Inside the private club, deep-gray walls shut out all outside noise, leaving only the faint strains of swaying jazz filtering through the gap beneath the door.
Lin Yi pushed a glass of amber liquor toward Wang Zhi Ping and tapped the side of the glass twice with his index finger.
Wang Zhi Ping’s right hand rested loosely at his waist, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the cloth-wrapped handle of a knife. It was a habit he had developed over many years, one that seemed carved into him as instinctively as breathing itself.
“Brother Wang, you’ve been by Master Bai’s side all these years, through wind and rain, risking your life for him more times than anyone can count. Everyone says you’re Master Bai’s chief steward, like his shadow.” Lin Yi suddenly spoke, his tone respectful, though a faint trace of mockery lurked beneath it. “You were the one who took the fall for Master Bai over that port incident last year too, weren’t you?”
The muscles at the back of Wang Zhi Ping’s neck abruptly tightened, and the glass froze halfway to his lips.
“Master Bai took over three venues in the northern suburbs last month.” His alcohol-tinged voice seemed to deliberately bite off every word with perfect clarity. “All three were registered under his brother-in-law’s name.”
Wang Zhi Ping drained his glass and set it down with a thud, his smile sinister. “Lin Yi, you’re usually not this talkative.”
Lin Yi met his gaze head-on. “I’ve got more to say. Want to hear it, Brother Wang?”
His index and middle fingers curled slightly as Wang Zhi Ping’s fingertips traced an indentation on the knife handle. “Talk.”
“Brother Wang.” Lin Yi made no attempt to conceal his intentions. “For all these years, you’ve fought and bled for Master Bai. Yet in the end, what you’ve gotten back doesn’t come close to what you’ve given.”
Wang Zhi Ping’s eyes turned icy. He did not respond, only stared at Lin Yi as though trying to see through to the calculations hidden inside him.
Unhurriedly, Lin Yi refilled Wang Zhi Ping’s drink. His words emerged slowly alongside the spreading aroma of alcohol. “Master Bai has kept you down all these years and never allowed you to rise. You’ve taken knives for him. You’ve taken the blame for him. But what did you get in return? Nothing but scraps from his table. Brother Wang, have you never thought about sitting in that seat yourself?”
Wang Zhi Ping’s expression darkened instantly. The dagger that had remained in his hand shot from its sheath, its tip aimed directly at Lin Yi’s throat. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” The blade pressed forward, leaving a red line as fine as a strand of hair on Lin Yi’s skin. “Back then, you were just some street thug. You could’ve been hacked to death any day with nobody left to collect your corpse! Master Bai was the one who dragged you out of that pile of mud, gave you a chance, promoted you, and put you to important use. And now you repay his kindness with betrayal?”
His eyes lingered on the red mark beneath the blade. “Lin Yi, you’re betraying Master Bai. Do you believe I’ll clean house for him right now?”
Lin Yi did not retreat. Instead, he tilted his head slightly upward, making it easier for the blade to press deeper.
“Every word I’ve said is true,” he replied in a low voice. “And yes, I am disloyal. I intend to rebel.”
Wang Zhi Ping’s hand trembled faintly. Through gritted teeth, he asked one word at a time, “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be a scapegoat.” The movement of his throat caused more blood to seep from beneath the blade and wind down the metal. “Brother Wang, you know exactly what those companies under my name are being used for. Right now I look successful, but when I die, it’ll be uglier than the death of any small-time street enforcer.”
“This is Master Bai’s idea of ‘putting me to important use.’”
His neck suddenly pressed forward against the blade. Lin Yi’s voice vibrated against the steel. “Brother Wang, I can put you in Master Bai’s seat. I only need you to help me.”
Wang Zhi Ping’s jaw muscles twitched twice. After a long silence, his left hand reached for the lighter on the table. As a windproof flame sprang to life, he spoke with open ridicule. “Master Bai is meticulous, and he’s spent years building his position. You’re just a little puppet. You can’t beat him.”
“I’m nobody,” Lin Yi said, looking directly into Wang Zhi Ping’s eyes, all-or-nothing resolve burning within them. “But I’m alone. I have nothing holding me back. I can risk everything.”
Wang Zhi Ping brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. Smoke slowly drifted from his nostrils. The next moment, the blade finally withdrew from Lin Yi’s throat.
Tossing the dagger casually onto the table, Wang Zhi Ping crossed one leg over the other and leaned back into the sofa. “You young punks always think things are too simple. If Master Bai were that easy to bring down, someone would’ve done it long ago.”
Lin Yi pulled out a tissue and wiped the blood from his neck. “Whether I can bring him down is up to me. Even if I fail, I won’t drag you down with me. If I win, you take his place. If I lose, you can capture me and claim the credit. Either way, Brother Wang doesn’t lose.”
Narrowing his eyes, Wang Zhi Ping let cigarette smoke curl between them. “Why should I believe you won’t expose me if you lose?”
Lin Yi laughed softly, openly provocative. “No matter what I say right now, you might not believe me. Brother Wang, you’re a formidable man in your own right. The opportunity to use me to rise to the top is sitting right in front of you. It just depends on whether you dare to gamble.”
Wang Zhi Ping’s gaze flickered through the smoke, still unreadable. Lin Yi tossed aside the blood-stained tissue and continued, “If Brother Wang takes his place, all you have to do is dump the companies tied to me onto another scapegoat. And from the profits, I want twenty percent.”
A dark glint flashed through Wang Zhi Ping’s eyes and vanished. He might not trust Lin Yi’s word, but he trusted human greed. In a world full of schemes and calculations, displaying greed was sometimes more convincing than professing loyalty.
After a moment, Wang Zhi Ping crushed out the cigar in the ashtray and slowly rose to his feet. Looking down at Lin Yi, he spoke with a hint of amusement. “Go on. Tell me exactly how I’m supposed to help you.”
＊
After Wang Zhi Ping left, Lin Yi remained in the private room for another half hour before finally stepping out.
The private club’s corridor was covered with deep-red Persian carpets. Every step felt like walking on clouds. Lin Yi glanced at the glowing numbers above the elevator before turning and pushing open the fire door to the emergency stairwell.
He had always been cautious. He planned to go down one floor and take a different elevator.
As he reached the corner of the tenth floor, the sound of metal scraping suddenly echoed beneath his feet. The fire door slammed open with a deafening crash that exploded through the stairwell. Along with the gust of air came the cloying sweetness of women’s perfume.
“Young Mr. Zhou,” a woman’s voice drawled out, sticky as honey. “It’s so hot in the private room. Look, I’m already sweating.”
“How would Shanshan like to cool off?” The man’s teasing voice echoed through the stairwell with amusement. “There are still three bank executives waiting inside.”
The instant he heard that voice, Lin Yi froze in the shadows of the landing.
He knew that voice too well. Only a few days ago, it had whispered beside his ear, “What does it feel like to be bitten by mosquitoes?”
Lin Yi still remembered how slow and gentle that voice had sounded then, concealing concern beneath it and carrying something he could not quite put into words.
“It’s not like you’re calling me ‘baby’ right now.” The woman’s voice turned sweet and coquettish. “It won’t take long…”
Lin Yi stared at the shadows moving ahead. The silhouette of the woman’s voluminous curls was projected onto the wall, slowly leaning toward the man beside her.
Without a sound, he unfastened his cufflinks, gripped the stair railing, and continued descending.
At the corner of the stairwell, Zhou Ruo An’s lips had just brushed against Zhu Shan Shan’s lipstick when a large hand suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked backward with brutal force.
Bang.
Zhou Ruo An’s back slammed heavily into the wall. Pain shot through him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Fury filled his eyes as he turned his head. The instant he recognized Lin Yi, his heart lurched and panic flashed across his face.
“Let me borrow Young Mr. Zhou for a moment.” Lin Yi’s fingers plunged into Zhou Ruo An’s hair, gripping hard enough to feel as though he meant to wrench the top of his skull loose. “We have something to discuss.”
Zhu Shan Shan was frightened pale by the sudden turn of events. Her face turned white as paper, and she clapped both hands over her mouth, staring fearfully at the tall man before her.
“May I?” Lin Yi asked again, his tone calm.
The look in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. After quickly glancing between the two men, she hesitated briefly before nodding timidly and fleeing in panic.
Watching Zhu Shan Shan’s retreating figure, Zhou Ruo An quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Then he glared at Lin Yi and hissed in a low voice, “Are you fucking insane? It’s just because I haven’t transferred you the final payment yet. Do you really need to go this fucking crazy?”
He cursed at Lin Yi while keeping his eyes fixed on the crack in the door. The flash of red from Zhu Shan Shan’s dress had not gone far.
Lin Yi had no interest in the act Zhou Ruo An was improvising. Twisting his arm, he asked, “Young Mr. Zhou, are we settling accounts here, or are you coming with me?”
Lin Yi was difficult enough to deal with under normal circumstances. When he was practically soaking in a vat of vinegar, he was even worse. Zhou Ruo An ground his back teeth together before finally saying, “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
Inside the car, all four doors locked.
“Lin Yi, if you’re going to lose your mind, at least pick your timing—”
Before Zhou Ruo An could finish, his pupils contracted sharply.
Lin Yi’s long fingers had already yanked Zhou Ruo An’s tie free. The next moment, the smooth silk fabric fell across his wrists.
“What are you doing?”
One wrap. One knot.
Zhou Ruo An’s hands were bound together and secured above his head to the overhead grab handle with the tie.
“You motherfu—”
A strip of tape tore free.
Then it sealed his mouth shut.