The man’s face did not betray the slightest ripple of emotion. Beneath the dim light, his features still retained the striking handsomeness of his youth—yet his temples were streaked with white, and the marks of time lay heavy between his brows.
From the very moment He Chu San set down his first stone, he was certain this man was not Xie Ying Jie. As he played, his mind raced, searching through every memory he possessed—social reports, gossip tabloids, all the intelligence he had gathered before—but he found nothing. He had never seen this man in any high society banquet, nor among financial elites. This man was neither a senior officer, nor a magnate, nor any figure of renown.
There were only three possibilities.
First, this man was a counterfeit arranged by Master Qiao, posing as the Old Shopkeeper. But if that were the case, Master Qiao would not have needed to go through such elaborate deception—there would be no need for bewildering illusions, nor for that abstruse Yin-Yang symbolism, nor for such meticulous displays of reverence, even to the point of not offering him a chair. More importantly, Master Qiao had no motive to do so.
Second, Master Qiao had spoken the truth. This man truly was the Old Shopkeeper—a supreme puppeteer hidden entirely in the shadows. Outwardly, he possessed no identity, yet in secret he commanded both the black and the white paths. But then—what foundation granted him such terrifying power? By what means had he compelled a veteran of the jianghu like Master Qiao to bow at his feet? How did he manipulate someone of Chief Inspector Hua’s standing? And yet, every lead He Chu San had uncovered—the records, the photograph from twenty years ago, Lu Guang Ming’s account, and everything Brother Liu Yi had confessed—all pointed unmistakably toward Xie Ying Jie. How could that be reconciled?
Thus, only the third possibility remained.
Master Qiao himself did not know this man’s true identity. This man was merely the Old Shopkeeper’s stand-in and proxy, appearing in his stead all these years. The black-and-white diagram, the game of Go, the probing conversations woven between moves and tea—all of it had been orchestrated under the Old Shopkeeper’s direction, testing him… gauging his origins, his strength, his temperament.
His skill at Go had been learned only after entering university, in a student association group. Though he had once stood among the better players, he had long since neglected the game due to academic demands—his skill was mediocre at best. He should not have been able to win. And yet, his opponent had deliberately left him a sliver of life each time. It was not about the game—it was about observing the man behind the moves.
He had claimed to be of humble birth, striving desperately to climb upward. But the other had seen through him—seen that beneath the façade of haste and ambition, he was in truth methodical, advancing step by step, harboring deeper schemes.
Their gazes met—calm, composed.
Each had seen through the other’s disguise. Each was silently probing the other’s true identity and intent.
“You realize how dangerous your words just now were?” the man said.
“I do. Anyone who knows who the Old Shopkeeper is… is already dead.”
“And how do you intend to keep your life?”
He Chu San leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, fingers interlocked beneath his chin. In that instant, he summoned every ounce of his acting—bringing forth the result of half a month’s relentless practice before a mirror.
He tilted his head slightly, and slowly revealed a smile—
Utterly innocent.
Utterly sinister.
A perfect smile befitting a standard psychopathic villain.
“Why, that depends… on what I know. And what I can do for the Shopkeeper.”
……
Master Qiao paced back and forth along the corridor, his cane striking the ground with dull thuds—dong, dong, dong. Sleep had utterly abandoned him. His prized treasure He had been inside alone with the Shopkeeper for more than half an hour—something that had never happened before.
Moreover, the Shopkeeper, who was always sparing with words, had today not only appraised paintings and played Go, but questioned endlessly like some marketplace auntie.
Alarm bells rang wildly in Master Qiao’s mind. He had a sinking feeling—this matter was slipping beyond his control. The “big deal” his prized treasure He sought to discuss was no ordinary transaction. It was likely something far greater—something that would kick him, the stepping stone, aside, and allow the boy to climb higher, becoming the Old Shopkeeper’s own prized treasure.
Only now did he snap out of the sugar-coated bribes and honeyed traps of Consultant He. A chill crept down his spine as he realized the advisor had been right all along—this “big deal” was never about bookkeeping or laundering money. It was something far more turbulent… something that could stir storms.
Or perhaps… he was overthinking it? Perhaps the Old Shopkeeper had simply taken a liking to a promising youth and lingered to ask a few more questions?
That fragile hope did not last long.
A few minutes later, He Chu San finally emerged. He conveyed that the Shopkeeper wished to see Master Qiao alone. Master Qiao hurried inside—only to receive an unexpected order:
The Old Shopkeeper instructed him to withdraw all surveillance and tailing on He Chu San.
“Ah? This…” Master Qiao hesitated.
“He works for me now.” The Old Shopkeeper cast him a glance. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no, I understand, I understand.” Master Qiao nodded rapidly, though inwardly he cursed. This brat had clearly taken on some unspeakable task from the Shopkeeper, and now the two of them were stuck together like flies to filth!
“Old Qiao, rest assured. He will still assist you. As for the extra matters, you need not concern yourself. You recommended him well—you have done me a service. I will not treat you unfairly.”
“Understood, understood. Thank you, Shopkeeper.” Master Qiao expressed his gratitude repeatedly before withdrawing.
Outside, he saw He Chu San waiting obediently. With several bodyguards present, he suppressed his temper, merely nodding before walking ahead with his cane.
The two moved one after the other through the corridor and into the elevator. The old lift groaned upward—hong-ka, hong-ka—before Master Qiao finally raised his cane and jabbed it hard into He Chu San’s chest.
“You brat—your scheming runs deep!”
He Chu San chuckled softly, clutching the spot. Leaning against him, he looped his arm familiarly around Master Qiao’s.
“Elder Brother, don’t say that. Helping the Shokeeper is helping you. As long as the Shopkeeper prospers, so do you—and naturally, so do I. The three of us are one body—a trinity.”
“Trinity my ass!” Master Qiao struck his backside with the cane. “All talk, you are!”
“Not just talk,” He Chu San murmured by his ear. “Many thanks to Elder Brother for making the introduction. From now on, whatever you ask of me—I’ll take not a single coin in commission. Not only that, whatever benefits I gain from serving the Shopkeeper, we split it eighty-twenty. Two parts, I gift to Elder Brother.”
“Really?”
“If that’s not enough—seventy-thirty?”
“Enough!” Master Qiao jabbed him again. “Elder Brother knows you’re sensible. I won’t take advantage of you—eighty-twenty it is! Hahaha, truly my good little treasure…”
Consultant He supported his elder brother all the way, his words dripping with honey. Master Qiao, thoroughly pleased, responded with lazy grunts—though inwardly, he felt a strong urge to drag the boy back and have his way with him. Reason prevailed, however, and he dimly recalled the youth’s firm, toned physique from the bathhouse that day… With his aging bones, he doubted he could handle him.
Laughing and chatting, the two exited the underground club and entered the parking lot.
The advisor had long been waiting in the business vehicle, craning his neck anxiously. One glance at their cheerful state filled him with bitterness—when they had arrived, Boss Qiao had held onto Blind He with caution and suspicion. Now, it was Consultant He, radiant and composed, supporting Boss Qiao. Clearly, the boy had poured yet another bowl of enchanting poison into him below.
As the advisor brooded, Boss Qiao plopped down beside him and slapped his long face, squeezing it into a comical shape.
“My dear advisor, stop pulling that sour face!” He tapped the driver’s seat with his cane. “Let’s go!”
The advisor turned stiffly toward the back.
There sat Consultant He, flanked by two bodyguards, seated squarely in the middle. Slowly, he revealed—
that same utterly innocent, utterly sinister smile.
A perfect smile of a standard psychopathic villain.
Futile Devices Scans 
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