The phone kept vibrating. Zhang Chi switched it to silent, but accidentally tapped on a voice message. A torrent of curses roared out: “Zhang Chi, you bastard, watch where you’re walking at night—sooner or later I’ll tie you up and throw you into a brothel, let you get your fill…”
With a swipe of his finger, the sound cut off. Zhang Chi calmly locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Who did you piss off? Sixty-second voice messages flooding your screen?” The person beside him nudged his shoulder teasingly. “Sounds pretty fierce—want us to back you up?”
Zhang Chi pulled the cigarette from the man’s mouth, dropped it to the ground, and crushed it under his foot. “We’re closing the net. Stay focused.”
Half an hour later, a man in a suit stepped into the calligraphy and painting exhibition area of the cultural expo. His clothing was old-fashioned and outdated, but in today’s retro trend, it didn’t stand out.
The man carried an air of refinement, yet his face was gaunt and worn. He had both the elegance of a scholar and the weary desperation of someone struggling to survive.
One of his hands remained in his pocket as he moved through the crowd, slowly approaching a young girl who stood before a painting.
One step closer. Zhang Chi, following him into the venue with an earpiece, murmured, “Don’t rush.”
Another step closer. Zhang Chi: “Wait for him to make a move. We need evidence.”
As his footsteps landed softly, the veins on the suited man’s neck suddenly bulged. His sorrowful expression twisted with madness and viciousness as he raised a sharp dagger toward the girl at close range.
“Move!” Before Zhang Chi finished speaking, he darted out from behind a nearby pillar, pulling the girl into his arms just as the blade flashed.
Her dark, silky hair lifted in the air. The desperate slash cut through it, a strand severed and drifting down to the ground, as if something once deep and enduring had been severed.
Zhang Chi kicked the man square in the chest, sending him flying backward. Others rushed forward, skillfully kicking away the knife and subduing him with ease.
“Zhang Chi—why you?!” The suited man stared in shock. Then, after a moment, he let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh. “So no matter what I do, I’m just a clown. Even my revenge is controlled by them!”
He stared at the girl in Zhang Chi’s arms. “Si Yi, I was trying to save you! Why won’t you leave this filthy world with me? Do you know why your paintings have no soul? Because you’ve always despised your family, despised the people around you. An artist’s inspiration comes from poverty and suffering—exactly what you’ve never had!”
Through her tears, the girl smiled bitterly. “I used to think you had a point… but now…” She wiped her face, then said softly to Zhang Chi, “Take me away. I don’t want to see him again.”
Only after the two of them left did the captured man finally see the oil painting that had held the girl’s attention.
Against a vast dark background, a bespectacled man held a paintbrush, looking expressionlessly at the girl kneeling before him. The girl looked afraid, yet still gazed up at him. Amid the oppressive darkness, warm tones highlighted the brush in the man’s hand—as if, by breaking through the gray uncertainty, one could see the girl’s bright courage and reverence.
The man’s gaze slowly lowered to the nameplate at the bottom right.
“Father.”
The television was on—as always at this hour, playing local news.
In the Xue household, there was no rule of silence during meals. Watching TV during dinner was a habit carried over from earlier days of cramped living. Back then, they watched melodramatic family dramas; now, it had been replaced by dull local news.
Xue Kun poured the last bit of soup into his bowl, mixing it with chopsticks while watching the TV and eating. “A few days ago, there were rumors that Qiao Shi Feng’s precious daughter was attacked—it turns out it’s true. Look, it’s even on the news.”
Xue Bao Tian followed his gaze lazily, glancing at the TV screen. His eyes lingered briefly on the female anchor’s chest before he looked away.
Lowering his voice, Xue Kun continued, “I heard that twenty years ago, Qiao Shi Feng’s wife had an affair with a down-and-out painter and even got pregnant. Qiao Shi Feng was kept in the dark all along, raising someone else’s daughter for twenty years. Recently, that painter tried to take his daughter away, and Qiao Shi Feng used some methods to deal with him—forced him into such a corner that he could only survive by hauling bricks at a construction site…”
Hunching slightly, Xue Kun’s voice grew quieter and quieter. Xue Bao Tian crossed his legs and clicked his tongue. “Dad, my brother-in-law has perfectly good hearing. Why don’t you lower your voice even more while you’re at it?”
“What nonsense are you talking?” Xue Kun straightened up and looked at his son-in-law, who was sitting upright and eating elegantly. “Wei Hua, you’ve been working hard lately. I had Aunt Hu make some dendrobium beef bone soup for you—have more, build up your strength.”
Xue Bao Tian turned his eyes away in discomfort. Propping himself up on the dining table, he lazily walked toward his room. “Dad, am I not your biological son either? Is there some real father out there waiting for me day and night?”
A slipper flew over. Xue Kun roared in anger, “What nonsense are you spouting! Go light an incense stick for your mother!”
The slipper was picked up by a round-faced, gentle woman and put back onto Xue Kun’s foot. Smiling, she said, “Dad, my brother’s just joking. Don’t really get mad at him. You hadn’t finished that gossip just now—I was still waiting.”
“Right, right.” Xue Kun hunched over again and said to his daughter, “Later, that painter was pushed to the brink—since he couldn’t have her, he wanted to destroy her instead. Don’t you think he’s crazy? His own biological daughter…”
Xue Bao Tian struck out the match and inserted the lit incense into the burner. Picking up an apple from the offering table, he took a bite. “Mom, you’ve eaten already, right? Then I’ll have this.”
Looking at the black-and-white photo on the wall, Xue Bao Tian chewed the fruit and complained indistinctly, “Mom, keep an eye on Dad. He treats outsiders better than his own son. He looks down on me for having no education—everything I do, he thinks is nonsense. And he keeps favoring that overseas returnee. But no matter how I look at it, that brother-in-law of mine is up to no good—completely untrustworthy.”
He took a few candies from his pocket and placed them on the offering table. “Mom, come visit Dad in his dreams tonight and tell him not to trust Wei Hua so much. And give me a chance. If he refuses, just tell him I’m not even his biological son—scare him to death.”
He tossed the apple core into the trash and went back to his room, collapsing onto the bed, too lazy to move. He’d been running a fever on and off for three days, and even now, just recovering, his body had no strength.
Rolling over, he grabbed his phone and skillfully opened Zhang Chi’s chat. Pressing the voice button, he said, “Zhang Chi, send me your address. I bought you a face on Pinduoduo—it’s already shipping. A face is a good thing, you know—but where the hell is yours? You talk like farting—say one thing, do another. If I believe you again, I’ll call you grandpa. Damn it!”
After finishing his daily round of insults, he tossed the phone aside, then picked up his laptop to browse the latest pharmaceutical information.
The phone notification chimed once. Xue Bao Tian ignored it, dragging the progress bar on his computer to the end and finishing an article before switching devices.
There was an unread message on the screen. He tapped it casually, his brows lifting slightly—it was actually from Zhang Chi.
It was a bit unexpected. After all, no matter how viciously or harshly Xue Bao Tian had cursed him these past days, those messages had all sunk without a trace. Xue Bao Tian didn’t really care—he treated it as one-sided venting. When Wei Hua irritated him, he cursed Zhang Chi. When his father ignored him, he cursed Zhang Chi. If food didn’t taste good, he cursed Zhang Chi. If he slept poorly, he’d mumble curses at Zhang Chi. So now that he actually got a reply, it felt unfamiliar.
He opened the chat. It was a text message: “Two Hundred, I have time now. I can be your bodyguard.”
Xue Bao Tian suddenly sat upright, but the next moment, he suppressed the flash of surprise on his face. He typed back: “Too late. Positions are full. Only a watchdog slot is open. Want it? Immediate start.”
After a while, a voice message came through. Zhang Chi’s tone was gentle, carrying a faint smile: “Master Xue, I was wrong. Can you give me a chance to make it up to you?”
Leaning against the headboard, Xue Bao Tian pulled aside his clothes and glanced at the marks still lingering on his collarbone. “How are you going to compensate me?”
“Your rules.”
“Fine. Be my bodyguard. Listen to me. Don’t get any ideas about me. If you act cheap again, I’ll have someone cut you open!”
“Deal.”
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Futile Devices Scans 
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