back, one arm draped casually over the seat, but his posture was deceptive. The weight of his gaze was constant, steady on Wu Suowei, as if daring him to try and bolt, even though they both knew there was nowhere to run.

Gang Zi, who’s driving, watch with nervous glances through the rearview mirror. Didn’t dare to make a sound, the silence so unnatural it made every creak of the car sound louder.

Wu swallowed hard, finally whispering, “You—you really have the wrong person.” His voice trembled, so small against the hum of the road.

Chi Cheng’s jaw twitched, the muscle feathering as his gaze flicked toward him. He didn’t answer immediately, only let the silence stretch until Wu Suowei felt his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Finally, in a low voice meant only for him, Chi Cheng muttered, “I know.”

Wu Suowei’s lips parted, stunned. He blinked, his doe eyes softening, confusion written across every line of his face.

And still, Chi Cheng didn’t look away. The car was quiet, but the weight of that single admission pressed heavier than chains.

Wu Suowei’s fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap, the rope fibers scratching against his skin. His chest rose and fell quickly, each breath shallow but steadying as he forced himself to whisper, “Then… why are you still keeping me?”

The words were so soft they nearly drowned in the hum of the tires against the asphalt.

Chi Cheng’s gaze flicked to him again, sharp and unreadable, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back, eyes closing briefly, as if even looking at Wu was dangerous.

Inside, his thoughts churned. Because letting you go would make me look weak. Because my men need to see I’m in control. Because I can’t have rumors spreading that Chi Cheng kidnapped the wrong man and then folded like a coward.

But underneath all that, another truth gnawed at him, raw and unwelcome. Because when you looked at me with those eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to throw you away.

Wu Suowei shifted uneasily, his doe-eyed gaze never leaving Chi Cheng’s profile, searching for some hint of humanity behind the cold exterior. The silence stretched, unbearable, until Chi Cheng finally muttered, his voice rough and low, “Because it’s safer this way. For both of us.”

Wu Suowei blinked, lips parting as if to question him further, but the weight in Chi Cheng’s tone crushed the words in his throat.

The car rolled on in silence, but the air between them was charged, fragile, like a wire pulled too tight.

The car finally slowed, leaving the noise of the city behind as it wound through a private road lined with tall, shadowy trees. Wu Suowei’s breath caught when the iron gates came into view, tall, intricate, flanked by stone lions whose eyes gleamed under the floodlights. Beyond them stretched a sprawling estate, its windows glowing faintly against the night.

A mansion.

The car rolled up the long drive, crunching gravel beneath its tires, until it stopped before wide marble steps that led up to double doors of carved wood. Gang Zi in the driver seat kept silent, but Wu Suowei could feel their eyes flick toward him in the rearview mirror, as though wondering why their boss had dragged this trembling stranger here, of all places.

Chi Cheng stepped out first, his coat catching the breeze, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the mansion’s glow. He circled to Wu Suowei’s side, opened the door, and once again lifted his hand, palm hovering to shield Wu Suowei’s head.

“Careful,” he muttered, quiet but unmistakable.

Wu Suowei’s heart skipped. He ducked out obediently, his wrists bound, his small frame dwarfed by the grandeur of the estate. The marble beneath his shoes was cold, and the air smelled faintly of pine and expensive cologne.

Inside, the mansion was nothing short of breathtaking, polished floors that gleamed like mirrors, chandeliers casting golden light across high ceilings, dark leather furniture that looked too perfect to sit on. Everything was elegant, precise, and intimidating.

Chi Cheng led him across the vast entryway, his grip on the rope more a guide than a restraint, and ushered him into a sitting room that looked like something out of a magazine, velvet couches, glass tables, and a wall of bookshelves that reached the ceiling.

“Sit,” Chi Cheng ordered, gesturing to one of the couches.

Wu Suowei obeyed, seating into the plush cushion, his wide doe eyes darting around the lavish room before landing nervously back on Chi Cheng. His lips parted, trembling, as he whispered, “You… brought me here? Why?”

Chi Cheng dropped into the armchair opposite, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his lighter. Smoke curled upward, soft and lazy, but his eyes on Wu Suowei were anything but.

“This isn’t about the mistake anymore,” he said flatly, voice low and rough. “It’s about control.”

But even as he said it, a flicker of something else crossed his gaze, something he couldn’t name.

Wu Suowei sank into the couch, the velvet cushion enveloping him like a gentle embrace. He almost forgot his wrists were tied, the material so soft beneath him, it felt wrong to sit there in fear. The chandelier above spilled golden light across the room, warm and steady, and the faint crackle of a fireplace in the corner chased away the chill of the night.

It didn’t feel like a cage. Not at all. For a fleeting moment, it felt like stepping into a place meant to keep him safe.

He shifted, his wide, doe-like eyes drifting over the room. The bookshelves were lined with worn spines, the glass table caught the flicker of the firelight, and the space was filled with details that were expensive yet lived-in. This wasn’t just power. Somehow, it felt… like home.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Across from him, Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. His gaze was steady, sharp, but not cruel. It was as if he were studying Wu Suowei the way one might study a puzzle they didn’t quite know how to solve.

Wu Suowei swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. “It… doesn’t feel like I’m supposed to be scared here.”

For the first time that night, Chi Cheng’s mouth twitched, not into a smile, but into something softer, almost imperceptible. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, eyes narrowing as if the words had struck too close.

“Maybe you’re not,” he muttered.

Wu Suowei blinked, startled, his heart stumbling over itself at the quiet admission. He ducked his head, cheeks warming, the ropes on his wrists suddenly feeling less like shackles and more like a fragile thread holding him in place.

The silence stretched for a moment, and Wu Suowei sat stiffly on the couch, unsure whether to move or even breathe.

Then Chi Cheng’s phone buzzed. He let out a low sigh through his nose and answered without glancing at the caller ID, his movements casual yet precise.

“What.”

The voice on the other end practically sang through the line, bright and mocking.

“Ahahahaha—Boss Chi! You! You dragged home the wrong man?!”

Wu Suowei blinked, straining to catch every word. Despite the quiet stillness of the room, the conversation on the other line came through clearly, each syllable sharp and unmistakable. The silence around him only made the voices feel louder, more intrusive, pressing against his nerves.

Chi Cheng’s temple twitched. “Guo Chengyu.”

“Don’t sound so cold. I just wanted to congratulate you. All these years in the business, and still, no one kidnaps the wrong target with such… flair. A true talent.” Guo Chengyu’s laughter rang out, loud and obnoxious. “Tell me—did you at least scare him properly? Poor guy must think he owes you ransom money now, ha!”

Wu Suowei sat up straighter.

Chi Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling smoke like a dragon about to lose control. “I should have left you in that gutter ten years ago.”

“Oh, come on,” Guo Chengyu wheezed between laughs. “This is gold! Do you know how many people would pay to watch the great Chi Cheng babysit some random guy? What’s next, you're going to tuck him into bed with warm milk?”

Wu Suowei’s ears burned red, caught between indignation and mortification.

Chi Cheng’s tone dropped, flat and murderous. “Hang up, or I’ll make sure your next laugh is from inside a coffin.”

But Guo Chengyu only cackled harder. “I’m saving this story for your wedding toast, old friend! Don’t break your new toy before then.”

Click.

Chi Cheng ended the call with such force the silence afterward cracked like thunder. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, as if pretending the conversation hadn’t happened.

Silence returned. Wu Suowei raised an eyebrow. “… So even your friend thinks you’re an idiot?”

Chi Cheng’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a knife. “Say that again.”

But Wu Suowei only smirked, a flicker of confidence peeking through his fear.

Chi Cheng stood and flicked his cigarette into the black square ashtray, his movements deliberate and precise. Each step he took carried the weight of someone who owned the room, a presence that demanded attention without effort. He moved like a predator circling fresh prey, no need to chase, only to close the distance.

Wu Suowei’s breath caught. His wide doe-eyes followed every step, body stiff, unsure whether to flinch or bolt. His wrists twitched against the rope, a useless reflex, and the faintest pout tugged at his lips, making his fear all the more disarming.

Chi Cheng’s gaze dropped, not missing the subtle tremor in Wu Suowei’s shoulders. He exhaled through his nose, low and controlled, before crouching down again, so close their shadows overlapped.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, though his voice had lost the hard edge.

Chi Cheng’s hand shot out, snagging Wu Suowei’s bound wrists. His rough fingers tightened around them, tugging with a firm, unyielding force that pulled Wu Suowei closer.

Wu Suowei gasped, his face brushing against Chi Cheng’s chest, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.

Chi Cheng didn’t let go, instead pulling back slightly. With his free hand, he drew a knife from his belt, the blade catching the light with a cold, metallic gleam. Wu Suowei’s heart thudded violently, panic coiling in his throat as the knife hovered near, so near he could feel the air itself shift around it.

“Stop squirming,” Chi Cheng growled, voice low and dangerous. He pressed the flat of the blade against the rope, sawing through it slowly, deliberately, as though savoring every second of Wu Suowei’s trembling.

The rope snapped with a sharp crack. Chi Cheng tossed it aside but didn’t release Wu Suowei’s wrist, his grip tightening. His lips curved into a smirk that hovered somewhere between amusement and warning.

Without warning, Chi Cheng shoved Wu Suowei onto the couch, forcing him onto his back. One hand pinned Wu Suowei’s wrist firmly above his head, holding him in place with effortless strength.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice low and unyielding.

Chi Cheng leaned closer, his smirk deepening. “Struggling won’t help,” he murmured, his voice low and threaded with amusement. His thumb brushed lightly against Wu Suowei’s cheek, just enough to make him shiver. “But I have to admit… I like it when you try.”

Wu Suowei swallowed hard, heat rising to his cheeks, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange pull of Chi Cheng’s presence.

Wu Suowei’s panicked flail sent one knee shooting upward, right into Chi Cheng’s stomach. Chi Cheng grunted, doubling over, a hand flying to his midsection as he staggered back.

Wu Suowei froze, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t mean to!” he stammered, face heating with embarrassment.

Chi Cheng’s smirk wavered into a laugh, sharp but amused. “Careful,” he said between chuckles, “or I might start thinking you’re trying to fight back.”

Wu Suowei blinked, flustered, caught somewhere between panic, embarrassment, and the strange pull Chi Cheng always seemed to have on him. The tension in the room shifted slightly, now mingled with an almost dangerous amusement, and Wu Suowei realized just how close he was to Chi Cheng, too close to easily step away.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the city was just waking, streets glimmering under the soft gold of sunrise. Chi Cheng stood at the edge of his courtyard, hands behind his back, eyes sharp as ever. His men waited silently, each one alert and disciplined.

Wu Suowei, still rubbing his sore wrists, shuffled behind them, trying to keep pace without drawing attention to himself. Chi Cheng’s gaze flicked toward him for the briefest moment, and though his expression remained neutral, a faint tension lingered in his jaw.

Tsk, still rubbing his wrist. So delicate.

“Drop him off at his apartment,” Chi Cheng ordered, his voice steady, betraying none of the reluctance he felt. His men nodded immediately, moving into formation.

By the time they reached Wu Suowei’s building, the sun had climbed higher, casting long reflections across the glass doors. Chi Cheng’s men let him down quietly, and Wu Suowei stepped inside, glancing back once. 

Wu Suowei’s heart skipped. “I… thank you?” he said hesitantly, unsure how to respond to the gesture, especially when Chi Cheng gave no hint that it was even meant as one.

Chi Cheng gave a curt nod and turned away, stepping toward his waiting vehicle, but Wu Suowei’s hand shot out and caught his. Chi Cheng paused and glanced back, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Around them, everyone watched like hawks, expecting something to happen, but nothing.

“What is it?” Chi Cheng asked, his tone calm but edged with curiosity.

Wu Suowei’s wide, doe-like eyes met his, full of something between awe and nervousness. “Uhm… can you tell me your name?” he asked, voice small and hesitant.

Chi Cheng’s chest tightened ever so slightly, though he kept his expression smooth. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if reconsidering whether to answer. Wu Suowei blinked his doe eyes up at him, waiting.

Fuck

For a long moment, nothing happened. Wu Suowei was about to pull his hand back, embarrassed by the situation, when Chi Cheng’s grip tightened, holding him in place.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate. “Chi Cheng,” he said, each syllable measured, carrying a weight that made Wu Suowei’s chest tighten.

Wu Suowei’s eyes widened, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks. The name lingered between them, simple yet charged, leaving a trace of something unspoken in the air.

Chi Cheng released his hand just slightly, enough to let him breathe, but not enough to break the tension. Wu Suowei’s pulse raced, caught somewhere between relief and a strange, unnameable anticipation.

Wu Suowei’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile. “Hmm… Chi Cheng, Chi Cheng,” he murmured, letting the name roll off his tongue. “I like it.”

Chi Cheng’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile, sharp and confident. It was the kind of smile that made his crew gape, frozen in place, unsure whether to respect the moment or avert their eyes.

Wu Suowei felt his chest tighten at the sight, a mix of awe and something warmer he couldn’t name. Chi Cheng’s gaze met his for just a heartbeat longer before he finally stepped back onto the vehicle, letting the world reclaim him, but the smile lingered in Wu Suowei’s Memory, leaving its mark long after he disappeared from view.

Wu Suowei watched as the car disappeared around the corner. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The apartment was quiet, familiar, and yet it felt emptier than usual, Chi Cheng’s absence making the space feel heavier than it should.

Huh, weird. He really let go of me just like that?

Wu Suowei began pacing the small living room, each step echoing softly against the floor, running a hand through his hair as the disbelief settled in. His mind replayed the night over and over, the shove onto the couch, the teasing smirk, the brush of Chi Cheng’s thumb against his cheek. He could still feel the phantom weight of Chi Cheng’s presence pressing down on him, making his chest tighten. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or frustrated, and the confusion left a strange, hollow ache in his chest.

He stopped at the window, staring out at the city bathed in morning light. Part of him wanted to shove the thoughts away, to tell himself it was just a fleeting encounter. But another, quieter part of him couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it had been for Chi Cheng to dominate the room, and him.

Wu Suowei let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Why does he… why do I…” His voice trailed off, swallowed by the quiet apartment. He shook his head, pressing his palms to his eyes.

For the first time, he realized that relief and agitation could exist side by side. And with Chi Cheng, that contradiction didn’t just linger—it clung.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head as if to clear it, but the thought lingered stubbornly. For the first time in a long while, Wu Suowei realized he didn’t entirely want the tension between them to end.

—

Chi Cheng watched from a distance as his men drove away, the morning sun glinting off the edges of his coat. He said nothing, gave no sign that letting Wu Suowei go had been anything other than routine. In truth, it had taken more restraint than he cared to admit.

The thought of leaving him behind, alone, vulnerable, unsettled, lingered longer than he expected. Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something almost imperceptible passing over his features. He had chosen to leave, yes, but not without leaving his mark. That mix of tension and curiosity, fear and fascination, was exactly what he wanted Wu Suowei to feel.

Chi Cheng turned away from the street, slipping into the shadows of the city, his expression unreadable. Whatever Wu Suowei thought of him now, it didn’t matter. Not yet.

He would let the seed grow, let Wu Suowei stew in it. And when the time came, Chi Cheng would return, not as a gesture of mercy, but because some things were far too dangerous to leave unresolved.

—

Wu Suowei grabbed his coat without a second thought, leaving his apartment door swinging lightly behind him. His mind was a jumble of thoughts he couldn’t focus on, his work forgotten, emails unread, deadlines ignored. Everything else felt meaningless compared to the residual weight of Chi Cheng’s presence.

He stepped into the sunlight, squinting against the brightness, and started walking briskly. The streets of the neighborhood were waking up, vendors arranging their stalls, and the hum of morning traffic filling the air, but Wu Suowei barely noticed. He knew exactly where he was going.

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s clinic wasn’t far, just a few blocks down, its small green awning a comforting sight. Wu Suowei pushed the door open and was immediately greeted by the familiar scent of antiseptic and something sterile.

“Wu Suowei!” Jiang Xiaoshuai’s cheerful voice rang out from behind his desk. “What brings you here this early?”

Wu Suowei sank into a chair, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “I… don’t even know. I just… needed to get out of my apartment,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. His eyes drifted toward the window, toward the street outside, as though hoping Chi Cheng might appear in the crowd, but of course, he didn’t.

Jiang Xiaoshuai raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Rough night?” he asked lightly, pouring two cups of tea. Wu Suowei accepted one with a grateful nod, letting the warmth seep into his palms as he tried to settle the whirlwind in his head. He kept sighing over and over again.

Jiang Xiaoshuai had enough. With a sharp motion, he slammed his own cup onto the table, the clatter startling Wu Suowei out of his spiraling thoughts. “Enough with the sighing!” Jiang Xiaoshuai exclaimed, eyes narrowing, but his voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern. “You’re going to drown yourself in it if you keep stewing like this. Talk to me!”

Wu Suowei glanced around, as if checking no one else could hear, though the clinic was empty. “It’s complicated,” he muttered, swirling the tea in his cup. “Some things you can’t just… explain.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned back, crossing his arms but keeping his gaze firm. “Then start with something. Anything. Stop letting it sit in your chest like a weight. Otherwise, you’re never going to sort it out.”

Wu Suowei let the words sit with him. He wasn’t ready to open up fully, but just being here, away from his apartment, away from the lingering weight of Chi Cheng, gave him a small measure of relief. He sipped his tea again and allowed himself to relax, if only slightly, in the familiarity of his friend’s presence.

Wu Suowei set his cup down and rubbed at his temples. “It’s just… everything feels off,” he admitted, his voice quiet but tight with frustration. “I can’t focus on anything else. And I keep thinking about him, even when I don’t want to.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. “Him?” he asked, curiosity reached its peak.

Wu Suowei froze, his fingers still pressed against his temples. For a second he regretted letting the words slip, but Jiang Xiaoshuai’s expectant stare left no room to dodge.

“Him?” Jiang prompted again, leaning forward, his grin half-teasing, half-prying. “Go on, spill.”

Wu Suowei shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Chi Cheng,” he muttered at last, his voice tight with reluctance.

Jiang Xiaoshuai blinked, then sat up straighter. “Chi Cheng? That Chi Cheng? What do you mean? The one who has half the city scared to cross him?”

Wu Suowei squinted at his cup, frowning. “Wait… you’re saying that Chi Cheng? The mafia one?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai stared at him like he’d just grown a second head. “What do you mean ‘the mafia one’? How many Chi Cheng's do you think there are walking around with men in black suits at their beck and call?”

Wu Suowei blinked, lips parting as if to argue, then faltered. “I don’t know, maybe… two?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Like… one regular Chi Cheng and one scary mafia Chi Cheng? Could be a coincidence.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “You really are an idiot sometimes.”

“I mean, he never said he was a mafia boss,” Wu Suowei argued weakly, shoulders hunching. “He just… glared a lot. And… okay, maybe he had a dozen guys driving black cars, but that doesn’t automatically mean mafia, right?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he wouldn’t. Who the hell goes around introducing themselves as a mafia boss? ‘Hello, nice to meet you, I extort businesses and run the underworld’—are you listening to yourself? Your innocence sometimes makes my head hurt.”

Wu Suowei shrank a little, muttering, “Well, you don’t have to say it like that.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai gave him a long, flat look, his patience thinning. “Wu Suowei. It’s him. The Chi Cheng. And you’re sitting here sighing about him like a lovesick fool.”

Wu Suowei opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. His ears went pink. “I am not sighing,” he said quickly, glaring into his tea.

Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes narrowing. “Alright, enough of this nonsense. Tell me exactly what happened with him. From the beginning.”

Wu Suowei froze, caught mid-sip. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? Nothing… much.”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Jiang Xiaoshuai’s tone sharpened. “You show up here sighing like a widow, looking like you barely slept, and now you’re telling me you can’t stop thinking about him. So, what did he do? Did he hurt you?”

Wu Suowei shook his head quickly. “No, no, nothing like that! I mean, not really—well, he tied me up at first, but then he—”

“Wait, what?” Jiang Xiaoshuai nearly choked. “He tied you up?”

Wu Suowei winced. “Not in a… bad way? Okay, maybe it was bad at first, but then he cut me loose, so it balances out, right?”

“Balances out?” Jiang Xiaoshuai’s voice cracked in disbelief. “Wu Suowei, you sound insane. Start talking properly. Why did he have you tied up in the first place? What did you get yourself into?”

Wu Suowei sank into his chair, clutching his cup like a shield. “I… don’t know. He just… appeared. And everything since then has been a blur.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s eyes sharpened. “No more dodging, Wu Suowei. I want details. Every single thing. From the moment you ran into him until right now.”

Wu Suowei fidgeted, his fingers tapping the rim of his cup. “Uh… well, first there were ropes. And he, um, pinned me down. But not, like, in a bad way—”

“Pinned you down?” Jiang Xiaoshuai’s voice went up an octave. “Wu Suowei, are you hearing yourself right now?”

Wu Suowei winced and blurted faster. “And then he pulled out a knife—”

Jiang Xiaoshuai shot to his feet. “A knife?!”

“But he used it to cut me free!” Wu Suowei added quickly, waving his hands like that somehow proved his point. “See? Balanced. He tied me up, then he untied me. It’s… progress?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s gaze dropped to his wrists, and his expression darkened. The faint rope burns stood out against Wu Suowei’s skin, quiet evidence that his words were anything but harmless.

“Progress?” Jiang Xiaoshuai repeated flatly. “Wu Suowei, you’re sitting here with marks on your wrists and trying to tell me this is progress?”

Wu Suowei glanced down, his smile faltering. “It’s not that bad…” he muttered, tugging his sleeves down to cover them. “Could’ve been worse.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. You really are hopeless.”

Wu Suowei groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t know, Xiaoshuai. He’s terrifying and confusing, and I keep thinking about him. And it’s driving me crazy.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s anger dimmed, replaced by a heavy silence. He sank back down, jaw tight. “You idiot,” he muttered. “You don’t realize it, do you? You’re already in too deep.”

Wu Suowei peeked at him through his fingers, voice small. “Too deep into… what?”

“Into him,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said flatly. His eyes hardened with resolve. Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned back, lips curling into a grin that didn’t quite match the sharp glint in his eyes. “Anyway, let me get this straight. Big bad Chi Cheng, the man half the city whispers about, ties you up, waves a knife around, and instead of running for your life… you sit here sighing like a lovesick teenager.”

Wu Suowei flushed. “I’m not sighing! I was just… breathing heavily.”

“Sure,” Jiang Xiaoshuai drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Next, you’ll tell me you looked into his eyes and saw your destiny.”

“Shut up,” Wu Suowei muttered, burying his face in his hands.

But Jiang Xiaoshuai’s grin softened, his tone dipping just enough to carry weight. “Listen, Wu Suowei. You have no idea what kind of man you’re dealing with. And I’m not saying that to scare you. I’m saying it because I know him better than you think.”

Wu Suowei lifted his head slowly, eyes widening. “Wait. You know him?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai smirked, not giving a straight answer. “Let’s just say I’ve crossed paths with Chi Cheng before. Long enough to know he’s not the type you stumble across by accident.”

Wu Suowei blinked, dumbfounded. “So… do you really know him or something—?”

“Or something.” Jiang Xiaoshuai cut in smoothly, lips quirking. He clapped Wu Suowei’s shoulder, his teasing tone sliding back into place. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you when I feel like it. For now, just focus on not getting yourself killed, yeah?”

Wu Suowei frowned, unsatisfied. “You’re hiding something.”

“Of course I am,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said with a grin, leaning back to sip his tea. “It’s fun watching you squirm.”

—

At the back of the clinic, once the last patient had left and the lights dimmed, Jiang Xiaoshuai leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Guo Chengyu sprawled in the chair opposite, a lazy grin playing on his lips.

“You should’ve seen his face,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said, smirking. “Wu Suowei sitting there, all doe-eyed and confused, asking me if maybe there are two Chi Cheng's in this city. One regular, one mafia.”

Guo Chengyu let out a bark of laughter, nearly tipping his chair. “Two Chi Cheng's? Heaven forbid. One’s already enough of a headache. Can you imagine the city surviving a pair of them?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai snorted. “I told him he was an idiot. But I’ll admit, seeing him so flustered was entertaining.”

“Poor kid,” Guo Chengyu said with mock sympathy, though the glint in his eyes was amused. “Falling straight into Chi Cheng’s orbit. That man doesn’t just let people go once he’s got his eyes on them.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai arched a brow. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Guo Chengyu smirked. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just know how tightly Chi Cheng runs his leash. Either way, your Wu Suowei is in for quite the ride.”

There was a beat of silence before Jiang Xiaoshuai chuckled. “You think Chi Cheng even realizes he’s making a fool of himself? The big scary boss, slipping because of one clueless kid?”

Guo Chengyu’s grin widened. “Oh, he knows. He just won’t admit it. Not to anyone. Especially not to himself.”

The two of them laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet clinic, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Chi Cheng might terrify the world, but here, between friends, he was fair game for mockery.

After a while, Guo Chengyu leaned back, propping his feet on the edge of the desk, still grinning. “You know, I can already picture it. Chi Cheng, standing there all cold and broody, and then Wu Suowei staring up at him with those big eyes. Like some puppy who hasn’t realized he wandered into a wolf’s den.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai nearly choked on his tea, laughing. “A wolf? More like a grouchy guard dog with too much pride. And Wu Suowei’s the type to trip over his own shoelaces while trying to run away.”

“Exactly.” Guo Chengyu tapped the arm of his chair. “And somehow, the dog decides to keep the idiot puppy instead of biting his head off. Honestly, it’s hilarious.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai gave a lopsided smile, his laughter softening into something more thoughtful. “Still… it’s strange, isn’t it? Chi Cheng doesn’t usually… entertain this sort of thing. Not unless there’s a reason.”

Guo Chengyu tilted his head, studying him. “You worried?”

“I’d be a fool not to be,” Jiang Xiaoshuai said, though his tone carried more fondness than fear. “Wu Suowei’s an idiot, but he’s my brother in everything but blood. And Chi Cheng…” His mouth twisted into a half-smile, half-grimace. “Let’s just say he’s not exactly the safest person to get attached to.”

Guo Chengyu smirked again, raising his brows. “Attachment, huh? You think that’s what this is?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai shrugged, unwilling to commit, though the faint grin tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Let’s just say, if Chi Cheng really does fall, I’ll be the first to laugh.”

Guo Chengyu chuckled, shaking his head. “And I’ll be right there with you.”

The two clinked their cups together, a silent toast at Chi Cheng’s expense, their laughter filling the quiet room once more.

Chapter Text

Chi Cheng arrived at his office, the thought of those doe eyes still lingering in his mind. They carried a strange familiarity, as if he had seen them somewhere before, but the memory slipped away and left him wondering.

“Gang Zi!” he barked.

The door opened and Gang Zi ducked his head in. “Yes, Boss Chi?”

“Get me information on Wu Suowei.”

“The kid? Why?”

Chi Cheng’s glare cut him off before he could say more.

“Alright, alright. I’m on it,” Gang Zi muttered, slipping back out.

Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. The city hummed faintly outside the tall windows, but his thoughts refused to settle. Those eyes. Wide, unguarded, strangely familiar. He had stared into countless faces over the years, yet Wu Suowei’s clung to his mind like a shadow that refused to fade.

Meanwhile, Gang Zi slipped into the back office, where his computer and stacks of files waited. He lit a cigarette and began typing, pulling up records, tracing connections, scanning through the usual channels. At first glance, Wu Suowei’s life looked ordinary, almost painfully so. Nine-to-five job, no criminal record, no family scandals. The kind of man no one would look at twice.

But Gang Zi frowned as he clicked deeper. The kid’s name showed up in places it shouldn’t. A clinic visit that did not quite add up. A past address connected to a neighborhood with a reputation. Loose threads, scattered, but enough to raise questions.

Gang Zi leaned back, exhaling smoke, muttering under his breath. “Ordinary, my ass.”

Back in his office, Chi Cheng tilted his head back, eyes closed, still trying to place where he had seen those doe eyes before. He did not yet know that Gang Zi’s search was about to give him an answer he wasn’t expecting.

Gang Zi returned after some time, a thin folder tucked under his arm and an uneasy look on his face. Chi Cheng cracked an eye open at the sound of the door.

“Well?” Chi Cheng asked.

Gang Zi set the folder down. “On paper, the kid’s clean. Works a boring job, pays rent on time, no debt, no enemies.”

Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “And off paper?”

Gang Zi hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. There are gaps. Records that don’t line up. He used to live in a neighborhood that doesn’t match his profile, had connections to people who don’t show up in his files. And the clinic he’s been visiting, let’s just say it’s not the kind of place you go for a cold.”

Chi Cheng leaned forward, the air around him sharpening. “What kind of place, then?”

Gang Zi shifted under his boss’s stare. “Still digging. But something about him isn’t adding up.”

Chi Cheng tapped the folder once, then pushed it back toward Gang Zi. His lips curved faintly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Then dig deeper.”

Gang Zi nodded quickly and slipped out, leaving Chi Cheng alone with his thoughts.

Chi Cheng leaned back again, those doe eyes flashing in his memory, now colored by the weight of unanswered questions.

A day later, Gang Zi dropped another folder onto Chi Cheng’s desk, his expression more serious this time.

“I checked deeper into that clinic,” he began. “It is just your average neighborhood doctor. Half the records are sealed, and the place has ties to a few people you’d recognize. Old names. People who used to run with crews back in the day before they vanished off the radar.”

Chi Cheng’s gaze sharpened. “And Wu Suowei?”

Gang Zi flipped open the file. “He’s been in and out of there for months. No listed illness, but every visit was flagged confidential. And here’s the kicker—” he tapped a page, “—his file was handled by someone connected to one of your old rivals. Not directly, but close enough to raise suspicion.”

Silence stretched in the office.

Chi Cheng sat still, unreadable, though the faint tension in his jaw betrayed thought. That quiet kid with the doe eyes, acting like the world never noticed him, now tethered to shadows that brushed against his own.

Gang Zi broke the silence. “So, Boss… you still want me to dig?”

Chi Cheng’s lips curved slowly into that same sharp smile that unsettled even his men. “Of course. I want to know everything.”

Gang Zi returned, this time carrying not just a folder but an old, faded photograph. He set it carefully on Chi Cheng’s desk.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Boss,” Gang Zi said, almost hesitant. “The kid… Wu Suowei isn’t exactly who he says he is.”

Chi Cheng’s gaze dropped to the photo. His expression stilled.

The picture showed a boy, round-faced and heavier, awkward in posture, with the same wide doe eyes that even time could not disguise. A different name was scrawled across the file. But it was him.

Wu Qi Qiong.

Da Bao

Gang Zi cleared his throat. “Used to go by another name, Wu Qi Qiong. Records say he transferred schools, dropped weight, started over. Whole damn life scrubbed clean. No wonder, his paper trail looks like a patchwork mess. Thing is…” He hesitated, then continued. “You went to the same school. Look at the year.”

Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the edge of the photo. Memory stirred, unspooling images he had not thought of in years. A younger him, sharper at the edges, watching from the sidelines as bigger boys circled that same fat kid. The jeers, the shoves, the cruel laughter.

And him. Stepping in, wordless, fists doing the talking when words weren’t enough. Standing between that boy and the world, not out of friendship, but out of something else—an instinct he never questioned.

Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened. So that was why those eyes felt familiar. They were the same ones that used to look at him back then, wide with fear, but also with something like trust.

Gang Zi shifted uneasily, breaking the silence. “So… what do you want me to do about it?”

Chi Cheng’s gaze lingered on the photo for a long moment before he finally answered, his tone unreadable. “Nothing. Not yet.”

Gang Zi blinked, confused, but didn’t push. He slipped out quietly, leaving Chi Cheng alone with the ghost of a boy he had once protected, and the man that boy had become.

Then (flashback)

The memory came back sharper than Chi Cheng expected.

The schoolyard was loud with shouts and laughter, the kind of chaos that fed the cruel. Wu Suowei stood near the edge of the basketball court, clutching his books tightly against his chest. He was rounder then, his shirt stretched a little at the seams, sweat clinging to his brow as a group of boys circled him like vultures.

“Hey, Fatty, move it!” one jeered, smacking the books out of his hands. Pages scattered across the dusty ground. Wu Suowei bent quickly to gather them, cheeks burning red, eyes downcast, pretending he couldn’t hear.

Another boy shoved him from behind, making him stumble forward. “What, too scared to fight back?”

Chi Cheng, leaning against the far wall with his hands in his pockets, watched the scene unfold. He was younger then too, but his presence already carried weight. Sharp eyes, sharper attitude, the kind of boy no one wanted to cross.

He sighed through his nose, pushed off the wall, and walked toward the group with unhurried steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice cut through the noise, calm but dangerous.

The boys froze. One of them tried to laugh it off. “We were just messing around—”

Chi Cheng’s glare silenced him. Without another word, he bent down, picked up one of Wu Suowei’s fallen books, and handed it back to him.

“Get lost,” he said to the others.

They scattered quickly, muttering excuses, leaving the two of them alone.

Wu Suowei stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, clutching his books like a shield. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck.

Chi Cheng only gave a small scoff, turning away. “Next time, stop looking like prey,” he muttered, though his fists were still tight from holding back more than words.

Wu Suowei blinked, then ducked his head, a shy “...thank you” slipping out almost too soft to hear.

Chi Cheng didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. From then on, the bullies kept their distance whenever he was around.

—

It didn’t stop with the basketball court.

Another day, Wu Suowei sat alone in the cafeteria, tray of food untouched, as he stared at the chatter and laughter that didn’t include him. The bigger boys passed by, one of them reaching to snatch the bun off his plate.

Before Wu Suowei could react, the boy yelped, hand pinned to the table by Chi Cheng’s grip. “Find your own food,” Chi Cheng said flatly, releasing him only when the boy stammered and backed away.

Wu Suowei blinked up at him, stunned, as Chi Cheng slid the tray back in front of him. Without a word, he took the seat across, eating his own lunch as if nothing had happened. Wu Suowei nibbled quietly, sneaking glances, wondering why this boy, this untouchable figure, kept showing up at the right time.

Weeks later, on a rainy afternoon, Wu Suowei dropped his umbrella when another group thought it funny to kick it into a puddle. He stood frozen, torn between retrieving it and walking home soaked. Then, without warning, a larger umbrella tilted over him.

Chi Cheng held it, standing beside him. “Pick it up,” he ordered.

Wu Suowei scrambled to grab his ruined umbrella, clutching it against his chest. Chi Cheng walked him to the school gates without another word, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable. For Wu Suowei, it was the first time he had walked home without feeling the weight of stares on his back.

Little moments like that repeated. A shoulder that blocked shoves in the hallway. A warning look that silenced cruel jokes before they began. Chi Cheng never asked for thanks, never let it turn into friendship, but his presence lingered in the background of Wu Suowei’s school days like a shadow that shielded more than it revealed.

And Wu Suowei never forgot the safety he felt in those rare moments when their eyes met. Doe eyes reflecting trust, sharp eyes looking away as if protecting him was nothing at all.

—

One afternoon, after gym class, Wu Suowei spotted Chi Cheng sitting on the bleachers, unwrapping the bandage from his hand. His knuckles were raw again, scraped from another fight he had clearly won.

Wu Suowei hesitated, clutching something behind his back. His steps were small and nervous, but he finally gathered the courage to approach.

“Um… here,” Wu Suowei said, thrusting forward a little tube of moisturizer.

Chi Cheng raised a brow, staring at it like it was an alien object. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s… for your hands,” Wu Suowei explained quickly, cheeks flushing. “They’re always rough and cracked. If you keep punching people, they’ll get ugly, and then… no one will want to hold them.”

Chi Cheng blinked, caught off guard by the absurd reasoning. For the first time, he let out a short, amused huff of laughter. He took the tube and rolled it in his hand, lips quirking.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Wu Suowei looked down, embarrassed, but Chi Cheng’s smirk widened. “Da Bao,” he said suddenly.

Wu Suowei frowned. “Da Bao?”

“Yeah.” Chi Cheng’s tone was teasing but strangely fond. “It means big bun. Suits you. Soft, round, and always looking like you’re about to get eaten alive.”

Also means big treasure

Wu Suowei’s face turned bright red, but he didn’t protest. Somehow, hearing it from Chi Cheng didn’t feel cruel—it felt like a secret nickname, something just between the two of them.

From then on, whenever Chi Cheng caught sight of him, he would call out “Da Bao,” and Wu Suowei would fluster, torn between annoyance and a warmth he never admitted out loud.

Now (present)

Chi Cheng sat alone in his office, the old photo still on the desk. His gaze lingered on the round-faced boy with the same wide eyes, and without realizing it, a low chuckle escaped his chest.

“Da Bao,” he murmured, the old nickname slipping out like it had been waiting in the back of his throat all these years. The memory of a flustered Wu Suowei shoving moisturizer at him played vividly in his mind, the silly reasoning still making his lips curl.

Gang Zi, passing by the open door, tilted his head. “Boss, you say something?”

Chi Cheng shot him a look sharp enough to silence the question. “Nothing. Get back to work.”

When the door shut again, Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing the photo once more. The years had stripped away the softness, the round cheeks, the awkward bun-like shape that gave birth to the nickname, but the eyes were the same.

And now, those same eyes had looked at him just days ago, confused, trembling, but still carrying that strange spark of trust.

Chi Cheng’s smirk returned, softer this time, though no one was there to see it. “Looks like my Da Bao grew up.”

Wu Suowei had shed the weight, sharpened his features, built himself into someone almost unrecognizable. To everyone else, he was just Wu Suowei.

But to Chi Cheng, he would always be Da Bao—the boy he’d watched, protected, and, in ways he never admitted, claimed long before either of them realized it.

Chi Cheng’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. “I wonder if my Da Bao still remembers me.”

He folded the photo away into his drawer, locking it with a decisive click. Plans were already forming—how to pull Wu Suowei closer, how to push him until those wide, trusting eyes showed him the same look they once had in the schoolyard.

This time, Chi Cheng wasn’t protecting him from the shadows. This time, he intended to stand right in front of him.

“You can pretend to be someone new, Wu Suowei… but you’ll always be my Da Bao first.”

Chapter Text

Wu Suowei dragged himself out of the office, every muscle aching from a day that felt twice as long as it should’ve been. His boss hadn’t just piled him with work, half the tasks weren’t even in his job description. Fetch this, fix that, run those errands like some personal assistant.

If money could just appear by wishing, he thought bitterly, I’d have quit this damn job already. Bought myself peace, maybe even a spine, and told that bastard to shove it.

But here he was, shoulders slumped, tie loose, trudging home like a man sentenced to hard labor.

Lost in his own head, Wu Suowei barely noticed the crowd flowing around him, headlights flashing past at the edge of the street. His thoughts were louder than the city itself.

So when someone slammed hard into his shoulder, he yelped, balance snapping away.

“Ah—!”

He stumbled, arms flailing uselessly, and the next second he was on the pavement with a painful thud, the stranger collapsing against him. Horns blared somewhere nearby, brakes screeching.

Before Wu Suowei could even catch his breath, the man shoved at his chest with surprising force.

Wu Suowei was still dazed, his body aching from the fall, when the man he’d collided with shoved him roughly back against the pavement.

“The hell, are you blind?” the stranger snapped, his voice loud enough to draw a few curious looks from passersby.

Wu Suowei winced, hands half raised in surrender. “Sorry, sorry—I wasn’t paying attention. My fault.”

But the man wasn’t having it. He stood over Wu Suowei, puffing his chest like he’d been waiting his whole life for an audience. His girlfriend tugged lightly at his sleeve, whispering for him to let it go, but the moment he caught her glance he sneered harder, needing to look tough.

“Sorry? That’s it? You nearly made me drop my phone,” he barked, waving the sleek device like it was made of gold. “Think ‘sorry’ can fix that?”

Wu Suowei scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes, heart hammering. He dipped his head again, forcing calm into his voice. “Look, I really am sorry. I’ll pay if it’s scratched, okay?”

The man took a threatening step closer, clearly enjoying how small Wu Suowei seemed under his glare. “You think you can just bump into people and walk off? Do I look like a pushover to you?”

His girlfriend tried again, voice tight with embarrassment. “Let it go, it’s not that serious.”

But the man’s eyes gleamed, petty pride digging in. He wasn’t going to let Wu Suowei leave quietly.

Wu Suowei held his hands up, palms open, forcing a shaky laugh. “Really, it’s fine. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll buy you coffee, pay for your dry cleaning—whatever makes it even.”

The stranger’s smirk widened, feeding off the crowd that had begun to linger. “Oh, now you want to buy me off? Think you can just wave some cash and walk away? Pathetic.”

Wu Suowei’s throat tightened. He could feel his boss’s endless workload still weighing on his body, his brain fried from exhaustion, and now this clown wouldn’t let go.

He tried again, softer this time. “Please. I said I was sorry. Just let it go, alright?”

The man leaned in close, practically spitting his words. “Not until you get on your knees and apologize properly.”

A ripple of laughter from the bystanders and some pitying looks sent heat rushing up Wu Suowei’s neck. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He wanted to disappear, melt into the pavement.

“Funny,” a low, sharp voice cut in, slicing through the noise.

The crowd shifted instinctively, giving way without even realizing it. Wu Suowei’s head snapped toward the sound, his stomach dropping.

Chi Cheng.

He stood a few paces away, coat draped over broad shoulders, gaze colder than steel.

“Some people really don’t know when to stop barking,” Chi Cheng said, his eyes locking on the stranger like he’d already decided his fate.

The man straightened, bravado flickering under the weight of that stare. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Chi Cheng’s lip curled into a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “The last person you should be picking a fight with.”

And just like that, the air shifted. The stranger’s girlfriend stiffened, tugging urgently at her boyfriend’s sleeve. Her eyes widened, recognition flashing in them. “Stop it,” she hissed under her breath. “That’s Chi Cheng—”

But the man, puffed up with pride and unwilling to back down, sneered instead. “So what?” he spat, raising his other hand as if ready to strike, too caught up in saving face to realize the danger he was stepping into.

The moment seemed to stretch thin, the crowd holding its collective breath, waiting to see if the fool would actually follow through.

Wu Suowei’s pulse spiked as the man’s fist drew back. His breath caught, brain screaming at him to move, but his body stayed frozen.

Then, like a shadow cutting through chaos, another hand shot out and clamped around the stranger’s wrist mid-swing.

The grip was iron, unyielding.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Chi Cheng muttered darkly. His gaze sharpened, colder than steel, and the air around him seemed to tighten, pressing in on the man. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the silence that followed his presence was louder than any threat.

“You really want to put your hand down on him?” Chi Cheng asked quietly, almost bored, yet every syllable thrummed with danger.

Wu Suowei’s breath caught. He could feel the weight of those words as if they were directed at him too. The crowd had gone completely still, people frozen with morbid curiosity. Even Wu Suowei couldn’t move, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The voice was calm, low, but carried an edge sharp enough to slice through the street noise. The aggressor’s face paled as he turned, finding himself staring into Chi Cheng’s cold eyes.

Chi Cheng’s presence alone made the air heavier, the tension crackling like static.

“Pick fights with trash on the street all you want,” Chi Cheng said, a tone almost bored as he twisted the man’s wrist just enough to make him wince, “but lay a hand on mine, and you won’t get a second chance.”

The man stuttered, stumbling back as Chi Cheng let go, clutching his wrist. Muttering curses, 

Chi Cheng’s smirk was slight, but it carried enough menace to make the stranger’s girlfriend tug him away in a rush, whispering furiously in his ear.

Wu Suowei stood there in the middle of it all, heat still in his cheeks, but now for a different reason. His pulse raced. He hated how relieved he felt at seeing Chi Cheng, and he hated even more the flicker of pride that this terrifying man had stepped in for him.

Chi Cheng’s gaze shifted down to him, unreadable. “You really can’t go a day without trouble, can you, Da Bao?”

“Who are you calling Da Bao?” Wu Suowei blurted out before he could stop himself, his ears burning. His voice cracked halfway through, which only made it worse.

Chi Cheng’s lips curved, not quite a smile, but close enough to sting. He didn’t answer right away, just let the silence stretch, as if he enjoyed watching Wu Suowei squirm. Behind them, Gang Zi barked orders, shoving the last of the gawkers along until the street was clear. The sudden quiet left Wu Suowei standing awkwardly in the middle of it, pinned beneath the weight of Chi Cheng’s eyes.

Wu Suowei fidgeted under the weight of his stare. “Seriously… what does that even mean?”

Finally, Chi Cheng leaned in a little, his voice low, carrying just the faintest edge of amusement. “It means you’re still the same fool you’ve always been.”

Wu Suowei blinked, eyes wide, heart fluttering in his chest. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?” His brows knitted tight, confusion and vulnerability etched across his face, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, it was as if all pretense had fallen away, leaving only the unguarded, genuine him.

Chi Cheng’s smirk faltered, just slightly, and he found himself studying Wu Suowei in silence. Those wide, bewildered eyes held something disarming—innocence, honesty, a spark of something he hadn’t expected to see. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause as he weighed the truth reflected there.

Gang Zi, standing nearby, caught the flicker of bewilderment and nearly snorted, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief before he quickly regained his composure, eyes averted in respect and caution.

The moment stretched, heavy and fragile, before Chi Cheng finally straightened, letting his composure fall back into place like armor. His expression became unreadable again, the dangerous smirk returning faintly, masking any trace of the flicker he’d felt. He turned toward the waiting car, voice low but deliberate. “Figure it out, Da Bao.”

Wu Suowei’s chest tightened, a strange mix of frustration, curiosity, and something unnameable settling over him as he watched Chi Cheng walk towards the car, Gang Zi scrambling after him and watched it disappear down the road.

Why is this guy everywhere? He thought, a frown tugging at his lips. No matter where he went, no matter how he tried to ignore it, Chi Cheng seemed to linger at the edges of his life, impossible to shake, impossible to forget.

He shook his head slightly, trying to banish the thought, but it stuck stubbornly, leaving him feeling both exasperated and strangely unsettled.

Wu Suowei’s phone buzzed sharply, that made him startled. He picked it up, eyes widening at the caller ID.

“Come back in the office!” his boss’s voice barked through the speaker, urgent and impatient.

Wu Suowei groaned, gripping the phone tightly. “I… I can’t right now,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating at the timing.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, caught between situation and the pull of his work, feeling the tension of two worlds pressing in on him. With a resigned sigh, not wanting to lose his job, he decided he had no choice but to head back.

As he walked, heavy rain began to pour, drenching him almost instantly. He sprinted down the slick streets, each step splashing through puddles, his thoughts a jumble of worry and frustration. The city blurred around him, water dripping into his hair and down his clothes, but he didn’t slow until he finally arrived at the office, soaked to the bone and gasping for breath.

He pressed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of the office a stark contrast to the storm outside. Papers scattered slightly from the damp wind, and the faint hum of office activity greeted him.

For a moment, he just stood there, trying to collect himself, feeling every nerve on edge. His mind raced, not just from the sprint through the rain, but from the lingering tension of earlier, the memory of Chi Cheng, and the world he had temporarily left behind.

Wu Suowei forced himself to straighten, shoulders tensing as he prepared to face his boss, knowing that the moment he did, there would be no escape from responsibility or questions.

The moment Wu Suowei stepped into the office, a booming voice cut through the room.

“Wu Suowei! Where the hell have you been? Do you think I have all day?!”

He looked up to see his boss, red-faced and reeking of alcohol, slamming a hand on the desk. Papers rattled, and a few pens clattered to the floor.

Wu Suowei swallowed hard, rain dripping from his hair onto the carpet. “I-I’m sorry, sir…” he began, voice shaking.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it!” the boss roared, staggering slightly as he waved his arms. “You’re supposed to handle this! Handle that! You can’t just run off whenever you feel like it!”

Wu Suowei flinched at the volume, backing a step, hands slightly raised in a futile gesture of defense. The office seemed smaller, suffocating, and all he could think about was how impossibly impossible it was to appease someone this volatile, this drunk, this angry.

“Now fix the damn computer!” his boss barked, pointing at a monitor that had clearly been acting up. “Do you even know how to do your job?”

Wu Suowei’s hands shook as he approached the desk, fumbling with the cables. “I—I can try to fix it, sir…” he stammered.

“Try? Try doesn’t cut it, Wu Suowei!” his boss shouted, swaying slightly as he leaned over the desk. “If you can’t fix it, you’re paying for the damn part yourself. Do you understand me? Yourself!”

Wu Suowei’s stomach dropped. The thought of paying for an expensive part with his meager salary made his head spin. He nodded quickly, and silently fix it.

The boss waved him off with a sloppy hand gesture, muttering angrily under his breath as he turned back to his papers, leaving Wu Suowei to wrestle with the temperamental computer, the rain still dripping from his soaked clothes and adding to the sense of chaos.

After a few minutes of tracing cables and checking connections, Wu Suowei finally thought he’d found the problem. He reached for the LAN cable, confident for a brief moment—but the second his fingers made contact, a sharp jolt ran through his hand.

He yelped, trembling violently as the shock ran up his arm. His grip loosened instantly, and the cable slipped from his fingers. In the flinch, his elbow slammed into the edge of the desk with a loud thud, sending a stack of papers sliding to the floor.

Wu Suowei’s heart pounded in his chest, pain radiating up his arm and embarrassment flushing his face. “Ouch… o-of course,” he muttered under his breath, grimacing.

The office felt impossibly loud at that moment, every ticking clock and distant printer amplified, as if the universe itself was laughing at his misfortune.

Wu Suowei hissed, rubbing his throbbing elbow and staring at the papers scattered across the desk. His fingers tingled painfully from the shock, and a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. “Great… just great,” he muttered, cheeks burning with a mix of pain and humiliation.

His boss spun around, eyes bloodshot and voice booming. “What the hell did you do now?!” He stumbled slightly, nearly tripping over a chair. “You broke it? Or got yourself electrocuted? Figures!”

Wu Suowei tried to explain, stammering, “I—I just touched the cable… it—”

“Just touched it? Just touched it?!” his boss shouted, flailing his arms. “You’re lucky you didn’t fry yourself! And the desk! Look at this mess! You better fix it right, Wu Suowei, or guess who’s paying for it?”

Wu Suowei swallowed hard, the sting in his hand matched by the fear curling in his chest. But he had enough. His head throbbed, eyes watering slightly from the combination of pain, frustration, and the relentless pressure of his boss.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a shaky breath, trying to force calm into his limbs. Every nerve screamed at him to run, to escape the suffocating chaos of the office and the drunk fury looming over him.

Wu Suowei’s chest tightened, head throbbing, fingers still tingling from the shock. Something inside him snapped. “No!” he shouted, louder than he intended, startling his drunk boss. “I’ve had enough! I’m done!”

The boss froze, eyes wide with disbelief, mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite process it. “What—what did you just say?” he slurred, staggering forward.

“I said I’m done!” Wu Suowei repeated, voice firm now, shaking but resolute. “I’m tired of being screamed at, blamed for everything, and treated like I have no worth. You’re not even paying me fairly from all the things I did and this is even past my work time, I have enough! I quit!”

The room fell into silence, the hum of the office fading into the background. Wu Suowei grabbed his soaked bag and stormed toward the door—but before he could get out, his boss lunged, grabbing the back of his collar and choking him.

“Who do you think you are yelling at me? You’re the reason my company’s getting bankrupt!” the boss spat, red-faced and reeking of alcohol. Wu Suowei’s own face flushed as he struggled, clawing at the grip.

He pried his boss’s hand off, gasping for air, but the man lunged again, enraged. “How dare you—”

Wu Suowei shoved him back hard, voice sharp and trembling with fury. “How dare you! I’ve had enough of this! I’m done being treated like trash in my own workplace!”

The office fell completely silent now. Wu Suowei’s hands were still trembling, chest heaving, but for the first time he felt a spark of control, a refusal to be crushed any longer. Rain still dripped from his hair and clothes, but he barely noticed. For the first time in a long while, he felt a small surge of relief—and freedom—as he pushed open the door and left the office behind.

Little did Wu Suowei know, as he left, a shadow lingered nearby—silent, watchful, and deliberate.

Chapter Text

Chi Cheng’s voice cut sharply through the dim, cavernous warehouse. “Gang Zi, bring him in.”

Gang Zi nodded silently before he walked away, his expression unreadable.

Chi Cheng stood in the shadowed corner of the warehouse, his posture still but vicious, eyes gleaming cold and sharp like a predator waiting for the perfect strike. From the darkness, he watched, while the crew lingered in tense silence, their anticipation heavy in the air, every eye flicking, Gang Zi dragged the bound man forward, the scrape of rope against concrete harsh in the stillness, before shoving him to the floor with a dull thud. The man writhed, muffled cries leaking past the duct tape stretched across his mouth, wrists and ankles straining helplessly against the cords biting into his skin.

The crew hovered close, anticipation written in their clenched fists and sharp stares, but none dared move until their boss gave the word.

Chi Cheng let the silence stretch, savoring the suffocating tension, before clearing his throat. A single, deliberate sound that cut sharper than any blade.

“Begin.”

The command was simple, but it carried the weight of judgment. Gang Zi and the others surged forward, their boots and fists colliding with flesh and bone. The man’s muffled screams rose in desperation, echoing against steel beams, swallowed by the vastness of the warehouse. Blood streaked the floor, dark and slick, as he convulsed beneath the onslaught.

Yet through it all, Chi Cheng remained unmoving, untouched, his gaze fixed and unflinching. He despised blood on his own hands, but in moments like these, he didn’t need to strike, not yet. His silence was violence enough, his presence the executioner’s blade. 

“Enough,” he said at last, his voice low but cutting.

The crew froze instantly, pulling back as if the air itself demanded obedience. Gang Zi’s chest heaved with restrained energy, but he didn’t argue. No one argued when Chi Cheng decided to move.

Chi Cheng stepped out of the shadows, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor. The sight alone made the man on the ground thrash harder against his bindings, eyes wide with frantic terror. He knew this was no longer punishment—it was judgment.

Chi Cheng crouched low, eyes boring into the man’s. “Do you know why you’re here?” His tone was calm, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of a predator toying with its prey.

The man shook his head violently, sweat and blood dripping from his face.

Chi Cheng’s lips curved into a cold, mirthless smile. He straightened, then without warning, drove his fist into the man’s jaw. Bone cracked, and his knuckles split open, warm blood smearing his skin. The crew stiffened, some exchanging uneasy glances—Boss Chi rarely touched anyone himself. To see him dirty his own hands was more frightening than any command.

He grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him up with effortless strength until their faces were inches apart. His voice dropped to a low growl, intimate and deadly.

“Because you will know soon.”

Every muscle in Zhang Bao Gui’s body screamed in panic as the blows landed one after another, his wrists raw against the bindings, his mouth gagged with duct tape that turned his cries into pitiful whimpers. His vision blurred, stars flashing behind his eyelids, but he still understood one thing with brutal clarity—he was trapped.

And then everything stopped.

The silence was worse than the pain. He dared to look up and saw him—Chi Cheng—stepping out of the darkness. His heart nearly stopped.

Boss Chi.

He had heard the stories, whispered half-truths in back rooms and drunken warnings traded like folklore. Ruthless. Untouchable. No mercy once your name was on the list. A man who never dirtied his own hands because he didn’t need to. His men did it for him. So why was he moving now? Why was he coming closer?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

The question slithered through him like ice water. He shook his head violently, more from fear than thought. The duct tape tore at his skin as he tried to speak, to beg, but all that came out was a strangled cry.

And then—white-hot pain.

Chi Cheng’s fist connected with his jaw, the crack ringing in his ears louder than his own muffled scream. For a moment, he forgot where he was. His body jerked forward with the force, blood filling his mouth. He thought he might choke on it.

When Chi Cheng dragged him up by the collar, Zhang Bao Gui’s feet barely touched the ground. He dangled there, staring into those cold, unblinking eyes. His chest convulsed, searching for air, but the greater terror was the calm in Chi Cheng’s voice when he whispered:

“Because you will know soon.”

The words burrowed into him, worse than any blow. His body went limp, trembling, the fight draining from him because he understood. This wasn’t just a punishment, it was a message. A lesson. And Chi Cheng was the kind of man who always, always followed through.

When he was tossed aside, crumpling to the floor like a broken doll, he prayed for unconsciousness. Because anything else meant more of him.

Chi Cheng’s eyes locked onto him, sharp and unyielding. “You’ve crossed a line. You think you can interfere what’s mine? Think again.”

The warehouse seemed to shrink around them, the tension pressing in as every shadow echoed the weight of Chi Cheng’s warning.

He pulled a photo from his coat and let it flutter down in front of Zhang Bao Gui, landing on the cold concrete at his knees. The dim light overhead caught the glossy surface, revealing a smiling face.

Wu Suowei.

Zhang Bao Gui’s breath hitched, his eyes locking on the photo as though the smiling face might sear itself into his skin. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, panic clawing up his throat.

Chi Cheng crouched again, unhurried, his presence sinking into Zhang like a weight. He tapped the corner of the photo against the concrete once, sharp, deliberate, before lifting it between two fingers.

“Do you know now,” his tone was quiet, almost conversational, which only made it worse, “what you did?”

Chi Cheng rose to his full height, he slipped Wu Suowei’s picture into his pocket, safe and secure, before advancing, each step slow, deliberate, echoing like a countdown. Zhang Bao Gui’s heart pounded wildly, his own panicked breaths loud in the stillness. And as the predator closed in, he realized, far too late, that mercy would never come.

“Do you have any idea what happens to those who cross me?” Chi Cheng’s voice was low, controlled, and lethal, each word striking like a blade. The boss struggled, unable to meet the unyielding glare.

Chi Cheng was only a few feet from Wu Suowei’s boss. Without warning, he grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him forward with effortless strength. The boss was once again lifted slightly off the ground, gasping for air, eyes wide with panic.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Chi Cheng growled, his grip tightening just enough to promise bruises. The boss flinched beneath the raw intensity, his face flushed red from lack of oxygen, sweat slicking his skin and mingling with the fear that rolled off him in waves.

Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed, sharp and predatory. “Do you remember this? Do you remember his face turning red and prying your hands off?” His smirk twisted feral, each word dripping with a dangerous edge. “Now, do the same.”

Wu Suowei’s boss froze, fear etched deep into his flushed face. The weight of Chi Cheng’s presence pressed down on him, suffocating, as the grip on his collar slid deliberately to his neck. The shift was subtle, but it stole the air from the room, making it clear this was no longer a warning, it was a sentence.

Zhang Bao Gui thrashed wildly, panic driving him as Chi Cheng lifted him higher with one hand. His feet kicked against empty air, but the grip around his throat was unyielding. Chi Cheng’s arm didn’t so much as tremble, his expression calm, almost bored, as if holding up a full-grown man was no more effort than lifting a glass of water.

Gang Zi and the others stood motionless in the background, their silence thick with unease. None dared look away, every strangled gasp made their stomachs twist. Their Boss Chi almost never dirtied his own hands, yet here he was, brutal and unrelenting. Awe and fear tangled in their eyes, each man silently reminded why their loyalty to him was not a choice, but a survival instinct.

“Zhang Bao Gui, ah Zhang Bao Gui,” Chi Cheng muttered darkly, his voice low and menacing as he tightened his grip. With effortless strength, Chi Cheng’s grip didn’t loosen. With a deliberate, almost casual motion, he spun Wu Suowei’s boss slightly, letting the man dangle uncomfortably, his arms flailing uselessly. The boss gasped, eyes watering, body trembling from the strain.

“Look at yourself,” Chi Cheng growled, his smirk sharp and feral. “So pathetic. You think you can just touch what’s mine and walk away?”

Chi Cheng throw him and the boss scrape against a steel support beam,  the impact rattling his body and stealing the air from his lungs. Pain lanced through him, his vision blurring as he sagged against the cold metal. 

Zhang Bao Gui’s breathing became ragged, hysterical, panic overtaking any coherent thought. His hands shook violently as he tried to push himself off the beam, but his strength was useless against Chi Cheng’s presence.

Chi Cheng closed the distance with slow, predatory steps before crouching in front of him. In one swift motion, he tore the tape from Zhang Bao Gui’s mouth, the sound sharp in the silence. Leaning in close, his eyes glinted dark with danger. “Do you know what happens to those who touch what’s mine?” he asked, each word deliberate, the threat hanging in the air like a guillotine above the trembling man’s neck.

Zhang Bao Gui gasped for breath, his lips trembling as he stammered, “B–Boss Chi… I–I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about! I swear—I didn’t—” His words tumbled out in a frantic rush, half-choked by fear, the denial cracking beneath the weight of his own panic.

Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed, sharp and lethal. “Playing dumb, huh?” His tone was low, dangerous, like a coiled snake ready to strike.

Without warning, Chi Cheng’s fist connected with Zhang Bao Gui’s stomach in a brutal, precise punch. The air whooshed from his lungs, and he doubled over, gagging and coughing. A sharp twist of Chi Cheng’s wrist yanked him forward again, and the boss’s knees buckled. 

Chi Cheng slammed him to the floor with a controlled but merciless shove, the impact knocking the air from his lungs again. Bruises bloomed across his face, blood mingling with sweat, as he whimpered and flailed uselessly.

Chi Cheng’s fist connected again, precise and merciless, and blood ran freely from Zhang Bao Gui’s mouth, Gang Zi shifted uneasily, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on their boss. He had seen Chi Cheng in command countless times, pulling strings from the shadows, orchestrating everything without ever touching a person himself.

But this—this raw, brutal display made Gang Zi and the other men pause. Their eyes wide with disbelief, and for the first time in years, they felt the weight of awe and discomfort collide. They didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare intervene, trained to anticipate and react, crossed instinctively with unease. 

Chi Cheng rarely handled things physically. He preferred to pull the strings from behind, letting Gang Zi and others do the dirty work. The sight of him drenched in the consequences of his own strike—bloodied knuckles, controlled fury—was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Finally, with one last crushing punch to the face and a glare that could pierce steel, Zhang Bao Gui went limp. He collapsed unconscious to the cold warehouse floor, the fight entirely drained from him. Chi Cheng stepped back, letting him lie there, predator fully in command. 

Chi Cheng straightened, his expression unreadable as he glanced down at Zhang Bao Gui’s limp, unconscious form sprawled on the concrete. His silence stretched for a beat before he spoke, voice calm but edged with iron.

“Bring him back to the basement,” he ordered.

Gang Zi gave a curt nod, signaling two men forward. They moved without hesitation, hauling the unconscious body away. The sound of dragging echoed through the warehouse, swallowed quickly by the dark stairwell leading below, while Chi Cheng remained where he was, watching until the last shadow disappeared.

—

In the middle of the night, Wu Suowei sat at the small desk in his apartment, the faint glow of the desk lamp spilling across scattered papers and a half-finished cup of instant noodles. His hand still tingled faintly from the earlier shock at the office, and every so often he rubbed at his chest as if the ache there would ease.

The room was quiet, too quiet, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner. Yet even in the silence, there was a heaviness, a strange tension that made his shoulders stiffen as though the walls themselves were closing in.

He leaned back with a sigh, tilting his head against the chair. “Why does it feel like… he’s everywhere?” he muttered under his breath, an image of Chi Cheng’s smirk flashing unbidden across his mind.

For a moment, he thought he heard a faint shuffle from the hallway outside his door. Wu Suowei froze, listening hard. Nothing followed, just stillness. Still, unease coiled in his stomach, and he found himself standing to double-check the lock before sinking back into his seat.

“Maybe I should stay at home with Mom for a bit,” he muttered under his breath, the words more to convince himself than anything else. The thought of the familiar walls of the house and his mother at home, the quiet safety, felt like a lifeline, something ordinary to cling to.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

Wu Suowei stiffened, his chair scraping faintly against the floor as he turned toward the door. It was late, far too late for visitors. His pulse quickened, unease creeping through him.

The knocks came again, firmer this time, echoing in the stillness of his apartment.

Wu Suowei stared at the door, the knocks reverberating in his chest louder than they should have. His throat went dry, and he swallowed hard, palms damp as he hovered halfway to standing.

His mind flickered with the memory of sharp eyes, of a voice that left him both rattled and unsteady. He shook his head quickly, forcing the image away.

Another knock echoed, firmer this time, pulling him out of his thoughts. His body tensed. For a long moment, he stayed frozen, staring at the door as though it might burst open on its own.

Finally, his fingers curled around the handle. He hesitated, pulse racing in his ears, then pulled it open.

The light from the hall spilled inside—and Wu Suowei’s breath hitched, his hand still frozen on the door handle. His wide eyes locked on the figure before him, the air in his lungs catching as though his body refused to move or breathe.

For a moment, the world outside the doorway blurred, sound draining away, leaving only the sharp awareness of the presence in front of him.

“… You—” the word slipped out, soft, disbelieving, as his pulse thundered in his ears.

Wu Suowei blinked at the sight before him. Chi Cheng stood on his doorstep, not a hair out of place, his suit pristine as ever—yet there was something off. His presence was heavier, darker, as though he’d brought the warehouse shadows with him. The sharp set of his jaw, the faint tension clinging to his frame, spoke of violence barely cooled. But Wu Suowei’s eyes caught where his knuckles were raw, split, and bloodied. The sight jolted him more than the man’s sudden appearance.

It unsettled Wu Suowei more than he cared to admit. For all the polish, for all the composure, there was a rawness in Chi Cheng’s gaze, a predator who had not yet finished hunting. And now that gaze was locked entirely on him.

“… Chi Cheng?” he managed, voice catching, as if saying the name might break whatever fragile boundary stood between them. Wu Suowei’s throat bobbed, words catching. “Why… why are you here?” he asked, softer than he intended, but unable to look away.

Chi Cheng finally stepped forward, the faintest curve of his mouth unreadable—neither smile nor threat. “Where else would I go?”

Wu Suowei stepped back before he even realized it, giving way under the weight of Chi Cheng’s presence. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing in the silence.

Chi Cheng didn’t ask to be let in—he moved past Wu Suowei as though the space already belonged to him. The faint metallic tang of blood followed, subtle but sharp, pulling Wu Suowei’s attention again to those battered knuckles.

“You’re hurt,” Wu Suowei murmured, concern showing in his voice.

Chi Cheng glanced at his hand, then dismissed it with a flex of his fingers. “It’s nothing.” His eyes cut back to Wu Suowei, dark and unyielding. 

“He won’t touch you again.” Chi Cheng thought.

When Chi Cheng finally sank down onto the edge of Wu Suowei’s couch, his shoulders loosened in a way they hadn’t at the doorway. As if this—being here—was the only place he could breathe.

Wu Suowei lingered by the door, eyes fixed on the smears of dried blood across Chi Cheng’s hand. He didn’t have to ask what happened. His chest tightened.

“Sit still,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a small first aid kit, setting it down on the table with a soft thud.

Chi Cheng didn’t argue, but the way his gaze followed Wu Suowei’s every movement was sharp, almost predatory. It was the same intensity he had turned on Zhang Bao Gui only hours ago—yet here it was tempered, leashed, as though Wu Suowei was the only one who could hold it back.

Wu Suowei crouched in front of him, fingers brushing gently against swollen knuckles. Chi Cheng’s hand twitched, not from pain but from restraint, as if it wasn’t used to being handled with care.

“You call this nothing?” Wu Suowei muttered, dabbing antiseptic onto the cuts.

For a beat, the silence between them thickened, filled with unspoken truths. Chi Cheng’s chest rose and fell slower now, the edge of his rage dulling in this small, ordinary act of being cared for. He let Wu Suowei wrap his knuckles, his expression unreadable but his body finally still.

“Don’t,” Chi Cheng said lowly, though it was hard to tell if it was a warning or a plea.

Wu Suowei’s hand stilled, bandage half-wrapped. He didn’t answer, but the look remained—half concern, half fear, and something in between he didn’t dare name.

Wu Suowei tied off the bandage, fingers brushing lightly against the back of Chi Cheng’s hand. For a moment, it almost felt… normal. Like he wasn’t tending to the aftermath of violence, like Chi Cheng hadn’t walked straight from a beating into his home.

“There,” Wu Suowei said softly, sitting back on his heels. “You should rest your hand. Don’t make it worse.”

Chi Cheng didn’t look at the bandage. His gaze never left Wu Suowei, sharp and unyielding, as if the younger man had unknowingly crossed into dangerous ground.

“Why do you care?” Chi Cheng asked, the words slow, deliberate, almost testing.

Wu Suowei froze, throat working. “Because someone should,” he muttered, more defensive than he meant.

Chi Cheng’s gaze held him steady, unblinking. Once again, the doe-eyes he loved seeing—those eyes that softened the edges of his world—were filled with something he couldn’t name. Not just fear, not just hesitation. It was deeper, tangled, a storm of emotions that made Wu Suowei both fragile and untouchable in the same breath.

Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened, the faintest muscle twitch betraying his control. He didn’t like what he couldn’t define. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

Wu Suowei, under that stare, felt stripped bare. His chest tightened, each beat of his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. He wanted to look away, to retreat back into the safety of silence, but the weight of Chi Cheng’s eyes pinned him in place, making him feel small and significant all at once.

Chi Cheng’s jaw flexed, the faint twitch betraying his restraint. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t wonder why this man, with all his nervous flinches and stubborn mouth, stirred something that wasn’t simple possession. And yet, he did. And that made him tighten his grip just a fraction, as if grounding himself in the one truth he did understand—Wu Suowei was his.

Wu Suowei couldn’t take it anymore. The weight of Chi Cheng’s stare pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting, until his chest tightened. He broke first, glancing away, his eyes skittering around the living room.

The place looked like a storm had passed through—an unwashed mug on the coffee table, a jacket tossed carelessly across the arm of the sofa, papers stacked unevenly on the sideboard. The longer he looked, the worse it seemed, the clutter screaming at him under Chi Cheng’s silent scrutiny.

His throat bobbed, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I, uh… haven’t really had time to tidy up.” His voice was thin, defensive, and it only made his ears burn hotter.

Chi Cheng’s gaze flicked over the room, then back to Wu Suowei. The faint curl at his mouth wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Amused—fond, even. As though the disarray only added to the picture before him, proof that Wu Suowei was exactly who he was.

Chi Cheng leaned back one arm draped over the backrest, his legs spread in a careless sprawl, he looked as though the couch, and the room itself, had been his long before Wu Suowei ever stepped foot in it, clearly entertained by the reaction. “Relax. I didn’t come here for the furniture.”

The quiet hum of the refrigerator in the corner was the only sound that dared fill the space. Wu Suowei hovered a few steps away, painfully aware of the  Chi Cheng’s eyes following his every move.

It didn’t feel like his living room anymore. The magazines on the coffee table, the slightly crooked lamp, the jacket he’d tossed aside—all of it seemed to belong to Chi Cheng now, simply because he was there.

“Da Bao,” Chi Cheng drawled, tilting his head just enough for the light to catch on the smirk tugging at his lips. “Why do you look like a guest in your own house?”

Wu Suowei startled, throat bobbing. “I—I’ll… sit.” He quickly crossed the room, lowering himself onto the farthest corner of the sofa as if distance could somehow ease the pounding in his chest.

But Chi Cheng’s eyes followed him, sharp and unreadable. His arm rested on the backrest, his bandaged hand, a detail Wu Suowei couldn’t ignore. The sight tugged at him strangely, a pang of worry threading through the unease.

Chi Cheng noticed the way his gaze lingered and let a faint smirk curve his lips. “What? Afraid the couch isn’t big enough for the two of us?”

Wu Suowei shifted awkwardly, his palms itching at his sides. “I—I live here,” he blurted, too quick, too defensive. The words came out sharp, almost like a protest, and his own ears burned at how ridiculous they sounded.

Chi Cheng’s smirk deepened, the kind of slow, deliberate expression that made Wu Suowei’s pulse jump. “Then act like it,” he said smoothly, voice dripping with amusement, as if every twitch and fumble of Wu Suowei’s composure was a private joke only he understood.

Wu Suowei opened his mouth to argue again but stopped, his eyes dropping helplessly to Chi Cheng’s hand. The dried streaks of blood clung stubbornly to the skin, His chest tightened unexpectedly, that defensive energy melting into something quieter, heavier.

“You…” Wu Suowei swallowed hard, words catching in his throat. “You should… clean that.” His voice was softer this time, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to say it.

Chi Cheng leaned back further into the sofa, stretching out as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but his gaze sharpened, locking onto Wu Suowei with unnerving focus. “Worried about me, Da Bao?”

The question landed like a strike, and Wu Suowei’s breath hitched, his doe-eyes wide as he scrambled for a response.

Wu Suowei’s throat worked, his chest tightening under the weight of Chi Cheng’s stare. His lips parted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“… Of course, I am.”

It was quiet, almost fragile, but the honesty rang clear. He blinked, startled by his own admission, and his brows knitted as if trying to take the words back. But it was too late—Chi Cheng had already heard.

Chi Cheng’s smirk faded, replaced by something sharper, unreadable, his gaze burning with an intensity that made the air between them feel heavier. He didn’t speak right away, just watched Wu Suowei struggle with his own unguarded truth.

Wu Suowei shifted, his hands knotting together in his lap, eyes darting anywhere but Chi Cheng’s. His voice, when it came again, was halting, defensive only in its vulnerability. “You—you show up here, looking like that… what else am I supposed to feel?”

The silence that followed stretched, charged, as if the walls themselves leaned in to hear what Chi Cheng would do next.

Chi Cheng’s gaze sharpened, the unreadable mask giving way to something darker, heavier. He leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees, his bloodied knuckles dangling between them.

“You’re supposed to feel safe,” he said at last, voice low, rough with something that wasn’t quite anger. “Because as long as I’m here, my presence is enough.”

Wu Suowei’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Safe? The word thudded against his chest, foreign and disarming, too heavy to dismiss and too warm to accept without trembling. His lips parted, but nothing came out, just the quiet sound of his breath catching.

Chi Cheng’s smirk returned, faint but edged with something almost fond. “What’s wrong, Da Bao?” he drawled. “Didn’t expect me to say that?”

Wu Suowei flushed, his fingers curling tighter in his lap. He had no idea what to say, no idea what to do with the strange, twisting heat in his chest.

After a moment of silence, Chi Cheng suddenly rose to his feet, the shift in movement so abrupt that Wu Suowei jolted and scrambled up after him, heart skipping a beat.

“Let’s sleep,” Chi Cheng said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His voice carried that lazy authority that left no room for protest. He glanced back, lips tugging faintly at the corner. “I’m tired, Da Bao.”

Wu Suowei blinked, caught off guard, heat rushing to his ears. Sleep? Here? With him? His throat worked, but no words came out, only a nervous nod as he followed behind, uncertain whether his legs were moving on instinct or fear. 

Wu Suowei froze behind Chi Cheng, as he opened the door. Wait… how does he even know where my bedroom is? His pulse spiked, heat rushing to his cheeks as a wave of awkwardness washed over him.

Wu Suowei’s eyes widened, as if caught in the act of holding an invisible barrier between himself and Chi Cheng. The casual, domestic way Chi Cheng settled onto the bed, patting the space beside him, made his chest tighten in a mix of shock and flustered disbelief, “Come here, Da Bao”

“I… I—” Wu Suowei stammered, words failing him as heat rushed to his cheeks. He shuffled closer, each step hesitant, his mind screaming a million things while his body obeyed slowly, awkwardly, until he finally perched beside Chi Cheng.

Chi Cheng’s smirk deepened, eyes flicking to Wu Suowei with a teasing glint. “That’s better. Stop gawking, Da Bao.”

Wu Suowei’s pulse raced, his fingers fidgeting in his lap, utterly aware of every subtle movement, every tilt of Chi Cheng’s gaze, and the quiet, commanding hold the moment seemed to have over him.

Wu Suowei finally eased onto the bed, back taut and posture rigid, every muscle alert as if bracing for the unexpected. Chi Cheng perched on his side, angled toward him, eyes fixed on his Da Bao with that unmistakable mix of amusement and quiet command. Without a word, he shifted, easing himself onto his back and pulling Wu Suowei gently but insistently against him, half-lying atop the older man. The contact pressed warmth and subtle weight to Wu Suowei. 

Chi Cheng wrapped his arms around his Da Bao, holding him with a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip. Wu Suowei’s body stiffened at first, then began to squirm slightly, cheeks warming, caught between wanting to retreat and the strange comfort of being held so close. Every subtle movement seemed to pull a faint smirk from Chi Cheng, who tightened his hold just enough to keep Wu Suowei from slipping away, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

Wu Suowei let out a long, shaky breath, his body slowly yielding to the weight of Chi Cheng’s embrace. The squirming subsided, replaced by a tentative stillness, and the tension in his muscles softened. Chi Cheng adjusted slightly, resting his head near Wu Suowei’s shoulder, his arms still wrapped protectively around him.

The room grew quiet, save for the faint sound of their breathing. Wu Suowei’s mind wandered briefly over the events of the day, the chaos, the encounters, the strange pull he felt toward Chi Cheng, but exhaustion, both physical and emotional, pulled him under.

Chi Cheng remained alert for a few more moments, eyes scanning the dim room before finally letting his own lids droop. The world outside, the danger, the tension, the unanswered questions faded as they both drifted into a restless sleep, side by side, each carrying the weight of the day in their own way.

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, brushing Wu Suowei’s face, but he barely registered it. His eyes widened as he shifted slightly and felt something uncomfortably hard pressing against him.

He froze, heart hammering in his chest, mind racing. Slowly, almost painfully, he turned his head to take in the scene, every muscle tensing as the realization hit him. The warmth beside him, the familiar yet startling presence… it was Chi Cheng, still asleep, curled close enough that their bodies pressed together.

Wu Suowei’s mind went blank for a heartbeat, then scrambled to find words, logic, or any excuse as his cheeks flushed, heat climbing fast. He didn’t know where to put his hands, how to breathe, or how to process the sudden intimacy of the morning. The room felt smaller, the world narrower, and all he could do was sit frozen, heart thudding in his ears.

He quickly scrambled up, careful not to jostle Chi Cheng in his sleep. Standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze darted around the room before settling on Chi Cheng’s face. He looked so serene, so untroubled, as he slept, it made his chest tighten.

There was something disarming about the way his features softened in slumber, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the slight curl of his lips, the eyelashes brushing against pale skin. Wu Suowei felt a strange warmth spread through him, something he couldn’t describe. He wondered how someone could look so calm in a world that had been anything but.

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching, listening to the steady rhythm of Chi Cheng’s breathing. Every small detail seemed magnified, every sigh and movement etching itself into memory. In that quiet, unspoken space between them, Wu Suowei realized just how much he cared, and how sharply the thought of losing this calm, this presence, would pierce him.

Wu Suowei hadn’t expected any of this, not from the very day Chi Cheng had mistakenly captured him. And yet, there was something painfully familiar in the way Chi Cheng moved, in the quiet, unshakable strength that seemed to fill the space around him. The memory of yesterday, of Chi Cheng standing there—protective, unwavering—gnawed at him, leaving a hollow ache he couldn’t name.

It wasn’t just surprise. It wasn’t even fear. It was something deeper, something raw and unguarded. He felt small, exposed, like every wall he’d built around himself had been brushed aside without effort. There was a strange, bitter-sweetness in it, a part of him wanting to recoil and hide, and another part wanting, needing, to stay, to feel that safety, that certainty, even if it terrified him.

And he realized, with a weight that pressed against his ribs, that he had no idea how to resist it. Every instinct screamed to hold back, to protect himself, but every heartbeat, every pulse in his veins, was calling him closer. Closer to Chi Cheng, closer to the warmth and quiet assurance that he had no right to, but couldn’t bear to let go of.

Chi Cheng’s eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the unfamiliar room pressing against his vision. For a moment, he blinked, disoriented, trying to place himself, to anchor the edges of reality. And then his gaze fell on Wu Suowei, standing at the foot of the bed, tense, eyes fixed on him.

Chi Cheng’s brow lifted slightly, a small spark of amusement, or perhaps curiosity, flickering across his features. “Like the view?” he asked, his voice deep and rough with sleep but calm, carrying that quiet authority that always seemed to hold the room together.

Wu Suowei startled, breaking free from the spiral of his thoughts, and before he could stop himself, the question tumbled out, “Have we met before?”

The words hung in the air, heavier than he intended, charged with a vulnerability he hadn’t meant to reveal. He immediately felt his cheeks burn, wishing he could pull them back, erase the question from existence.

Chi Cheng blinked, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “Yes,” he said finally, his voice calm, steady, but with a hint of something softer underneath.

Huh?

Wu Suowei’s heart thumped erratically in his chest. The room seemed to shrink around him, every breath sharp and aware, every detail of Chi Cheng magnified, the curve of his jaw, the depth in his eyes, the quiet patience that seemed to fill the space between them.

“W—with that handsome face of yours, I should’ve remembered it—” His voice faltered, catching on the last words, and he swallowed hard. 

“…But I don’t.”

He looked away quickly, unable to meet Chi Cheng’s eyes, heat rising to his cheeks. The confession was half-flustered, half-true, and entirely revealing. There was a sting of embarrassment in admitting it, a quiet ache that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.

Chi Cheng’s expression softened, the corners of his lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. There was no mockery, no harsh judgment, only that steady, quiet attention that made Wu Suowei’s chest tighten even more.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chi Cheng said gently, his tone calm but carrying a warmth that seemed to reach through Wu Suowei’s nerves. “Some things… are just meant to be remembered differently.”

Wu Suowei’s heart skipped, and for a moment, he wondered if Chi Cheng could see right into him, straight past his awkwardness and uncertainty, straight into the part of him that wanted—needed—to be seen.

“But—but you know me… how?” Wu Suowei’s voice wavered, disbelief and something deeper threading through each word.

Chi Cheng’s gaze softened, steady and certain. “Because… you’re my Da Bao.”

The words hung in the air, simple yet heavy, carrying a weight Wu Suowei hadn’t expected. Da Bao. Not just a name—an acknowledgment, a claim, a tether that drew him in before he could resist.

He looked at Chi Cheng, searching his face for a hint of jest, of casualness, of anything that might make the moment lighter. But Chi Cheng’s eyes held nothing but quiet certainty, the kind that demanded trust without asking, that pulled and anchored him in ways words could never reach.

“That name again, is it a nickname?”, Wu Suowei’s chest tightened at the thought. 

Da Bao… The word resonated in him, a warmth and pull he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure whether to reach out or retreat, and his heart thudded in his ears.

Without thinking, he took a small, hesitant step closer, the space between them shrinking, charged with an unspoken tension. Chi Cheng’s eyes followed him, calm and steady, as if silently giving him permission to be near.

Wu Suowei’s gaze fell to the floor, then back up, unable to hide the vulnerability spilling from his posture, the way his shoulders hunched slightly, as though bracing himself. “I… I don’t understand,” he whispered, voice barely audible, rough with awe and disbelief. “How… how can you know me like that?”

Chi Cheng leaned just a fraction closer, his presence radiating that quiet certainty, that grounding strength that always seemed to pull Wu Suowei in despite himself. “Because it doesn’t matter if you understand,” he said softly, voice low and intimate. “I do. And that’s enough.”

Wu Suowei’s breath hitched, a shiver running down his spine. For a long moment, he simply stood there, caught between his longing, between instinct to retreat and the impossible pull to stay. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, he let himself lean just a little closer, letting the weight of Chi Cheng’s words, and the bond behind them, settle around him like a warmth he didn’t want to escape.

Chi Cheng moved from the bed, settling on the edge just a touch away from where Wu Suowei was standing. The space between them was small, so small it made every heartbeat louder, every breath sharper. Wu Suowei felt it immediately, the pull of proximity, the gravity of Chi Cheng’s presence pressing gently against him.

He shifted slightly, unsure whether to take another step closer or freeze where he was. Chi Cheng’s gaze didn’t waver; it softened, steady and calm, offering silent reassurance. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said quietly, the words barely more than a whisper, yet carrying weight that seemed to anchor Wu Suowei in place.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Wu Suowei let his shoulders relax, letting the tension bleed out in a tiny, human surrender. It was a first step—small, silent, but significant—and Chi Cheng didn’t pull away. Instead, he offered the quiet strength of his presence, and that alone was enough to make Wu Suowei’s heartache with a mixture of longing, trust, and something far deeper, the nearness of Chi Cheng making every nerve in his body pulse with awareness. He shifted slightly, just enough that the edge of his hand brushed against Chi Cheng’s arm. The contact was fleeting, accidental—or perhaps intentional—and it sent a jolt straight through him.

Chi Cheng didn’t pull away from the touch. Instead, he let his hand rest lightly against Wu Suowei’s waist holding him in place, a quiet invitation, a gentle acknowledgment of the space between them. The warmth from Chi Cheng’s touch seeped through, soft and grounding, and Wu Suowei’s chest tightened in response.

For a moment, neither moved, both caught in the charged silence, the room shrinking around them until it felt impossibly intimate. Wu Suowei wanted to pull back, to flee from the intensity of it, but something deeper, trust, longing, the quiet pull of the bond between them kept him rooted.

Slowly, hesitantly, Wu Suowei let his fingers linger, brushing against Chi Cheng’s face. The touch was light, almost a whisper, but it spoke volumes—fear, curiosity, and a tentative courage all wrapped together. While Chi Cheng’s thumb traced a slow, steady line over the shirt, grounding him, reassuring him, and for the first time, Wu Suowei allowed himself to fully feel the weight of being seen, of being recognized, of belonging.

The moment stretched, intimate and fragile, the kind of quiet that didn’t need words, only presence. And in that stillness, Wu Suowei realized how desperately he had needed it all along.

Chi Cheng watched as the soft smile slowly curved on Wu Suowei’s lips, tentative at first, then warmer, steadier. Something unspoken passed between them—an acknowledgment, a surrender, a promise neither dared to voice.

Chi Cheng’s chest tightened. He had seen Wu Suowei laugh, fight, even break from before, but this—this fleeting glimpse of peace again, felt rarer than anything. He wanted to hold on to it, to protect it, as if the world might snatch it away again at any moment.

Without thinking, his hand lifted, fingers brushing against Wu Suowei’s jaw, the touch feather-light yet grounding. Wu Suowei leaned into it, just slightly, like he wasn’t even aware he’d done it.

And in that subtle tilt, Chi Cheng knew—this was trust, fragile and hard-won, handed to him in silence.

The quiet held, deeper now, carrying a weight of everything they hadn’t said. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, and the world outside seemed to fall away.

Wu Suowei closed his eyes for a brief second, allowing himself the indulgence of safety—of being seen, and not having to hide.

Chi Cheng’s thumb traced an absent circle near the corner of his mouth, and when Wu Suowei’s lashes fluttered open again, their eyes met.

Neither spoke. Neither needed to. The silence itself had become the confession.

Their fragile, charged moment lingered in the air, every second heavy with unspoken words, until Chi Cheng’s phone rang, sharp and insistent. The sudden sound cut through the quiet, snapping Wu Suowei from the suspended closeness like a cold wind.

But then, the shrill ring of Chi Cheng’s phone shattered it, sharp and jarring in the stillness. Both of them froze, the fragile spell breaking like glass underfoot.

Wu Suowei blinked, pulling back slightly, and Chi Cheng cursed under his breath before fishing the phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with Gang Zi’s name.

He swiped to answer, pressing it to his ear.

“What?” he barked, sharper than intended, his voice rough from the weight of the moment he’d just lost.

On the other end, Gang Zi’s voice came through fast, urgent, already dragging him back into reality.

Chi Cheng’s jaw tightened, his free hand curling unconsciously as he listened. Wu Suowei watched him, the warmth of a second ago still lingering in his chest, but edged now with unease at the sudden shift.

Chi Cheng glanced up at him, a faint, apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Duty calls,” he said, voice soft, almost gentle, but the warmth in his gaze lingered, leaving a trace on Wu Suowei long after the sound of the phone faded.

Wu Suowei stayed where he was for a moment, watching, feeling the emptiness of the small space that had just held so much. And even though the moment was over, the closeness, the connection, had imprinted itself deeply, leaving a quiet ache he couldn’t shake.

He replayed the brief moments of connection over and over in his mind—the brush of hands, the quiet presence, the weight of that single word: Da Bao. A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips, though it was tinged with a bittersweet ache.

Chi Cheng’s gaze occasionally flicked toward him, subtle but intentional, a silent reassurance amidst the conversation. Wu Suowei felt it keenly, like a tether still holding him in place, reminding him that the moment, though interrupted, wasn’t entirely lost.

By the time Chi Cheng ended the call, tucking the phone into his pocket. He stood and stretched, the quiet authority in his movements grounding the room even as he prepared to leave. The room had shifted back into its usual quiet. Wu Suowei exhaled softly, a shiver running down his spine, realizing how much he had already been tethered to Chi Cheng—through proximity, through touch, and through a bond that neither interruption nor distance could undo.

“I have to go to work,” he said, his voice calm, matter-of-fact, but there was a softness beneath it that made Wu Suowei’s chest tighten.

The air in the room suddenly felt too thin to breathe. Wu Suowei stayed standing in front of him, his fingers curling around the hem of his thin shirt, reluctant to release the memory of their closeness. The fabric was still warm from Chi Cheng's body, or maybe it was just his own skin, humming with a frantic energy. He could smell the faint, clean scent of Chi Cheng's expensive perfume mixed with something uniquely his own, something musky and safe.

“Oh… okay,” he whispered, the words a fragile sound swallowed by the charged space between them. He wasn't sure if he wanted Chi Cheng to leave or to pull him back, to shatter this unbearable tension one way or another.

Chi Cheng hesitated, his own stillness a heavy presence. He was watching him—really watching him, with an intensity that stripped away all pretense. For a second, the hard, defensive lines around his eyes softened, his gaze dropping to Wu Suowei's mouth. It was a fleeting, vulnerable moment, like he wanted to say something more, something that hung at the edge of his lips but never fell.

Instead, he reached out. His fingers, long and calloused, brushed against Wu Suowei's own as he tugged lightly at the corner of the shirt he clutched. The touch was warm even in its brevity, a spark that shot straight up Wu Suowei’s aram. “Don’t overthink,” he said quietly, his voice a low vibration. It wasn't an instruction, not quite. It was almost a plea, a quiet request for them both.

Wu Suowei’s chest tightened, the simple words unraveling the calm he was trying to hold onto. He wanted to answer, to say something that would make Chi Cheng stay, but the words caught in his throat. All he managed was a small nod, his eyes refusing to let go of Chi Cheng’s.

Chi Cheng paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. His gaze lingered, warm and steady, like a silent promise. “Be careful,” he said simply, then turned and left, the soft click of the door behind him echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

Wu Suowei exhaled, a shiver running down his spine. The warmth, the closeness, the weight of Chi Cheng’s presence—it was gone, and yet somehow still left a mark. He stood there for a long moment, fingers brushing the space where their hands had met, heart aching and racing all at once. The room felt emptier now, but the memory of the morning, of that word—Da Bao—lingered, impossibly alive.

Chapter Text

After Chi Cheng left for work, Wu Suowei stood in the quiet of his apartment for a moment, letting out a long, measured breath. The warmth of the morning still lingered in his chest, a soft ache that made him hesitate before moving.

Shaking off the feeling, he grabbed his bag and stepped out, heading toward the clinic. The streets were familiar, but his mind was somewhere else, replaying fragments of the morning and the exhaustion settling heavily on him.

At the clinic, he slumped into Jiang Xiaoshuai’s chair behind the desk, letting out a weary sigh. Jiang Xiaoshuai emerged from the back room, drying his hands on a towel. Jiang Xiaoshuai’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but Wu Suowei didn’t linger on explanations. “Anyway… I’m going home now.”

“Heading home?” Jiang Xiaoshuai asked, concern flickering across his face.

“Yeah,” Wu Suowei replied, voice soft but firm. “I just need to rest.”

He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and offered a small, grateful smile. “See you whenever, Xiaoshuai.”

With that, he stepped out of the clinic, the city stretching out before him. Each step toward home was heavy yet deliberate, carrying both the exhaustion of the day and the quiet relief of returning to his own space—a place to rest, reflect, and let the weight of everything finally settle.

—

Wu Suowei pushed open the familiar metal gate of his family home, the sound of the latch clicking into place feeling like a final, definitive barrier between the chaos he had endured and the peace he was seeking. The air here was different, carrying the faint, sweet scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine.

He paused in the middle of the small garden, his gaze lifting to the apricot tree. The branches, heavy with ripe, golden fruit, swayed gently in the breeze. He reached up and plucked one, its skin cool and smooth against his fingertips. He took a bite, the sweet, tangy juice bursting in his mouth, a flavor he’d known since he was a child. It was a simple, grounding pleasure that made the events of the day feel distant and unreal.

Carrying the half-eaten apricot, he stepped inside the house, the click of the door startling his mother, who was folding laundry on the sofa. She looked up, her hands stilling, her face a mixture of surprise and concern.

"Da Qiong? What are you doing here at this hour?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with worry. "And what happened to you?"

Wu Suowei gave her a tired smile, the apricot clutched in his hand. “I just… needed to come home.” He didn’t mention the rain, the clinic, the office, or the man with the bruised knuckles who had taken over his life, not even for a single moment. For now, this was enough—the gentle sound of his mother’s voice and the simple taste of an apricot, a small, quiet island of safety in a world that was suddenly too big and too dangerous.

He expected her to accept it, to simply nod and point him toward his old room. Instead, she set aside the neatly folded shirt in her lap and rose, her movements slow and deliberate. She came back from the kitchen with a glass of water, placing it gently on the small table beside him. She didn't return to the sofa but pulled up a wooden dining chair, its legs scraping softly against the floor. Her eyes were soft but searching.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, her voice low. "Tell me what's really going on."

Wu Suowei’s gaze dropped to the apricot in his hand, its golden skin now bruised where his fingers had tightened. He shook his head, forcing a lighter tone. "It's nothing, Ma. Just tired. The clinic was busy."

"It's more than that," she countered, not unkindly. "You're pale. And your hands won't stop trembling." She reached out, her warm, dry fingers gently touching the back of his hand. The contact was so startlingly familiar, so safe, that it almost broke him. "You went to the clinic today?". "Did you have a disagreement with Xiaoshuai?".

The question was an offering, a simple, plausible explanation for his distress. He could take it, build on it, and this conversation would be over. The alternative—the truth about a man with bruised knuckles who had turned his world upside down —was unthinkable. He couldn't let that chaos touch this house.

He took a slow breath, finally meeting her eyes. "No, nothing like that. Xiaoshuai is fine. It's… a patient." He let the lie form, piece by piece. "There was a difficult case. A man got angry, caused a scene. It was loud, and… stressful. And to be honest, Ma, business at the clinic has been slow. We're worried about making rent."

The lie tasted bitter, a stark contrast to the sweet apricot juice he'd savored just moments before. But he saw his mother’s expression shift from sharp worry to a more manageable sympathy. The tension in her shoulders eased.

"Oh, Da Qiong," she sighed, her hand now patting his. "Money is just money. You shouldn't let it drain the life from you like this. Your health is more important." She believed him. Or, at least, she was choosing to.

"I know," he said, the words feeling hollow.

"Go," she said, finally standing. "Go to your room and get some proper rest. I'll wake you for dinner."

He nodded, a wave of profound relief washing over him, so potent it almost made him dizzy. He had preserved his island of safety. But as he walked down the familiar hallway toward his childhood bedroom, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just built a wall around it, with his mother on the other side.

The door to his childhood bedroom closed with a soft, familiar click. For a moment, Wu Suowei just stood there, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, the exhaustion he’d been holding at bay sweeping through him. The room smelled faintly of old books and the clean, sun-dried scent of the sheets his mother always used. Nothing had changed. The same band posters were tacked to the walls, faded by years of sunlight. The same small crack, spider webbed, across the ceiling above his single bed. It was a perfect time capsule of a life he no longer lived.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. He buried his face in a pillow that felt blessedly cool against his skin. This was what he had wanted: a quiet space to let the weight of everything finally settle. But his mind, a frantic engine, refused to shut down.

His mother’s worried face swam in his thoughts. The lie he’d told her felt like a stone in his stomach—a necessary shield, but a heavy one. He had walled off his sanctuary to protect it, and in doing so, had trapped himself inside with the very things he was fleeing.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the crack in the ceiling. His thoughts inevitably drifted back to the morning. He remembered the precise warmth of Chi Cheng’s body against his, a stark contrast to the quiet chill of this room. He recalled the confusing, soft ache in his chest as he left, a feeling that warred with the primal urge to run. He saw, in a sharp, unwanted flash, the image of Chi Cheng’s bruised knuckles resting on the backrest—a silent, violent testament to a danger he couldn't yet name. Who was this man who had, in such a short time, taken over his life?

A deep, bone-weary exhaustion began to pull at the edges of his consciousness. His breathing evened out, his racing thoughts finally slowing to a dull thrum. He was hovering on the edge of sleep, the first real peace he’d felt all day.

Just then, his phone, which he’d tossed onto the nightstand, vibrated.

The single, sharp buzz cut through the quiet room, jolting him back to full alertness. He didn't have to look. He knew who it was. The screen lit up, casting a pale, rectangular glow on the ceiling. It stayed lit for a moment, a silent, demanding presence in the dim room, before going dark again.

He lay perfectly still, his heart hammering against his ribs. The chaos he had run from was a living thing, and he had brought it into this quiet house.

Before he could spiral further, he heard the soft shuffle of his mother's slippers in the hallway. A gentle knock landed on his door.

"Da Qiong?" Her voice was muffled. "Dinner's ready. Are you awake?"

Panic, sharp and electric, shot through him. He scrambled to sit up, forcing his voice to sound thick with sleep.

"Yeah, Ma," he called out, his voice cracking. "Just woke up. I'll be right there."

"Okay. Don't be long, the food will get cold."

He heard her footsteps retreat. He took a deep, shaky breath, pushing himself off the bed and splashing some cold water on his face from a basin in his room. Ignoring his phone, he walked to the dining room, felt impossibly long.

The table was set for two. A framed, black-and-white photo of his father sat on a nearby cabinet, a silent observer. The quiet in the house was different now; it wasn't peaceful, it was empty. His mother was already seated, placing his favorite dishes on the table—steamed fish with ginger and stir-fried greens. It was a perfect picture of care, and it made him feel like a fraud.

"You look better after some rest," she said, her voice a little too bright.

"Just tired from work," Wu Suowei mumbled, sliding into his seat. He picked up his chopsticks, the simple act requiring immense concentration. As his mother filled his bowl with rice, he could feel her watching him. The lie he told her earlier hung in the air between them, a silent, awkward guest.

"Eat up," she urged. "You've gotten too thin."

Wu Suowei forced himself to eat, the food tasteless in his mouth. He nodded along to his mother's talk about a neighbor's noisy new dog and the price of groceries, but the words were just noise. He was acutely aware of every scrape of his chopsticks against the bowl, every soft sigh from his mother. The silence when they weren't speaking was deafening. He was an actor in a play about a son coming home for dinner, and he was forgetting all his lines.

He ate as quickly as he could, the pretense of normalcy a crushing weight. Finally, he put down his chopsticks.

"I'm full. Thanks for dinner."

His mother’s brow furrowed. "That's all you're having?"

"I'm still not very hungry," he said, standing up. "I think I'll just go lie down again."

He didn't wait for a response. He retreated to his room, closing the door and leaning against it, his heart pounding once more. The sounds of his mother clearing the table on the other side felt a world away. He felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed by his own overwhelming anxiety.

He collapsed back onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow. He just wanted to sleep. To let the quiet of the house finally seep into him and push everything else out. For a few minutes, it almost worked. His breathing slowed, his muscles unclenched, and the world began to feel distant.

Just as he was drifting into the soft gray of near-sleep, the silence was violently torn apart by the shrill ring of his phone.

The sound was an assault. He jolted upright, his heart leaping into his throat. He’d forgotten to silence it. He fumbled for the phone on his nightstand, his only thought to make the noise stop before his mother heard. His thumb was about to hit the decline button when he saw the screen.

Unknown Number.

He froze. He didn't know anyone who would be calling him. A cold dread, different from the anxiety he'd been feeling all day, washed over him. It could be anyone. It could be no one. He let the call ring, his breath held tight in his chest, until it finally stopped.

The silence that returned was heavier, charged with menace. He stared at the dark screen, his pulse throbbing in his temples. He prayed it was just a wrong number.

A moment later, the phone rang again. The same piercing sound, the same two words on the screen: Unknown Number.

It wasn't a mistake. Whoever it was, they were not going to be ignored. With a trembling hand, he swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear without a word.

For a second, there was only static, a faint electronic hiss. Then, a voice spoke, low and unmistakable, a voice he would have recognized anywhere.

It was Chi Cheng.

"Da Bao."

Wu Suowei’s breath hitched. He couldn’t force a sound from his throat.

"... Chi Cheng," he finally managed, the name a choked whisper.

There was a soft, almost gentle sound on the other end of the line—a quiet chuckle that held no humor. "I heard you came home. How are you?"

The calm, conversational tone was a thousand times more terrifying than shouting would have been. It was a power play, a display of absolute control. Wu Suowei’s mind raced, stumbling over itself in a desperate search for an explanation.

“How…?” he breathed, voice barely audible. “How did you know?”

“Does it matter?” Chi Cheng murmured, his tone so smooth it was almost a physical touch. Wu Suowei didn’t answer. He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, words caught somewhere between curiosity and disbelief.

The silence in the room had grown heavy. Wu Suowei had been quiet for too long, his shoulders slumped, and his gaze fixed on a meaningless spot on the ceiling. He was clearly wrestling with something, and the sullen energy coming off him was palpable.

A soft sigh escaped Chi Cheng’s lips, breaking the tension, “Alright, alright. Don’t be so glum, my Da Bao.” The pet name was spoken softly, a tool to disarm, to soothe the bristling defensiveness he could sense in the younger man. He paused, the corners of his mouth tugging into a faint, knowing smile as he imagined Wu Suowei refusing to meet his eyes. “I met Jiang Xiaoshuai earlier, and he happened to mention he was worried about you. Said you looked pale and took off pretty quickly...”

Each word was delivered calmly, without a hint of accusation, but they landed like carefully placed stones, dismantling the flimsy wall Wu Suowei had built around his day. The fight visibly drained out of him. There was no point in denying it, not when Chi Cheng already knew. Not when he said it with such casual certainty.

“I… yeah,” Wu Suowei admitted, the confession a quiet puff of air. His voice was low, laced with exhaustion. “I went there after… well, after everything. Told Xiaoshuai I was heading home.”

Wu Suowei finally lifted his head, eyes narrowing at the space before him as a new thought pushed through his resignation. The pieces were clicking together in a way that was both strange and unnerving. It wasn't just that Chi Cheng knew what he did, but how.

“The two of you really know each other, huh.”

It wasn't quite a question. His voice carried a dry mix of amusement at the sheer unlikelihood of it, and a sharp thread of suspicion. But beneath that was something quieter, harder to name—a weary resignation to the fact that the orbits of his life were collapsing into one another, all with Chi Cheng at the center. It was the feeling of being known, completely and thoroughly, which was as terrifying as it was, in some strange way, a relief.

Chi Cheng’s voice didn’t waver, calm and confident. “We do,” he admitted softly, letting the words settle between them, carrying weight without needing to explain more.

Wu Suowei stayed silent for a moment, the hum of the phone in his ear filling the space between them. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the bedspread, and his heart thumped unevenly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Chi Cheng said, his voice teasing but low, smooth enough to make Wu Suowei shiver. “Don’t tell me you’re sulking because I mentioned Xiaoshuai.”

Wu Suowei’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to hide the flush creeping over his cheeks. “I… it’s just… I didn’t expect you two to know each other,” he admitted softly, voice catching slightly.

Chi Cheng let out a gentle chuckle, almost a caress over the line. “It’s not that surprising. Xiaoshuai and I have… crossed paths before. Work, mostly. You know how it is.”

Wu Suowei’s curiosity piqued despite himself. “Wait… you met him at work?” His voice rose a fraction, a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“Yes,” Chi Cheng confirmed, calm and unbothered. “It was a while back, nothing too complicated.”

Wu Suowei’s curiosity got the best of him. He couldn’t reconcile the image of a quiet medical professional with Chi Cheng's world. So he asked, his voice hesitant but determined, “What kind of work? I’m just… trying to picture it.”

Chi Cheng’s answered steady. There was no flicker of evasion, which was almost more unnerving. “He’s a good doctor,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The kind who knows how to be discreet.”

The implication hung heavy in the air between them. Wu Suowei’s throat went dry. Discreet. The word conjured images of patched-up wounds in back rooms, injuries that couldn’t be explained through official channels.

“Sometimes,” Chi Cheng continued, his voice dropping slightly, “people get hurt in ways that don’t need a police report attached. He’s the one you call.”

A shiver traced its way down Wu Suowei’s spine, but not from fear. The vague, dangerous outlines of Chi Cheng’s life suddenly snapped into sharper focus. It wasn’t just about security or intimidating people; it was a world where professional discretion was a commodity, and a trustworthy doctor was a vital asset. He opened his mouth to ask more, but the tone of Chi Cheng’s voice—a quiet, final sort of finality—told him he’d learned enough for one day.

“Everything’s fine. And now you’ve got me watching over you, too, Da Bao.”

The nickname slipped out like a vow, soft yet unyielding. Wu Suowei’s breath caught, a pulse of warmth racing through him as though those words had bound him tighter than any rope ever could. A shiver chased down his spine, not from fear, not from cold, but from the raw claim hidden in Chi Cheng’s voice—protective, possessive, inescapable.

His eyes fluttered shut, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips despite himself. For the first time in too long, he let himself sink into that feeling—anchored, steadied, and undeniably his.

“I know,” Wu Suowei whispered, the words a quiet admission of a truth he’d come to rely on. “I know.”

He expected a simple acknowledgment, but Chi Cheng remained silent for another long moment. Wu Suowei could picture him perfectly, his expression unreadable, listening not just to the words but to the spaces between them. Chi Cheng heard the slight drag in Wu Suowei’s breath, the bone-deep weariness he was trying so hard to conceal.

“You know,” Chi Cheng said slowly, his tone shifting from protective to perceptive, “you don’t have to hide your tiredness from me. I can tell when you’re worn out, Da Bao.”

This time, the shiver that went through Wu Suowei was a jolt of exposure, as if a spotlight had been switched on him in a dark room. He straightened up, his knuckles white where he gripped his phone. He had thought he was hiding it well, pushing through the exhaustion of the day with sheer willpower, but it was useless with Chi Cheng. He saw everything.

Wu Suowei swallowed, a shiver running down his spine at the accuracy of Chi Cheng's perception. “I… I’m fine,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow even to him, a lie told out of pure reflex.

A chuckle, low and teasing, came from Chi Cheng’s end of the line. It was a warm, rumbling sound that felt impossibly close, as if whispered directly into his ear. “Mm, sure you are. But you know if you were here, I’d make sure you rested properly… maybe even force you to lie down. Can’t have my Da Bao overthinking himself into exhaustion.”

Despite himself, Wu Suowei’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. The image formed in his mind with startling clarity: Chi Cheng, a towering and immovable presence, simply picking him up and depositing him onto a bed, pulling a blanket over him with a stern look that demanded compliance. The thought was simultaneously mortifying and deeply, shamefully comforting.

“You’d… do that?” he asked, his voice soft and threaded with a vulnerability he couldn't hide. The protest that followed was a flimsy shield against the undeniable pull he felt. “But we… we barely know each other.”

“I would, and do you really think that matters, Da Bao?” Chi Cheng confirmed, his tone unwavering, as smooth and certain as a river current. “And you wouldn’t be able to refuse me, either.”

The sheer confidence in his voice left Wu Suowei breathless. He knew, with a frustrating certainty, that it was true. “We don’t—” Wu Suowei began again, trying to articulate the chaotic swirl of his thoughts, the feeling that this was all moving too fast, too intensely. “We haven’t spent enough time.”

Chi Cheng interrupted gently, but the teasing edge in his voice was sharper now, a hidden blade beneath the calm. “Enough time?” he repeated, letting the question hang in the air. “Da Bao, I’ve known enough. More than you think.”

The mood of the call shifted subtly, the playful intimacy deepening into something more serious.

“Sometimes… knowing isn’t about hours or days,” Chi Cheng continued, his voice dropping lower, each word spoken with deliberate weight. “It’s about moments, about presence, about trust. And sometimes… you just need to remember the past.”

Wu Suowei’s breath caught at the slight, almost imperceptible emphasis Chi Cheng placed on those last words. The casual warmth of the conversation evaporated, replaced by a sudden, chilling intensity. The way he said it… it wasn’t a metaphor or a philosophical musing. It felt like a key being slid into a lock. A lock Wu Suowei didn't even know existed.

Wu Suowei’s mind went still, Chi Cheng’s voice over the phone echoing faintly: “…sometimes you just need to remember the past.”

—

The calm, quiet space of his room dissolved, replaced by the jarringly familiar noise and narrow walls of his high school hallway.

The memory, blurry and unwelcome, slammed into him without warning. He felt a phantom shove and the sickening collision that followed. A sharp, throbbing pain bloomed in his head as it connected with the hard edge of a metal locker. He could almost feel the warm, sticky sensation of blood welling at his temple. The world tilted on its axis. Laughter, sharp and menacing, cut through the haze. "What’s wrong, weakling?" a voice sneered from the past.

He was dazed, trying to get up, but another shove sent him stumbling, the fresh trickle of blood ignored by his tormentors. The pain was a disorienting wave, blurring the faces and melting the hallway into an indistinct haze. Just as his consciousness began to fade, a figure stepped in—solid, determined, yet indistinct in his memory. Though the face was a soft blur at the edge of his recollection, the presence was absolute. It felt strong, unyielding, and overwhelmingly protective. It was a certainty he had forgotten he knew.

The aftermath had consequences—Chi Cheng had been suspended for the fight, called into the principal’s office, facing punishment for the fight. The bullies had gotten expelled. But even then, Chi Cheng had known it was worth it.

—

The flashback shattered, and he was back in his room, gasping for air. His heart hammered against his ribs, and he stumbled on the floor, catching himself on the edge of his bed. The phone was still pressed to his ear, a cold weight in his trembling hand.

“What…” he choked out, the single word raw with shock and confusion.

The shift on the other end of the line was immediate. The teasing, intimate tone in Chi Cheng’s voice vanished, replaced by a sharp, alert focus. “Da Bao? What is it? Did something happen?”

Wu Suowei couldn't form a coherent answer. The details of the memory were already slipping away, returning to the fog they had inhabited for years. But the feeling... that feeling remained, a profound ache in his chest. The sense of absolute protection, the unspoken promise that someone had stood up for him when he couldn’t, was as real as the phone in his hand. Wu Suowei finally understood. The protector from the past with the blurry face and the man on the phone with the possessive, caring voice were one and the same. Even if his mind had buried the details, the impact had never truly left him.

The silence on the line was thick with unspoken history on Chi Cheng’s end, broken only by Wu Suowei’s ragged breathing. He was still in his room, but his mind was ten years in the past, standing in a high school hallway that smelled of floor wax and fear. The phantom ache at his temple was so vivid, he instinctively raised a hand to touch it.

Chi Cheng’s voice crackled through the phone again, pulling him back to the present. The concern in it was sharp, cutting through the haze in Wu Suowei’s mind. “Da Bao? Talk to me,”

Wu Suowei swallowed, his throat tight with emotion. The fragmented images of the attack—the shove, the pain, the blood—were already receding, but the one feeling that remained was a stark, undeniable certainty. The protector from the past with the blurry face and the man on the phone with the possessive, caring voice were one and the same. The realization settled not as a thought, but as a truth he had somehow always known.

“Chi… I…” Wu Suowei’s voice wavered, soft and uneven, like a thread pulled too thin. His knees bent as he slowly sank onto the cool floor, his back pressing against the side of his bed for support.

“I… I remember something,” he whispered, almost as if confessing a secret he wasn’t sure he had the right to share. “From high school. The shove… my head hitting the locker… and someone stepping in—shielding me. It wasn’t clear, but…” His chest tightened, breath catching as his gaze flickered upward. “In my heart, I knew it was you.”

Chi Cheng remembered what happened back then—of course he did. Every moment with his Da Bao was carved into him, impossible to forget.

A soft chuckle came from the other side, warm and deliberate, devoid of any surprise. “Of course it was, Da Bao,” Chi Cheng said. His voice held that calm, steady authority that had always unsettled Wu Suowei in the most intimate way. “Getting suspended for that fight was nothing. Seeing those bullies get expelled was worth it. Some things… some people… are worth any consequence.”

Wu Suowei closed his eyes, the confirmation washing over him, filling in the gaps his memory had left blank. “I… I didn’t remember clearly,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Just flashes… a blur. But… I felt it. You protected me.”

“I did,” Chi Cheng confirmed softly, his voice a deliberate, tender purr meant to soothe and reassure. “And I’d do it again. Always. No matter what…”

The promise settled over Wu Suowei, a shield against a decade-old fear. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the tension finally leaving his shoulders as he sat on the floor of his quiet childhood room.

But Chi Cheng’s voice faltered on the last word, the unwavering confidence suddenly cracking. It was a subtle thing—a slight roughening of his tone, a hesitation that felt like a chasm opening up on the line…

… But I failed to protect you when I was away.

The thought, though unspoken, was so potent it was almost audible, his thoughts flashing back to the clinic earlier that day. The clinic Gang Zi mentioned days ago from the given information. Chi Cheng finally visited because of the familiar old name that he knew before. One of the main reasons why he was there at that time—to Jiang Xiaoshuai’s hesitant pause, to Guo Chengyu’s steady gaze as they finally told him what had really happened back then. The pieces he had never known, the truth Jiang Xiaoshuai and Guo Chengyu they had kept from him.

“Chi Cheng?” he asked, his voice carefully soft, feigning only a slight confusion. “Are you okay?”

Chi Cheng tightened his grip on the phone, the knuckles of his free hand turning white as he gripped the railing. Wu Suowei was still on the line, basking in the warmth of a promise Chi Cheng knew he had already broken once. The true vow formed not on his lips, but in the cold resolve that settled deep in his bones.

“Mm, I’m fine, Da Bao”

There was a pause, gentle and heavy, filled only by the quiet rhythm of their breaths across the distance. In that silence, Wu Suowei let himself feel it all—the lingering fear from the memory, and the profound comfort of the present. He could almost feel the warmth and quiet authority of Chi Cheng taking care of him, a feeling that made his chest ache with a strange mixture of longing and relief. For the first time, the intensity of Chi Cheng’s presence didn’t feel like a mystery; it felt like a promise that had been kept for a very long time.

Chapter Text

The clinic was quiet, bathed in the low, golden light of the approaching sunset. Most of the day's patients were gone, leaving behind a stillness that felt heavy and expectant. The antiseptic smell hit Chi Cheng as soon as he pushed the door open, a sharp and sterile scent that did little to mask the underlying tension he could already feel in the air.

He stood at the doorway, a tall, unmoving silhouette that blocked the fading light. His gaze, cold and deliberate, cut across the empty waiting room to the reception desk.

Jiang Xiaoshuai and Guo Chengyu were seated together behind it, their heads bent over a file. Their voices were low, weaving in and out of the quiet in an imitation of casual, end-of-day work. But Chi Cheng’s eyes were sharp, watchful. He saw the forced ease in their postures, the way Go Chengyu’s fingers tapped restlessly on the desk, the slight stiffness in Jiang Xiaoshuai’s shoulders. His stare measured every pause, every shift in tone, dissecting their performance.

They didn’t see him at first—or maybe they were trying not to. The easy rhythm of their conversation carried a weight beneath it, a fragile crust over something they were trying to keep hidden. Chi Cheng could feel it pressing against his chest. Something unsaid lingered in the air, something he knew was tied to Wu Suowei.

He’d seen enough to confirm his suspicions.

Chi Cheng cleared his throat. The sound was quiet, but it cracked through the room like a whip.

Both of them froze instantly. The file slipped from Jiang Xiaoshuai’s fingers, scattering papers across the desk. Go Chengyu’s head snapped up, his feigned calm shattering into pure, undisguised alarm. Their wide eyes, fixed on the figure in the doorway. Chi Cheng took a slow step forward, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft, final click, enveloping them all in a heavy, accusatory silence.

Chi Cheng sat at one of the chairs in front of them, he sat as he owns the room.

“It isn’t hard to intercept,” Chi Cheng’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. “Monitoring Wu Suowei every day isn’t a hard task for someone with your resources. That’s how you knew, isn’t it? How you realized I had the wrong man.”

Guo Chengyu’s composure didn’t crack, but a muscle feathered in his jaw. He slowly reached for a pen from the desk, turning it over in his fingers. “Your point?” he asked, his tone smooth and even, betraying nothing.

A humorless smile touched Chi Cheng’s lips. “My point,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous level, “is that you knew where he was but didn’t have the guts to tell me.” 

The air thickened instantly, the sterile scent of antiseptic now sharp as steel between them.

Jiang Xiaoshuai shifted uneasily, his eyes flicking between the two men. “Boss Cheng, that’s not—”

“Stay out of this, Jiang Xiaoshuai,” Chi Cheng cut him off, his gaze never leaving Guo Chengyu. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of someone who was ready to turn the entire clinic inside out if he didn’t like the answer.

Guo Chengyu twirled the pen once more, his movements precise, controlled. He settled on the chair and leaned back, meeting Chi Cheng’s stare head-on.

“You think it was that simple?” he asked, voice steady. “That we could’ve just walked up to you and handed you the truth on a silver platter? You weren’t here, Chi Cheng. You left. And while you were gone, we were the ones cleaning up the pieces.”

The words hit like a blade. For a moment, silence stretched—thick, suffocating.

Chi Cheng’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His smile vanished, leaving only the raw edge of anger beneath. “And how did that work out?” he asked, his tone a lethal whisper. “He was broken. And I wasn’t there to stop it.”

For the first time, a flicker of regret passed through Guo Chengyu’s eyes, quick and restrained, but visible enough. He didn’t answer immediately, and in the heavy pause, the truth hung between them, undeniable.

“Or maybe,” Guo Chengyu countered evenly, “I was keeping him safe—from you, from what your absence did to him.”

Before the tension could snap, Jiang Xiaoshuai finally pushed back his chair with a scrape that cut through the silence. “Enough,” he said, his voice firm but carrying a weariness that made both men pause.

He looked at Chi Cheng first, his expression softer but edged with truth. “You don’t know half of what he went through when you were gone. The nights he didn’t sleep, the days he forced himself to keep moving like nothing was wrong. You weren’t here to see it, Chi Cheng. We were.”

Then his gaze shifted to Guo Chengyu, a warning in the tilt of his brow. “And you—don’t twist this into a fight just to prove a point. Wu Suowei doesn’t need the two of you tearing each other apart over who failed him more. Even he doesn’t remember anymore!”

The room froze.

Chi Cheng’s brows knitted, confusion flashing beneath the steel of his stare. “What do you mean… doesn’t remember?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a thread of unease woven into it.

Guo Chengyu’s jaw tightened, but for once he stayed silent.

Jiang Xiaoshuai exhaled, rubbing at the back of his neck, his eyes narrowing at the floor before he looked back up at Chi Cheng. “There are things that happened while you were away—things he had to survive—that left scars you can’t see. And the worst part? He buried them so deep, he doesn’t even remember them himself. And—and there was a car accident, Chi Cheng. A bad one. He wasn’t just scraped up—he was crushed, bleeding, unconscious for days. We didn’t know if he’d even survive the first night. When he finally woke up… he didn’t remember how it happened. Or maybe he refused to. Either way, the doctors told us not to force it—that his mind buried the memory to protect him.”

Silence settled, heavy and suffocating. For the first time, the words weren’t just between friends—they were a blade turned toward the past, sharp enough to cut all three of them.

Guo Chengyu continued the part Jiang Xiaoshuai hadn’t mentioned, his tone lowering into something darker, something that cut deeper. “But it wasn’t just an accident. The brakes had been tampered with. We didn’t know what to do at the time. After a year you left,  Wang Zhen and Wang Shuo left too, moved overseas. Suowei’s accident all happened two years after you left… You weren’t here. They weren’t here. The only ones left were us—and Wu Suowei.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in the room, an echo of years spent carrying a truth too heavy for one person.

Guo Chengyu’s grip on the pen tightened before he spoke again, quieter this time, as though saying it aloud might break something fragile. “We… we also found Wu Suowei’s journal. He knew all along the real reason why you left. And he knew—somehow—that something bad might happen to him. But it didn’t stop him. He kept chasing after you anyway.”

Chi Cheng’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing, but Guo Chengyu didn’t give him the chance to interrupt.

“He might have known the person behind all of this,” Guo Chengyu finished, his tone bleak, the weight of the possibility pressing down on every word. “But whatever he discovered, he took it with him into that accident. And now… he can’t remember it.”

Chi Cheng’s fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his forearms standing stark and tight against his skin. He felt like a fool, a puppet whose strings were just now becoming visible. His voice, when it finally came, was a ragged, incredulous rasp. “And you kept all this from me?”

Before they could answer, his anger was overwhelmed by a sudden, piercing clarity. So that’s why, he thought, a cold knot tightening in his chest. That’s why his Da Bao couldn’t seem to recognize him. His Da Bao hadn’t meant to forget him. He remembered the polite confusion in Suowei’s eyes from their recent encounter, the question that had felt like a physical blow: “Have we met before?” The memory still made his heart ache. Now, he understood. 

His mind flooded with the ghosts of what was stolen: Suowei’s easy laughter, the specific way he would lean his head on Chi Cheng’s shoulder after a long day, a silent, trusting weight. The stubborn set of his jaw when he’d promised, “I’ll wait. No matter how long.” Now, their entire history existed only in his memory. The pain didn't vanish; it crystallized into something harder, the edge of a blade he would personally deliver to the man responsible.

The raw, incredulous question hung in the air, echoing in the suffocating silence of the clinic. Jiang Xiaoshuai stood his ground, his breathing heavy, having finally uncaged years of secrets and frustration. The fear that had held Jiang Xiaoshuai captive moments before finally burned away, replaced by the defiant fire of a cornered man protecting his own. His eyes narrowed, his jaw setting into a hard, stubborn line.

“What would you have done if you’d known?” he shot back, taking a challenging step forward. “Run back here and torn him open with questions he couldn’t answer? You weren’t here, Chi Cheng. We were. And for years, all that mattered was keeping him alive and stable. And you just came back a few months ago! Together with your father’s death!”

“Right, they still don’t know what happened with the empire after I came back.” Chi Cheng thought.

He jabbed a finger in the air, his voice rising with years of frustration and desperation. “So what were we supposed to do? The culprit was still out there, and we took a chance. Yes, we took part in the setup. We intended for you to take the wrong man on that list, because it was the only way we knew for you to finally meet him again! We haven't stopped investigating, Chi Cheng! Wu Suowei is my brother too, and I—we have never stopped trying to find the truth!”

He finally deflated, the fight leaving him as he delivered the final, crushing reality of their situation. “But it’s all a dead end,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Because somehow, we know that we’re being monitored by that same culprit, too.”

The words fell into the oppressive silence of the office, each one a confession and a desperate justification. Jiang Xiaoshuai stood his ground, his breathing heavy, having finally uncaged years of secrets and frustration. He had laid their entire, desperate strategy bare, and now he braced for the violent eruption he was sure would follow.

But it didn't come.

The fury in Chi Cheng’s expression flickered, short-circuited by the sheer, insane audacity of the confession. His fists, which had been clenched, so tightly the knuckles were white, slowly uncurled at his sides. He turned away from Xiaoshuai, a move that was more disarming than any physical blow. He walked to the large window, placing a hand on the cool glass and staring out at the myriad of lights twinkling across. The reflection that stared back was a stranger, a man who had been playing a game without ever knowing the real rules.

The personal betrayal burned, a hot coal in his gut, but the tactical mind took over. Monitored. The word was a hook, pulling his focus from the past to the immediate, lethal present. When he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of the earlier heat. The rage was gone, replaced by something far colder and more dangerous: absolute focus.

“Start from the beginning,” Chi Cheng commanded, his back still to the room. “Tell me everything you left out. Everything you know. Now.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai sagged against the desk, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush. This wasn't forgiveness. It was a reprieve. He looked at the rigid silhouette of the man at the window, and for the first time in a very long time, the crushing weight of protecting Wu Suowei alone began to feel just a little bit lighter. The battle between them was over; the war was just beginning.

The heavy command hung in the air, shifting the dynamic of the room from a confrontation to a debriefing. Jiang Xiaoshuai watched the rigid set of Chi Cheng’s shoulders, the way he remained staring out at the sprawling lights. The silence stretched, thick with years of secrets.

Finally, Xiaoshuai let out a long, shuddering breath and ran a hand through his already messy hair. He gestured weakly to the single patient chair in front of his desk. “Sit down,” he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “This is going to take a while.”

Chi Cheng remained at the window for another long moment before turning. His face was a cold, unreadable mask, but he moved with silent purpose, taking the offered seat. He didn't relax; he sat on the edge of the chair, a coiled spring of lethal focus, his eyes never leaving Xiaoshuai’s.

Xiaoshuai collapsed into his own desk chair, the worn leather groaning under his weight. He stared at the scattered files on his desk, at the single pool of light from the lamp that did little to push back the encroaching darkness.

“The beginning,” he started, his voice low. “The real beginning was after the incident. After they found him. Physically, he recovered, but mentally… he wasn't there. There was a hole in his memory, a huge, black hole around the event itself. The doctors called it dissociative amnesia. A way for his mind to protect itself from a trauma it couldn't process.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts. “We—that is, myself, Guo Chengyu, and a few others—tried to help him piece it together. But every time we got close, he’d shut down. Panic attacks. Nightmares. It was clear that whatever he was hiding from himself was dangerous. Then… we started noticing things.”

“What things?” Chi Cheng’s voice was sharp, cutting through the narrative without preamble.

“Odd things,” Xiaoshuai said, leaning forward, his eyes dark with the memory of it. “A new ‘patient’ asking questions that were too specific. A file on my computer being accessed remotely. Little glitches in our phones. We realized the person responsible for what happened to Suowei… they weren't gone. They were watching. Waiting to see if he remembered.”

Chi Cheng’s focus intensified. “Be more specific about the patient.”

Xiaoshuai frowned, thinking back. “He was odd. Asked about Suowei’s recovery, but also about the old days. He even mentioned the Willow Branch Teahouse, asked if we ever went there anymore. It felt… personal.”

A deep stillness came over Chi Cheng. The Willow Branch Teahouse was where his father and Guo Chenghei had sworn their oath of brotherhood. It was a place known only to the absolute inner circle.

“So we distanced ourselves. I only interact with Da Wei when he comes to the clinic. Guo Chengyu can only watch from the shadows. They want mind games, so we did too.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai added, voice low, “We tightened everything—changed routines, swapped numbers, scrubbed logs when we could. But whoever it was had patience. They were slow and careful. They wanted him to surface whatever he’d buried.” He tapped the pen against the desk, the sound small and hard. “That’s why we kept the journal. It was the only place he let the pieces live. We thought if he ever came back to them on his own, it would be safer. We didn’t want to force memory on him—and we were terrified of what someone else might do with it.”

Chi Cheng’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes sharpened, cataloging the details. The methods Xiaoshuai described were clumsy, almost amateurish, yet they had been effective enough to corner a small group of civilians into years of fearful silence.

“The journal, where was it?” he cut off.

Guo Chengyu met his gaze. “Gang Zi gave me the list, it wasn’t just a one-way transaction. He asked if I had anything—anything at all—that might be useful.” He paused, letting the weight of the statement land. “I gave the journal to him a month ago.”

Chi Cheng’s nostrils flared, but it wasn’t just simple annoyance. It was a flicker of genuine surprise. He fell silent for a long moment, reprocessing everything he thought he knew about his head of security. Gang Zi, he thought, a cold understanding dawning on him. He didn’t just leak a list. He secured the most critical piece of evidence and my most important allies without a single direct order. His silent shadow had been waging his own quiet war all along. 

Chi Cheng filed the thought away to deal with later, his focus snapping back to the mission at hand.

Guo Chengyu continued. “After the incident, I reached out to your father to help me investigate. My father… Guo Chenghei… he helped too. He was furious, swore he’d find who did it. But every lead we chased turned into a dead end. He’d tell us the contact was a ghost, the surveillance footage was corrupted. He controlled the investigation, steering us into walls.”

The pieces began to lock into place in Chi Cheng's mind with grim, horrifying precision. The clumsy monitoring, the investigation that led nowhere, the intimate knowledge of their past. It wasn't the work of an outside enemy. It was the work of a trusted insider, a master of misdirection.

… He should have ended him where he stood.

“The corrupted files,” Chi Cheng said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “When you recovered them, was there a digital marker in the code? An eight-stroke character for ‘dragon’?”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s eyes widened in shock. “How could you know that? It was buried deep in the metadata. I thought it was just junk code.”

Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, the truth washing over him like ice water. The "black dragon" was Guo Chenghei’s private digital signature, a foolishly arrogant mark he used to sign off on his black-ops reports to Chi Cheng’s father.

“The man who steered your investigation into a wall,” Chi Cheng said, his gaze settling on Guo Chengyu with a terrible, newfound pity, “was the same man who tampered with Wu Suowei’s brakes. The hidden enemy who has been watching you for years… and the man who stole my father’s throne… are the same person.”

The air left the room. Jiang Xiaoshuai stared, speechless.

Guo Chengyu froze, the pen in his hand snapping in two with a sharp crack. That’s what took it all, the suspicion. The revelation hit him with the force of a physical blow. His own father. The man who had feigned rage and grief, who had “helped” him search for the culprit, was the monster all along.

“It makes perfect sense,” Chi Cheng continued, the pieces now forming a complete, monstrous picture. “Weiwei must have discovered something about his plan to usurp my father. The ‘accident’ was to silence him. My father’s death was the final trigger for him to take over. And his obsession with monitoring you was to ensure his oldest, dirtiest secret never surfaced.”

The two wars Chi Cheng had been fighting, the syndicate war for his father’s legacy and the personal war to find justice for Wu Suowei, had just collapsed into one. He had come back to fight a traitor, only to find the same man was responsible for the deepest wound in his life. The fury in his chest was no longer just about power or inheritance; it was about a level of betrayal so profound it threatened to consume everything.

The silence in the clinic was absolute, shattered only by the sharp, ragged sound of Guo Chengyu’s breathing. The sterile, antiseptic scent of the room felt mocking, a clean veneer over a truth so rotten it poisoned the air. Jiang Xiaoshuai stared at his friend, his own shock overshadowed by a wave of dawning horror for the man who was now trapped between the two halves of his life.

Guo Chengyu slowly, mechanically, pushed his chair back. The legs scraped against the linoleum with a piercing shriek. He stood up, his movements stiff and unnatural, and walked to the wall, placing his palms flat against it as if to stop the room from spinning.

"He taught me how to ride a bike," Chengyu said, his voice a hollow, disbelieving whisper. "He helped me with my studies. He told me stories... stories about brotherhood, about the loyalty he swore to your father." He choked on the words, a dry, wracking sob catching in his throat. He slammed his fist against the wall, a dull, painful thud that did nothing to release the pressure building inside him. "All of it... a lie. For years, I was protecting Suowei... from my own blood. From him."

Jiang Xiaoshuai started towards him, but Chi Cheng raised a hand, stopping him. He rose from his chair, his own rage now banked, replaced by a grim, pragmatic focus. He walked to stand beside Chengyu, not touching him, but sharing the space.

"The man who taught you how to ride a bike is gone," Chi Cheng said, his voice hard but steady. "The man who wears his face is a different person. The moment he started everything, he is no longer your father."

The words were brutal, but they were a lifeline. They offered a way to separate the cherished memories from the monstrous reality. They offered a path forward.

Chengyu’s shoulders slumped, but when he turned from the wall, the agony in his eyes was being eclipsed by a cold, burning resolve. The revelation had broken him, but what was re-forming in its place was something harder.

“Guo Chengyu,” Chi Cheng said at last, his gaze cutting sharply toward him. His tone was flat, stripped of all softness, but beneath it was a question sharpened by years of silence. “How come you didn’t reach out to me? And how come you did nothing?” His voice was testing, demanding an account for years of silence.

The words landed heavy, dragging the past into the present. Chi Cheng’s eyes didn’t waver, hard as steel, but somewhere beneath that was the flicker of something else: a demand for an answer he hadn’t let himself voice until now.

The accusation cut sharp enough to make Guo Chengyu flinch, a raw nerve touched after years of silence. “Nothing?” he shot back, his voice hoarse with years of unshed frustration. “We tried! In the beginning, after the accident, we hired a private investigator to look into the brake lines. Two days later, he was in the ICU after a hit-and-run that was never solved. We tried to pull the original police report—it had vanished from the archives. Every move we made was met with a quiet, brutal warning.”

He shook his head, the memory of that helplessness still raw. “What were our options then, Chi Cheng? Go to the police? With what? A vague feeling and a handful of corrupted files? All that would have done is paint a fresh target on Suowei’s back. He was fragile. Our only job—my only job—was to protect him because you weren't here. To build a quiet, normal life so far removed from that world that whoever was watching would eventually lose interest and believe he’d never remember.”

“I’m guilty too!” Guo Chengyu’s continued voice cracked, the weight of years pressing down. “Because I treated Wu Suowei like my own younger brother, and I failed to protect him from my own house! How could I reach out to you? I couldn't, not when I started to doubt my own father and refused to accept the truth. My father just didn't banish me from the city, he made me a ghost within it. He stripped my name from the syndicate, cut off my resources, and warned everyone I was a disgrace. I didn't know if it was punishment or his twisted way of protecting me. Every path back to you was cut off, Chi Cheng. I was trapped!”

He leaned his elbows on the desk, burying his face in his hands for a moment before looking up, his eyes filled with a desperate, haunted sincerity.

“So we built that quiet life. And for years, it almost worked. But we lived in a prison of quiet terror, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “We were out of moves, Chi Cheng. Utterly trapped. Then we heard you were back. We knew you were the only person with the skills to fight this, but we couldn’t just call you. If they were listening, it would have been a death sentence. But we also knew you were working your way through a list, looking for someone.”

The final piece of the puzzle slid into place, ugly and insane in its logic.

“It was a desperate gamble,” Xiaoshuai intervened, his voice dropping. “We made sure Da Wei’s path would cross with one of your targets. We created a scenario where you would find him by mistake. It was a stupid, reckless plan, but it was the only card we had left. We needed the monster back on our side of the board.”

A humorless laugh, sharp and devoid of warmth, echoed through the clinic. Chi Cheng walked towards the window, his presence seeming to suck the air from the room. He looked at Guo Chengyu, a bitter understanding in his eyes.

“A monster,” he repeated softly. “Is that what I became?” He shook his head, his gaze cutting. “Why do you think I left in the first place, Chengyu? For an escape?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

“Did you really believe my father sent me away for a decade just to launder money through legitimate fronts?” Chi Cheng continued, the old cover story sounding flimsy and absurd now. “That was the official narrative. I left because I saw the rot starting. I saw your father’s influence poisoning everything my father built. He was a patient viper coiled at my father's side, and I couldn't strike at him from within the family.”

His cold gaze pinning both men in their seats.

“So I went away to build my own empire—an empire of information and wealth that he couldn't see or touch. What you thought of as the ‘empire’—the street thugs, the backroom deals, the loyalty bought with fear—that was already a corpse waiting to fall. That is the empire that is no more.”

Guo Chengyu’s head whipped up, his feigned calm and recent confession both shattering under the weight of this new reality. The look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated shock. Wu Suowei’s journal had said he knew the real reason Chi Cheng left, but Chengyu had never imagined this. The past ten years of his life—his exile, his fear, his desperate protection of Suowei—were not just a tragedy he had endured alone; they were a battleground in a war he never knew Chi Cheng had been fighting all along.

“The empire… is no more?” Guo Chengyu asked, his voice a disbelieving rasp. “What happened when you came back? What did you do?”

“I dismantled it,” Chi Cheng stated, his voice flat and devoid of triumph. “Guo Chenghei stole a kingdom of muscle and steel. So I waged a war he couldn’t see with weapons he didn’t understand. I bankrupted his fronts, turned his allies against him with the truth, and in the end, I delivered him to the state. The old empire is gone. What’s left is mine.”

The sheer, brutal efficiency of the summary hung in the air. Guo Chengyu and Jiang Xiaoshuai stared, finally understanding the scale of the "monster" they had summoned.

Chi Cheng’s focus narrowed again, turning to the final piece of the puzzle. “Which brings me to your part in this. The setup,” he said. “The list I was working from was operational, known only to my inner circle. How did you get it?”

It was Jiang Xiaoshuai who answered, his voice rough with the weight of the confession. “We didn’t. Your man, Gang Zi… he’s more loyal than even you know. He’s had his own suspicions about Guo Chengyu’s father for years, but he had no proof. When he saw the name Zhang Bao Gui on your list, he recognized it from the old investigation into Suowei's accident. He took a risk. He leaked the list to us, trusting we would understand what it meant.”

The new variable slotted into place. Gang Zi, his silent shadow, had been playing his own long game. “So Gang Zi gave you the list,” Chi Cheng stated, his gaze boring into Guo Chengyu, “and you used Zhang Bao Gui as bait.”

“We didn’t know how deep he was involved,” Guo Chengyu admitted, unable to look away. “We just knew he was part of it. He was our only lead… the only way we knew to get your attention.”

Chi Cheng absorbed this, the full, desperate picture finally complete. He walked back to the desk, looming over it. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice a low command, “you will give me every file you have. Every detail about the incident, the monitoring—all of it. There are no more secrets. The game you were playing is over. We start playing mine now.”

Chi Cheng held Guo Chengyu’s gaze a long moment, his mind turning over every fragment of information, every misstep, every omission. For a heartbeat he looked like he might demand more, make him pay for every secret. Instead, he reached into his pocket, produced a single card, and flicked it toward Guo Chengyu.

The man caught it without effort. On the front there was an encrypted string, tight and clinical. When Guo Chengyu flipped the card over, the room seemed to constrict: a dragon—Chi Cheng’s father’s personal sigil, stared back at him.

Something in Guo Chengyu’s face shifted then, from defiance to pale understanding. The implication was simple and brutal: whatever bridge had been burned, whatever channels had been closed, this card reopened them. He had his answer.

Chi Cheng didn’t wait for words. He turned toward the door and walked, each step measured. His hand paused on the handle; he looked back once, the dim light catching something hard in his eyes.

“From this moment on, there are no more gambles. No more secrets,” he said, voice low and final. “You report everything to me. Anything you remember, anything you notice—this card will be your lead. Be at there tomorrow. Understand?”

Guo Chengyu swallowed, the card heavy between his fingers, and nodded. The quiet that followed was less empty than charged—an unspoken truce struck under the weight of consequence. 

Chi Cheng opened the door and was gone, leaving only the encroaching darkness and the heavy silence behind.

Chapter Text

The private jet sliced through the hazy twilight above Shanghai, descending towards a sprawling constellation of light that glittered to the horizon. From his window, Chi Cheng saw the iconic needle of the Oriental Pearl Tower and the twisting form of the Shanghai Tower, monuments to a new China his father had helped build from the shadows. The old man, the Tiger of the Huangpu, was dead. The lair was empty.

Chi Cheng felt his father’s death not as a hollow ache of grief, but as a cold, hard stone in his gut. Grief was a luxury; power was a necessity. He had spent the last few years in Europe, laundering the family’s immense wealth through legitimate fronts, hardening himself in boardrooms and back alleys, becoming a weapon his father could never be. He was polished, educated, and infinitely more ruthless.

The jet’s wheels touched down at the airport’s private terminal. The door hissed open, not to tropical humidity, but to the cool, crisp air of an autumn evening, laced with the metallic tang of the world’s busiest city. At the bottom of the stairs, his head of security, Gang Zi, stood like a stone sentinel. A short, respectful bow. "Young Master. The cars are waiting."

Chi Cheng descended, his movements precise. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored overcoat against the evening chill, a stark silhouette of tradition and modernity. The convoy was not ostentatious, but brutally efficient: three black Audi A8s with bulletproof glass, their engines purring with restrained power. He slipped into the rear of the center car, the door sealing him in silence.

Shanghai rushed past his window, a blur of neon canyons and elevated highways. He was an observer in his own city, detached and analytical. He had been away too long. His focus was singular: the family residence, a historic walled estate in the French Concession, the heart of the Azure Dragon syndicate.

The convoy turned off the bustling street, passing through an ancient, stone shikumen archway into a private lane shaded by plane trees. They stopped before a high wall, where imposing iron gates, bearing the family crest, swung silently inward.

The cars pulled into a vast courtyard paved with river stones, surrounding a serene garden with a gnarled ginkgo tree at its center. As Chi Cheng stepped out, he was met by the sight he expected: two deep lines of men, stretching from the moon gate to the villa's main entrance. The elders, the captains, the Lao Dai—the pillars of his father's empire, their faces etched with history and violence. They were all in formal, dark Zhongshan suits.

As Chi Cheng began his walk, a single, silent command seemed to pass through them. In a wave of synchronized motion, they bowed low from the waist, a profound gesture of respect and submission. The only sound was the crunch of his leather shoes on the gravel path.

His eyes, sharp and cold as jade, scanned the bowed heads. He saw the loyalty, the fear, the ambition. These were the men who controlled the city's arteries. He projected an aura of absolute command, his gaze a physical weight that pressed down on them. He offered no nod, no flicker of acknowledgment. He was not here to be welcomed; he was here to take what was his.

He reached the heavy, lacquered doors of the villa, held open by two senior house guards. He paused on the threshold, his back to the dozens of men holding their bow.

He was home. He was powerful. He was ready.

He stepped inside, and the nightmare began.

The air in the grand hall was thick with the scent of expensive cigar smoke and fiery Moutai. But there was no music, no laughter. The atmosphere was not one of celebration, but of conspiracy.

The hall was filled with the syndicate's most powerful men. The Lao Dai were all there, seated around the massive mahogany table as if for a board meeting. In the center of the table were the remains of a banquet—Peking duck, abalone, steamed grouper—a feast utterly inappropriate for a house of mourning. They were carving up his father’s empire before the mourning incense had even burned out.

And at the head of the table, in his father’s high-backed, dragon-carved chair, sat Guo Chenghei.

His "Uncle" Guo. His father’s sworn brother and most trusted friend, a man Chi Cheng had revered his entire life. He was a picture of false solemnity, dressed in a simple but perfectly tailored charcoal Zhongshan suit. A string of prayer beads was wrapped loosely around one wrist. He looked up as Chi Cheng entered, and his face broke into a mask of sorrowful welcome.

"Ah, Chi Cheng," Guo Chenghei’s voice was a soft, paternal baritone. He rose slowly, as if burdened by immense grief. "My boy. You have come home."

The other men at the table shifted, their gazes dropping, unable to meet the cold fury radiating from the heir.

Chi Cheng’s face was unreadable, a mask of granite. The betrayal from a brother would have been a hot, violent thing. This was a deeper wound, a cold and creeping poison. This was the man who had taught him how to fish, who had held him on his shoulders, who had sworn an oath of loyalty to his father in a temple ceremony thirty years ago.

"Uncle Guo," Chi Cheng’s voice was devoid of all warmth. "I see you are keeping my father’s seat warm."

Guo Chenghei let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, the seasoned actor playing his part. "These are difficult times, my boy. A family cannot be without a head, even for a day. There are wolves at every door. I am merely holding things together until a proper transition can be made." He gestured to the chair beside him, an invitation. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

"There is nothing to discuss," Chi Cheng said, his eyes never leaving Guo Chenghei's. "The mourning period is not over. This meeting is an insult to my father's memory."

"Your father’s memory is what I am trying to protect!" Guo Chenghei’s voice rose with feigned passion, striking his chest lightly with his fist. "He was my brother! But he grew… tired. The world changed, and he did not change with it." His gaze softened into one of condescending pity. "You have been in London for so long. You understand numbers on a screen, but you no longer understand the language of these streets. The family needs a steady hand, a familiar hand, to guide it through this storm."

The lie was perfectly crafted. It painted Chi Cheng as an outsider, an alien, and Guo Chenghei as the reluctant, dutiful guardian. The elders murmured in quiet agreement, their loyalty already bought and paid for.

Gang Zi and his men had moved to flank Chi Cheng, a silent, tense line drawn in the room.

"This is my father’s house," Chi Cheng stated, the words hanging in the air like a blade. "This is my family."

"And I have been part of this family since before you were born," Guo Chenghei countered, his voice losing its gentle edge, replaced by the hardness of steel. "I held it together while your father’s health failed. I hold it together now. The elders agree. For the sake of stability, I will bear this burden."

He had stolen everything—the business, the loyalty, the very house—and called it a sacrifice. The bows in the courtyard had been for show, a final, insulting performance directed by the new master.

Chi Cheng stood alone in the hall of his ancestors, the rightful heir, facing the patient viper who had been coiled at his father's side all along. The nightmare was not a sudden coup; it was the final move in a game that had been played for years, and he was the only one who hadn't known it.

The silence in the grand hall was a physical weight. The cool autumn air of the Shanghai night seemed a world away from the stuffy, conspiratorial atmosphere within, thick with the scent of expensive cigars and fiery Moutai. The ancestral portraits lining the walls seemed to stare down with silent judgment. The Lao Dai, who had just bowed so deeply in the courtyard, now shifted in their priceless rosewood chairs, the illusion of respect shattered.

Guo Chenghei held his paternal, disappointed gaze for a moment longer before it hardened. He broke the silence, not with a shout, but with a quiet, deliberate movement. He rose from the great, dragon-carved chair and walked to a nearby liquor cabinet, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor. He poured a small measure of Moutai into an ornate porcelain cup, the picture of a man in complete control.

"Duty," Guo Chenghei said, turning to face Chi Cheng, holding the small cup. "It is a heavy word. Some are born to it. Others… run from it."

He took a slow, deliberate sip. "You speak of your father's memory, but you were not here in Shanghai. I was. I saw the weight on his shoulders. A leader needs a son who stands beside him, not one who builds a new life an ocean away, speaking a foreign tongue."

His eyes, dark and knowing, settled on Chi Cheng. "It is a painful lesson for a father. My own son, Chengyu… he taught me this."

Chi Cheng’s expression remained glacial, but his focus sharpened. He recognized this was a carefully aimed weapon.

"He had no stomach for our world," Guo Chenghei continued, his voice laced with a carefully constructed sorrow. "He wanted to be a chef. He saw the strength required to lead as a moral failing. He refused his duty. He refused to be my son." Guo Chenghei’s gaze swept across the silent elders. "So I sent the bastard away. Blood is not always enough, you see. Sometimes, the blood is weak. Unworthy."

He let the implication hang in the air, sharp as the scent of the liquor. Like you.

A flicker of something—not anger, but a cold, contemptuous fire—ignited in Chi Cheng’s eyes. He took a single step forward, and the room seemed to shrink around him.

"Your son?" Chi Cheng’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried the chilling authority that was his birthright. "You mean the bastard, Guo Chengyu?"

The word "bastard" was a profound insult, a strike at Guo Chenghei’s lineage and honor, causing a few of the elders to flinch. Guo Chenghei’s benevolent mask tightened, the first crack in his composure.

"You call him a bastard because you believe he was born weak," Chi Cheng continued, his voice cutting and precise. "I call him one because you disowned him. But you have your story wrong, Uncle."

He let the silence stretch, forcing every man in the room to hang on his next word.

"You didn't exile him because he wanted to be a chef. You exiled him because he had a conscience. He saw the rot in this family—the rot that you cultivated in the shadows while my father’s back was turned. He didn't refuse to follow in your footsteps because he was weak. He refused to become a man like you."

The accusation was a public execution of Guo Chenghei's character. Chi Cheng wasn't just defending himself; he was eviscerating Guo Chenghei's carefully crafted image as a righteous guardian, exposing him as a monster in front of the very men whose loyalty he had just purchased. He was reminding them that Guo Chenghei's own son found him repellent.

Guo Chenghei’s face, which had been a controlled canvas of paternal grief, was now pale with fury. The prayer beads around his wrist were still, his knuckles white as he gripped the porcelain cup. The mask was gone. In its place was the cold, murderous face of the man who had plotted for years to steal a throne.

"You know nothing of my family," Guo Chenghei hissed.

"I know that you broke your sworn oath to mine," Chi Cheng retorted, his voice dropping back to an icy calm. He had won this exchange. He had made Guo Chenghei lose face. To stay now would be to descend into a physical conflict he could not win. He needed to leave on his own terms.

Without another word, he turned his back on his uncle, a gesture of supreme contempt. It was a declaration that this conversation was over because he, the true heir, deemed it so.

"Gang Zi," he said, his voice ringing with command. "We are leaving."

Gang Zi and his men, who had been coiled springs of tension, fell into formation behind him. They moved as a single, deadly unit towards the door.

Chi Cheng walked out of the hall without a backward glance, leaving his father’s old friend standing alone at the head of the table, exposed and enraged, the master of a stolen house that now felt more like a tomb.

The ride back through the streets of Shanghai was silent, a stark contrast to the tension of their arrival. The armored Audi moved like a phantom through the glittering, canyon-like streets of the city.

Gang Zi sat opposite him, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on his young master. "They have the men. They have the estate. We are exposed, Boss Chi. Guo Chenghei’s eyes are everywhere in this city. Where can we possibly go?"

Chi Cheng did not answer immediately. He watched the familiar landmarks of the French Concession recede in the rearview mirror. He simply leaned forward and spoke a quiet, coded address to the driver—a location that was not on any syndicate registry. The driver nodded, taking a series of unexpected turns that deviated from any logical route back to the city center. They descended into the anonymous labyrinth of a public underground parking garage. There, a much less conspicuous black sedan was waiting, its engine humming.

"We change cars," Chi Cheng ordered. "My men will take the Audi’s back to their holding facility. From this point on, we are ghosts."

Gang Zi’s eyes widened slightly, but he obeyed without question. They slipped into the new vehicle, driven by a man whose face was unfamiliar to Gang Zi, but who greeted Chi Cheng with a curt, deferential nod. They drove for twenty minutes, away from the neon glow of the city center, towards a quiet, old-money district of tree-lined streets and discreet, high-walled villas.

The sedan pulled up to a set of unassuming iron gates set into a twenty-foot wall covered in thick, dark ivy. There was no family crest, no guards, no indication of who lived within. The gates swung open silently and closed behind them.

They had arrived at a stately, three-story villa built in the 1930s Art Deco style, elegant but not ostentatious. It was a house that kept its secrets.

"My father bought this place a decade ago through a shell company in the Caymans," Chi Cheng explained as they stepped out of the car. "Officially, it is owned by a foreign art collector. Not even Guo Chenghei knows it exists."

They entered. The interior was a stunning tribute to old Shanghai: dark, polished wood, antique furniture, and priceless scroll paintings on the walls. It felt like a museum, a place frozen in time.

"Boss Chi," Gang Zi said, his voice a low murmur of confusion. "This is a beautiful home, but it is not a fortress."

Chi Cheng walked to the center of the grand library, lined with leather-bound books. He looked up at the ornate ceiling. "Father," he said, his voice clear and calm. "Activate Protocol Crimson Dragon."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low hum filled the air. With a series of silent, hydraulic hisses, the room transformed. A section of the bookshelf slid away to reveal a bank of humming servers and a weapons locker. A wall panel opposite retracted, unveiling a massive, multiscreen display showing satellite imagery, financial market data, and secure communication lines. The antique mahogany desk in the center of the room lit up from within, its surface now a tactical touchscreen console.

The quiet, elegant library had become a state-of-the-art command center. As the systems came online, Chi Cheng noticed a single, heavily encrypted partition on the main server. It was locked beyond his own top-level access, labeled with a single word: 'Equilibrium'. A code word from his childhood chess lessons with his father. A final lesson, it seemed, that he had not yet earned.

Gang Zi stared in stunned silence. This was Boss Chi’s true inheritance. Not the grand estate full of traitors, but this hidden nerve center. His father had not been a tired old man, he had been a king preparing for a war he knew was coming.

Chi Cheng took a seat at the console, his entire demeanor shifting from that of a displaced heir to a general in his war room. "My father was not a fool, Gang Zi. He saw the greed in Guo Chenghei’s heart years ago. He built this place for me. For today."

He brought up a satellite view of the main family estate. "Our enemies are masters of the first move. They seize territory, they consolidate power. They think one step ahead."

His fingers danced across the console, opening windows, initiating commands. "We do not play their game," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intense register. "Guo Chenghei believes he is one step ahead of me. He does not realize we are on entirely different paths. If your enemy is one step ahead, it's because you've allowed him that illusion. You must not be two steps ahead. You must be three, and in a direction he cannot even comprehend."

He pointed to a screen flashing with stock tickers. "The financial attack on his shipping conglomerate has already begun. My team in Italy is executing the plan." He switched to another screen. "The regulatory complaint against his bank in Hong Kong was filed the moment I stepped into my father’s house tonight." He looked at Gang Zi, his eyes burning with cold fire. "Guo Chenghei thinks he stole a kingdom of muscle and steel. My father and I have built an empire of information and wealth. An empire he cannot see and does not know how to fight."

Gang Zi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Italy, Boss Chi? I thought the primary financial operations were based in London.”

“They are,” Chi Cheng confirmed, his voice calm and precise. “London is the engine—it’s where the money moves. But the legal architecture, the shell corporations, the cutouts... that was all originally structured out of Italy when I first went to Europe. We maintain both." A humorless smile touched his lips. "It diversifies our assets. Never keep all your weapons in one armory.”

Chi Cheng leaned back, surrounded by the hum of technology and the weight of his father’s foresight. "Guo Chenghei wanted a throne. I will leave him with nothing but a broken chair in an empty room."

Hours later, in the pre-dawn gloom, the atmosphere at the main family estate had curdled. The lingering scent of expensive food and liquor was now soured by the thick stench of fear. The Lao Dai, the powerful elders who had so readily pledged their allegiance to Guo Chenghei, were gathered once more in the grand hall. Their faces, once flushed with drink and confidence, were now pale and drawn.

The first blow had landed. A frantic call from their contact in Hong Kong.

“What do you mean, ‘frozen’?” Guo Chenghei’s voice, which had been so paternal and controlled hours earlier, was a low growl that echoed in the cavernous room.

A young, tech-savvy aide stood trembling before him, holding a tablet. "Sir—Uncle Guo—the Hong Kong Monetary Authority has flagged all accounts tied to our holding companies. It’s a full regulatory lockdown. They’re citing an anonymous tip from a European source... The contact said the informant used an old, almost obsolete encryption protocol from the early 2000s to deliver the data. It was ghost-level—impossible to trace."

One of the elders, a heavy man named Elder Ma, slammed his fist on the table. "That's a third of our liquid assets! How is this possible?"

Before the aide could answer, another man rushed in, his face ashen. He bypassed the aide and went straight to Guo Chenghei. "The market! The Shanghai exchange just opened. Our shares in the Yangtze Shipping conglomerate… they’ve collapsed."

Guo Chenghei snatched the new tablet, his eyes scanning the steep, blood-red decline on the graph.

"It’s impossible," he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

"They initiated a massive short sell from London an hour before the market opened," the second aide explained, his voice shaking. "They used the news of the Old Master’s death… they cited concerns over leadership stability. It triggered a panic sell. We’ve lost… nine figures. In minutes."

A wave of panicked murmurs swept through the elders. Their personal fortunes were deeply entangled in these ventures. Their new leader, who had promised a new era of prosperity, had just presided over a catastrophic financial bloodbath before his first day was even done.

Guo Chenghei stared at the screen, his mind, so adept at calculating loyalty, violence, and territory, unable to process the speed and nature of the assault. This wasn't a rival gang moving on his turf. This wasn't a police raid. It was an attack from the air, from a world he didn't understand.

He finally looked up, and the mask of the statesman was gone completely. In his eyes was the raw, primal fury of a cornered beast. He swept his arm across the grand desk, sending priceless antiques, tablets, and cups crashing to the floor in a splintering crescendo.

"The boy!" he roared, the sound shocking the assembled men into silence. "Chi Cheng!"

He paced like a caged tiger, the prayer beads on his wrist forgotten. He had dismissed him as an outsider, a student, a child who understood numbers but not men. He saw now that those numbers were weapons, sharper and faster than any knife.

"He thinks he can fight me with paper?" Guo Cheng snarled, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. "He thinks he can hide behind his foreign lawyers and his computer screens?"

He stopped and locked eyes with his head of security, a scarred, silent man named Lin.

"Find him," Guo Chenghei commanded, his voice cold and absolute. "Use every man, every resource. Tear this city apart if you have to. I don't care about the money. The money can be remade. This is about face. This is about power."

He leaned in close to Lin, his voice a whisper that was more terrifying than his roar.

"I want his head. Bring it to me here. We will see how much his numbers are worth then."

Lin gave a single, curt nod and departed.

The elders watched in grim silence. Their new boss had no answer for the modern war Chi Cheng was waging. So he was reverting to the only methods he knew: brute force and murder. As Guo Chenghei stood breathing heavily amidst the wreckage of his desk, he failed to realize his gravest error. He thought he was hunting a boy, when in fact, he had just declared war on a ghost who commanded an army of ghosts.

The sun had not yet risen over Shanghai, but the screens in the command center painted a picture of a world already in chaos. One monitor displayed the Hang Seng and Shanghai stock indices, the Yangtze Shipping conglomerate’s stock in a bleeding, vertical line. Another showed encrypted news alerts from financial journalists in London and Hong Kong, all asking the same question: who was behind the coordinated, surgical strike on the syndicate’s financial front?

Chi Cheng watched it all, his face impassive, a cup of freshly brewed tea steaming gently in his hands. He was the calm eye of a hurricane he had created.

Gang Zi stood by the tactical console, a secure earpiece feeding him information from his own small network of loyalists still embedded within the syndicate. His brow was furrowed with concern.

“The reports are coming in, Boss Chi,” Gang Zi said, his voice grave. “Guo Chenghei is emptying the garrisons. Every available enforcer from Pudong to Minhang is being mobilized. Lin is leading the hunt personally. They are starting with your father’s known properties—the apartment in Xintiandi, the teahouse, the warehouses by the port.”

“Predictable,” Chi Cheng murmured without taking his eyes from the screen. “A cornered dog can only bite. He has no other response.”

“This is more than a bite, Boss. This is a maelstrom. They are pulling every file, shaking down every old contact. They are looking for you, and they will tear down anyone who gets in their way.” Gang Zi paused. “We are secure here, but we are still only a handful of men against hundreds.”

“Are we, Gang Zi?” Chi Cheng asked softly. He set his teacup down and, with a few keystrokes, switched the main display. The financial charts vanished, replaced by a grid of sixteen live surveillance feeds from across the city. They showed dark alleys, the entrances to subway stations, the rooftops overlooking a nondescript warehouse near Suzhou Creek.

On several screens, figures could be seen moving with quiet, professional efficiency. They were not the syndicate’s thugs. Dressed in dark, civilian clothing, they moved with the disciplined economy of trained soldiers, checking sight lines, confirming communication links, and melting back into the shadows.

Gang Zi stared, recognizing the methodology of elite operators, not street fighters. “Who are they?”

“Ghosts,” Chi Cheng answered. “When I moved to Italy, I did not spend all my time in boardrooms. I secured assets of a different kind. They are my most trusted men. They have been in Shanghai for six months, mapping the city, learning the syndicate’s patterns, waiting.”

He brought up a tactical map, highlighting the warehouse near the creek. A dozen red icons, Guo Chenghei’s enforcers, were shown moving towards it. A circle of five blue icons, his own team, were positioned around it in a tightening cordon.

“Guo Chenghei is hunting me,” Chi Cheng said, a flicker of cold satisfaction in his eyes. “But his intelligence is compromised. An hour ago, a trusted source of his was given a tip that I was seen heading to that warehouse. The bait has been taken.”

The scene was set. Guo Chenghei had sent a pack of wolves into a carefully prepared snare. He thought he was the hunter, but he and his men were the prey.

Chi Cheng opened a secure voice channel. "Cham, this is Dragon. Status."

A crisp, calm voice came back through the speakers, familiar and laced with a cold, controlled anger. "Boss Chi, Vix is on overwatch from the distillery across the creek. The lambs are walking to the slaughter. It’s been a long time since we hunted rats in our own city."

The voice belonged to Wang Zhen. He and his younger brother, Wang Shuo, were the sons of his father’s most loyal captain. Old Man Wang had been the first to suspect Guo Chenghei’s treachery years ago, but he was silenced—a car accident that was no accident, before he could find proof. A year after Chi Cheng left for Europe, the Wang brothers fled China, seeking him out. For years, they had trained, prepared, and waited for this day. For justice. For revenge.

Gang Zi looked at his boss, seeing him in a new light. This was not just a schemer, a financier. This was a commander.

Chi Cheng leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the screen showing the first of Guo Chenghei’s men arriving at the warehouse.

"Guo Chenghei is looking for a ghost tonight," he said into the microphone. "Let him find one. Engage at your discretion. Leave one alive to carry the message."

"Copy that, Dragon," the voice replied. 

"Happy hunting."

The channel went silent. In the command center, the only sound was the quiet hum of the servers as Chi Cheng and Gang Zi watched the first part of their kinetic counter-attack begin.

In the hidden command center, the sixteen surveillance feeds became a silent film of impending violence. Chi Cheng and Gang Zi watched as two black vans screeched to a halt near the designated warehouse by Suzhou Creek. A dozen of Guo Chenghei's enforcers piled out, led by a burly, overconfident captain named Kang. They were armed with machetes and pistols, moving with the clumsy arrogance of street thugs who believed their numbers made them invincible.

"They move like buffoons," Gang Zi observed, his professional disdain evident. "No reconnaissance, no perimeter. They think you are in there alone, cornered."

"That is what Guo Chenghei paid them to think," Chi Cheng replied, his eyes fixed on the main screen, which showed a thermal image from Wang Shuo's sniper nest across the creek.

"Boss Chi," Gang Zi said, pointing to a smaller screen showing a different angle. "That thermal signature on the adjacent distillery rooftop... it flared for a second and then vanished. It wasn't Wang Shuo's position." 

"Stray heat from a ventilation unit. Ignore it," Chi Cheng commanded, his focus entirely on the primary assault. "Wang Zhen is moving in."

On the screen, Kang gestured for his men to surround the warehouse. They fanned out, their thermal signatures bright and scattered, bunching up at the entrances. On the tactical map, the cluster of red icons moved into the kill zone.

The voice of Wang Zhen came through the speakers, a low and steady whisper. "All targets in the net. Shuo has the watchman on the roof. On your mark, Boss Chi."

"The mark is yours," Chi Cheng said calmly. "Send the message."

On the screens, the attack began. It was not a firefight; it was an eradication.

From the distillery rooftop, a single, suppressed crack echoed faintly. The watchman on the warehouse roof crumpled without a sound, his red icon on the map blinking out.

Simultaneously, shadows detached themselves from behind shipping containers and darkened doorways. There were no shouts, only the soft thud of bodies hitting pavement and the wet, percussive hiss of silenced pistols. The men at the rear of the formation went down before they even knew they were under attack.

The men at the front door, led by Kang, heard the scuffles and turned, raising their weapons into the darkness. From the shadows, Chi Cheng's ghosts emerged. Wang Zhen was a blur of motion, his combat knife flashing as he disarmed one man and disabled another with brutal, close-quarters efficiency. The rest of his team moved with a terrifying synergy, dropping the enforcers with precise shots to their knees and shoulders. They were not killing them, they were crippling them.

The entire engagement lasted less than thirty seconds. Eleven of Guo Chenghei’s men were down, groaning and incapacitated.

Only Kang, the captain, was left standing, his pistol knocked from his hand, the red dot of Wang Shuo’s laser sight painted on his forehead. He stared in horror at the professional soldiers materializing from the darkness around him.

Chi Cheng switched the audio feed to Wang Zhen's comms.

Wang Zhen stepped forward, wiping his blade clean on a rag. He circled Kang like a shark. "You work for Guo Chenghei." It was a statement, not a question.

"Who... who are you?" Kang stammered, sweat beading on his face.

"I am the son of Wang Chao," Wang Zhen said, his voice dripping with cold venom. "A name your master should remember. He was my father's sworn brother before he put him in the ground."

Wang Zhen grabbed Kang by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. "This was a gift. The next time we meet, there will be no gifts. Only graves." He shoved a small, intricately carved wooden dragon—the symbol of the Old Master, Chi Cheng's father—into Kang's breast pocket.

"Go back to your master," Wang Zhen commanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell him the ghosts are hunting him now. Tell him the sons are coming to collect the father's debt."

He shoved Kang away. "Run."

On the screen, the terrified captain scrambled to his feet and fled into the night.

In the command center, Gang Zi stared, awestruck by the brutal, surgical precision of the assault. This was a different kind of power.

Wang Zhen's voice came over the comms, calm once more. "Message sent, Boss Chi. We are done."

Chi Cheng leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanged. He had drawn first blood on the financial front, and now on the physical one. The message was clear: there was no part of his old empire where Guo Chenghei was safe.

The silence in the grand hall of the Shanghai estate was no longer tense; it was funereal. The elders sat in stunned quiet, the catastrophic financial losses of the night having stripped them of their earlier confidence. Guo Chenghei paced before the empty, dragon-carved chair, his face a mask of thunderous rage. He was waiting for a report of a successful capture, a confirmation of his dominance.

The heavy main doors burst open, and what stumbled through was not a victorious captain, but a broken man.

Kang, the leader of the assault team, fell to his knees on the polished floor, his clothes torn, his face bruised and bleeding. He was gasping for air, his eyes wide with a terror that went beyond a simple defeat.

"They were ghosts," Kang choked out, his voice a ragged sob. "We... we never saw them coming."

Guo Chenghei stopped pacing and stared down at his defeated captain, his expression turning from anger to pure contempt. "Twelve of my best men against one boy. Explain this failure."

"It wasn't one boy," Kang stammered, shaking his head frantically. "It was a team. Soldiers. They moved in the dark... they were silent. It was over in seconds. They didn't even kill us... they just... took us apart."

An elder muttered, "Mercenaries."

"No," Kang whispered, looking up at Guo Chenghei, his eyes filled with a chilling certainty. "Not mercenaries. It was personal." He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the small, intricately carved wooden dragon—the personal sigil of the old master, Chi Cheng's father. He placed it on the floor as if it were a burning coal.

Guo Chenghei froze, his eyes locked on the familiar object. It was a message, a direct and profound insult.

"Their leader..." Kang continued, his voice barely audible. "He gave me a message for you."

"Who was he?" Guo Chenghei demanded.

Kang swallowed hard, the name catching in his throat. "He said... he said he was the son of Wang Chao."

The name struck the room like a bolt of lightning. The elders stared, their faces draining of all color. It was a name from the past, a name buried with a loyal captain who had died in a convenient "accident" years ago.

Guo Chenghei physically recoiled, a single step backward, as if he had been struck. The blood drained from his face, replaced by a ghastly, waxy pallor. The rage in his eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by something he had not felt in decades: pure, cold dread. He had not just made an enemy of his sworn brother’s son; he had resurrected the ghosts of his own bloody ascent to power.

"He said..." Kang’s voice trembled as he relayed the final words. "...the sons are coming to collect the father's debt."

Guo Chenghei stared at the wooden dragon on the floor, but he was seeing the face of his murdered friend. The war he had started was no longer about money or territory. It was a blood feud. The Wang brothers, whom he had dismissed as terrified orphans who had fled the country, were back. They were trained, they were allied with the true heir, and they were hunting him.

The elders exchanged panicked, desperate glances. They had thrown their lot in with a man who promised them a prosperous future. Instead, he had lost a fortune in a single night and brought the vengeful ghosts of his past to their doorstep.

For the first time, Guo Chenghei looked truly lost. He was an old-world gangster who understood betrayal and violence, but he did not know how to fight an enemy who could cripple his finances from halfway across the world and simultaneously command a team of ghosts to settle a blood debt on his own streets. He had seized a throne, only to find it was haunted.

Later on, a priority alert flashed on the main screen—a secure, encrypted channel from London. Chi Cheng tapped the console, and the face of a woman in her late thirties appeared. Yue Yue his lead analyst, looked sharp and professional in a blazer, but her eyes held a tension that was highly unusual.

“Report,” Chi Cheng said, his voice calm.

“The initial short-sell was successful, Boss Chi,” Yue Yue began, her voice crisp. “The panic sell on the Yangtze Shipping conglomerate was triggered exactly as projected. We’ve already covered our position for a significant gain. Guo Chenghei’s paper fortune is hemorrhaging.”

“But?” Chi Cheng prompted, sensing her hesitation.

Yue Yue took a breath. “But it was too successful. We weren’t acting alone.” She brought up a complex chart showing trade volumes. “Look here, our algorithm executed the primary short. Seconds later, an even larger block of shares was dumped on the market from a series of untraceable ghost accounts. They used our attack as cover to trigger a complete market collapse for that stock.”

She zoomed in on a set of data points. “This wasn’t a rival piggybacking on our move; this was a coordinated, parallel strike. The precision is terrifying. It's like someone knew our exact algorithm and entry point and used our scalpel to provide cover for their sledgehammer. We were the distraction, Boss, not the main event.”

Chi Cheng’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes sharpened. “The source of the secondary trades?”

“That’s the problem,” Yue Yue said, a flicker of professional frustration in her eyes. “There is no source. The trades were routed through layered ghost accounts and dead-end servers so old they predate modern tracking. It's the cleanest vanish I've ever seen. Whoever this is, they're a ghost. A very, very rich ghost.”

“Continue monitoring,” Chi Cheng commanded. “I want to know the moment this ghost makes another move. Trace everything.”

“Yes, Boss Chi.” Her image vanished.

Chi Cheng swiveled his chair away from the screens, his gaze distant. The perfect, cold equation of his revenge now had a new, unknown variable.

“A rival?” Gang Zi asked, his voice a low rumble.

Chi Cheng stared at an old, framed photograph on a nearby shelf—a picture of him as a boy, standing beside his father.

“No,” he said quietly, a deep unease settling in his gut. “Not a rival. A shadow.”

Chapter Text

Days after the warehouse ambush, Chi Cheng sat alone in the command center, the glow of the monitors painting his face in cool, shifting colors. Guo Chenghei was cornered, the Wang brothers were proving to be the perfect weapon, and the ghost in the machine had amplified his financial attack. He was winning, yet a profound sense of unease settled over him. He was not in full control of this war.

A priority alert suddenly flashed on his main console, bypassing his top-tier security protocols as if they were made of paper. His hands flew to the keyboard, but before he could trace the intrusion, an image loaded, stark and simple.

It was a chessboard.

His initial alarm gave way to a jolt of ice-cold recognition. He knew this style. The elegant, brutally difficult composition. It was his father’s.

His eyes scanned the board, his mind racing. It was a “checkmate in three moves” problem. The Black King (Guo Chenghei) was heavily defended by a wall of Pawns (the Lao Dai). The White pieces were scattered. A powerful White Rook (the old empire’s assets) was positioned for a devastating attack, but Chi Cheng saw instantly that it was a trap. Any move with the Rook would lead to its capture and an unwinnable game. The only other major piece was a lone White Knight (himself), seemingly isolated and ineffective.

He stared at the puzzle, the silence of the room pressing in. This wasn't just a game. It was a message. A lesson.

Then he saw it. The solution was so radical, so counter-intuitive, he had almost missed it. The winning move wasn't to attack with the Rook. It was to sacrifice it. By moving the Rook to a meaningless square, he would force the Black King out from behind its wall of pawns for a single, fatal turn. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Leaving a clear path for the lone Knight to strike. Checkmate.

Chi Cheng leaned back, a cold sweat on his brow. The message was clear: to win, he had to be willing to sacrifice his father’s old empire. He had to let it burn to get to the man who had poisoned it. It was a strategic directive from an impossible source.

He stared at the glowing screen, the ghost's identity becoming an almost unbearable possibility. In the utter silence of the command center, he whispered a single word to the empty room.

“Father?”

The single word, whispered into the humming silence of the command center, hung in the air like a ghost. 

Chi Cheng stared at the glowing chessboard on the screen, his mind, usually a fortress of cold logic, now a storm of impossible contradictions. His father was dead. He had seen the reports. He had felt the cold finality of it in his gut. Yet, the puzzle before him was as intimate and familiar as his own reflection—a lesson in strategy, a secret language spoken between a father and son.

Gang Zi standing guard by the door, noticed the subtle shift in his master’s posture, the sudden, rigid tension. “Boss Chi?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “Is something wrong?”

Chi Cheng didn’t answer. He snapped out of his reverie, his confusion instantly sharpening into a singular, obsessive focus. His hands became a blur across the tactical console, launching a full-scale digital trace on the message’s origin. The signal was a phantom, bouncing between defunct satellites and layered through a maze of dead-end servers across three continents. It was a perfect ghost, leaving no trail.

He was about to give up when he saw it. Buried deep in the image file’s metadata, nearly invisible, was a fragment of code. He isolated it, his breath catching in his throat. It was the same signature. The same old, obsolete encryption protocol from the early 2000s that Yue Yue had reported from the financial attack. The same protocol that had been used to deliver the anonymous tip to the Hong Kong regulators.

The ghost in the machine, the third player in this war, and the sender of this message were one and the same.

Chi Cheng leaned back, the pieces of an impossible puzzle clicking into place. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But the strategy was now undeniable. He looked again at the chessboard on the screen, at the clear, brutal lesson it offered: Sacrifice the Rook to expose the King.

He had been fighting a war to reclaim his father’s empire. The ghost was telling him to let it burn.

His eyes shifted from the chess problem to the live satellite feed of the main family estate, where Guo Chenghei was cornered like a paranoid wolf in his stolen den. The unease and confusion on Chi Cheng's face vanished, replaced by a new, chilling certainty. He was no longer just a son seeking revenge; he was a player in a grander, more profound game, and he had just been given his next move.

He turned to Gang Zi, his voice calm and absolute.

“Prepare an invitation,” he commanded. “A formal one, on the finest paper. We are inviting Uncle Guo to tea at the Willow Branch Teahouse.”

Gang Zi, ever the loyal soldier, showed no surprise at the seemingly reckless command, though a flicker of confusion crossed his features. “Boss Chi, he will know it is a trap.”

“Of course, he will,” Chi Cheng agreed, his eyes fixed on the chessboard, a humorless smile touching his lips. “He will come expecting an ambush. He will bring his best men, his heaviest arms. He will come to turn a teahouse into his tomb.” He turned to Gang Zi, his expression now hard as iron. “Let him think that. The proudest wolf is easiest to lead into a cage.”

The invitation arrived at the estate at dusk, delivered not by an enforcer, but by a young boy in a simple tunic, as was tradition for matters of great honor. He handed the elegant, rice-paper envelope to the guards and vanished back into the twilight.

Inside the grand hall, the atmosphere was one of a tomb. The treacherous Lao Dai were gone, having quietly abandoned the losing side. Only a handful of his most loyal, hardened killers remained, standing guard in the shadows. Guo Chenghei, a prisoner in the castle he had stolen, paced before the cold hearth, his face a mask of paranoia and rage.

His head of security, Lin, brought him the invitation.

Guo Chenghei tore it open. He read the elegant, hand-brushed characters, and a low, guttural sound escaped his throat. The rage that had been simmering for days finally boiled over.

“He mocks me!” Guo Chenghei roared, slamming the invitation down on the mahogany table. It was a formal request for tea at the Willow Branch Teahouse, to be held the following evening. A place of sacred oaths, now proposed as the site for his surrender or his death.

“It is a trap, Brother Guo,” Lin stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “He is drawing you out into the open. He will have snipers. Bombs. An army waiting.”

“Of course, it’s a trap!” Guo Chenghei snarled, his eyes wild. “He thinks he is clever, this boy-accountant and his two orphan ghosts. He challenges me with tradition and honor because he thinks I am a common street thug.”

He stared at the invitation, his knuckles white. The entire Shanghai underworld was watching. They knew he was bleeding money. They had heard whispers of the ghosts who had dismantled his best men. To refuse this invitation, to hide in his own house, would be the final, unforgivable loss of face. It would be an admission of defeat.

“And show him what? Fear?” Guo Chenghei’s voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “That I, Guo Chenghei, am afraid? No. I will go. I will accept his invitation. But this will be the last party he ever hosts.”

He turned to Lin, his eyes glinting with a mad certainty. “Gather every loyal man we have left. The twenty best killers. We will not just go to the teahouse. We will bring a war. We will surround it, we will storm it, and we will burn it to the ground with him and the Wang brothers inside.”

The following evening, the Willow Branch Teahouse stood as an island of tranquility in the old city, its paper lanterns casting a soft, warm glow. When Guo Chenghei and his twenty men arrived, they moved like a pack of wolves, their black sedans silently surrounding the block. They stormed the entrance, guns raised, expecting a bloody firefight.

Instead, they found Chi Cheng in the main hall, alone.

He was kneeling at a low tea table, calmly preparing a traditional tea ceremony. The only other people in the room were the Wang brothers, Wang Zhen and Wang Shuo, standing silently behind him, unarmed and dressed in simple black. The air smelled of hot water and fine oolong tea.

Guo Chenghei’s men fanned out, securing the room. Guo Chenghei himself strode forward, a cruel, triumphant smile on his face. "You are more foolish than I imagined, boy. To invite me here. To think you and these two dogs could face my army."

Chi Cheng did not look up from the ceremony. He gracefully rinsed the cups and poured the first infusion, the fragrant steam rising between them. "I invited you for tea, Uncle. A last moment of peace. You brought an army. I brought a document."

He gestured with his chin to a slim tablet lying on the edge of the table.

Guo Chenghei scoffed. "Your numbers cannot help you now."

"They already have," Chi Cheng said, finally raising his eyes. They were as cold and calm as a winter lake. "For the past week, my teams in London and Zurich have not been attacking your finances. They have been compiling them. Every illegal transaction, every bribed official, every ghost company. And a full, detailed account of the murder of Captain Wang Chao, complete with untraceable witness testimonies I secured years ago."

He pushed the teacup across the table towards Guo Chenghei. "That document was delivered electronically to the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection in Beijing one hour ago. Your crimes are no longer a syndicate matter, Uncle. They are a matter of state security."

From the distance, a faint sound began to grow. A sound that every man in the room recognized and feared: the rising, wailing chorus of official sirens.

Guo Chenghei froze, his face a mask of disbelief. The sirens grew louder, closer, coming from all directions. Red and blue lights began to flash through the delicate paper screens of the teahouse, slicing through the dim interior.

His men looked around in panic, their weapons suddenly feeling like useless lumps of iron. They could fight another gang. They could not fight the state.

"This is for our father," Wang Zhen said, his voice low and clear, cutting through the rising panic. "Not with a knife in the back, as you gave him. But with justice."

The doors slid open with force, and armed officers of the Public and Security Bureau swarmed in, their weapons leveled, shouting for everyone to get on the ground. Guo Chenghei’s men dropped their guns, their bravado evaporating instantly.

Guo Chenghei stood alone, staring at Chi Cheng. He had been so focused on the enemy in front of him that he never saw the true nature of the trap. Chi Cheng hadn’t built a better cage, he had simply pointed the zookeepers to the wolf.

"The world changed, Uncle," Chi Cheng said, his voice quiet amidst the chaos. "Power is no longer about who has the most knives. It's about who controls the truth."

—

Two weeks after Guo Chenghei’s arrest, Chi Cheng stood in his father’s private study at the main estate. The room had been aired out, but the ghost of old cigar smoke and his father's presence lingered. The war for the syndicate was over, but for Chi Cheng, the true battle, understanding the past, had just begun.

On the large screen of his console, he had two files open. The first was the financial analysis from his London team, detailing the "ghost in the machine" that had amplified his attack. The second was the image of the chessboard, the cryptic lesson he had received. He still had no definitive proof, only an impossible, gut-wrenching suspicion.

Chi Cheng stared toward the journal lying on his desk.

As he spoke, a priority alert flashed on his console, bypassing all his security. It was from the same untraceable "ghost" channel.

This time, it wasn't a puzzle. It was a simple, direct message:

Ancestral Hall. Midnight. Come alone.

Chi Cheng stared at the words. The ancestral hall was the most sacred place on the estate, a space reserved for family. This wasn't just a meeting; it was a summons. The ghost was finally revealing himself.

He looked up at Gang Zi, his expression a mask of cold resolve.

"Clear my schedule," he commanded. "And ensure no one, under any circumstances, disturbs the ancestral hall tonight."

The path to the ancestral hall was lit by stone lanterns, their soft, flickering light casting long shadows that danced like ghosts among the ancient, manicured pines. A cool night breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and incense. Chi Cheng walked alone, his footsteps the only sound disturbing the profound, reverent silence.

He pushed open the heavy, ornate doors. Inside, the hall was vast and dark, the air thick with the weight of generations. Rows of ancestral tablets lined the walls, their golden characters gleaming faintly in the moonlight that streamed through the high windows. At the far end of the room, before the main altar, a single stick of incense burned, its fragrant smoke curling towards the high, timbered ceiling.

A figure stood there, his back to the entrance, staring up at the tablet of Chi Cheng’s grandfather. He was dressed in a simple, dark tunic, his posture still, his hands clasped behind his back.

Chi Cheng stopped, his heart a cold, heavy stone in his chest. He knew that silhouette. He knew the quiet, unshakable stillness of those shoulders.

The figure turned slowly. In the dim moonlight, the face of the Tiger of the Huangpu looked older, more worn than Chi Cheng remembered, but his eyes were the same—sharp, intelligent, and holding an ancient, unyielding authority.

Chi Yuan Duan

“You’ve kept me waiting,” his father said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall. It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

Chi Cheng felt a decade of anger, grief, and confusion rise in his throat, but the words that came out were quiet, stripped of all emotion. “The world believes you are dead.”

“A necessary fiction,” Chi Yuan Duan replied, taking a step forward. “Guo Chenghei was a cancer. To cut him out, I had to make the body appear dead. I knew he would overreach, and I knew you were the only surgeon skilled enough to perform the operation.”

He stopped a few feet from his son, his gaze intense. “I gave you the tools—the command center, the wealth, the freedom to build your own power. I guided your hand with the intelligence you needed. But the victory… the victory was yours alone, my son. You have proven you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Chi Cheng asked, his voice tight. “To be a pawn in your game?”

A rare, faint smile touched the Chi Yuan Duan’s lips. “To be a king. Guo Chenghei was a symptom of a larger disease—the old way of doing things. Of brute force and petty street wars. I have spent a year cutting the head off the snake. But the body still remains. The real war, the one to build a new empire from the ashes of the old… that war begins now. And we will fight it together.”

A bitter laugh escaped Chi Cheng’s lips, sharp and devoid of warmth in the sacred stillness of the hall. "A king? You left me to grieve a ghost while you played a chess game with my life." He took a step forward, the distance between them crackling with a decade of unspoken truths. "You talk of empires and wars. What about the casualties your game created? What about Wu Qi Qiong?"

The name hung in the air, a stark and personal accusation. For the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed the Chi Yuan Duan’s face. "Your close friend?"

"He is more than that," Chi Cheng said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous level. "And he is the one who paid the price for your strategy. Years ago, Wu Qi Qiong disappeared without a trace. He has spent years as a ghost himself, and I was not there to protect him because I was following your plan."

Chi Yuan Duan’s expression hardened, the faint smile vanishing, replaced by a cold, primal fury that was far more terrifying. This was a variable he had not accounted for. The war with Guo Chenghei was business, an attack on his son’s... an attack on family... that was a different matter entirely.

"He went after the boy?" Chi Yuan Duan’s voice was a low growl. "That was not part of the game. That was an act of a desperate dog biting at what you held dear. It was a message to you, through him." He looked at his son, and in his eyes, Chi Cheng saw not a puppet master, but a father whose own plan had inadvertently put the most important person in his son’s life in the line of fire.

"You tracked billions in ghost currency, manipulated global markets, and orchestrated a war from the shadows," Chi Cheng’s voice was dangerously quiet, each word a precisely aimed dart. "You saw everything. How could you not know this? How did you miss the one thing that mattered?"

Chi Yuan Duan’s gaze did not waver, but the iron certainty in it was now tempered with a deep, chilling regret. "To become a ghost, I had to become blind," he admitted, his voice a low rumble of stone grinding against stone. "Faking my death required absolute isolation. My intelligence network was severed to only the most sterile, encrypted channels, those monitoring Guo Chenghei’s finances and political moves. I could only watch the arteries of the syndicate; I could not risk looking into the capillaries of people's lives. Any personal surveillance, on anyone not directly in the corporate game, was a risk. A single loyal operative asking the wrong questions about your friend could have been traced, and my entire strategy would have been undone."

He took a step closer, the space between them filled with the weight of years of miscommunication. "I knew Guo Chenghei was a rabid dog, but I expected him to bite at my throne, at my wealth. I never anticipated he would be so cunning as to go after... him. The whispers I intercepted about Wu Qi Qiong's disappearance were deliberately fabricated—made to look like he had simply left, a personal choice. Guo Chenghei buried the attack where he knew I was no longer looking. From the shadows, I tried to push the investigation, feeding anonymous tips to authorities, but every path I opened led to a dead end. Now I know why. It was Guo Chenghei, erasing every footprint, burying his crime where he knew I could no longer dig." 

The Chi Yuan Duan’s fists clenched at his sides. "I built a fortress to make you a king but left the door to your heart unguarded. It is a failure I will not forgive myself for. My war with Guo Chenghei was business. What he did to that boy... that is a blood debt."

A grim understanding passed between them. Chi Yuan Duan's plan was not flawed in its logic, but in its humanity. He had accounted for every business variable but had failed to account for an enemy who would target love as a weapon.

"Then the war is not over," Chi Yuan Duan stated, his voice absolute. "Guo Chenghei is caged, but his poison remains. The legacy we build must not be haunted by this injustice." He turned, his movements now filled with a new, urgent purpose. "Come. There is one last piece of the puzzle you have not seen."

He led Chi Cheng from the ancestral hall back to the secret command center. The screens still glowed with financial data and tactical maps. Chi Yuan Duan walked to the main console and placed his hand on a biometric scanner.

"You found the file I left for you," he said. "'Equilibrium'."

"It was locked beyond my access," Chi Cheng replied.

"Because it was not meant for the son who came back for revenge," Chi Yuan Duan said, the scanner flashing green. "It was meant for the man who would stand here with me, ready to build what comes next."

The encrypted partition unlocked. It was not filled with financial data or military strategy, but with something else entirely: a complete, unredacted history of their family’s dealings, both legitimate and illicit. It contained every secret, every favor owed, and every enemy made. 

"I did not know what Guo Chenghei had done to him," Chi Yuan Duan said, his voice heavy with regret. "But I always knew he was the most important to you. Protecting our family is not just about protecting the business."

He looked at his son, father and heir, their personal and strategic wars finally merged into a single, shared mission.

"Now," Chi Yuan Duan said, his eyes filled with a cold, unwavering resolve. "Let's bring your beloved home."

The weight of the last revelation settled between father and son, a shared, grim understanding. The war for the empire was over, the campaign to reclaim a single, fractured memory had just begun.

Chapter Text

The heavy doors of the library closed, leaving Chi Cheng alone with his father. He stood at the mahogany desk, his fingers tracing the worn leather of the journal Gang Zi had given him. The small book felt impossibly heavy.

“A loyal soldier who broke every rule to put the king in checkmate,” the Tiger—Chi Yuan Duan observed from the shadows near the fireplace. His voice was not angry, but analytical. “A dangerous man to have. An even more dangerous one to have as an enemy. His gamble was reckless, but it was successful.”

“He succeeded where my entire network failed,” Chi Cheng said, his voice tight with a mix of frustration and respect. He finally looked up at his father, his own strategic mind connecting the final pieces. “My friends… they were desperate. Gang Zi saw it. He knew they couldn't reach me, so he brought me to them.”

“And now they are our most valuable assets,” Chi Yuan Duan stated, stepping into the light. “They hold the ground truth of the last decade. We need them here. We need the doctor, and we need the son who has turned against his father.”

The library felt still and sacred, the weight of the journal’s confession settling between father and son. Chi Cheng’s gaze dropped to the small, leather-bound book on the desk. He opened it, his fingers tracing the familiar handwriting as he read through the early entries—the chronicle of pain, transformation, and the beginnings of a dangerous investigation. His father stood behind him, a silent, imposing shadow.

Finally, Chi Cheng reached the last page, dated the day the world had broken apart. He took a steadying breath and read the final entry aloud, his voice low and strained.

“I think this is it. I have everything. The final piece was an old, signed document that proves Guo Chenghei falsified reports to frame a rival captain—Captain Wang. He didn't just steal money; he destroyed lives to clear his path to the top.”

A low growl rumbled in Chi Yuan Duan’s chest, the sound of a tiger stirring. Chi Cheng’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the book, but he forced himself to continue.

“I have to get this out. I'm meeting the lawyer this afternoon. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely write. I slept maybe an hour last night.”

The raw vulnerability in the words made Chi Cheng’s own hands tremble. He read on, his voice becoming a harsh whisper.

“The brakes on my car felt strange this morning, a little soft. I'll have to get them checked after I see the lawyer. I can't afford any mistakes today. Not now.”

The air in the room went still and cold. It was no longer a story; it was a premonition. It was the final, chilling piece of the puzzle, written in the victim's own hand. Chi Cheng’s voice finally cracked as he read the last, devastating lines.

“Chi Cheng, wherever you are, I hope you're safe. I’m doing this for you. I know you left because you had to... But I won't let a traitor tear down everything your family built. I wish I could have told you goodbye.”

He closed the journal with a sharp, final motion. The sound echoed in the crushing silence. The confession—not just of love and loyalty, but of a sacrifice made in his name—was more than he could bear.

For the first time since his return, Chi Yuan Duan’s voice was not that of a strategist, but of a father witnessing his son’s profound pain. A cold, primal fury entered his tone.

“He did not just try to silence a threat,” Chi Yuan Duan said, his voice dangerously quiet. “He tried to murder a boy who was fighting for you. For our family.”

Chi Cheng finally looked up, his eyes burning with a grief so cold it was indistinguishable from rage. The war with Guo Chenghei was over, but the battle for his Da Bao had just been laid bare.

“Guo Chenghei is in a cage,” Chi Cheng stated. “But the ghosts he created are still roaming free.”

His father placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort and shared resolve. “Then we will give them peace,” Chi Yuan Duan stated. “Starting with the one who matters most.”

Chi Cheng opened the worn leather journal, his father’s words from the night before still echoing in his mind. “They hold the ground truth of the last decade.” He turned to an entry written just after their university graduation, the familiar script a stark reminder of the boy who had fought a war on his own.

—

The command center was quiet, the only sound the low hum of servers. Chi Cheng stood before the main console, his face illuminated by the glowing profiles of Jiang Xiaoshuai and Guo Chengyu. The confrontation at the clinic had laid everything bare, and now it was time to consolidate his forces.

Next, he summoned Gang Zi. His bodyguard entered the command center, his stoic expression faltering for a split second as he saw the Tiger—Chi Yuan Duan alive. He recovered instantly, giving a deep, profound bow.

“It is good to see you, Master,” Gang Zi said, his voice thick with emotion.

“And you, old friend,” Chi Yuan Duan said with a nod. “But we have work to do.”

Chi Cheng gave the order. “Bring them here. Jiang Xiaoshuai and Guo Chengyu. Use the secondary protocols, ensure they are not followed. They are now part of the inner circle.”

As Gang Zi departed, Chi Yuan Duan looked at the screen, where the profiles of their new allies were displayed, Jiang Xiaoshuai, the doctor. Guo Chengyu, the son of the enemy, and the Wang brothers, the sons of his murdered friend.

“You have chosen your team well,” Chi Yuan Duan observed. “An interesting circle of trust.”

“They are loyal to what matters,” Chi Cheng replied, his eyes on Wu Suowei’s file.

An hour later, Gang Zi returned. With him were Jiang Xiaoshuai and Guo Chengyu, their faces etched with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. They were led through the elegant, museum-like villa into the grand library, where they stopped dead, staring at the impossible array of glowing screens and tactical displays.

“What is this place?” Jiang Xiaoshuai whispered, his eyes wide.

Before Chi Cheng could answer, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the fireplace.

Guo Chengyu’s breath hitched, and he took an involuntary step back. Jiang Xiaoshuai simply froze, his jaw slack with disbelief. Standing before them, looking older but no less formidable, was the Tiger of the Huangpu.

“Master Chi…?” Guo Chengyu stammered. “You’re…”

“Reports of my death were a necessary component of a larger strategy,” Chi Yuan Duan said, his voice calm and authoritative. “One that, with the help of my son, has now concluded.”

Chi Cheng stepped forward, taking command. “There’s no time to waste. We have a new mission, and you are both critical to it.” He quickly and efficiently brought them up to speed, the faked death, the ‘Equilibrium’ file.

They gathered around the console, the four of them—The new inner circle—Chi Cheng, the heir. Chi Yuan Duan, the old tiger, returned from the shadows. Jiang Xiaoshuai, the loyal doctor. And Guo Chengyu, the son of the traitor, gathered around the tactical console. The air was thick with a fragile, unspoken truce.

“My son told me you hold the ground truth of the last decade,” Chi Yuan Duan said, his sharp gaze settling on Xiaoshuai and Chengyu. “It is time we all understood it.”

Chi Cheng picked up the worn leather journal from the desk. He didn't have to explain what it was, the look on his friends' faces showed they understood.

“Before we discuss what happened,” Chi Cheng said, his voice low, “I think we should first hear from the person who was at the center of it all.” His fingers, surprisingly gentle, opened the book to an entry dated just after their university graduation. He looked at his two friends, his expression grim. 

He read aloud, his voice low and steady.

“We graduated. I held my diploma and felt nothing but the empty space beside me... To make things stranger, the The Wang brothers, Zhen and Shuo, left for overseas right after the ceremony. It was so sudden... It all feels like another piece of Chi Cheng’s world has vanished. First him, now them.”

The words hung in the air, a voice from the past diagnosing their present situation with perfect, painful clarity. Guo Chengyu flinched as if struck, while Jiang Xiaoshuai simply stared at the journal, his expression heartbroken. They weren't just learning a secret, they were hearing the echo of their friend's lonely and terrifying chase for the truth. 

After a moment of silence, the comms on the console crackled to life, pulling them all back to the present. Wang Zhen’s calm, professional voice came through the speakers.

"Boss Chi, Suowei just left the house. It looks like he's heading for the local market. Shuo and I are following closely."

Chi Cheng leaned toward the microphone, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Don’t be too close. You know Suowei. He may look innocent, but Da Bao is not a fool.”

"Copy that, Boss Chi," Wang Zhen replied, and the channel went silent.

The sound of his own name and the casual mention of the Wang brothers finally broke through Jiang Xiaoshuai’s stunned silence. He stared at Chi Cheng, his face pale with disbelief.

“Wang Zhen and Wang Shuo?!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking. “They’re here? How?! We all thought they moved overseas years ago!” He looked from Chi Cheng to Chi Yuan Duan, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in a way that made no sense to him. “But… why? The journal is right, they left a full year after you did, Chi Cheng. And that was two years after their father, Captain Wang, died… Why would they wait? If they were in danger, why wouldn’t they run immediately?”

"Their move overseas was a cover," Chi Cheng stated, his voice flat. "I took them with me."

Jiang Xiaoshuai blinked at him, as though the words themselves refused to make sense. “But… why wait a year? Why not escape immediately?”

Chi Yuan Duan stepped forward, his expression grim. "They couldn't run, Xiaoshuai. Not right away. After Guo Chenghei murdered their father, they were being watched. Fleeing would have been a death sentence. They had to stay, to mourn, to appear defeated. They had to wait for the heat to die down."

"And I needed that year," Chi Cheng added. "I needed it to build a secure channel and a safe harbor for them overseas. An extraction like that leaves no room for error."

He stepped closer to the console, pulling up a map that displayed shifting red markers across the globe. “Extraction is not a sprint. It is patience. A single mistake, and the brothers would be corpses in the river. I needed time to build a safe harbor overseas—secure channels, clean identities, resources that Guo Chenghei’s reach couldn’t poison.”

Guo Chengyu lowered his head, the pieces of a decade rearranging into a new, brutal truth. His voice was low, almost hollow. “So while we hid in quiet shadows, thinking we were alone… you were building an army in secret.”

“A small one,” Chi Cheng corrected coldly. “But loyal. Absolute in focus. That is all I ever needed.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai suddenly stepped forward, his voice sharp with accusation. “Not just loyal,” he cut in. His chest rose and fell with the weight of restrained anger. “We were sworn brothers, Chi Cheng, to this bond we built. And yet you took them away, moved them overseas and let us believe they’d abandoned everything.”

Chi Cheng’s eyes narrowed, but he did not answer immediately. The silence was damning.

“They knew your plan, didn’t they?” Xiaoshuai pressed, his voice cracking. “Wang Zhen and Wang Shuo weren’t running, they were following you. They let us believe they’d turned their backs, when the truth was they were carrying out your orders.”

Chi Yuan Duan’s deep voice broke the air, heavy as stone. “They did not betray their oath, Xiaoshuai. They bore it in silence. To disappear was their duty, not their choice. In a war like this, visibility is death. Their vanishing was not abandonment—it was survival, orchestrated for the greater fight.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “And what of us? Did we not deserve the truth? Did you not trust us enough to share their fate?”

Chi Cheng’s gaze finally cut toward him, cold and sharp. “Trust had nothing to do with it. If you had known, you would have been watched. Pressured. Used against them. I could not risk that. Better you thought them gone overseas, alive but unreachable, than for Guo Chenghei’s hounds to catch the scent.”

Xiaoshuai faltered, his jaw tight, the fire in his eyes clashing with the icy logic of Chi Cheng’s words.

Chi Yuan Duan’s final words settled like iron in the hall, “They did not leave you, Xiaoshuai. They chose to protect you. That is what sworn brothers do.”

Jiang Xiaoshuai’s hands unclenched and clenched. He is not yet done. His voice tore through the silence, ragged and sharp. “Do you understand what this means, Chi Cheng? Da Qiong wasn’t blind. He wasn’t naïve. He saw it—your war, the shadows you left behind. He followed the trail, and it led him straight to Guo Chenghei.”

Xiaoshuai paced back and forth, his energy too frantic for the still room. “He was chasing the truth while we were all just trying to get through graduation! He found the shell corporations, he knew what happened to Captain Wang, he was putting the pieces together all on his own!”

He finally stopped and slammed his fist on the console, the echo ringing like a gunshot. He looked at Chi Cheng, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“He knew he was in danger, but he kept going because he was fighting for you! You were gone. He couldn't reach you. So he carried that entire war on his own shoulders, and it crushed him!”

Guo Chengyu didn’t speak, merely slumping forward in his chair and burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking silently.

Chi Cheng didn’t flinch from the accusation. He met Xiaoshuai’s furious gaze and absorbed every word. He didn’t offer an excuse or a defense. He simply gave a slow, deliberate nod, the full weight of his friend's grief and his Da Bao's sacrifice settling upon him like a shroud.

But Xiaoshuai wasn’t finished. His chest heaved, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tremor.

“You want to talk about strategy? About your long game?” he asked, his eyes flicking to Chi Yuan Duan, who stood silently in the shadows. “Then answer me this. You moved the Wang brothers. You moved them away to protect them after their father was killed. So why not him? Why not Wu Qi Qiong?”

The name, spoken so plainly, struck the room like a stone dropped in still water.

For a heartbeat, even the hum of the command center seemed to die. Guo Chengyu’s head snapped up, a look of dawning horror on his face as he realized the question he’d never dared to ask. Chi Yuan Duan’s gaze narrowed, sharp and unreadable, but he did not intervene.

All eyes were on Chi Cheng. He stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of unshakable control.

“Explain,” he commanded, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the room with the chilling authority of a blade being drawn.

Jiang Xiaoshuai took a shaky breath, refusing to back down. “I’m saying,” he continued quietly, his voice gaining strength with every word, “that even before everything fell apart, Wu Qi Qiong wasn’t blind. He wasn’t naïve. He knew something was coming for you… he just didn’t know what. Or why.” His throat worked as he swallowed, the memory of his friend's quiet, determined fear still raw. “And when you were gone, that suspicion hardened into a silence he wouldn't let anyone break.”

His voice cracked as he pressed forward, the carefully controlled dam of his grief finally bursting. “That’s why, even after you were gone, he was still chasing the ghosts you left behind! The journal proves it, Chi Cheng—he knew. He felt it. And that’s what led to his accident!”

He jabbed a trembling finger against his own chest, his eyes burning. “Do you understand what that means? The supposed sworn oath we all shared—by then, it wasn’t whole anymore! You were gone, and Da Qiong… he was left with nothing but shadows.”

Guo Chengyu flinched at the words, dropping his head into his hands, but Xiaoshuai didn’t stop, his voice rough, almost breaking as he relived their desperate attempts to reach their friend.

“Chengyu and I tried to force him to tell us what was eating him alive. He wouldn’t. He just smiled that sad, distant smile and told us not to worry. All he said was, he’d tell us if his idea was successful. If. But not before. And look where it all ended!” His fist slammed against the table, the echo sharp in the silence. “His accident. His memory shattered. And it’s been 8 years now—now we stand here with a brother who can’t even remember who he was!”

The room went still, the weight of his final, grief-stricken accusation pressing down like stone.

Chi Cheng’s composure didn’t just crack; it vanished. In a swift, violent motion, he turned on Xiaoshuai, his eyes blazing with a dark, wounded fury that was more pain than anger. The question of why he hadn't protected Wu Qi Qiong was the one thing he had no defense against, and the accusation pushed him past his breaking point.

"Because he wasn't a soldier," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl that vibrated with a decade of guilt. "The Wang brothers knew the risks. They understood the stakes. They chose to follow me into the war. Da Bao never did."

He took a step forward, his own control shattered. "My one duty—my only duty—was to keep him separate. To keep him clean of all this. I left him behind to protect him, and in doing so, I fed him to the wolves myself." Chi Cheng’s raw, final words hung in the air, heavy as a shroud. The fury in his eyes subsided, leaving behind a cold, desolate landscape of a pain he had carried alone for a decade.

Jiang Xiaoshuai stumbled back as if struck, the fire of his accusation extinguished, leaving only the ash of a decade-long misunderstanding. The man he had accused of abandonment had just revealed a sacrifice more profound than any of them could have imagined. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. What could he say to a truth that terrible?

Chi Yuan Duan’s deep voice broke the suffocating silence, not to comfort, but to confirm the brutal logic of his son's choice. His gaze was fixed on the stunned Xiaoshuai, but his words were for the entire room.

“In our world, love is not a comfort. It is a liability,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “A king’s greatest strength is also his most vulnerable target. My son made a choice no man should have to make. He chose to protect the heart of his kingdom by pretending he didn’t have one.”

Guo Chengyu’s cut off, his head bowed, guilt twisting his features. “He used me,” he whispered, his throat tight with self-loathing. “I was the weapon my father used against my own sworn  brother—”

“Enough!”

Chi Yuan Duan’s voice cut through the room, a low thunder that silenced the air itself. His gaze fixed on Chengyu, sharp and merciless. "The blood in your veins may be his, but the choices that led to this war were his alone. Do not bind yourself to the murders he committed."

He shifted his gaze to Chi Cheng, his eyes steady, unflinching. “The guilty man is in a cage. And he will not escape us.”

For a heartbeat, the room was still. Then Chi Cheng straightened, the storm in him sharpened into cold fire.

“Then I swear this,” he said, his voice cutting like steel. “I will bring Da Bao back from the shadows they forced on him. I don’t care what name they gave him, what memories they stole—he is mine. And I will not rest until he remembers.”

His fist curled on the table. “And when I stand before Guo Chenghei, I will not ask for answers. I will take his life.”

Chi Yuan Duan regarded him in silence, the faintest flicker of grim pride in his eyes. Then he raised his head, his own voice a final judgment carved in stone.

“For what he has done—against Wu Qi Qiong, against this house, against my son—Guo Chenghei will answer. His debts will be paid in blood.”

The vows settled in the room, absolute and unbreakable. The time for dissecting the past was over. Chi Cheng turned to the tactical console, his movements now precise and deliberate. The grief was still there, but it had become fuel. He activated the comms link, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Wang Zhen. Status report.”

Wang Zhen’s calm voice came back instantly. "Still at the market, Boss Chi. He's buying groceries. No contacts, no followers detected. We are maintaining a covert perimeter."

“Good,” Chi Cheng commanded, his eyes locked on the blue icon that represented Wu Suowei on the map. “Maintain your distance. Double the watch. I want an update on his status every ten minutes. No one gets near him. Understood?”

"Understood, Boss Chi," the voice confirmed, and the channel went silent.

The immediate action was taken, but it wasn't a recall, it was a reinforcement of the invisible fortress he had built around the unsuspecting Wu Suowei. With the order given, a heavy quiet descended upon the command center. The four men were left in the aftermath, the raw emotion of the last hour still hanging in the air.

Chi Cheng remained at the console, a silent, remote guardian watching a single blue dot move through a market. All the power in the room, all the wealth and strategic genius, was focused on ensuring a man could safely buy his groceries.

Jiang Xiaoshuai watched him, a new and painful confusion twisting in his gut. He saw the fierce, possessive focus in Chi Cheng’s eyes, the way his entire posture was aimed at that single dot on a screen. If this was how much he cared, if he had all this power at his fingertips and had the Wang brothers in play for months… why had he done nothing? Why had it taken their desperate, reckless gamble to even get him in the same room?

The contradiction was too great to bear. The questions, held back by the storm of revelations, finally broke through.

“Chi Cheng,” he began, “I still don’t understand. The war with your uncle… you said it’s been over for months. You came back, you won, you took control. Why now?” He gestured vaguely, encompassing the journal, and the screens. “Why wait all this time to look for him? Why did it take… the setup?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. Guo Chengyu looked at Chi Cheng, the same unspoken question in his eyes. They had risked everything on a desperate gamble to bring him into this, but if he had been free and in power for months, why hadn't he come on his own?

Chi Cheng didn't turn from the map immediately. For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the servers. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, laced with a weariness that he rarely showed.

“Because I was looking for the wrong person,” he said, finally turning to face them.

He picked up a tablet from the console and swiped, bringing up a faded, old photograph of a heavier and round-faced, awkward boy. “This is who I was looking for. Wu Qi Qiong.”

He slid the tablet across the desk. Guo Chengyu flinched as if the image were hot to the touch. “This is the boy I knew. The boy I protected in school. The boy who is my lover.”

His gaze lifted, moving deliberately to Guo Chengyu, “The boy whom you befriended at college.” 

And then to Jiang Xiaoshuai, “The boy who is your childhood friend whom you reunited at college. The boy whom the Wang Siblings also knew. And the boy whom you all have sworn an oath with... my Da Bao.”

Each declaration landed with weight, a reminder of the life that connected all of them before it was stolen. “I know what you must have thought,” Chi Cheng continued. “Why I was gone for ten years. It wasn't an escape. It was a war.”

His voice dropped, becoming colder, more strategic. “A silent, decade-long war to execute a 'larger strategy' against Guo Chenghei. I had to build my power from nothing, from the outside, forging the very networks I would need to win. That takes time. And we had to be patient—we waited ten years to lull him into a false sense of security, to ensure that when I came back, the strike would be final.”

He turned back to them, the strategist receding to reveal the man beneath. “My return wasn't a homecoming; it was the final move of the war. But the moment the primary mission was complete, my first personal act was to find him. When I returned to Shanghai, one of the first things I did was run his name through every network I have.”

He walked to the window, his reflection a pale specter against the dark glass. “The search hit more than a digital brick wall. It hit a carefully constructed grave. The records weren’t just scrubbed; they were replaced. A falsified death certificate, a staged transfer of assets to a non-existent relative overseas, even a coroner's report I later learned was forged. In our world, for someone to vanish so completely, there are only two conclusions: a masterful escape, or death. With the evidence Guo Chenghei planted, I was led to believe the worst… that he was gone".

His eyes met Guo Chengyu's. “You were watching over Wu Suowei. I was searching for Wu Qi Qiong. We were on parallel tracks, running from the same enemy, but we couldn't see each other.” 

Guo Chengyu physically recoiled from the desk, a choked sound escaping his throat. "A digital brick wall..." he repeated, his voice hollow as a horrifying understanding dawned on him. "He didn't just hide him. He used me to build it."

He looked up, his face pale with the weight of the full truth. "I didn’t quite tell you everything at the clinic," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "I said I had my doubts and suspicions, but this makes it clear now. I knew my father exiled me back then, but after the accident, my father pretended to help me investigate. But it was all a lie. He controlled the investigation by pretending it was out of his hands." Guo Chengyu shook his head, the memory of the deception making him ill. "He'd use your father's ghost status as a shield, saying things like, ‘I’ve passed this to your uncle’s deep contacts. You know how he is—no one can interfere.’ He used your father's unreachability to create dead ends we couldn't question."

"And in the middle of all that chaos," he continued, "he's the one who suggested the name change. He told me it was the only way to protect him from the culprit he was pretending to hunt. He made me believe that creating 'Wu Suowei' was my idea,"

A bitter, self-loathing laugh escaped his lips. "It was his weapon all along. He used Suowei to build your prison wall."

The twin confessions settled the final, painful piece of the puzzle. It wasn't that Chi Cheng hadn't cared. It was that the enemy's first act had been to brilliantly manipulate his own son, turning him into an unwitting accomplice. Guo Chenghei had hidden Wu Suowei so perfectly that even Chi Cheng, with all his power, was left to mourn a ghost until fate—and a desperate, reckless plan—intervened.

Guo Chengyu looked down, a wave of guilt and understanding washing over him. "We never knew," he said quietly. "We just thought... you had moved on."

The heavy silence in the command center was broken by a single, solid footstep. Chi Yuan Duan, who had remained a silent, formidable statue throughout the confessions, moved. He walked to his son and placed a heavy, grounding hand on his shoulder, then looked across the console to the pale, haunted face of Guo Chengyu.

“There was no moving on from that. He turned your sworn brother against you,” Chi Yuan Duan said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He nodded slightly at Chengyu. “And he turned your loyalty into a weapon. That is a kind of poison the battlefield never prepares you for.”

He looked back at Chi Cheng, his eyes holding a rare, profound approval. “To grieve, to love so deeply you would tear down an empire for a ghost… that is not a failure of a strategist. It is the heart of a true king. It is a strength your enemies will never understand.”

Finally, his gaze settled on Guo Chengyu again, this time with a look of finality. “Your father’s debts are his own. Today, you have chosen your path. You have my respect for it.”

Guo Chengyu swallowed, the shock giving way to a decade of frustration. "Master Chi," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I tried to reach you. After Suowei's accident, I sent word through the old channels, begging for your help when my own father's investigation led nowhere. But I never heard back."

A look of grim understanding crossed Chi Yuan Duan's face. "By then, son, I was already a ghost. My ears were deaf to the world, a necessity of the war. I regret that your call was one I could not answer."